A woman with a long ponytail faces away from the camera holding a soccerball under her arm. She wears a soccer jersey with rainbow sleeves.
Credit: Claudia Ayuso Ramirez on iStock

NPQ’s column, We Stood Up, features first-person stories from workers, builders, activists, and organizers of their work and world. From inspirational stories to strategic insights and powerful solutions, these stories may offer a moment to breathe, collective wisdom, and the community solidarity we need to keep pushing toward a just and equitable future. 

This installment of We Stood Up is published in the spirit of #WeTheCivic: America 250, a narrative movement to put the multiracial nonprofit and civil society workers, organizations, and communities at the center of how the United States tells the stories and histories of 250 years of fighting for a true, vibrant democracy for all.

The sun held high as the Queer Soccer League’s (QSL) players, dressed in shorts and sneakers, with brightly colored mesh pennies over their tops, walked onto the field at Dean Playground in Prospect Heights, a neighborhood in Brooklyn, NY. It was a warm, breezy day. The players sauntered to their position of choice: the experienced players lined themselves at the front and center field, and the less experienced players positioned themselves near the net as defenders.

After the whistle sounded, the ball passed quickly from player to player. Pink played against dark blue on one field, and gray against green on another. When a teammate scored, the players cheered, “Congrats!” When a shot was missed, someone shouted, “Nice try!” After two hours of play, the rosy-cheeked athletes had streaks of sweat running down their temples, large circles of moisture had gathered on the front of their shirts. The players took off their pennies and gathered their backpacks to walk over to the nearby gay bar Branded Saloon.

This is a typical session for the QSL players.

The Need for Inclusive, Supportive Sports Leagues

The QSL, founded by Hannah Kate Kelly, and a similar initiative called Ladies Village Soccer, run by Trisha Sommer, are communities of LGBTQ+ individuals of various experience levels who come together to play pickup soccer and socialize in New York City. Kelly and Sommer are queer women who raise money for game uniforms and materials and independently organize matches after work.

“Being queer isn’t always a deliberate political statement, but this space feels like a way to fight back.”

Caitlyn Langille plays as a forward. She joined the QSL two months ago. “It feels beginner friendly. They give each other tips about dribbling or trapping the ball. If you’re good, you need to pass it to somebody who’s newer and help them score,” she told NPQ.

“I definitely will continue to go,” she added “I would consider people friends now as opposed to acquaintances. You’re welcome there even if you show up alone.”

The atmosphere on the field is relaxed. Players are encouraged to pass the ball and have minimal physical contact to avoid injuries. There is no scorekeeping. There are no winners or losers.

“I try to make everybody feel welcome, especially if we have new players,” Hannah Kelly expressed in an interview with NPQ. “I always make sure to go up to them and say, how’s it going? When I’m joining a team, it can be scary. We want to make sure those players feel like they’ve come to a place where they feel safe.”

Supportive sports leagues are important, especially now. As of June 2026, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) has tracked 530 anti-LGBTQ+ bills, 31 of which have been signed into law. Among them are legislation that restricts access to healthcare, bans transgender people from safely accessing bathrooms, and sets barriers for people to get IDs that accurately reflect their gender identity, among others. According to the American Psychiatric Association, trans and nonbinary youth are the least likely to practice sports, and only about one-third of queer youth participate in sports. Nonprofits like Big Apple Recreational Sports and Athlete Ally are working to change that.

Leagues of Belonging

Earlier in the day, Kelly arrived at the park with her shopping cart of supplies that included a first-aid kit, orange cones, and large tangled nets. She had washed the pennies at the local laundromat, checked the league’s website, and printed out a list of the attendees. It is a weekly task she performs before every soccer game.

In May 2026, the QSL celebrated its five-year anniversary. “I didn’t plan on being around this long. I knew that as long as I was living in the city, that I really wanted to have a queer community. A lot went into making the team sustainable,” Kelly said. “Every time I get to soccer, we’re reconnecting to ourselves, we’re having fun, and everything else goes away. I just feel happy. Endorphins really work.”

“I don’t have any fear or reservations about mentioning I’m trans. Knowing that trans people are openly welcomed in the league makes me feel comfortable.”

Kelly was inspired to create the QSL after Dyke Soccer disbanded in NYC during the pandemic. She wanted to make a similar league where a motley crew of queers could hone their soccer skills together, help each other embrace their identities, and build friendships. After the games, players typically walk to a local bar to hang out. Many have met acquaintances, friends, romantic connections, and partners at practice.

As Sommer shared with NPQ, “It is important to have these spaces where we can just exist in our authentic selves. Being an athlete has been part of my identity way before I even realized I was a lesbian.”

Ladies Village Soccer is another LGBTQ+ soccer league based in lower Manhattan. It was created by a group of queer women in 2010 after they watched the World Cup at the Cubbyhole, a lesbian bar. Sommers took on the role of managing it. Like the QSL, players of all levels are encouraged to join, and it has a friendly, noncompetitive vibe. Both leagues have a loyal following and are well known in the local scene. Some of the most dedicated players have kept the league going for 16 years.

Aaron Horth finds a respite from the daily difficulties of discrimination against trans people, when they play with the QSL. They told NPQ that “I don’t have any fear or reservations about mentioning I’m trans. I’m mostly out. I always have a nice time. Knowing that trans people are openly welcomed in the league makes me feel comfortable.”

In 2025, the number of anti-trans bills was approximately almost 7 times higher than in 2021. This year, the majority of bills target student rights in schools, access to gender affirming care, and participation in sports, as shown by the Trans Legislation Tracker. Proposed laws for K-12 students and higher education aim to restrict the definitions of gender and sex in sports, and over one-third of states have already passed bills that ban trans pupils from participating in sports.

“Anti-trans rhetoric is a tool that is being utilized to discriminate against folks. Sports has always been a space where you encourage young people to form connections with their peers, yet it remains a place that is not as accepting of queer folk, and in some cases, it is barring them from participation,” Jordyn Lexton, the director of development at Athlete Ally, and a transmasculine former athlete, told NPQ.

Athlete Ally is a nonprofit that supports queer college and professional athletes. One of the organization’s goals is to create allyship for trans athletes. The organization runs 32 campus chapters and hosts an annual gathering called Athlete Activism Summit, which brings college students, athletes, coaches, and administrators from all over the country to make school sports more welcoming. At the professional level, it collaborates with Olympic and Paralympic athletes to create social media content that advocates for queer inclusion. It also works with major leagues such as the NBA and WNBA to help them develop open job policies.

“We have an opportunity to let sports act as a Trojan horse to help us foster a future version of society that we want to see.”

“It is critical for the nonprofit landscape to recognize this moment of cultural divide. We have an opportunity to let sports act as a Trojan horse to help us foster a future version of society that we want to see. We are so divided as a society, but when people put on the same jersey, some of those differences go away,” explained Lexton.

Lexton recalled the challenges of being closeted in an unwelcoming high school, and their queer teammates and lesbian coaches at that time weren’t out either. That experience inspired them to advocate for LGBTQ+ inclusion in sports. At 40 years old, Lexton still struggles to find where they fit in the world at large. As an alumnus of Dyke Soccer, they found belonging in queer leagues.

Safe Spaces as a Way to Fight Back

Advocates are concerned about the mental health of queer youth, particularly in comparison to their straight peers. The practice of sports for LGBTQ+ people has been shown to improve self-esteem and mental health, but only about 12 to 14 percent of transgender youth and about 20 to 29 percent of LGBTQ+ youth choose to be active. The binary gender barriers in sports and fear of discrimination holds trans kids back.

Trans youth are afraid to change in the same locker rooms as other students. The majority fear a lack of support and exclusion, so they choose to remain closeted based on findings by the American Psychiatric Association.

“We’re working to break down stereotypes to create more inclusive and loving spaces where people feel like they can fully be themselves without being targeted inside of locker rooms,” shared Lexton.

The nonprofit Big Apple Recreational Sports (BARS) is working to carve out inclusive spaces for LGBTQ+ athletes. The organization has Women, Trans, and Non-Binary (WTNB+) divisions for bowling, dodgeball, pickleball, and kickball to center players that aren’t cis men. It hosts an annual charity tournament, the Big Apple Sports Classic, which raised over $25,000 last year for youth.

“Queer sports in the city have really exploded. I’ve seen people’s strong allyship with trans and non-binary players. You can really see them coming together and making sure our spaces are safe and open for our whole community. It has been really exciting,” Katie Forman, a commissioner at BARS, told NPQ.

Forman took part in the initiative to create the WTNB+ groups in 2023, and she still helps lead them. When she first joined BARS, those divisions did not exist. The queer kickball and dodgeball leagues have successfully grown from a few dozen attendees to hundreds. Queer athletes make up about one-third of participants, and the organization plans to continue expanding its reach.

“It’s really important to take away the stigma around sports and fairness and people of different gender expressions being on the same team,” Emma Davis, a founding member of the QSL, shared with NPQ, “Being queer isn’t always a deliberate political statement, but this space feels like a way to fight back.”