The "LGBT Community" Fallacy

A population doesn’t make a community. Communities of affinity exist when members participate in events together and have a shared set of values.

I’m a gay man who is skeptical of the existence of a so-called “LGBT community.” The idea of this community is a belief rather than an objective truth, and I don’t affirm its existence for the sake of social niceties. Endorsing subjective beliefs to “be kind” is the behavior that landed society in the wreckage of Critical Social Justice activism. People have a right to their beliefs, and I have the right to write about why I don’t share those beliefs. 

Although there are indications that the tide is incrementally shifting, on much of the left, it is still the fashion of the day to view any dissenting arguments to popular subjective beliefs held by or about minority groups as anything from “not nice” to outright “hate.” I’d like this trend to go the way of bell-bottom jeans. That’s not going to happen until people get back into the habit of voicing their opposing views. In the interest of taking one small step toward ending  “Cancel Culture,” I don’t ever say, “LGBT community.” 

The claim that an “LGBT community” exists must be supported by evidence that withstands scrutiny. The only evidence supporting this claim is a population of self-identified gay men, lesbian women, bisexual and transgender people living openly across the globe. But a population doesn’t make a community. Communities of affinity exist when members participate in events together and have a shared set of values. Many people within the LGBT population participate in communal events, but many don’t. The identity groups that comprise the “LGBT community” have extremely divergent interests, behaviors, and concerns—and share little in common aside from minority status that some relish in and others resent. Also, people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender vary in a myriad of other identity characteristics and affinities, including age, race, political affiliation, citizenship status, income, and education level. The life experiences within this population are also varied. An out gay man in Seattle who enjoys the liberty of marching hand-in-hand with his boyfriend in a public parade has a wildly different life than his closeted counterpart in Tehran, who can be legally punished with up to 99 lashes or execution if convicted of sodomy under Islamic law. Everyone in this population does not meet together in communal celebrations, and they don’t share a monolithic set of values, behaviors, or life experiences.

Also, who is of this supposed community? Is a twenty-something man in a romantic relationship with a woman who, every now and then, decides to “take a walk on the wild side” with another man of the community? Is a thirty-something woman whose struggle with gender dysphoria desisted after years of exploratory psychodynamic therapy of the community? Was she of the community when she identified as male? Is she excommunicated now that her dysphoria has subsided? 

What about me? I happen to be a gay man; does that alone make me of this community? I used to go to gay bars, but I don’t anymore. I don’t attend events at the LGBT Center, and I don’t support it (or any LGBT organization) through monetary donations. I’ve never watched an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race. I don’t identify as “queer,” and I reject its political aspirations. Despite living in New York City for over thirty years, I’ve never set foot on the gay mecca known as Fire Island, and I haven’t been to a Pride parade since 2007. Am I to understand that, merely because I am romantically, intimately, and sexually attracted to other men, this makes me of a community? Do I decide what communities I belong to, or does someone else decide that for me? 

I believe this decision is being made for me to satiate other people’s political agendas. When the incantation of an “LGBT community” is cast, it is often followed by political jujitsu, asserting this “community” has a unified belief, cause, or demand, which I’ve already argued is false. In truth, this mythical community is frequently conjured as a cudgel wielded by the left to blame, shame, and expunge those not willing to capitulate to the latest LGBTQIAA2S+ youth activist temper tantrum. Conversely, it’s used by the right as a political “wedge issue” to frighten voters away from electing any Democratic candidate, be they moderate centrists, radical progressives, or anywhere in between. 

Worse, viewing the population as a community can superimpose the idea that this group needs protection. This impulse to protect had disastrous outcomes during the monkeypox (Mpox) outbreak that began in May 2022. On July 15 of that year, The NYC Department of Health and Mental Hygiene (DOHMH) decided to change its messaging about how the virus is contracted. Some within the department feared promoting abstinence might “stigmatize” gay men. Instead of honestly telling people about the risks of contracting the virus during sex, DOHMH said, “[f]or those who choose to have sex while sick, … sores should be covered with clothing or sealed bandages.” Whistleblower Dr. Don Weiss, a senior epidemiologist at DOHMH, knew this approach was dangerous, and took his concerns to The New York Times. In their response statement, DOHMH said, “For decades, the L.G.B.T.Q.+ community has had their sex lives dissected, prescribed, and proscribed in myriad ways, mostly by heterosexual and cis people.” However, when I am at risk of contracting a virus that causes extreme pain and possible lifelong scarring, I can’t afford other people’s identity politics and their virtue-signaling protection of imaginary “communities.” Rather, I want the best medical advice available and I don’t care about the identity of the person who gives it to me or what “community” the person giving me the advice comes from! Ironically, it was not the “heterosexual and cis people” at DOHMH who gave me the best advice about avoiding Mpox. It was Andrew Sullivan, a gay male journalist who took to his podcast The Weekly Dish along with gay activist Peter Staley. Their advice was, “cool it for a month.” Sullivan and Staley did not make me feel “stigmatized” by promoting abstinence. They told me the truth, which made me feel that somebody cared about me and my well-being. 

Identity divisiveness needs to stop. I don’t use the term “LGBT community” because I don’t believe it exists, it reduces a diverse population into a blunt, monolithic group, it reinforces an “us vs. them” mentality, and, as I just illustrated, it could be dangerous to my health. It fuels division at a time when Americans desperately need to come together. 

This Pride Month, it’s worth remembering that rights for LGBT people were secured because of the common humanity appeal made by those who said, “We live, laugh, and love just like you, all we want is the same rights everyone else has.” It’s time to stop segregating LGBT people into a “community” that is separate and apart from our wider society. It’s also time to realize that much of this divisive impulse is coming from within the LGBT population, and something needs to be done about it.

Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender adults need to stop being afraid of what young LGBTQIAA2S+ activists might say and start speaking up. Each day that we don’t stand up to activist fits is one more day that someone else might get bullied, canceled, or worse. The inappropriate behavior of young activists must be confronted by adults who believe their behavior is harmful. LGBT grown-ups need to proudly re-assert that here and now is the best place and time to be out and proud, and it will only get better if activists stop behaving like the bullies who once persecuted us. Pride does not call for revenge for past injustices. The attacks on heteronormativity, the patriarchy, toxic masculinity, and the pronoun wars need to end; if civil rights for LGBT people are rolled back, it won’t be by “conservative” political maneuvering, it will be a self-inflicted wound caused by LGBTQIAA2S+ activists and their overblown tirades that eroded the goodwill and trust built over time by people who made advances through a common humanity appeal. Activists may not like “heteronormativity,” but they all have to learn to live in a world where the majority are heterosexual. Let's be frank—none of them would be alive without some heteronormative behavior, and they should show a little gratitude toward those who brought them into this world. 

If I were to speak to one of these young activists, I would share my message for Pride 2024, which would be this:

Gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people are a minority, and that comes with challenges. Facing obstacles and overcoming them gives me a reason to get up in the morning—it gives purpose and meaning to my life. It’s also true that most people have challenges to navigate, so those who are LGBT  are not unique in this regard. A life well-lived is not one spent wallowing in identity grievance and pursuing revenge for injustices you did not directly experience. Nobody is advocating for forgetting the wrongs that occurred in the past; it’s possible to recognize the history of injustices inflicted upon LGBT people in the past while also expressing gratitude for the wonderful advances that have been made. It’s your job to make the most of the hard-won rights that have been earned for you so you might use those rights to pursue a life of joy and fulfillment despite the challenges inherent in being a minority. It’s not always going to be easy. There will be good days and bad days. And while I can’t say there is a “community” to support you, there are many people among a population that know what you’re going through and want you to live life to the fullest. 

Happy Pride!

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