Days after Orlando, I was headed south.

Tipped off by a Facebook post, I was traveling to a not-so-secret gathering of like-minded folk. This group would be attempting to organize a local resistance chapter to traditional Southern culture and socially liberal Yankees like me always fantasize about taking part in something like this. We really shouldn't, but we do. It’s in our blood. Solving blatant inequality north of the Mason-Dixon Line just isn't as appealing. I married into the culture and have always secretly liked parts of it, but the antebellum homes and large well-tended lawns of the traditional south have always been alien territory for this trans girl. The folks are nice enough, but without my southern-raised soulmate riding shotgun, I get a little nervous. On this mission, I was traveling very much alone.

Williamson County has long been considered an impregnable fortress for LGBTQ nation. A firebreak from recently liberated Davidson County politics, she is populated by more than a few church-going ultra conservative types seeking newer homes, bigger lawns, better schools and less folks like me. Chris Sanders, Executive Director of the Tennessee Equality Project, felt his organization’s presence there was long overdue. Armed with evidence of an expanding e-mail list from around the county in support of his organization, he called a local meeting to explain why.

Miracles happen, but conventional wisdom has always believed that it would truly take one for Team Pride to penetrate this traditionalist bastion. Deep in the heart of tea party central however, a well-dressed team of what passes for radicals down there sipped beverages on a warm June evening to hear his plan.

Founded in 2004 to combat a discriminatory state marriage proposal, the Project and its parallel TEP Foundation structure engage state and local governments on behalf of the Tennessee LGBTQ community while providing education and advocacy opportunities for businesses and schools.

The most important units of the organization are its county and local counterparts, Chris said. Only local residents can really monitor and respond to anti-LGBTQ bias in their backyards. By monitoring local governments, school boards and media sources, local TEP members operate as a first line of defense against potential trouble. They also help to educate their neighbors about LGBTQ issues and give support to local entities who treat all people fairly.

He told the room that the 2006 amendment vote result showed a noticeably higher proportion of Williamson County voters rejecting legalized discrimination of LGBTQ people compared to its surrounding counties. While not surprising due to an expanding population base, the discrepancy may also have been a harbinger of a more favorable view of LGBTQ people and issues throughout the county. If so, it would be in marked contrast to a commonly held perception of the county being a hotbed of anti-LGBTQ sentiment.

Bad state legislation and anti-LGBTQ agendas often come from Williamson County, Chris said. While these viewpoints probably do not represent the majority of Williamson County residents (including the majority of politically conservative ones), it does not look that way to the local and national media. The problem, according to Chris, is that local people are not calling out the politicians and social demagogues who embrace and encourage anti-LGBTQ viewpoints and other extremist positions. They use local political success as a springboard for state and federal ambitions while garnering out-of-proportion media coverage due to their sensational and often reprehensible ideas.

Chris feels that some of this coverage comes from the failure of major media outlets to seek other viewpoints in an overwhelmingly politically conservative region, usually because of cutbacks and journalistic laziness. It also happens because anti-LGBTQ people and organizations do a far better job of influencing local media outlets, governments and school boards than we do. This often leads to a snowball effect of locals embracing these positions because they never hear the other point of view.

Chris believes that the solution is for local LGBTQ people, allies and friends to openly speak out about LGBTQ issues, show public support for them and respond to those who publicly oppose full equality. He thinks that there is incredible potential for support of the LGBTQ community and ideals from untapped rural areas, Williamson County being a prime candidate. TEP has the resources and ability to help local advocates respond to anti-LGBTQ agendas in their own communities, but the volunteers and motivation must come from those areas. Outside support and help is welcome, but only locals can truly invite other locals to take a stand for basic freedoms. Local governments, school boards and houses of worship respond much better to advocacy from people they see on a regular basis than from outside organizations. And local communities of LGBTQ people, allies and friends can do one thing that outside groups really cannot: keep an eye out for each other and help create safe spaces for all people to thrive.

He had made a good impression, and a look at the faces around the table seemed to confirm that feeling. The core message for this newly-minted team of radicals was clear:

The fight is always primarily a local one and the final result will depend upon all of you. Are you ready to fight for full equality? Because change does not come unless you are willing accept that you may have to fight for it.

The battle for the conscience of Williamson County had now officially begun. Deeper rural fortresses such as Franklin County do not command the political prestige that successful exploding demographics bring to the table. The side who wins this potentially sharp fight will hold a strong advantage to influence the rest of the state.

I drove back home on the Franklin Pike, heading north this time with the smell of late season honeysuckle as company. I wondered what my late Green Beret dad would have thought of all this? Dad was packed off to a southern military school at a young age after one too many run-ins with the NYPD. He would not have been surprised at what I was supporting, but he probably would say that we were all about to get married to a good deal of trouble.

And then he would smile.

Julie Chase is the pen name for a local 40-something trans woman. A graduate of The University of the South at Sewanee, she loves butterflies, strong women and the Austrian School of Economics. Illustration by Melissa Gay melissagay.com