How West Virginia’s first transgender elected official is influencing local politics

WHEELING, W.Va. — When Rosemary Ketchum is introduced as the first openly transgender person to win an elective in West Virginia, there’s often a look of shock on people’s faces.

“People will say, ‘How did that happen?’ Like it’s like I won the lottery or solved a Rubik’s cube in front of them or something,” she said. “They think it’s magic.”

It doesn’t feel like magic to her. But in some ways she can understand their surprise. Of the handful of transgender officials in the U.S., only a few have been elected in similarly rural Republican Party-controlled states.

Ketchum, 29, is one of them. And next week, she could be elected again — this time as mayor of Wheeling, a former coal and steel manufacturing center about 60 miles (97 kilometers) outside Pittsburgh.

Growing up, she said she saw businesses close and people struggling to find housing and mental health care amid the opioid epidemic. Her spirit, however, is optimistic and she often thinks back to the first time she came across the motto “the friendly city,” Wheeling, on a welcome sign.

“I didn’t run for City Council to make history – I ran to make a difference in my community,” she said of her motivation for running.

Wheeling is a city of 26,000 residents with a unique place in West Virginia history. It is located in the foothills of the Appalachians, along the Ohio River, in an area that seceded from Virginia and the Confederacy in 1863.

More than a century later, a group portrait hangs in Wheeling City Hall. Ketchum is unmissable: she stands next to seven men in suits, wears a red dress, black heels and has platinum blonde hair. She also stands out during meetings, with her red-painted nails and laptop decorated with a Taylor Swift sticker.

At a recent council meeting, she asked questions about ongoing water and sewer projects, thanked city employees for their work and urged residents exposed to recent flooding to get a tetanus shot from the local health department.

For Ketchum, going to college — let alone working in politics — wasn’t in the plans.

When she was in high school, a tragic house fire razed the family home, leaving the family homeless. They had no home insurance or savings and had to temporarily move to the neighbors’ basement.

“We had no backup plan,” she said. “And unfortunately, many working-class families are in the same boat.”

After the fire, Ketchum arrived in Wheeling as a 16-year-old, in the middle of a gender transition. The family received food stamps and Ketchum worked as a bartender after high school. She later became the first in her family to graduate from college — and she credits being able to live in public housing for making that possible.

She later served as deputy director of the city’s local chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness – a job that, combined with her experiences, shaped the way she approaches public policy.

In 2023, Ketchum was one of only two city officials to vote against an ordinance intended to clear homeless encampments. She helped create the city’s first in-house position focused on homelessness – to help people find mental health care, permanent housing and employment.

Ketchum answers matter-of-factly when people ask her how she got elected as an openly transgender candidate: She put her name on the ballot, knocked on doors, made phone calls to ask residents what was important to them, and then confided. a decision.

“I didn’t predetermine or assume what they would think of me – I gave them the opportunity to think for themselves,” she said. “I didn’t walk up to a door and say, ‘Oh, this person has a Trump sign, they’re going to hate me.’”

Wheeling is the seat of Ohio County, where 38% of voters registered as Republicans in 2023, compared to 34% registered Democrats, according to state data. The positions of the municipal council are impartial.

Ketchum has some voters who have never met a transgender person before — or the idea of ​​gender nonconformity makes them uncomfortable. But she sees that as a test of leadership and motivation to work harder to address community concerns, ranging from accessible public transportation to support for small businesses.

“I find it fascinating that someone could say, ‘You know what, those trans people on television, on the Internet – I don’t know anything about that, but I have to say that a trans person helped pave my way or fill my hole. or prune the tree in my front yard or fix my sidewalk,” she said.

Kellie Ahmad, a local artist and volunteer in Ketchum’s campaign, said she has great respect for the way Ketchum deals with her opponents.

“She even has people who are viciously hateful towards her and call her and say, ‘There’s a lot in my area that needs mowing – can you get it done?’” Ahmad said. I don’t agree with who you are as a person, but you are effective. ”

Dianne Ketchum, Rosemary’s mother, said it wasn’t easy seeing Ketchum enter the world of politics. She had seen her daughter bullied as a child because of her gender identity.

But the world has changed since then and the perception of transgender people in the region is starting to change. People like Ketchum are a big part of that, Dianne Ketchum said, noting that she has seen people talk about transgender people with more tolerance and understanding since her daughter came to power.

“A lot of people have changed their minds because they met my daughter,” Dianne Ketchum said.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the council made Wheeling the only city in West Virginia to declare racism a public health crisis. They then banned conversion therapy, a powerful but symbolic move.

Ketchum said that during her campaign, people aren’t talking about the bathrooms they think transgender people should be able to use, or whether children should read books with LGBTQ+ characters in school. People often want to talk about repaving their roads or worry about how many young people are leaving the state — one of only two states to see a population decline in the 2020 census.

“That honestly gives me more respect for my neighbors,” Ketchum said. GOP lawmakers’ focus on book bans and bathroom access may draw attention statewide and nationally, but “at the local level it doesn’t work — it doesn’t register,” she said.

She said many people have developed an apathy or mistrust of government. But she is not concerned with cynicism. Instead, she gives her constituents her personal phone number and holds regular office hours at a local market where anyone can stop by and talk to her.

Ketchum talks about making streets safer for pedestrians, revitalizing downtown, and navigating the delicate balance between preserving and restoring the city’s graceful but blighted structures. She beams with pride as she shares progress on rehabilitating a historic suspension bridge – a bridge leading to a city island where she worked in a family bar.

“Sometimes we call it ‘the friendly city’ and that seems like an ambition because we are dealing with so much tension and there is a divide between generations somehow – especially in politics,” she said. “But I see it here every day. We’re getting somewhere.”