Like many in the LGBTQ community, I am still grieving over those murdered at Club Q in Colorado Springs last month. I am also thinking about how much anti-LGBTQ rhetoric has created a climate in which such violence can germinate, and how much a purported concern over children’s well-being has played into that rhetoric. We need to reclaim the narrative of what it means to think of the children.
This “think of the children” argument is not new. It was used heavily to counter marriage equality in the earlier days of that fight. Marriage equality advocates, however, worked hard to transform it into an argument for marriage equality. By 2013, U.S. Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy wrote in Windsor that the anti-equality Defense of Marriage Act “humiliates tens of thousands of children now being raised by same-sex couples…. [and] makes it even more difficult for the children to understand the integrity and closeness of their own family and its concord with other families in their community and in their daily lives.” Variations of that argument were then used to win almost every other federal decision on marriage equality, including the 2015 Obergefell decision that established marriage equality nationwide. More than half of the Obergefell plaintiffs were parents.
“Think of the children” is still a sentiment being wielded against LGBTQ people, however. In the past few years, anti-LGBTQ people and organizations have used that concern, sometimes successfully, to ban LGBTQ-inclusive children’s books from schools and libraries, to block discussion of LGBTQ identities and history in classrooms, to stop transgender youth from using facilities and playing on sports teams aligned with their genders, and to criminalize those helping them access proven, gender-affirming health care.
Additionally, in 2022, there have been 124 incidents of anti-LGBTQ protests and threats targeting drag events, and eight proposed anti-drag bills, according to GLAAD, who note that right-wing media outlets “often misrepresented what would occur at upcoming drag events, spinning them as harmful to children, and protests or threats would follow.”
But wait. According to UCLA’s Williams Institute, 2 million to 3.7 million American children under age 18 have an LGBTQ parent, with the number rising to as many as six million if we include those already grown. They also estimate (PDF) that 3.2 million youth between the ages of eight and 18 are LGBTQ themselves. (And those are 2014 estimates; I’m guessing the number is higher today.) An estimated 300,000 youth ages 13 to 17 identify as trans.
Protecting and supporting the millions of children within the LGBTQ community (which includes children with LGBTQ parents) is reason enough to back LGBTQ equality and inclusion. These children bear the brunt of anti-LGBTQ sentiment and actions. At the same time, anti-LGBTQ actions and ideas also negatively impact an even larger group of children, such as this cisgender girl who has been harassed in restrooms and repeatedly misgendered by another parent at a soccer match because she has short hair. Add in the non-LGBTQ siblings and friends of children in the LGBTQ community, who may experience stigma by association and may also be harmed when bans remove books and other resources that could have helped them better understand the LGBTQ people in their lives. The bottom line is that anti-LGBTQ actions harm millions of children, mostly in the LGBTQ community but also beyond.
The anti-LGBTQ attacks ignore these millions. How can we show instead that LGBTQ inclusion and equality are in fact in the best interests of children—all children?
First and foremost, as during the marriage equality battles, we LGBTQ people and parents of LGBTQ children need to keep sharing—with friends, neighbors, our elected officials, and the media—the stories of how we and our children have benefited from LGBTQ equality and inclusion or been harmed by stigma, bias, and exclusion. Youth should share their stories, too, if they feel ready and can do so safely. If we cannot share our own stories without risking our safety or our children’s safety and privacy, we should lift up the voices of others.
We must also keep reiterating more generally how LGBTQ equality and inclusion have a positive impact on the lives of the millions of LGBTQ children and those with LGBTQ parents—and on their peers. Marriage equality is part of this, as we have seen above. Additionally, adoption equality makes more homes available for children of all identities; parentage equality ensures all children have the security of legal parentage, no matter the circumstances of their births; and employment and housing non-discrimination means LGBTQ parents are better able to provide for and shelter their children, all of which may relieve burdens on social services for everyone. LGBTQ-inclusive curricula can mean increased psychological well-being, better attendance, and higher GPAs for LGBTQ students, according to GLSEN’s 2021 National School Climate Survey. Raising those metrics can also help a school’s overall averages and reputation, benefiting all its students.
Family and school environments in which LGBTQ children are supported in their identities may also reduce the high risk of suicide and suicide attempts among LGBTQ youth, according to The Trevor Project. For trans youth in particular, this support includes best practice, gender affirming medical care. (See “LGBTQ Policy Spotlight: Efforts to Ban Health Care for Transgender Youth,” Movement Advancement Project, April 2021.) There is also research which has found that among youth in general, a friend or acquaintance’s suicide or attempted suicide is associated with an increase in the risk of suicidal thoughts and behavior. (See, for example, this study and this one.) This means that helping LGBTQ youth here may help others as well.
We also need to ally across groups within the LGBTQ community and those in related communities, like the parents who have come together in various ways around the country and online to protect their transgender kids, or parents of color and other marginalized groups who are trying to protect their children from bias and the violence it perpetuates. How can we better understand each other? How can we lift up each others’ messages? How can we provide support when one of us is attacked? How can those of us whose identities overlap these various communities act as bridges to understanding?
We must remind people, too, that there is no demonstrated harm to children who learn about LGBTQ identities, as children of LGBTQ parents have done for decades. (And research shows overwhelmingly that children of gay and lesbian parents are turning out just fine, thanks. There have been fewer studies on children of trans parents, but they have found the same.) There is no demonstrated harm in children attending a drag story time or family-friendly drag show.
In all this, we need to lean heavily on authoritative, peer-reviewed, medical and social science research, as we did during the marriage equality battles. Yes, anti-LGBTQ politicians have ignored or dismissed much of this research. We need to keep touting it, ever more loudly. Some extremists may never be convinced—but if we can convince enough in the middle, I believe we will be able to stop anti-LGBTQ legislation.
Some of this work is already being done by dedicated and thoughtful individuals, organizations, and communities. I want us all to think about what we can do to elevate it further.
If we can reclaim the “think of the children” argument, LGBTQ equality and inclusion will seem less like an outside agenda being thrust upon young minds, and more like a way to give all children the environment they need to learn and grow. Moreover, it will undercut a huge part of the anti-LGBTQ sentiment that has allowed hatred and violence to flourish. Will this strategy solve the problem of anti-LGBTQ rhetoric, legislation, and violence entirely? No; the situation is too complex for that and its roots go too deep. But this feels like a key place to put a good deal of effort right now.
Originally published with slight variation as my Mombian newspaper column.
