The Queer Religion
June marks one of the many Pride months that takes place every year, and being the over-analyser who has too much time on his hands that I am, it always really gets me thinking.
As a gay man who has been out for many years and aware of the fact he is gay for even longer, Pride month is something of a curiosity to me. I am not involved in any gay scene and while I have no ill-will or ideological hostility to anyone who chooses to celebrate Pride, it is just not something I feel any need to partake in. Hell, if it wasn’t for the big corporations and borough councils seeing it as a PR opportunity, I wouldn’t know it was Pride month at all. Now I’ve went on a slight tangent, but the relevance of Pride month to me is that it makes me think about what it means to be gay to me personally and how that differs from others around me. One such thought I have had is the how so much of “gay/queer culture” — with its rituals, icons, martyrs, and narrative — mirrors that of religion, and how this culminates during Pride. I am sure plenty of people have made inferences like this before on progressive causes more generally, but as a gay man who is also religious, I have decided to delve into it a bit myself.
Arguably the most iconic story — the founding myth if you will, in the queer canon is that of the Stonewall riots. If you’re not already aware of this story, in June 1969 in New York City, the Stonewall Tavern gay bar was raided by the police. Such raids were common at Stonewall and other gay bars, but the patrons were growing increasingly tired of the intrusions and in June of 1969, they fought back. With bricks being lobbed, tires being slashed, and punches being thrown, this was a watershed moment for the LGBT rights movement in the United States and elsewhere. However, the mythologisation of the event and the way it has cemented itself into LGBT life is what I am here to talk about.
Hundreds of LGBT people and their allies took part in the rioting, but one participant in particular has her named etched into the gay history books; Marsha P. Johnson. Johnson was a black, gender non-conforming sex worker and drag queen who frequented the Stonewall and by all accounts was an active participant in the eponymous riots. In the time since the riots, Johnson has been held up as a leader of the riots and a common myth for a long time was that she threw the first brick at Stonewall*. (*A since debunked myth that has become a meme among LGBT people online.) A readily-used line used when discussing Johnson and the incidents of Stonewall is that Johnson was a ‘trans woman of colour’. (NB: Johnson did not identify as transgender, nor specifically as a woman. These are labels that have been applied to her by others in the years since her death.) This narrative is really hammered home within politically-active LGBT communities and is equally espoused by LGBT-oriented media. When discussing her, there is always an air of gratitude to her and other ‘trans women of colour’ for the role they have played in gay liberation. In reality, Stonewall was a spontaneous and understandable outpouring of anger and frustration at the way LGBT people had little choice but to live in and looking back, most people accept that. But the fixation on Johnson persists and the centring of ‘people of colour’ in the LGBT narrative more widely only increases with time. Plus, with the exporting of American social, cultural, and political discourses, the Stonewall riots have become widely accepted as *the* defining moment for gay liberation across the world.
The purpose of me exploring this is not to downplay Johnson’s role in the riots or her fascinating life, but to highlight the way her legacy has been used to solidify the notion of an oppressed, victimised martyr for the cause. This, combined with the incessant focus on her race and gender identity demonstrates the way in which left-wing politics and intersectionality are imposed onto literally anything possible. Exalted, Johnson has become the saint of the LGBT movement.
The next symbol of queerness that has become inextricable from the LGBT community is the rainbow flag. LGBT people have used this flag as a marker for the community since 1978 and since then has become something easily identifiable with the community. Recently however, the flag has become somewhat contentious within LGBT circles; one incident that springs to mind is the dispute over the rainbow being the symbol of the NHS during the first COVID lockdown in March 2020. Some LGBT people felt uneasy about the adoption of the rainbow as a symbol for something other than LGBT issues. Additionally, there is the ‘progress’ pride flag which seems to be an increasingly common sight this year. This flag features the addition of a triangle of black, brown, blue, pink, and white, with the first two colours representing people of colour and the last three representing trans people. The debates around the flag within the LGBT community show just how immersed the community has become in symbols and shows the now apparently inalienable nature of intersectional politics and the sexual orientation of gay people.
The sacredness of the flag and the debates that come along with it remind me of religious iconography. It has become something so important in identifying the group that the NHS or its fans cannot dare use it without erasing LGBT people. But, it can be redesigned to further signal the makeup and virtues of the group.
And now I come to the organisation that has been on everybody’s lips, Stonewall. Much of the recent hullabaloo over Stonewall in recent weeks has stemmed from Liz Truss’ recent comments on the charity, in her role as Minister for Women and Equalities. Truss has urged public-sector organisations to withdraw from Stonewall’s employers scheme, whereby they charge firms £2,500 to evaluate their LGBT-friendliness as employers. Given that 250 government departments and public bodies are paying members of this scheme, it is understandable why Truss would doubt the value for money of the scheme, considering that the United Kingdom is an objectively safe and supportive place to be LGBT. As soon as her comments were made public, a flurry of rage came from the left, from Labour, and from people online. To many, this was just another incident of this apparently rampant Tory homophobia rearing its head. How dare they speak against Stonewall? But my question is, who made this specific charity the arbiter of LGBT rights in this country?
Now, I don’t want to diminish some of the great work Stonewall have done over the years. Their work on scrapping the punitive and unjust Section 28, challenging the inequality in age of consent for gay men, and their work on making schools better for LGBT young people in the 2000s is all highly commendable. Even their employers scheme at one time would have been very useful for LGBT people going into the world of work in times when homophobia was more present. Alas, times have changed and we don’t live in a society where LGBT people are second-class citizens. Stonewall do not have a God-given right to the ear of the Government —as an LGBT person, they are not my keeper. In the world of the queer religion, Stonewall act like the Inquisition. They uphold the orthodoxy, keep people on their toes, and make sure everyone is singing from the same hymn sheet.
And now we come to Pride celebrations themselves. As I am sure you will all be aware, Pride sees employers, businesses, governments, and everything in between unfurling one of the two Pride flags, changing their profile pictures on social media, and putting a graphic or two up. For the gays though, this is a month of partying, reflection, and laughing at the ways corporations (but never their Middle Eastern divisions) try and celebrate the month. Pride started off as a very political, gay rights-oriented event that usually had very specific demands for LGBT equality. Nowadays, it is something highly commercial, a time of leisure and the spending (or making) of money, depending which side of the till you’re standing at. And as such, Pride reminds me of Christmas in that, they are both events in which everyone partakes to some degree, some taking it more seriously and thinking of its true meaning while others just enjoy it. Corporations take advantage of it. People congregate to acknowledge it. Both are immersive experiences that fulfil a spiritual and interpersonal need of the participant.
My writing this is not intended to be disrespectful or disparaging of those who are actively involved with LGBT causes or anything like that, nor do I think I’ve come up with a particularly original analysis. Rather, I want to highlight the spiritual need we clearly all need to be filled. You could probably swap the LGBT community with New Atheists, members of certain political groups, people who like astrology, or even members of pyramid schemes and run the same analysis.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not entirely averse to Pride or LGBT issues but I have been lucky (well, am I lucky or am I just more representative of the time and place I have grown up in?) to have not been the recipient of any discrimination. It goes without saying that I have every sympathy with those who have, but I don’t see the use in me personally functioning as a victim of oppression just because some other LGBT people face inequality. I don’t need support or healing or community with other people who happen to be LGBT because I’ve never felt alienated from wider society. My spiritual needs are met by my belief in the triune God, attendance at Mass, and living a life led by the teachings of Jesus Christ. I completely see the value in saints, in statues and paintings, in avoiding heresy, and as such I can see the same thing on the part of many within the LGBT community.