Why I Resigned from the Department of State

My journey with the Department of State began in undergrad as I desperately sought funding to pay for my junior year of college.

My parents dreamed that I would one day go to college. My father, a reformed mechanic-turned-electrician took me, in one of his twisted machinations, to his job sites to learn the tricks of the trade. But after my third electric shock, my father proudly (albeit slyly) watched as I came to the realization that I would have to go to university if I wanted to survive in this world.

On a material level, I already understood the value of an education. I could see this most often in the church on Sunday mornings. Now, I’m not ashamed of my working class background because I come from a family of hard workers, but I have to admit that I was a bit more than intrigued by the college educated in the congregation who paid their tithes with checks and drove away to pricey dinners in their luxury European sedans. In bible school, they taught us “thou shall not covet,” but I’ll freely admit that I longed to ride with the guy in the black BMW as my sisters and I piled into the back of my mama’s turquoise Ford Windstar.

As an adult, I now understand that my parents thought of their kids as little rockstars. They thought I was the smartest kid in the world, but when it came time to apply for scholarships, my grades just weren’t good enough. I had this conversation with my best friend who boldly told the Head of the ROTC program to get me some money - and before I knew it I was on my way to Morehouse College on a full scholarship as a Navy ROTC midshipmen.

In the era of “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Lots of folks don’t believe me, but I really didn’t even begin to understand my own sexuality until the summer after my freshman year, but I did know that I was in a queer black body, and was reminded to stay in my place or else . . .

Luckily, that scholarship, at the time, came with a one-year free trial. If I had have kept the scholarship past the first year, I would have been obliged to serve in the Navy for four years upon completion of my bachelors. Now, as intriguing as the idea was to serve on a submarine full of sailors, I made a conscious decision to at least attempt to make the best grades possible as a first step in my eventual departure from the ROTC program.

I ended my first semester with a 3.9 GPA, and was invited to a luncheon of scholars with the Dr. Anne Watts where other high achievers were invited to discuss our pathway to the Fulbright, Marshall and Rhodes Scholarship programs. It was there that I learned of a scholarship with Credit Suisse (First Boston), and before I knew it, I was on my way to New York City for my very first paid internship.

It didn’t take long for me to recognize that Investment Banking wasn’t for me. Although they had a similar program with a guaranteed job waiting for me upon completion of my bachelors, a life filled with 18 hour days, cheetos and cocaine (I tried the cheetos, not the cocaine) simply was not for me, although the towncar home after 9pm is a perk I will miss forever.

Once again, I found myself at Morehouse with an excellent record but no money. Desperate, I stood up one day in English class and asked my comrades how I could pay for school because not even that ol’ triflin’ heiffa Sally Mae was going to give me enough loans to pay the balance. After I told my classmates that I was studying international affairs, one of the seniors told me about the Thomas R. Pickering Program.

I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I had exhausted the trope of finding oneself in college, but by golly, this looked like a winner. A path that was built just for me - a fellowship focused on bringing underrepresented folks into the very pale, male and Yale world that is the Department of State. I was gonna be a capital “D” Diplomat!

I pulled together my materials and begged my professors for urgent letters of recommendation (thank you Dr. Morrow) and was flown out to Washington for a series of interviews with legends in le Corps Diplomatique. Dr. Pinder and Ronald Robinson prepped me for weeks for these interviews, but I still tear up thinking about the day I found out that I had gotten the scholarship. For me, it meant that I could continue to go to school. For me, it meant sorely needed professional development. For me, it meant graduate school, a guaranteed job and financial security. For me, it meant freedom.

I was a country boy in a room full of current and future diplomats, but I knew I was home. I was going to fake it till I made it, and one day, I was going to be an Ambassador.

After years of internships, a Fulbright Fellowship (thank you Dr. Watts) and a sparkling new degree from Princeton, I made my way to Foggy Bottom knowing that I was going to “make it.” But the life of a diplomat is especially tough for folks that look like me.

I went to West Africa for my first Post. Although I was in the land of honest men (Burkina Faso), I passively hid the fact that I was gay. This was, after all, a conservative country and mama didn’t raise no fool. What I did was shroud myself in excellence to (over)compensate for the nagging feeling that I did not belong as I attempted to hide my very queer body in plain sight. Folks at my job eventually found out I was gay, and half of the local population shunned me. I had been so excited to live in Africa because it is the land of my fathers, but I walked away, more foreign than when I had first arrived.

I subsequently served in Berlin, Algeria, Cape Verde and Washington D.C. where I saw versions of the same perennial issues that have already been discussed at length by more prolific writers, namely, the rampant homophobia, racism and xenophobia . . . someone actually drew a swastika on one of the elevators at Main State this year! I’m not Jewish, but I don’t have to be to empathize with the fear and turmoil roiling through their bodies not to mention the hurt and confusion at what I feel was a pithy, inexecusably lame response from our leadership. Heads should have rolled and everyone should have been brought together to talk about why none of us can ever let something like that happen ever again!

Being openly gay, my family and I have experienced homophobia from my American colleagues during every tour. But during one of these tours, my family and I faced annoyingly transparent homophobia from the local government as well. Armed with evidence, I begged my embassy leadership for help and implored them to go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to find a solution. To this, they said “we already ask the local government for too much and they can’t do anything anyway.” As I sit here typing the cliff notes version of this story, I can’t help but viscerally remember that day as the day I decided to leave the Department of State. I had been affiliated with DOS for 15 years at that point, but realized that the institution would rather let something awful happen to my family and me than stand up for what was right.

In my final year at State, I joined the board of glifaa to make a difference; to help others so that no one else would face the shame and humiliation I have faced over the years simply by living in my big queer body. On my last day, I beseeched the highest levels of leadership to work towards providing better support for our LGBTQIA+ colleagues, hoping that it would lead to a better future for queer diplomats even as I walked away, heartbroken.

Today, I write to you as the Trendy Diplomat. I will always and forever be the kid who found his calling in foreign affairs, and I will forever use my platform to bring positive change, beauty and life into this world. I hope to make a difference and inspire, one rainbow flag at a time. That’s what diplomacy is to me.

#HappyPride