The Mirage of Respectability: Why the Flight from "Queer" Betrays the Soul of Liberation

In his June 30, 2026, New York Times op-ed, "I'm Gay, Not Queer. It Matters," Matthew Vines issues a plea for a return to what he calls the "simple, transformational message" of the gay rights movement: that being gay is "not a rebellion against ordinary life," but merely a minor, domestic variation of it. In Vines’ view, the expansive, radical, and inherently disruptive term "queer" is a liability—a "radical chic" aesthetic that threatens to alienate the straight mainstream and undo decades of hard-won legal and social progress.

While Vines’ anxiety in the face of rising anti-LGBTQ+ backlash is understandable, his solution is a classic symptom of assimilationist panic and, crucially, a profound theological failure. To reject "queer" in favor of a sanitized, non-confrontational "gay" identity is not a strategic masterstroke; it is an act of heteronormative introjection—the unconscious adoption of the dominant culture’s values to survive within it. By pleading for acceptance on the basis of our harmlessness, Vines betrays the radical history of our movement, exposes deep-seated internalized homophobia, and attempts to purchase safety for a privileged few at the expense of the rest of our community.

Furthermore, as a prominent Christian advocate, Vines’ retreat into respectability politics betrays the very gospel of liberation he seeks to defend. It replaces a radical, life-giving faith with a defensive apologetic that begs for crumbs from the table of dominant culture.

1. The Trap of Heteronormative Introjection

At the heart of Vines’ argument is the claim that being gay is entirely compatible with "ordinary life"—a phrase that serves as a polite euphemism for the white, middle-class, cis-heteronormative nuclear family. He argues that same-sex attraction is a simple biological variation, no more disruptive to the social fabric than left-handedness.

This argument relies on introjection: internalizing the rules, structures, and boundaries of our oppressors and presenting them as our own authentic desires. The message is clear: We are just like you. We want the suburban home, the monogamous marriage, the 2.5 children, and the quiet presentation. We promise not to make you uncomfortable.

But this respectability is a trap. The "ordinary life" Vines seeks to integrate into is not a neutral, natural state of being; it is a politically constructed institution built upon the marginalization of non-normative bodies, desires, and families. By insisting that being gay is not a rebellion, Vines tacitly agrees that rebellion is a bad thing. He concedes that any lifestyle, relationship structure, or gender expression that does challenge the nuclear family is inherently illegitimate or unworthy of rights.

For progressive Christians, particularly within traditions like the United Church of Christ (UCC), this capitulation is a denial of God's "extravagant welcome" and the ongoing, unfolding revelation that "God is still speaking." The UCC tradition recognizes that the Divine is not bound by ancient cultural anxieties or rigid, domesticated structures. To claim that our worth is contingent upon mirroring heteronormative family units is to build an idol out of the nuclear family, sacrificing the vast, beautiful diversity of God's creation at the altar of social conformity.

This is the classic bargain of assimilationism: buy safety for the cisgender, monogamous, affluent gay man by drawing a boundary between him and the "unacceptable" elements of the community—the gender-nonconforming, the trans, the polyamorous, the poor, and the radically expressive. It is a capitulation that validates the very system of hierarchy that oppressed us in the first place.

2. The Fragile Shield of Biological Essentialism

Vines expresses deep concern that the term "queer"—defined by theorists like David Halperin as "whatever is at odds with the normal, the legitimate, the dominant"—makes homosexuality look like a "chosen ideology or aesthetic" rather than an inborn trait. He fears that if the public believes being gay is a choice or a political stance, support for our rights will evaporate.

This reliance on biological essentialism—the "born this way" defense—is a fragile, politically bankrupt, and theologically thin shield.

1. The Conditional Nature of Human Dignity: If our right to exist free from discrimination is contingent upon our inability to change, then our freedom is not a fundamental human right; it is a medical concession. We deserve safety, dignity, and autonomy not because we "cannot help" who we love, but because self-determination is an inherent, God-given right. In a progressive Christian view, we are fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of a Creator who delights in variance, not just in static, biological presets.

2. The Erasure of Complexity: Human sexuality and gender are beautifully complex. For many, identity is fluid, and the rejection of heteronormativity is a conscious, political, and liberating choice. By insisting on a rigid, medicalized definition of gayness to appease straight skepticism, Vines invalidates the lived experiences of millions of bisexual, pansexual, fluid, and non-binary individuals.

3. The Scapegoating of the "Unpalatable": When Vines separates the "inborn trait" of gayness from the "rebellion" of queerness, he is attempting to distance himself from those whose identities cannot be easily explained away to a conservative relative. He throws the trans woman of color, the non-binary youth, and the radical activist under the bus, hoping that the crumbs of tolerance dropped from the table of the patriarchy will be enough to sustain him.

   
   

3. Internalized Homophobia, Purity Culture, and the Radical Christ

There is a poignant, painful irony in Vines’ insistence that being gay must look "every bit as dignified and human as being straight." The underlying assumption here is that "straightness" is the gold standard of dignity, and that we must mirror it to be seen as human.

This is the textbook definition of internalized homophobia, repackaged as respectability. It is a secularized extension of religious purity culture—a system that demands the suppression of our wild, sacred differences in exchange for conditional belonging. It is the voice that whispers that our differences are shameful, that our unique ways of loving and constructing community are lesser-than, and that we must earn our humanity by passing as straight in every way but our choice of bedroom partner.

To counter this, we must look to the Christology of unapologetic liberation.

Jesus of Nazareth did not spend his ministry apologizing to the Roman Empire or negotiating the boundaries of respectability with the religious elite of his day. He did not seek to prove that his disciples were "ordinary, harmless citizens" who wouldn't disrupt the social order. Instead, he outright rejected the purity codes that kept the marginalized on the outside. He dined with tax collectors and outcasts, healed on the Sabbath in direct violation of legalistic decorum, and literally flipped the tables of the money changers in the temple courts.

Jesus did not apologize; he liberated. He did not ask permission to exist, nor did he plead with the powerful to recognize his humanity. He claimed it, lived it, and called others to do the same.

The term "queer" was reclaimed precisely to embody this disruptive, table-flipping spirit. When activists in the late 1980s and early 1990s—fighting for their lives during the AIDS crisis while the "ordinary" straight world watched them die—shouted, "We're here, we're queer, get used to it!", they were refusing to beg for tolerance. They recognized that the demand to be "discreet" and "dignified" was a lethal gag order.

"Queer" is an active refusal to sanitize ourselves for the comfort of a society that has historically sought our eradication. It is a declaration of pride in our alterity, an embrace of our history of resistance, and a celebration of the unique perspectives, art, and community structures that LGBTQ+ people have created because we are not straight. To trade this rich, defiant legacy for the lukewarm broth of "social acceptability" is an act of profound self-erasure.

4. The Lessons of History: Radicalism Wins Rights

Vines argues that the gay rights movement changed the world by proving our ordinariness. This is a revisionist history of the highest order, and a dismissal of the prophetic church tradition.

In UCC and wider progressive Christian history, progress has always been driven by the prophetic, radical edge, not by defensive assimilation. The UCC did not wait for public opinion to shift before ordaining the first openly gay minister, William R. Johnson, in 1972, or affirming marriage equality long before it was legally recognized. These were actions of holy disruption, not polite requests.

Similarly, the secular rights Matthew Vines enjoys today—the right to write his book, to speak openly, to marry, and to hold employment without fear of immediate termination—were not won by quiet, polite, "ordinary" people asking nicely within the bounds of heteronormative decorum. They were won by:

• The riotous, brick-throwing, state-defying trans women of color, drag queens, and street youth at Stonewall in 1969.

• The loud, disruptive, and deeply "confrontational" activists of ACT UP who shut down Wall Street and threw the ashes of loved ones onto the White House lawn.

• The radical theorists, organizers, and religious allies who built a coalitional, queer politics that linked gay liberation to anti-war, feminist, anti-racist, and civil rights struggles.

The legal victories of the 2000s and 2010s, including Obergefell v. Hodges, were the harvest of this radical groundsoil, not the starting point. When we abandon the radical edge of our movement—the "queer" edge—we cut off the roots that feed our liberation. We leave ourselves vulnerable to the shifting winds of political tolerance, with no defense other than our desperate plea that we aren't hurting anyone.

Conclusion: Liberation, Not Tolerance

The current backlash against the LGBTQ+ community is not happening because the public is confused by the word "queer" or because trans people have "gone too far." It is happening because the systems of heteropatriarchy are fundamentally threatened by any challenge to their dominance. Retreating into a defensive, assimilationist crouch will not save us; it will only embolden those who wish to push us back into the closet.

We do not need to regain the "clarity" of a message that begs straight society—or conservative theology—to see us as just like them. We need the courage of a queer politics and a liberating theology that demands our right to be different, our right to be radical, and our right to live outside the narrow, suffocating confines of heteronormative expectations.

Being queer is indeed a gift—a divine calling to look at a world built on rigid hierarchies and say: We can build something more beautiful, more expansive, and more free. Like Christ's call to a deeper, more radical justice, we must not trade that birthright for the illusion of a seat at a table that was never built for us. We must be willing to flip the tables instead.