In a country that claims to enshrine freedom as its cornerstone, where the ink of the First Amendment supposedly flows like a promise through every river and rivulet of our democracy, the true measure of liberty is not found in the majority’s comfort but in the minority’s courage. It is not in the conventional but in the unconventional, not in the predictable but in the proudly peculiar. And if we’re talking about the brass-section-of-life, those who grab the harmonica and play their own melody, it’s impossible not to recognize the unparalleled bravery of the LGBTQIA community. They are, quite simply, the virtuosos of freedom.
Freedom is a funny thing. It is both a gift and a challenge. It is not a quiet thing. It rattles chains. It disrupts the status quo. It stands in doorways and insists on entry. And it is in the trans woman applying her lipstick at the mirror of a public restroom, the gay couple holding hands on a Sunday stroll, and the non-binary teenager correcting a teacher on their pronouns that we see freedom at its most honest. Freedom, after all, is not a perfectly tied bow on a birthday present. It is the raw, untamed spirit that says, “I am here. I am real. I deserve the same respect and dignity as anyone else.”
We love to venerate the rebels of history—the George Washingtons, the Harriett Tubmans, the Susan B. Anthonys. We love their stories of defiance and grit. But the truth is, we are witnessing that same bravery right now, in our own communities, in our own neighborhoods, every time someone steps into the world as their authentic self in the face of bigotry. History is not just what happened before; it is what is happening now. And when a young trans athlete takes the field, or a drag queen reads stories to children in a library, or a bisexual man introduces his partner at a family dinner, they are not merely living—they are leading.
Consider Sylvia Rivera, who threw the first heel at Stonewall. Consider Harvey Milk, who risked everything to be the first openly gay elected official in California, only to be assassinated for it. Consider Marsha P. Johnson, who wore her crown of flowers like a helmet, facing off against a world that insisted she shouldn’t exist. They were not heroes because they were gay or trans. They were heroes because they were fearless. They did not wait for the world to understand them; they demanded that the world try. And when it didn’t, they made the world too uncomfortable to ignore them.
The resistance to this kind of bravery is not about bathrooms or locker rooms or cakes. It is about power. It is about a fear of what happens when we let everyone live freely, because if we do, then the chains we keep on our own thoughts and desires might rattle loose. It is a fear of what happens when the so-called weirdos of society refuse to go quietly into the night. But those who dare to live openly as themselves, even when it costs them jobs, safety, family, or peace, are nothing short of patriots. Because true patriotism is not waving a flag; it is standing up for the liberty it represents.
Imagine a society where conformity is law. Where everyone marches in step, speaks in unison, and dresses in grayscale. It’s not a dystopian novel; it’s what happens when the so-called ‘normals’ dictate who gets to be free. Freedom, real freedom, looks more like a Pride parade than a military parade. It is colorful, chaotic, sometimes messy, but always, always authentic.
When we say that this country is a land of opportunity, we must mean it for everyone. When we say that freedom is for all, we cannot afford asterisks. We do not protect freedom by keeping it safe and small; we protect it by testing its limits, by allowing it to expand and grow in ways we may not yet understand. Every right we curtail for the so-called weirdos is a chain around our own necks. Every liberty we deny them is a shackle on our own wrists. Because if their freedom is negotiable, so is ours.
The true test of a free society is not how it treats the powerful, but how it treats the vulnerable. It is not in how we accommodate the majority but in how we elevate the marginalized. And if we ever find ourselves wondering if we’ve gone too far in protecting those who live differently, the question we should really ask is, “Have we gone far enough?”
There is no freedom without risk. There is no liberty without the liberty to be different. And so, for every person who has ever been told they are too much or not enough, who has ever been called a slur or been made to feel small for being who they are, let me say this: You are the most American thing about this country. You are the radical idea upon which this nation was founded. And the rest of us? The rest of us have an obligation not only to respect your freedom but to celebrate it. Because if you are not free, then none of us are.
