Currents

There's a secret present just beneath the surface of LGBT politics. Or maybe it’s not so much a secret as it is a truth too often left unspoken: the LGBT community is more diverse than it’s given credit for. Not just in terms of ethnic background or life experience, but in political views. There is a large gap between the supposed spokespeople of the community and the actual range of opinion held within it. I should know. I’m a university-educated Gen-Z bi guy living in California's San Francisco Bay area — and I’m a conservative.

Last year, I was invited onto the nearly nine million subscriber YouTube show Jubilee as part of their ongoing series “Middle Ground”, where groups of people with different beliefs come together, empathize with one another, and, well, find a middle ground. The episode in which I appeared involved LGBT folks from across the political spectrum having wide-ranging political discussions. Contrary to what the news and social media might lead us to expect, the conversations were civil, open-hearted, and illuminating. The entire experience showed me that LGBT people aren’t a monolith and that there’s a real appetite for discussions across the political aisle, which made me realize just how constrained our expectations have been conditioned to be.

Growing up in the 2000s, my parents never forced a particular religion, political ideology, or rigid value system onto me. Rather, I was encouraged to examine issues on a case-by-case basis. In a way, this made everything more difficult because instead of having a ready-made set of beliefs to start from, I actually had to figure out what I believed. And, to be honest, I’m still trying to figure things out. I’m not quite sure what I believe about religion and whether there is a god, and there are a great many issues on which I’m still deliberating. It can feel a little lonely sometimes, but the habit of thinking for myself is a gift I wouldn’t trade for anything.

My experience at university a few years ago is a now-familiar one. I became very well acquainted with the progressive worldview and social justice issues. In time, my multiple intersectional identities — being Hispanic, bisexual, and disabled — became the primary frame through which I saw myself and the source of my value. It wasn't until I started exploring more classically liberal and small-C conservative spaces on my own that I came to see myself first and foremost as an individual. In doing so, I realized that true freedom cannot occur unless we are able to see ourselves as more than the identities with which we are born.

My immutable characteristics are an important part of who I am, but they’re not the real me. Even if I lived in a society where everyone had the same culture, religion, and racial background I did, each of us would be different and distinct. Each of us would need respect for our individuality for us to enjoy the freedom to develop ourselves and enjoy our lives. As long as I am defined by various group categories, my individuality gets collapsed into a handful of labels. That mode of thinking makes it much too easy to divide society into a number of tribes, and to view everyone outside one’s own as other. Whatever good intentions people have when they lean into this kind of thinking, eventually it brings out the worst in humanity. As long as people look at me and see “Hispanic bisexual disabled” instead of just Zane, I will always be a kind of outsider.

This realization was one I never felt comfortable voicing on campus. Few expressed any views that could be perceived as conservative, nor those that questioned the left-wing orthodoxies that pervaded university culture. Even in the supposed “safe” spaces that, I was told, were made explicitly for people like me, I felt that I couldn’t be myself — because who I am cannot be summed up by my sexuality or ethnic heritage. The truth is it was far easier for me to come out as LGBT than to come out as a non-leftist. It was easier to be out and proud as a bi man than to openly question whether the US of the 21st Century is truly an oppressive patriarchy, or whether it is okay to denigrate white people as a category.

Since university, I’ve come to see myself as a moderate conservative. I believe in individualism, free speech, fiscal responsibility, human rights, and border security. I started popping up on podcasts like The Conversationalist and writing articles for outlets like Entrepreneur and Business Insider. When Jubilee put out a call for guests for their episode on LGBT politics, a friend encouraged me to apply. After a virtual interview and a few weeks of nervous anticipation, the Jubilee team selected me to speak on the episode. It was a dream come true to have the opportunity to express myself in front of such a big audience. There were a total of eight panelists — four folks who placed themselves somewhere left-of-center, and four right-of-center. It was a stimulating and respectful conversation. We discussed whether the LGBT community is too sexualized, whether drag is too sexual for children, whether “LGB” and “TQ+” should be divorced from each other, and similar topics. I seemed to surprise some folks with my answers because I never conformed to their stereotype of a right-winger. This illustrates the problem with political partisanship and tribalism. I am an individual, not a fixed set of predetermined talking points.

I personally find some LGBT Pride events too sexual and don't feel comfortable getting involved — and have said as much. (Recently, however, I attended San Francisco Pride and really enjoyed myself. It wasn’t the over-sexualized party I thought it was going to be. This is why we always need to question what we see in the media.) I think drag can be too sexual for children, but also that banning it is a violation of free expression. I also believe that even though the LGBT community encompasses a range of political views and divergent subcultures, it should remain united and not balkanize over its differences.

I agree with Alan Cumming when he says Pride has become more party than protest, and with Peter Tatchell when he says that the ideal future is one in which people care vastly less about sexuality as an identity. A lot of what I said ended up cut by the show’s editors because it wasn’t particularly politically charged or provocative. I shared how I feel welcomed by religion and spirituality, stressed the importance of sexual freedom, and emphasized principles over party or ideology.

As of the time I’m writing this, the episode has 2.6 million views. For appearing on such a huge platform as a self-identified conservative, I thought the Internet mob would cancel me or my friends would sever ties, but this didn't happen. After the episode aired in September 2023, many commenters said it was one of the best episodes Jubilee had ever created because of the mutual respect the panelists showed one another. Hundreds of people reached out with posts, emails, private messages, and even video responses. I was floored by how much support I received.

Even though I came on representing the conservative side during the episode, I never chose a “side.” I didn’t expect to change anyone’s mind. I just wanted to learn more about the LGBT community, meet new people, and share my perspective. There was no "debate" and nobody “won.” Every participant brought tremendous value, and we built a community. I still keep in touch with the other panelists. This gave me hope that people can see past labels and negative associations to appreciate each other as full, complex human beings. And it made me realize how pernicious it is that I — or anyone — is ever made to expect any less.

Going into the conversation, I had been convinced that I was some kind of outlier, but seeing the response made me realize that was far from the truth. Indeed, there is both greater support for right-leaning ideas among LGBT people and greater support for LGBT rights among right-leaning people than many may realize. Yes, homophobia and transphobia remain a problem in right-leaning spaces, and yet more Republicans in 2024 support same-sex marriage than all Americans did in 2010. In 2020, only half of LGBT voters identified as Democrats, with the other half split between independent, Republican, and other. The point here isn’t to represent the political right as an LGBT haven but to highlight an aspect of real diversity — viewpoint diversity — that too often gets paved over.

Moderate, libertarian, and conservative LGBT individuals will always exist. We are not some tiny fringe, merely entitled to our opinions as long as we know our place and hide in the background — we have essential perspectives that deserve to be included within the broader LGBT community. In a recent Independent Center poll, 44% of LGBT voters, a plurality, wanted political candidates who would reach across the aisle rather than work with either side exclusively.

Standing together as a community, while also standing proudly as individuals, has been the foundation upon which so much LGBT progress has been made. As divisive culture wars intensify, some of this progress is coming under attack. If we are to stand up for LGBT rights and spread them to the parts of the world in which our existence remains illegal, we can’t be divided and fractured. There are many leftists in LGBT spaces, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But when we pretend that being pro-LGBT is synonymous with leftism, or that LGBT moderates or conservatives are an insignificant or even traitorous fringe, we’re alienating and essentially writing off half of society. Far from being a liability we should try to paper over, the diversity of thought in the LGBT community is an asset we should embrace to reach more people. We are all different in our own ways, but it is that very fact of that difference — our individuality — that we all have in common.

Published July 25, 2024