A few years ago in an online grad class, another student made a statement that floored me. “LGBTQ people can’t work in national parks,” she wrote.
As a US national park ranger and a bisexual, I was confused and slightly offended. Was this woman saying I didn’t exist? That I shouldn’t have my job?
For context, in class we had just read a piece written by a gay man who worked at state parks as a biologist and experienced significant homophobia in them. His story was tragic and upsetting.
Based on this man’s experience (which had happened decades ago and not in national parks), my fellow student made sweeping assumptions about national parks. She lamented that national parks didn’t accept anyone LGBTQ+ in their ranks and advised that no one who identified as such would feel safe or should even try working at one.
The student was making some pretty big leaps with her logic, but, after my initial irritation, I realized that she was disturbed at the homophobia we’d read about and maybe wasn’t thinking clearly after. Perhaps she herself was LGBTQ+ and had always dreamed of working at a national park. And now here was someone throwing a bucket of homophobic water on the flames of her dreams. (Again, the author of the article didn’t even work at a national park, but whatever, I’m trying to be understanding here.)
I was glad the course was online because I had time to process my annoyance and come up with a solution before responding. I realized that our professor, though well-intentioned, was falling into the trap of only relaying LGBTQ+ disaster stories. “You want representation? Here’s a story about someone who never fit in and was miserable their entire career. Feel represented!”
Now, I’m not suggesting we forget stories of struggle. I was thrilled that this man had the courage to speak out about the harassment and bigotry he faced. But, as with any big problem (think how demotivating an onslaught of terrifying facts about climate change can be, for example) just making people upset isn’t enough to incite action. You have to give them a little hope as well.
So here’s my infusion of hopeful representation, which I shared with the class and with the pessimistic student: my experience working for the National Park Service (NPS) was the exact opposite of that man’s decades ago in state parks.
To answer the question: yes, LGBTQ+ folks do work in America’s national parks. A 2017 internal NPS study found that 4.9 percent of employees asked identified as not being straight, 0.1 percent as transgender, and 0.3 percent as nonbinary. Combined, that’s 5.3 percent–slightly higher than the national average of 4.5 percent of Americans identifying as LGBT according to a Gallup poll conducted the same year.
The percentage of Americans identifying as LGBTQ+ is on the rise though, up to 9.3 percent in 2024. Hopefully the NPS is keeping pace with that number, and if my experience is any indicator it is.
As a US national park ranger I worked with openly gay and lesbian and bisexual and trans national park rangers. I walked in a Pride march in my park service uniform, arm and arm with allies and other queer folk, at the request of my supervisor, who announced that now that Stonewall was a national park site we were duty-bound as national park rangers to celebrate Pride.
I saw my LGBTQ+ friends and colleagues treated with respect at their national park jobs, even working in leadership roles (I worked for a lesbian park superintendent and never heard a single colleague make a homophobic comment about her or her wife). Personally, I found the NPS to be a safe space to be openly queer and never felt like I had to change or hide to be accepted by my supervisors or colleagues.
I also didn’t come out to every person I worked with, and being a bisexual, cisgendered woman is different from being other things. I won’t pretend that I don’t have privilege or that my experience was universal.
I am not saying that all park employees are accepting of LGBTQ+ people and their rights or that the organization is perfect by any stretch. There is still a lot of work to be done for the NPS to have a diverse workforce. What I am saying is that my fellow student’s statement was wrong: you absolutely can be LGBTQ+ and work in national parks.
If you are LGBTQ+ and want to be a national park ranger or work in biology at a state park or in any other outdoor career, know that you may experience homophobia or transphobia or other forms of discrimination. But also know that you may find acceptance. I did, and I know many other LGBTQ+ folk who have as well.
I’ll tell you what I told that student: don’t let anyone frighten you out of pursuing your dreams.