A Message to the Left

There are a lot of things that the Left wants you to believe to be true.

Bigger government is better government.

Higher taxes and unchecked welfare create opportunity.

All gays are Democrats . . . at least, that is what the Left wants you to believe — that gay Republicans are a paradox. The truth of the matter is that gay Republicans are everywhere: they are voters, staffers, consultants, appointees, donors, veterans, and business owners. They work on campaigns, serve in government, and help shape policy at the highest levels.

The distinction? Gay Republicans don’t wear their sexual orientation as a political identity, and that is exactly why the Left pretends they don’t exist. I know this because I have battled the American political environment as two parts of myself that most see as contradictory: I am gay and I am a Republican . . . and it is long past time for the Left to get over it.

I’m done apologizing for being both.

That sentence alone is enough to make some people scratch their heads. In polite company, it earns the uncomfortable pause. In liberal circles, it can flip a friendly conversation into a heated tête-à-tête. In some conservative circles, it can draw quiet assumptions before you’ve even stated your case. It’s as if sexual orientation is required to come with a pre-destined voting record, a list of approved opinions, and lifetime membership card to the Democrat Party. And if you decline your membership, it is met with a 180-degree flip from acceptance to demonization.

For anyone out there who feels like a dark horse, I have a secret for you: sexual orientation does not bind you to the Democrat Party.

Here’s the part the Left never wants to talk about . . . I’m not rare. I’m just quiet — like thousands of others. Gay Republicans refuse to fixate on identity politics. We don’t demand special labels or place ourselves into demographic silos. We believe in doing the work, contributing to the country, and letting our values — not our orientation — speak for themselves.

That doesn’t make us invisible. It makes us inconvenient. Because our existence alone destroys the Left’s supposed ownership rights to gay Americans . . . body, mind, and ballot.

Being gay determines who you love. It doesn’t tell you what you believe. It doesn’t dictate how you view the Constitution, the role of government in our lives, the meaning of citizenship, or the responsibilities that come with freedom. Yet the radical Left believes otherwise — often with a smug certainty that feels less like inclusion and more like ownership.

When you’re gay and Republican, you quickly learn the true meaning of “tolerance” on the Left. It’s conditional. It’s transactional. It’s offered only if you say the right things, vote the right way, and treat their worldview like scripture. Step out of line, and suddenly you’re not just wrong . . . you’re a traitor; you’re self-hating; you’re confused; you’re voting against your people; you’re the Republicans’ token gay; you’re an embarrassment; you’re worse than the straight conservatives, because you’re a supposed defector from the “one true party” for gay people.

Does anyone see the perfect irony? The LGB community, which claims to celebrate authenticity and open-mindedness, can be the most vicious toward gay people who think differently.

I’m not talking about healthy disagreement — that’s as American as apple pie and baseball. I’m talking about cruelty, personal attacks, social expulsion, and a moral superiority that treats political conformity as a prerequisite for dignity. I’ve seen gay “friends” vanish the moment they realize I don’t sing from the same hymnal. I’ve experienced physical violence from gay men who can’t stand Republicans, let alone gay ones. I’ve felt the subtle pressure to stay quiet, to avoid “making it political,” which is code for “don’t have competing opinions amongst other gays.”

And that is the harsh truth about navigating this. It comes with ostracization. Almost like you’re walking through a room full of people who claim to champion being yourself while punishing you for actually doing it.

There is a particular loneliness that comes from being treated as an outlier in spaces where you’re told you’re supposed to belong. The best comparison I can think of is similar to how law enforcement officers never sit with their back to the door . . . so they can be fully aware of their surroundings and are prepared to address any threat head-on. But in this case, you start to pick your words a little more carefully. You weight the true cost of honesty. You learn which rooms are safe and which ones aren’t. You develop a strange hyper-awareness, knowing that people who preach acceptance may withhold it the moment you express a conservative view about . . . well . . . anything.

And yet, I am still here. Still a Republican. Still gay. Still unwilling to accept the premise that I must convey one truth about myself and bury another to make everyone else happy.

What keeps me planted is not a party label, but my values. Steady ones rather than trendy ones. Values that don’t change with the winds or the tides simply because the culture changes.

The future of the Republican Party depends on staying consistent with its core principles: family, individual responsibility, love of country, and limited government. Not as buzzwords, but as a moral framework that freedom requires discipline and that a thriving society is built from the bottom up: strong families create strong communities and a citizenry who understands that rights come with responsibilities.

None of this clash with being gay. If anything, it clarifies something the country desperately needs to remember sexual orientation does not equal ideology.

I can (and do) believe in committed relationships, stable homes, and the social value of family without adopting the belief that government should be the primary architect of our lives.

I can (and do) believe in personal freedom while still believing that self-control and responsibility are virtues, not oppressions.

I can (and do) love my country — an extraordinary inheritance worth defending and improving — without apologizing for it or my role within it.

I can (and do) believe the Constitution is a guardrail, not a suggestion.

I can (and do) believe that when government grows, individual liberty shrinks; and that the best solutions are often local and voluntary rather than federal and mandated.

And I can (and do) believe, profoundly, that the American experiment only works when citizens are allowed to think independently, speak honestly, and live without intimidation — whether that comes from the state or from social mobs pretending to have moral high ground.

The other assumption I reject is the idea that Republicans must choose between being principled or welcoming. The Republican Party does not need to abandon its core to broaden its coalition. It needs to articulate its beliefs in a way that is confident, decent, and serious. A Party that believes in limited government should understand the danger of any institution — government, media, or corporations — that tries to enforce ideological conformity.

In fact, one of the most fascinating and underreported realities of the current moment is how many openly gay Republicans hold high-ranking, prestigious roles in President Donald J. Trump’s administration. These are Trump-selected appointees across major departments, including Treasury, State, Energy, the Pentagon, the Small Business Administration, and others. In a city like Washington, D.C. that is both deeply gay and reflexively anti-Trump, these men are serving their country as openly gay and openly Republican for an unapologetically gay-friendly Republican president.

That reality alone shatters the lie that the Republican Party is hostile to gay Americans. The Left doesn’t champion gay rights but rather uses gays as a club to destroy their foes on the other side of the aisle while emphatically rejecting those who simply refuse to accept their worldview.

Republicans can learn an incredible lesson from President Trump and his bold and effective Administration; they must continue to make room for people like me. Not simply as a checkbox, and certainly not as a talking point, but as fellow Americans who share a belief in liberty and the dignity of individual responsibility. We can have internal debates, sure. We should! But we cannot build a durable majority by demanding uniformity on every personal detail, while the other side demands uniformity on every political thought.

This is where I step off my personal soapbox and speak to those like me.

To the gay Republicans who vote quietly, work quietly, and believe quietly because you’ve learned it is safer that way . . . I see you.

To the gay Republicans who were told to tone it down, stay out of it, or keep politics separate from your personal life . . . that silence was never about civility, it was about control.

You do not owe the Left your vote, your voice, or your life. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for believing in limited government, personal responsibility, or love of country. You don’t have to trade your principles for social approval. Republican values don’t require you to deny who you are . . . it simply abandons the idea that being gay is the most interesting thing about you.

And if the radical Left “string-of-letters” organizations want to claim the mantle of compassion and inclusion, they should start by practicing it — especially with the gay people who refuse to be politically owned.

Navigating this isn’t easy. Being openly gay in conservative circles AND openly Republican in gay ones requires judgment, confidence, and a thick skin. I’ve learned where the land minds are, which battles matter, who to trust, and how to stand firm without becoming a caricature for either side. That perspective isn’t theoretical . . . it’s earned.

I’m gay. I’m a Republican. And I am not an exception. I am part of a much larger reality the Left can no longer suppress. And, in a toxic political environment that rewards group think while punishing independent thought, I’ll take the harder path — the honest path — every time.