David J. Johns Won’t Stop Fighting for Queer Black Youth

Last November David J. Johns, CEO and executive director of the National Black Justice Collective (NBJC), an organization that works to empower Black LGBTQ+ people, wondered if he should stop getting eye-catching manicures. 

“There was a part of me that processed [how] not painting my nails could, in some ways, minimize the target that exists on my body,” he says. “Then I thought about why I started painting them in the first place, which was having a student who wanted to do it and did not want to be bullied.” Johns, who is sporting funky-colored puzzles and polka dots the day we speak, spends the majority of his day advocating for equity. While equality means treating everyone the same, equity accounts for an individual’s personal needs, he explains. He compares it to a box that might be given to folks trying to watch a game over a fence—a shorter person might need a taller item to be able to have the same view. 

To champion these values, NBJC annually releases its federal policy agenda, which it advocates for through initiatives such as “Equity Week,” a series of events in D.C. leading up to Juneteenth. The organization also partners with local educators to offer cultural-competency development about Black LGBTQ+ communities and nonprofits such as the Boris L. Henson Foundation to provide free mental-health services for Black queer youth. 

Cognizant of the challenges coming under President Trump, who on day one signed an executive order declaring that the federal government recognizes just two "immutable" sexes, Johns, 42, looks to the actions of those who came before him. His home office is filled with books and art depicting U.S. civil rights leaders and authors—feminist and social critic bell hooks, former President Barack Obama, whom he worked under as the executive director of the White House Initiative on Educational Excellence for African Americans, to name a few—and he highlights their work throughout our conversation. Of Bayard Rustin, the Black, gay activist behind the 1963 March on Washington, he says, “When I think about the challenges that we face institutionally, organizationally, or as a country, I'm reminded that this man did things in spite of obstacles erected by people who purported to be his friend. If he could do that with the resources he had, then I can create magnificent and awesome things.”

Johns’ work as a former elementary-school teacher also keeps him going. He recalls being at his doctorate-degree graduation when he heard a voice calling out for Mr. Johns. “I recognized the voice, but I did not recognize the person standing in front of me. And I'm introduced to Ernie, who reminds me that when I had the pleasure of teaching them in kindergarten, they were Ernestine. My baby was trans,” says Johns, who saw the interaction as yet another reminder of how harmful it can be when politicians try to restrict discussion of gender and sexuality in the classroom. “If I had capitulated to ignoring, possibly shaming transness or queerness in some way, Ernie might not be here.”