Kerry's courage: lesbian teenager Kerry Pacer demanded to be treated fairly at her rural high school in northeast Georgia. She never imagined it would change her entire town--or inspire a nation.

The small Southern town of Cleveland, Ga., used to be the kind of place where homosexuality was hardly ever talked about. When it was, it was denounced from the pulpits of the many fundamentalist Christian churches that share space with poultry farms around this rural municipality of two stoplights and about 2,300 residents.

Now the locals, many of whom have lived in Cleveland their whole lives, are talking about homosexuality at work and at the local diner. They're reading about it in the local newspaper and hearing about it at school board meetings. And some are talking about love and acceptance instead of sin.

That's because one courageous and feisty young girl refused to allow herself to be kept silent. Kerry Pacer, a 17-year-old White County High School senior with soft brown eyes and a charismatic smile, came out to the town earlier this year by demanding that she and her gay classmates be protected from harassment. "It's my chance right now to step in and say we're going to get treated fairly," she says. "If I give up that chance, I might never have it again."

Pacer came out to her parents and a few friends at age 12 but stayed quiet about it around town and at school. After a couple of years in high school, however, she could no longer stand to listen to her fellow classmates call each other "fag" and "dyke." So last January she asked for permission to put up an antibullying poster. When she was turned down she demanded that she and her friends be allowed to start a gay-straight alliance.

"That little girl just took things into her own hands," says Lib Rumfelt, copresident of the Atlanta chapter of Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays and a close friend of Kerry's mother, Savannah Pacer, who is herself a dedicated PFLAG member. Rumfelt and Pacers parents tried to convince Kerry to take it slow, but she wasn't having it. With her idea rejected by the school's new principal, Pacer made an appointment with the superintendent and asked Rumfelt and others to go along. "She even told us to let her do the talking," Rumfelt recalls.

What followed was a high-profile roller-coaster ride of acceptance and rejection. The matter went before the school board, and word spread about the proposed club. Pacer was picked on and called names at school, while members of the Cleveland Church of God, where she once worshipped, condemned her actions. At the school's Southern-style Sweetheart Assembly last Valentine's Day, Pacer was booed by her classmates as she accepted a rose from another girl. Then notoriously antigay Kansas preacher Fred Phelps showed up with his clan to protest the club. "I was petrified," says Kerry's father, Bill Pacer, of the potential for physical violence. "All you need is one nut [to hurt her]."

But Bill and Savannah, who divorced in 1997, never wavered in their support of their daughter. After the American Civil Liberties Union intervened, the school board in late March allowed Pacer and five other students to form the club PRIDE, Peers Rising in Diverse Education. "I would caution her about being so out," says Savannah Pacer, who works as a local real estate agent. "But she said, 'I am who I am, and I'm not going to be quiet just because this is a small town.'"

That tenacity gained Pacer some widespread notoriety. In April the Georgia house of representatives passed a resolution commending her actions. She has received awards from five different gay and civil rights organizations, including the ACLU of Georgia and the Human Rights Campaign, and she has been the subject of numerous magazine, newspaper, radio, and television reports.

But what Pacer initially fought for and won--the gay-straight alliance--would be short-lived. The White County school board voted in July to end all noncurricular clubs. "It's our contention that they changed the rules this year in order to silence the gay group," says Beth Littrell, a staff attorney with the ACLU of Georgia. "This fight is not over. We will be exercising our options both legally and otherwise in order to champion these young people."

Meanwhile, Cleveland's gay youths are winning a more important battle, adds Littrell. "The dialogue around equality issues for gay and lesbian folks has reached a positive level," she says. "And what we see in White County is reflective of a larger trend among young people. They aren't coming to us to rescue them. They're not waiting for the older generation to come and tell them they are OK."

Especially not Pacer, Littrell says. "She is a dynamic young woman who knows who she is and absolutely does not waiver in the face of adversity. And she doesn't just stand up for herself. She stands up for the rights of others."

Indeed, Pacer was always attuned to people who didn't fit in, says Richard Krise, principal of White County High during Pacer's freshman and sophomore years. "She would go out of her way to say hi to people who were not part of a rifling group," he says. "She was always trying to push the envelope. She would ask, 'Why do we do this? Why is this a rule?' It's a rare ninth grader who could do that."

Pacer, who lives with her mother and younger sister, Lindsay, and works at a local sandwich shop, is far from the only outgoing teenager to stand up and fight for a gay school club in a conservative rural town. In fact, several of her classmates were instrumental in starting the gay-straight alliance at White County. But much of the positive change that has taken place in the town can be tied to her fearless resolve. Now schoolkids who once beat up their gay classmates are apologizing for their behavior, and adults who once condemned gay kids are now close friends with their parents.

"No one can deny her bravery," says Bill Pacer, an elementary school teacher in Atlanta. "She has opened up eyes and hearts, and her strength has inspired a lot of people. Other gays kids are saying, 'If she can do it, so can I.'"

Wow, what a year! Did you expect to get so much attention?

I had no idea any of this would happen. I never expected it to turn out the way it did. Fred Phelps coming from Kansas that was so outrageous. I knew some people wouldn't be happy. But I never expected it to pick up like this. It's crazy.

How has your personal life changed?

Before, when I would go outside, not everyone knew I was gay, and now everyone knows. I'm a lot stronger and more educated. It's made me want to learn more about civil rights. I want to be an attorney now. I'm trying to go to Georgia State.

Take us back to the Sweetheart Assembly.

You choose two sweethearts from each club, and I was getting walked by another girl. The whole school just started booing instead of cheering. I never had anyone hating me before. I had gotten along with everyone. When people started booing, not knowing who I was, it really hurt my feelings. I just figured, Oh, well. I know who my friends are now.

What gave you the courage to do that?

It's crazy--the way people in my school get treated because they are gay. I was just like, Something's got to be done. I thought I could take a beating with words because I have a family to go home to that loves me. But what if someone can't? I need to make a difference for them. What if they don't know what to say back?

Tell us a little bit more about that loving family of yours.

I grew up in Baltimore until I was 7. My parents were very open and liberal. They would always tell me what was going on in the world. I knew that if I took a stand for what I believed in, the world couldn't stop me.

How did it feel when you won the right to form your club?

It was like a huge breath let out. I was so happy. I got my friends together, and we all read the letter and we were so overjoyed. It went through that whole long process of not being able to form, and when we finally did get it, we were like, OK, we may only have two months left in the year but can still do as much as we can for now.

Did those two months make a difference?

Definitely. Even if we didn't really get the club started and even though we don't have it this year, it does give gay students hope. There are so many people at my school that are out that couldn't be out before. Now, if someone calls them a faggot or a dyke, they stand up for themselves. Now, if a teacher hears you say that, there will actually be a punishment for it. It's really changed a lot.

Are any of your classmates still being mean to you?

Last year it was mostly the seniors who were doing that. Now I'm a senior. No one can really say anything because we've known each other for so long. It's really awkward. It's such a small town. I know everyone's parents, and they know my mom. If they say something, it will get back to their parents.

What about the parents? I hear they've changed a lot.

It's opened a lot of people's eyes. A lot of the churches had sermons against homosexuality. It is the Bible Belt. There's a church on every corner. But after Fred Phelps came, they had sermons on how we should love people no matter what. It changed our town for the good because churches were like, "We love these people who are trying to form this club. We may not agree with what they're trying to do, but we love them anyway."

Do you attend a church?

I'm not attending a church now. I'm not saying I wouldn't, but it's been a really busy year. Right now I'm staying home and studying.

What do you say to those who use the Bible to discriminate against gay people?

I don't really know what to tell them. You can use the Bible to make an excuse for anything. Doesn't the Bible say not to judge? If it says it's a sin to be gay, doesn't it also say all sins are equal? Lying is a sin; judging is a sin.

Do you think gay and lesbian people are born gay?

Yes. I don't think you have a choice. I knew when I was 12.

What would you say to other teens hoping to start a gay-straight alliance in a conservative rural town?

I would tell them that they should be prepared for a lot of controversy. But don't give up. They cannot step you unless you let them. Stand up for what you believe in. That's the most important thing.

A lot of them might say it's not worth getting pushed into a locker or beat up every day.

It's not just about being pushed into a locker. It's about not having my rights. If I get pushed into a locker or hit, the bruises go away; the pain goes away. I know there are people out there who love me. But later on, what if your child is gay and gets beat up in school, and you could have done something to stop that when you were in school? I have to do this for the people that come behind me and the people that can't do it. Their parents don't support them, and they can't do it.

What about the teachers at White County? Do they support and protect you and your friends?

I'm a very headstrong person. I believe I can control a lot of situations. If a teacher doesn't stop me from being harassed, that teacher knows they are going to be reported by me. Martin Luther King Jr. said, "The oppressed becomes the oppressor." If you don't do anything to stop something, you're just as bad as the person doing it. I know that if I do ever get beat up or hit, I'll be able to get back up again. No matter what happens, I'll never give up the fight. It's worth too much.

Is it true that you never let your detractors see you cry?

What people say does hurt me. When someone calls me a dyke or something, it does hurt. While I was fighting for the club, I was crying myself to sleep. But if I went to school and started busting out in tears, or if at the Sweetheart Assembly I busted out in tears, they would have been like, "Ha ha ha--we got to her." I'm not going to let them see me with my guard down. I wasn't going to let them see how bad they hurt me.

Last June one of your teachers predicted that people in Cleveland would eventually rally around you.

People don't really rally around me, but they understand my point of view now. They've just become more open to it. Even if they previously had a problem with me being gay, now they just don't care. It's like everything's in the past.

What one lesson have you learned from all of this that you think others should learn? I met Kevin Jennings, the founder of GLSEN (Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network). He is amazing. He told me about now when he was in school a teacher could say one thing to him and it would stay with him forever. You really need to think about what you say to someone before you say it. It could do a lot of serious damage.

Is there one thing someone said to you that you will never forget.

I was at my cousin's wedding. My other cousin was there, and he was looking at my rainbow necklace, and he looked at me in disgust and he was like, "What are you, some kind of lesbian or something?" I thought, OK, you're my cousin. You're supposed to be supportive. It really hurt. That was how I came out to him. It stuck in my mind forever.

Is there something someone did?

I was talking with a military recruiter at my school, and I asked him about [the military's gay ban] "don't ask, don't tell." He said he didn't care about that. He took it so lightly. I gave him my information card. He called me and told me about scholarships. He kind of became a friend to me. He didn't care that I was gay. It makes me feel good when someone acts like it's not a big deal.

How do you feel about your parents and the other people who have supported you?

I owe them everything. I could not have done it without them. I've been getting calls and letters. Realizing there are people out there telling me they support me is the greatest gift.

What about your classmates who helped you form the club?

Our vice president of the club was so good through all of this. He couldn't talk to the press because of his parents, but he is one of the most articulate people I know. I was so glad we had him on our side. Our secretary, she was also so helpful. She came up with so many good ideas. She would always stand up for us.

Why have they not been as visible during all of this?

A lot of their parents don't really support them. They have to kind of hide from them. A lot of them also were just coming out. But it's changing. I wouldn't say their parents are supportive, but they're not going to let their kids get treated bad over something like this.

Have you been out in the open more because you want to be a leader?

Not so much. This is just one little town. A leader to me is someone like Kevin Jennings or Martin Luther King Jr.--someone you can look up to. I just want to contribute to what they've done. I want to be a civil rights attorney who'll try to help people like me in a small town. I'm definitely going to be active in gay rights.

Do you think gay people will ever have full equality?

Definitely. The world is evolving so much now. There are going to be a lot more people taking a stand. There are so many intelligent people out there who can make a difference.

You seem to have a lot of hope for someone surrounded by so much oppression.

If you met my friends, you would too. Whenever I hang out with them, it's like the world can't stop us. Whatever we dream of or think of, we can accomplish. They're just such amazing people. Whenever I talk to them, it feels like, Oh, it'll happen tomorrow. They're so confident. If I don't have hope, then there's nothing left to hang on to. I'm not going to give up.

RELATED ARTICLE: People of the year: nine other individuals--in alphabetical order--who shaped the news in 2005 and whose bravery and brashness helped reshape the world for LGBT people.

John Aravosis 

"Pre-Gannon we had about 8,000 hits a day, and now we have 100,000, so Gannon has been very good to me," John Aravosis, 42, says with a laugh. He is, of course, referring to the impact on his AmericaBlog.com Web site made by infamous White House reporter Jeff Gannon.

In February, Aravosis helped expose Gannon's dubious background after he had raised eyebrows with partisan questions to White House officials during briefings.

Gannon, whose real name is James Guckert, had been writing for a Web site run by a wealthy Texan Republican activist. In addition, Aravosis discovered, Guckert had been moonlighting as a $200-a-night male escort.

Gannon lost his White House access, and much of the media was whipped into a fury about his easy access to the Bush White House.

Aravosis knows Capitol Hill well. He graduated with a masters degree in foreign service and a law degree from Georgetown University, then went to work for a Republican U.S. senator. Then a gay friend's death from AIDS changed him politically.

His first online success was StopDrLaura.com, followed by a protest against America Online after its e-mail service outed a Navy senior chief petty officer to the military.

"The blog is going better and better and starting to sustain itself financially, which means we can keep going," Aravosis says. "it's kind of exciting now that I'm actually able to do it for a living. It's cool that you can work on something full-time that does some good."--Greg Hernandez

Keith Boykin 

His book Beyond the Down Low, published in February, started 2005 with a bang for Keith Boykin. The work systematically debunked then-roiling myths about black male sexuality--in particular, that many black men "on the down low" were having gay sex in secret while living outwardly straight lives. Yes, Boykin pointed out, it happens; but no, it's not a "black" phenomenon--it crosses all races and ethnic backgrounds.

His year got more controversial in March, when he shared a hug with Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan. As Boykin, 40, tells it, the hug came after Farrakhan--often dubbed a homophobe and an anti-Semite--said that gays would be welcome at the Millions More March in Washington, D.C. in October. Boykin wrote afterward that he had introduced himself to Farrakhan as a black gay man and thanked him for his inclusive comments, and that "Farrakhan responded with a long warm embrace. 'Brother, I love you,' he said."

In the end, however, Boykin was turned away moments before he was to speak at the march. (Another out speaker, Cleo Manago, did appear.)

Nevertheless, Boykin says, "We are staring to see a black gay renaissance because black gay LGBT people are standing up and defending themselves It's important that we not allow people to beat us up, whether physically, psychologically, or emotionally."--Frankie Edozien

Melissa Etheridge

Courage comes naturally to Melissa Etheridge. Not that she'd call it that. She'd say "stubbornness" or "heart" or just "rock and roll." But however you label that outsize spirit in that pint-size body, cancer put it into overdrive. Diagnosed with stage II breast cancer in October 2004, Etheridge went through a lumpectomy and then did chemo at home with her wife, Tammy Lynn Michaels, and kids, Beckett and Bailey. She kept in touch with her fans via posts on her Web site. They showed their devotion by selling pink wristbands--with Melissa's initials and quote "Be strong"--to raise money for cancer research.

In February, Etheridge came roaring back. She rocked the Grammys bald, singing Janis Joplin's "Piece of My Heart," cracking America's heart wide open in the process. "It's like cancer knocked gay out," she laughed, explaining to The Advocate in October 2005 why folks from places like her own hometown in Kansas were suddenly reminded that she was one of their own.

We began to hear Etheridge everywhere: Releasing a power-packed greatest-hits collection. Headlining a Lifetime concert special. Sharing what she's learned about nutrition and stress as they relate to cancer. Singing the official song for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. Bringing her message to pharmaceutical conventions, to medical students on campus, to cheering cancer survivors in New York's Times Square in an outdoor concert for Good Morning America.

In the midst of her cancer-free 2005 holiday season, Etheridge is looking toward the future. Just before all this came down she wrote, "I want to see how lucky / Lucky can be." She's getting her wish.--Anne Stockwell

Maya Keyes 

When Maya Keyes, 20, came out of the closet, she faced the media glare.

Her father is far-right Republican Alan Keyes, who, during his unsuccessful race for a seat in the U.S. Senate against Barack Obama, characterized gay men and lesbians as "selfish hedonists."

When Maya came out to her parents at the end of high school in 2003, they told her being gay was sinful and refused to pay for her to attend Brown University that fall. Earlier this year they kicked her out of a home the family has in Illinois.

Maya got help from the Point Foundation, which provides assistance and scholarships to LGBT youths with leadership potential and financial need. Now Keyes speaks to students at colleges across the country. "My story really isn't mine," she says. "It's the story of so many queer kids across the country. My message to them is that they are not alone."

She adds, "It's not about demonizing my father at all. He's been a good father and I love him." So they still speak? "Sometimes," she says. "Not a whole lot, but occasionally."

Keyes has deferred her admission to Brown until fall 2006. She and her girlfriend recently settled into an apartment in Chicago, moving their belongings via subway.--G.H.

Brian Graden 

For years Brian Graden has been shepherding an LGBT cable channel to air under the watchful eyes of Viacom executives. On June 30 the former MTV and VH1 programming chief saw his ideas become reality as Logo finally launched; it now reaches 18 million U.S. homes.

While fellow pioneers Here TV and Q Television Network have staked out, respectively, the pay-TV and indie-upstart corners of the queer TV spectrum, Logo represents a multimillion-dollar investment by a giant publicly traded media company. It's a vital step forward in the struggle for LGBT visibility and equality that has attracted blue-chip advertisers like American Express, Volkswagen, Bud Light, and Hollywood studios.

Logo's programming success relies on Graden's leadership and expertise. "Brian is one of the most successful TV executives around," says Lisa Sherman, Logo's senior vice president and general manager. "He is one of the most insightful and intuitive people I've ever met."--Mike Goodridge

Robert Stout 

Sgt. Robert Stout caused a frenzy from Washington to Baghdad in April when he came out of the closet.

The unassuming enlisted man from Utica, Ohio, was still in the Army when he gave exclusive and courageous interviews to the Associated Press and The Advocate. He ripped into the U.S. military for continuing its "don't ask, don't tell" policy--especially during a time of war when recruiting numbers were falling short of projections. Stout's story was all the more compelling because he had been wounded for his country and was awarded the Purple Heart.

On the night of May 11, 2004, Stout and his platoon were about an hour southeast of the city of Samarra in northern Iraq. They were checking out a report about possible explosives in an abandoned truck when a rocket-powered grenade hit the right side of the Humvee.

Stout, one of five soldiers injured in the attack, temporarily lost his sight and took shrapnel in his face, arms, and legs, and he required surgery. But he returned for a second tour of duty in Iraq that summer and remained there until February 2005.

When Stout's story hit the news, he was not given a hero's welcome. His family was furious at him for going public, and his battalion commander read him his rights and outlined how he could be punished under the military's "don't ask, don't tell" policy.

Stout, though, was unrepentant, saying his sexuality had "no bearing whatsoever on my job, no bearing whatsoever with the people I work with. The government is sanctioning bigotry. It is just wrong."

Stout was discharged from the Army on May 31, 2005; military officials insisted that his discharge was not punishment for coming out. "When he returned to the U.S., he played an important role in explaining to the public that gays and lesbians are serving honorably by briefing U.S. Senate staff members and appearing at a number of gay pride events and parades," says Aaron Belkin, director of the Center for the Study of Sexual Minorities in the Military in Santa Barbara, Calif.

All of the attention has taken something of a toll: Stout is no longer making public appearances and did not respond to an e-mail request by The Advocate for a follow-up interview. "He's enjoying his return to a quiet, civilian life," Belkin says.--G.H.

Sheryl Swoopes 

Anyone who knows basketball has been in love with superstar Sheryl Swoopes since the night of the 1993 NCAA women's championship final game, when the lithe six-footer scored 47 points to lead her upstart Texas Tech Lady Raiders to the national title. The love affair only intensified in subsequent years, as Swoopes won three Olympic gold medals, four WNBA league championships with the Houston Comets, and three WNBA MVP awards.

Before this October, though, she belonged to the sports world at large. Now, girls, she's ours.

In a dignified, courageous, kick-ass announcement, the 34-year-old Swoopes revealed in October that she's in a long-term relationship with a woman. It was a shock to many of us, who still pictured her as that femme-y WNBA poster gal, a married morn with perfect makeup and hair. Even after she divorced her husband, Swoopes was no one's archetypal image of a sports dyke.

Surprise, surprise. Turns out she's built a strong family unit with her son, Jordan, and her love, Alisa "Scotty" Scott, an ex-hoops star herself and former Comets coach. But their cozy closet had gotten stuffy; the secrecy had turned soul-numbing. All it took was a sponsorship offer from Olivia Cruises and Resorts to give Swoopes the final push to come out. As an African-American and as a player still at the top of her game, her decision was momentous.

"Now you see why she's such a great ballplayer," says Olivia CEO Amy Errett. "She's a fighter--she stands up for what she believes in."--Michele Kort

Senfronia Thompson

Senfronia Thompson--an outspoken African-American Texas state legislator from Houston--got national attention in May when she blasted supporters of an anti--same-sex marriage amendment to that state's constitution. The measure passed by a wide margin on November 8.

Thompson stunned the chamber when she took the microphone at the back of the room, got a "get out of my way" look in her eye, and let the words rush forth.

"I want you to know that this amendment is blowing smoke to fuel the hellfire flames of bigotry," she said, comparing the legislation to the racial discrimination she experienced as a small girl when many believed that interracial marriages were a threat to the institution of marriage.

"So now that blacks and women have equal rights, you turn your hatred to homosexuals, and you still use your misguided reading of the Bible to justify your hatred," she said.

There was dead silence. It was as if "lawmakers froze in time," she said.

The day after Texas voters approved the measure, Thompson spoke with The Advocate. Her disgust is still palpable. "I have a gay nephew whom I love very much," she said. "I'm just so shocked that we would spend our time in that manner by finding a way to continue discriminating against people." She adds, "They take this sort of garbage, and they raise funds with it and then put wedges between people and their needs and their humanity by constantly discriminating against them. I don't find pleasure or joyfulness in those kinds of things."--G.H.

Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero

In 2003, Zapatero was barely known outside the region in northern Spain that he served as its parliamentary representative. That changed after the Socialists won the election and he became Spain's prime minister in March 2004, just days after Madrid's devastating terrorists attacks.

Zapatero's name would be on lips the world over, not just for abruptly pulling his country's troops out of Iraq--he was also instituting a bold new social agenda with marriage equality at the forefront. "The time has come for extreme respect for the sexual opinions of every individual, a time for a secular vision," he told colleagues soon after his victory. The married father of two girls added that he wanted his tenure to mark 'the beginning of complete equality of the sexes [and] the unceasing fight against criminal machismo."

The Roman Catholic Church, which had huge influence over previous Spanish governments, immediately unleashed a tidal wave of criticism, even endorsing a mammoth demonstration on Madrid's streets. Yet Zapatero, a lawyer, wouldn't budge.

Full and equal marriage for same-sex couples was approved in June, giving all citizens equal marriage rights, including those governing adoption and inheritance. Such sweeping reform has a ripple effect in other countries, says Paula Ettelbrick, executive director of the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission.

"It does put pressure or encouragement on other countries to follow suit," she says. 'We've seen the phenomenon fairly rapidly over the last 10 years around [jurisdictions] that have enacted domestic partnerships and civil unions."

On the flip side, it "strengthens the opposition globally" as nations like Uganda and Honduras explicitly banned marriage equality, she adds.

There is no looking back for Zapatero. The man who transformed himself from a bland politician to a natty dresser continues to fascinate. He has relaxed divorce laws, tossed out obligatory religious instruction, and is trying to eradicate sexism on the Iberian Peninsula.

Zapatero, 44, is now pushing a proposal that would allow Spanish princesses to become queens if they are the firstborn. At the moment, male children take precedence in ascending the Spanish throne.--F.E.