“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences” Audre Lorde, September 1979
I like inclusivity. Who doesn’t?
But I’ve started noticing an interesting paradox in inclusive spaces. By going to any length to include the traditionally excluded we have begun to exclude the traditionally included.
We could argue, of course, that it is their turn. Or that through this experience they’ll better appreciate the problem so many (minorities) have experienced for so long. Both true, to some extent, but even so, such attitudes (brush-offs, really) seem to undermine the very principle of inclusivity.
As soon as we make one person feel unwelcome, unwanted or uncomfortable we no longer have an inclusive space, we have a private, members-only club. There is an unspoken sub-principle at work in the inclusivity arena: we’ll include everyone… providing they agree with how we define inclusivity.
Local church
How this difficulty manifests, for me, has been at church. There is a local, very liberal church that goes out of its way to welcome those in the LGBTQ+ community, with the “Progress” Pride Flag displayed in prominent positions throughout the building (See full range of Pride flags).
Given that people who identify as LGBTQ+ (especially G) have traditionally been ostracised from religious communities, or at best accepted with imposed conditions (e.g. don’t act on your desires) it seems fair, indeed enlightened that they are now openly accepted and welcomed exactly for who they are.
Unfairness
I am reminded that it wasn’t until the year 2000 that homosexuals in Great Britain were granted the same age of consent (16) that heterosexuals had enjoyed since 1885—and note that in the latter case it was a raising of the age from 13 (previously 12) not a lowering. And it was as late as 1982 that the act of homosexuality was finally decriminalised across the whole of the UK. So yes, massive unfairness and discrimination of the gay community which has, by association, been experienced by the LGBTQ+ community as a whole.
So as one who cares deeply about both the individual and the relationships formed between individuals, i.e. the community. I choose to welcome all people with open arms, regardless of their life choice or disposition—which also includes those who have difficulty accepting others. Seek first to understand.
Forceful agendas
What I struggle with is having my freedom of choice undermined by a forceful agenda: especially the one related to transgenderism. After all, one can be supportive of any, or even all individuals without mindlessly abiding by an imposed, wider agenda.
Being gay/lesbian and being trans are very different issues. While the former is intrinsic, rooted in natural attraction, the latter is often a complex choice, rooted in a struggle for self-identification and often affected by neuro-diversity and mental health issues. The truth of this shows up in the growing number of detransitioners. Much more thought needs to be given to the way our differences are categorised.
The enemy
Such nuance seems to be very difficult for some people to accept—or even comprehend. There is a divisive force at work that rides on the idea that if you are not with us completely and totally, then you are against us. You are the enemy. (for more on this A sense of disquiet).
When attending this particular church, for services or other activities, I am wary, and very alertly conscious of not expressing a personal value that in any way challenges or confronts the agenda. I fear ostracisation, being labelled or even ‘cancelled’. So, while I support and agree with a great deal of work this church does, the safest thing, or perhaps just the simplest thing for me at this time, is to stay away, and attend a different church. Which I do—also an inclusive church – but one with a great deal less virtue signalling.
So problem solved. But not really, not really at all. How many others respond as I do, leaving behind only those that agree with the agenda? This, I imagine, is how societal divisiveness begins.
Enemy love
I am reminded of an important—nay, essential—message that comes to us first indirectly in the book of Jonah, and then clearly and directly from the mouth of Jesus, recorded in both the gospels of Matthew and Luke. Here’s Luke, 6:27-28:
“But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.”
According to the gospels, then, leaving is not a solution, because the question remains: How can we create an inclusive space that does not exclude those who oppose such inclusivity?
Those wholly unlike us
How do we learn to ‘recognize, accept, and celebrate’ that kind of difference? How do we learn to love our ‘enemy’—those who are wholly unlike us? Are such people just so bad that they should be excluded? Or are they just wrong and it is up to the enlightened ones (ourselves, of course!) to change their minds?
For sure, we could hope for a full inclusivity which comes when everyone thinks alike, and everyone abides by the same agenda. But we call that totalitarianism.
I wonder if there’s an alternative. I do hope so.
Tobias Mayer works as a teacher, facilitator and coach. He runs teamwork and leadership workshops utilising the Bible in creative and non-coercive ways, see Scripture at Work and Right Relations.
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Thank you, Tobias. This is a really thought provoking piece. In the church I attend they have started putting Pride flags in various spaces and one of my friends is really struggling with it because she has been brought up, and is still working through, the theology that people aren’t meant to be gay. She is staying because she likes too much else about the church, and her 11 year old daughter is very settled with the youth group there. But she would love to be able to talk through her thoughts and questions and theology and find a comfortable place for it all.
Like you say a space isn’t inclusive if everyone cannot express their thoughts and feelings in a safe way
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Thanks Diane. That’s the key thing, isn’t it?
Such opportunities don’t seem to be there. Church leadership seem to be making assumptions that everyone is all-embracing of this new agenda, not pausing to think that perhaps some of us may be struggling. Struggle doesn’t mean opposition. I want to write that in upper case letters! Thank you for adding your thoughts/experiences to this post. It is important to share what is happening in our own lives as we navigate this change.
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Hi Tobias, I appreciate the concern to think carefully about these issues, but I don’t think one distinction you’ve drawn is quite accurate or fair.
Being gay or lesbian and being trans are indeed different experiences, but both relate to deep aspects of who a person is, not simply choices they make. Sexual orientation describes who someone is attracted to, while gender identity describes how someone understands themselves in relation to gender. Both are intrinsic dimensions of identity.
It’s important not to frame being trans as primarily a “choice” or a result of mental health or neurodiversity. Research and the lived experience of many trans people make clear that their sense of gender identity is just as deeply rooted and persistent as sexual orientation is for gay and lesbian people. Mental health struggles may sometimes accompany the distress of living in a society that doesn’t always understand or accept them, but that is very different from saying mental health causes someone to be trans.
There’s a wide body of research — for instance from the APA (American Psychological Association), WHO, and peer-reviewed studies — showing that being trans isn’t a mental health condition or a choice. Rather, it’s a deep-seated identity, much like sexual orientation. In fact, in 2019 the WHO removed “gender identity disorder” from its list of mental illnesses, recognising that trans identities are not pathological.
So while there are differences between sexuality and gender identity, both are best understood as fundamental aspects of personhood rather than lifestyle choices. Recognising that helps us extend respect, compassion, and dignity to people across the spectrum of both sexuality and gender.
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Hi Tim. Thank you for taking the time to respond. What you say is true—in some cases, but not all. There is, as I mention, a growing number of people detransitioning (no organisation seems to want to keep track of the numbers, but there is much anecdotal evidence). This would imply a choice, followed some time later by a different choice. I have yet to hear of someone being de-gayed
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Tobias, Thank you for your thoughtful response. I agree with you that inclusivity should never mean silencing or excluding people who have questions, hesitations, or different perspectives. The church should be a place where people can bring their whole selves—including their doubts and struggles—and still be received with love.
You raise detransition as evidence of choice. It’s true that some people do detransition, and their stories matter and should be listened to with care. But the data we do have (including from the UK and the US) suggests the numbers are very small compared to the many thousands who transition and remain settled in that identity. The most common reasons people detransition are not that they were “never really trans,” but rather due to external pressures: lack of family or social support, fear of discrimination, or economic hardship. That’s very different from saying being trans was simply a wrong choice.
And just as people don’t become “de-gayed,” people don’t “de-trans” in the sense of discovering they were never trans at all. What happens is that social, relational, or personal pressures sometimes make it too difficult to continue living openly in their gender identity. That’s a pastoral challenge to us as communities: how do we make sure people are supported enough that they don’t feel forced into retreating from who they are?
I hear your concern about agendas and freedom of thought. I think we can hold space both for people who fully affirm LGBTQ+ inclusion and for those who wrestle with it. But I would gently suggest that part of loving our neighbour begins with being informed by the best available understanding of who they are, not assuming that one group’s identity is ‘real’ and another’s is a ‘choice.’
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Hi Tim. Firstly, thank you for your calm and respectful approach to this conversation; it’s exactly the tone such a difficult (and potentially divisive) topic needs to move forward. I appreciate it very much. You said an important thing here:
Yes. And the best available understanding of course comes from the person themselves. It doesn’t come from data or statistics, and certainly not from my assumptions! Each person has their own story, and it is the stories we need to hear.
I probably need to hear more stories from those who do not see their transition as a choice, but as something inevitable, to provide me with a more balanced, or wider view; and perhaps you could listen to the stories of detransitioners to understand there are many reasons people make that choice, mental health reasons being among them. The link in this post has one such story. Detranisitioning is also not uncommon among young people coerced into transitioning at a very young age by well-meaning parents and over-zealous doctors. You can easily find these stories if you look for them. It is not as simple as you outline here that,
I’ll add, be careful with using statistics to prove a point. I’ve heard that the ‘very small number’ is around 1%, some studies indicate higher, but let’s say it is even lower, maybe 0.5%. This means that for every one million transitioners there are five thousand individuals who, through choice, coercion or some other reason are living with regret, and often great physical and mental anguish. Five thousand actual people, not half-a-percent of some group. Each of those five thousand will have their own story. Which brings me back to your point:
Loving our neighbour begins with being informed by the best available understanding of who they are.
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Thank you again for the respectful way you’re engaging. I agree with you wholeheartedly that stories matter, and that each person deserves to be heard on their own terms.
I do want to gently but firmly challenge one point you’ve raised: the idea of “well-meaning parents” coercing their children into a trans identity. Speaking as the parent of a trans child, this suggestion feels hurtful and very far from the truth. Our family’s story is the opposite, we tried every day to encourage our child to live according to the gender they were assigned at birth. It was only after years of seeing the pain and distress this caused that we finally stopped resisting and began to listen to them. That was not coercion, it was the slow, reluctant letting go of our own assumptions. No parent in their right mind wishes their child is trans. Trust me, it is a lot easier the other way. And I can honestly say the professionals we have worked with, doctors and psychologists alike, have been careful, compassionate, and thoughtful. There has been no trace of pressure, only a desire to support our child’s wellbeing.
On statistics, I hear your caution, but I don’t think it is fair to dismiss them. Lived experience is vital, but so is the wider picture, because no one person’s story represents everyone. That is why we need both. I share statistics not to erase or minimise those who detransition, but to keep perspective. Their stories matter deeply, but they are not the majority experience. Without statistics, we risk shaping our understanding around a handful of stories while ignoring the thousands who have found peace and flourishing in transition.
I would also gently say this: when writing publicly about experiences that are not our own, especially something as tender and complex as being trans, it is really important to listen carefully to people on both sides first. Otherwise it is too easy to end up amplifying only the stories that confirm our own assumptions, while missing the voices that might challenge them.
So yes, let’s listen well to all the stories. But let’s also be careful not to let the few who regret transition define the many who don’t, or to assume that parents or doctors are pushing children down a path, when for most of us the reality is much more reluctant, painful, and ultimately grounded in love.
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Tim, my apologies for the hurt my last comment caused for you. It was not intended to mean “all parents”, not by any stretch. The Chloe Cole story is one that comes to mind: loving parents wanting to do their best by their child, but not getting a fair and thorough assessment before being guided to a decision, which clearly was not the right one for the child. This lack of pre-care seems to be a common factor across many detransitioning cases.
You make a fair point though, that both story and generalisations are important to consider. It can never be one or the other. I do have friends who have happily transitioned, and feel more of who they really are as a result. As you point out, this is the majority experience, yet it is not the exclusive experience and as more of the other kind of story comes to light I feel it is important to hear those stories.
But back to the focus of my original piece, it is the lack of dialogue (this kind of dialogue in fact) that causes some to feel ostracised by the outward display of support for one particular group. All voices need to be heard, in this case trans, detrans, informed, uninformed, supporter, doubter—even outright skeptic. Only then can we really talk about inclusivity.
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Thank you again for the respectful way you’re engaging. I agree with you wholeheartedly that stories matter, and that each person deserves to be heard on their own terms.
I do want to gently but firmly challenge one point you’ve raised: the idea of “well-meaning parents” coercing their children into a trans identity. Speaking as the parent of a trans child, this suggestion feels hurtful and very far from the truth. Our family’s story is the opposite, we tried every day to encourage our child to live according to the gender they were assigned at birth. It was only after years of seeing the pain and distress this caused that we finally stopped resisting and began to listen to them. That was not coercion, it was the slow, reluctant letting go of our own assumptions. No parent in their right mind wishes their child is trans. Trust me, it is a lot easier the other way. And I can honestly say the professionals we have worked with, doctors and psychologists alike, have been careful, compassionate, and thoughtful. There has been no trace of pressure, only a desire to support our child’s wellbeing.
On statistics, I hear your caution, but I don’t think it is fair to dismiss them. Lived experience is vital, but so is the wider picture, because no one person’s story represents everyone. That is why we need both. I share statistics not to erase or minimise those who detransition, but to keep perspective. Their stories matter deeply, but they are not the majority experience. Without statistics, we risk shaping our understanding around a handful of stories while ignoring the thousands who have found peace and flourishing in transition.
I would also gently say this: when writing publicly about experiences that are not our own, especially something as tender and complex as being trans, it is really important to listen carefully to people on both sides first. Otherwise it is too easy to end up amplifying only the stories that confirm our own assumptions, while missing the voices that might challenge them.
So yes, let’s listen well to all the stories. But let’s also be careful not to let the few who regret transition define the many who don’t, or to assume that parents or doctors are pushing children down a path, when for most of us the reality is much more reluctant, painful, and ultimately grounded in love.
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I found this a good and gracious post on the limits, in practice, of inclusivity. It used to be said that there was nothing more illiberal than a liberal and it felt like a bit more of that.
I am interested that the discussion seemed to move at speed into issues of human sexuality. I wonder if there are other issues where our inclusivity is a bit limited. I am at present exercised about matters of immigration and my sense that there may be more people within the Christian community whose views differ from mine than I had imagined.
I wonder if the invitation is to create Christian communities where people are able to be honest about what they think and feel and where we can learn to listen to one another in a respectful way. This, of course, links in to the invitation from God to be honest with Him and to discover that when we are honest about the less good bits of us, God does not descend upon us like the tonne of bricks of a 1950s HeadMaster. If we could crack that we might start to become hope for the world. Doing this is never going to be easy and perhaps the starting point is acknowledging that true Christian community is harder to achieve that most of us are willing to acknowledge.
I was blessed to work for some years with Simon Barrington-Ward who often spoke of how the first Christian community that he really found attractive was a “community of the unlike”. On the odd occasions I have encouraged it it has been something truly wonderful and something the world and the church need so desperately.
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