Not an epitaph

Why dignity, equal opportunity for all, and fairness remain legitimate goals and how we only scratched the surface of LGBTQ+ equality

Before I was fully out, around 2002, I complained to my mother that a relative had made a homophobic comment at a family gathering we attended. She replied, “You’d better develop a thick skin; it’s going to be like this your entire life.” I remember it because it sounded true at the time. Being gay meant feeling different and unwanted.

But she was wrong. I encountered less and less homophobia in my daily life except during the anti-gender and anti-LGBTQ+ protests in France around 2012 and 2013. It has now been years since I have been called a “faggot” in the streets, once in Boston around 2008 and once in New York more recently. I lost all anxiety about my children’s experience in public schools.

In New York, civility between the majority and the LGBTQ+ minority is a given. Beyond, America warmed up to us. There remain pockets of homophobia, of course. My kids mention banter at recess, and “gay” is still an insult in multi-player video games, but it is marginal.

Of course, only a handful of us benefited from this tremendous progress in societal attitudes. For most LGBTQ+ people globally, to paraphrase Hobbes, life remains 'solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.'

Yet, long before Stonewall, LGBTQ+ people envisioned that dignity, equal opportunities, and fairness were achievable goals. If we worked towards them with our allies, meeting people where they were and gradually bringing them along on this journey of acceptance, discrimination and harassment would become a thing of the past.

It would take some endurance. Working on LGBTQ+ inclusion in development, human rights, and governance agendas, first at the World Bank, then at the United Nations in 2016, and more recently with the Association, I witnessed deep resistance, too. Colleagues—some with PhD in Economics, even gay colleagues sometimes —mocked our efforts as “frivolous,” “unprofessional,” and distracting from the nobler goals of reducing poverty, defending “real” human rights, or improving corporate governance. Sometimes, it triggered self-doubt, and meeting exceptional people sharing this vision helped me recover my determination.

I have so many stories. A colleague claimed in a staff meeting he had “nothing against gay people, but he did not like screamers.” The World Bank Director of Diversity told me once she “could disapprove of [my] lifestyle but needed to tolerate it.” People told me we never had enough; we got marriage equality and then demanded a right to children; where would it end? But I also received support from places I never expected.

As the pace of progress accelerated, the resistance became quieter.

It turns out that our movement fostered deep resentments along the way.

Maybe we pushed some societal changes too fast and developed unrealistic expectations. We sometimes suffer from a “tyranny of small differences,” and our movement needs to adjust to the new context. But the “backlash” has more to do with natural regressive tendencies, disinformation, and fearmongering.

Even though what I consider my lifework just got demoted from a legitimate topic shortly after we graduated, it still is relevant. The “DEI is dead” discourse may feel familiar, but it is untrue. We are the ones that get to decide when it’s over.

We have only scratched the surface of LGBTQ+ equality. Numbers don’t lie. In the U.S., we hold 1.2% of Corporate Board seats, only three CEOs in Fortune 500 self-identify as gay, and LGBTQ+ people are overrepresented among the poorest 40%. We are far from having a fair share of professional careers, business ownership, and wealth. Globally, we have no data, and that, in itself, means our fight has only started.

The majority cannot tell us we have enough equality. It would be like the wolf telling the lambs they are safe. We will know when we have done right by our brothers and sisters and by the vision early activists chartered for us.

It is okay if the “backlash” means adapting our strategies and discourse. Minorities must adapt with resilience and flexibility to shifting environmental and geopolitical realities. But we should not even question the legitimacy of our quest for a minute.

It’s been a strange week, one that tested my beliefs.

On Monday, only “diversity " was off-limits. By midweek, a new batch of words, “mercy,” “compassion,” and “empathy,” were causing our new leaders to roll their eyes at first and then lash out. 

This post is a gift to myself: a reminder of the ethics of reducing inequalities, the rightfulness of our vision, and the futility of trying to stop us. I hope you, too, keep your flame alive. We need it. Our journey is far from over.