What to think?

Finding a sweet spot between alarmist and realistic: LGBTQ+ lives in a shifting world order. If we’re not sleeping at night, we might as well be scheming the future.

Last week, in the span of just two evenings, I encountered two radically different perspectives on the New World order — for lack of a better term.

That Monday, at some NoHo salon, I heard from informed people — people who have witnessed authoritarianism take hold in other countries — that the space for civil society and the rule of law is rapidly shrinking. That time is running out to defend them. Two days later, I had dinner with someone whose opinion I respect, who assured me institutions would stand firm to preserve freedom of speech and due process, and that, short of that, the American people - at least 85% of them - would take to the streets to defend their values. I argued that greed, fear of the police, and a lack of critical thinking would hold them back. He replied that I just needed to see more of the country. As he left, assuring me that this would ultimately be "good for America", he told me a bit smugly, "not to lose hope."

I jotted down his remarks, thinking I might enjoy reminding him of them if the editor of the New York Times is ever detained for treason at Guantanamo.

The following day, given my immigration status, I was advised not to travel internationally. Then, I was told that maybe I should take my organization dormant for the next 18 months and avoid any criticism of American policies.

By Saturday, I was popping melatonin gummies to fight insomnia.

This week offered more of the same. During a short trip to Washington, Democratic operatives assured me Wednesday night that the cavalry was on its way, the midterms would be a landslide, Susan Crawford's victory was a clear signal from the Gods, and Hakeem Jeffries was doing great. Their eyes were slightly shifty when delivering the good news, as if already scanning the room for an exit. Before I left the capital, at breakfast, a key player in the global LGBTQ+ movement told me that young people are already leading a counter-revolution, that Stonewall II - the sequel is brewing, and that the future of the LGBTQ+ movement is already here, just outside of America. He said I couldn't see it, stuck in my old guard Western microcosm, but that la résistance was already at work.

He reminded me that Raquel Willis had been arrested in December at a "Sit-In" in a women's bathroom across from Johnson's Congressional office.

Everyone seems to agree on one thing: that what we’re witnessing in the U.S. isn’t “normal” — but differ on whether the system rebounds at some point.

The confusion only worsens for anyone reading the papers. The New York Times, especially its queer opinion columnists, and The Atlantic suggest that the rapid erosion of norms and unchecked power is reshaping the U.S. into something unrecognizable. Meanwhile, while a bit rattled by economic uncertainty, other outlets still insist the American pendulum will swing back. I read a piece last night that argued that artificial intelligence is what we should really worry about.

So, which is it: Are we sounding the alarm too early, or has something been fundamentally broken? Is Trump actively unraveling American democracy and the global order or making surface-level tweaks? And most importantly for this newsletter, are LGBTQ+ people losing significant ground, and how do we navigate what comes next?

LGBTQ+ people have limited credibility in this game. We sound like the boy who cried wolf—especially after we declared our “first-ever state of emergency for LGBTQ+ people” in … 2023 and aimed our firepower at The New York Times over free speech. Lately we have thrown the world fascism a little too liberally and victimhood has been too good for business. Every gay organization’s email in my inbox contains a fundraiser, and while we’ve mastered the art of generating outrage, we’ve struggled to translate that into real power.

Maybe we should take a more reflective approach, wait to see where the chips fall, and in the meantime visit art galleries like my optimistic friend I mentioned earlier. It seems to be the posture the New York gays adopted for example, flocking to Kylie Minogue’s concert rather than the “hands off” demonstration yesterday. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that for LGBTQ+ people, making a collective sense of what’s happening now is essential to shaping where we’ll stand a decade from now.

Indeed, looking back on these two weeks, it strikes me that the most optimistic voices in our community all share one thing: the quiet confidence that comes with ownership, security and a plan B.

Waiting and seeing is a privilege—a luxury afforded to those with institutional power, tenure, capital, or citizenship. It’s easier not to panic when you have real estate or your House seat is resilient. But detached contemplation isn't an option for those without safety nets—whose lives are not buffered by wealth, credentials, or generational networks. And most LGBTQ+ people, often shut out of capital, power, and even family, know this in their bones. We already experienced a version of it during COVID.

We have learned that when systems shift, we are the first to be scapegoated and erased from the narrative of national renewal. That’s why the comforting hum of "the institutions will hold" rings hollow to many. The question isn’t whether we’re being alarmist—it’s whether we can afford not to be alert. The future is being built right now, and if we’re not forecasting, imagining, shaping —it will be built without us. Or worse, against us.

I like to say I have the privilege of being a “one-trick pony.” My intellectual allegiance is to LGBTQ+ people. I care about other things too, of course—democracy, peace, the environment and a fair economic system. But my work, my daily thinking, is mostly focused on how LGBTQ+ people everywhere can improve their lot.

We’ve used different strategies to appeal to power—protests, the human rights arguments, the business and economic case. All these strategies only work in societies where strong institutions constrain power, where dissent is protected, and where the rule of law is consistently upheld. What do we do if these are systematically dismantled?

How do we defend and expand rights—not just to marry or serve openly, but to parent, to live free from gender policing, and to exist safely in a world that increasingly flirts with a return to traditional masculinity and brute force as governing principles? How do we continue the global push for decriminalization in places where queerness is still criminalized—and stop the export of new forms of homophobia - the anti-DEI crusade for example - to the Global South? How do we rebuild coalitions with moderates and business leaders - including gay ones - who once stood beside us but now retreat into silence? And how do we move from a defensive crouch to bold, proactive work that protects not only our legal victories—like nondiscrimination laws, marriage equality, and bans on conversion therapy—but reimagines a place where gay people are truly liberated?

The old world order supported LGBTQ+ progress, and its decline poses real risks.

This is probably not the end of liberalism, but rather the chaotic beginning of its next chapter. The rules are still being written. That gives LGBTQ+ people a window of influence—if we’re bold enough to act with strategy, to pick our battles wisely, and to avoid getting pulled into symbolic skirmishes or stuck replaying old narratives. After the election, I argued to no avail for a shift in leadership—not to assign blame, but to break free from the patterns holding us back.

At the risk of sounding self-serving, I tell my LGBTQ+ friends and allies to look beyond the legacy organizations. It’s time to invest our energy and resources in newer, more global efforts—ones that aren’t insulated by comfort or trapped in vested interests. The familiar names may offer continuity, but they no longer reflect the urgency or flexibility the moment demands.

It’s not enough to double-down on the Democrats and the courts—we must shape what comes next. We know what happens when we are left out of the room. This time, we have no excuse. The world is in flux, and the old order is dissolving. But it was never perfect, and it didn’t fully include us. Let’s be clear-eyed about the danger and bold about the opportunity. Let’s meet this moment with the creativity and courage that has always defined queer resilience—not to return to what was, but to build something radically better. Not just for us, but for everyone because there is nothing more universal than the queer aspiration: to belong, to be respected, and to live without shame or fear.

If we’re not sleeping at night, we might as well be scheming the future.