Commentary
Log off, touch grass, and self care
Social media companies are in business to keep us logged on
Among the “Terminally Online,” someone who is so involved with internet culture that they have something of an obsession with it, is a phrase known as “touching grass.” To touch grass means to log off, engage with the real world, and prioritize one’s offline relationships. While this conjures up all kinds of images of young adults playing video games in a room full of dirty laundry, piled up pizza boxes, and crusty socks hanging everywhere—the truth of the matter is that all of us could do well to “touch grass.”
Since COVID-19 use of the internet and social media has skyrocketed. In fact, what COVID did was merely accelerate our ongoing migration into the digital world. The LGBTQ community has always been at the forefront of this migration due to the marginalized status we occupy in society. Despite what some may argue, only recently have public displays of affection become acceptable, and even today some of those exchanges are met with hostility and discrimination.
With the rise of social media has come increased use of social media apps, and one of the number one social networking sites—outside of big three (Facebook, X formerly known as Twitter, and Instagram)—are dating apps. Grindr specifically has ranked as one of the most downloaded apps in iTunes (#25 at time of writing) and in the Google play store. It is particularly interesting to consider how much of our lives we have entrusted to apps of all varieties—ranging from our favorite moments with our families, to our most intimate details. Sharing these kinds of moments might have seemed unfathomable to us in earlier decades, but today this has become second nature to most.
What many fail to realize, or chose not to acknowledge, is that social media companies are well aware of the destructive tendencies that their products tap into. Nearly every aspect of these platforms has been intentionally designed to increase user engagement, and tap into our unconscious fears and desires. We fear missing an important event, we desire romance and intimacy, and worry about missing an important email that could change the trajectory of our careers.
For decades, companies from Grindr to Facebook have employed social science researchers to harness the addictive qualities of apps. Think about it, that all too familiar “Brrrrup” notification from Grindr. It’s almost Pavlovian in the way it causes us to immediately reach for our phones wondering who has contacted us, or what pic we’ve just been sent. This sound has intentionally been designed to be distinct from other apps, and thus to attach itself to a specific part of our brain. Researchers have shown we get a dopamine hit from getting a like, retweet, share, or other response—imagine what happens to our brains when we think a romantic encounter looms around the corner.
This strategy is highly effective. Grindr has one of the largest daily returning user bases of any social media company, and its users rank among the highest for time spent on the app. That downward motion to refresh the grid of profiles in proximity to you, that’s also been engineered to increase engagement. It’s like the pull of a Las Vegas slot machine with each swipe down offering the possibility that the next grid will be the one with your soul mate. While I’ve met several gay friends who met their partners on apps, and I’ve used the app to connect with a member of parliament who gave me a private tour while in London, I’ve also met many other men with an unhealthy, if not anti-social, relationship to the app.
My own reliance on these apps was reflected back to me recently, after becoming the victim of an internet scam artist. He had used several fake social media profiles to find out my interests, learn about me, and find out how I could be best manipulated. Gay romance scams are an understudied topic, one in which only a few researchers like Carlo Charles has studied. In speaking with him I have come to understand my story is not unique, and follows an all-too-familiar pattern. I was left wondering after engaging with his work how this happened, and why it happened to me.
While in Montreal this past summer for a conference I was given an answer, and had a mirror put up in front of my face. A very attractive young man messaged me, and he was also a fellow academic. He thought he recognized me from elsewhere, but looks can be deceiving—especially amid a grid of pixelated images. I had already decided after nearly becoming the victim of a scam I wasn’t interested in hooking up, dating, or anything other than being friends—plus I was there to work and had early morning appointments. Despite my encouragement to get out there and that he’d have no problems finding someone to make out with he decided to stay on the apps, “Everyone will just pass me by, so I’ll stay here on the apps, and maybe I’ll go to the gay sauna later.”
While I’m no prude, or a stranger to the apps or the saunas, it made me realize the addictive hold apps have had on our community. Apps like Grindr have created the illusion of an endless supply of men, and that the perfect lover lies just around the corner with the next swipe. These apps also leverage social-psychological aspects of human behavior against us to increase engagement. Like Facebook, apps like Grindr have made us dopamine addicts seeking instant gratification. When you pair that with other substances these encounters can quickly become dark experiences.
The next day was the Pride parade, and it must have lasted more than an hour. I saw him on the app and encouraged him to come down. He refused thinking he would be rejected. I told him he ought to, and that I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with him as I had to get to the airport.
My career has been spent living in rural areas—areas known to be hostile toward LGBTQ people, but also areas in which even the community can be difficult to become involved in—and apps became a way to find some semblance of community. However, like many aspects of online life, these spaces are poor alternatives to real human interaction. Despite advertising otherwise, social media companies are businesses, and their business is keeping us logged on and engaged. Perhaps the solution is for us all to touch grass, and find the beauty that exists in all things—even if it’s not the ideal.
Christopher T. Conner is Assistant Professor of Sociology at the University of Missouri. His latest book, ‘Conspiracy Theories and Extremist Movements in New Times’ is available from Bloomsbury Press/Lexington.
Commentary
Protecting the trans community is not optional for elected allies and candidates
One of oldest political tactics is blaming vulnerable group for societal woes
Being an ally to the trans community is not a conditional position for me, nor should it be for any candidate. My allyship doesn’t hinge on polling, focus groups, or whether courage feels politically convenient. At a time when trans people, especially trans youth of color, are under coordinated attack, elected officials and candidates must do more than offer quiet support. We must take a public and solid stand.
History shows us how these moments begin. One of the oldest political tactics is to single out the most vulnerable and blame them for society’s anxieties — not because they are responsible, but because they are easier to blame than those with power and protection. In Nazi Germany, Jewish people were primarily targeted, but they were not the only demographic who suffered elimination. LGBTQ people, disabled people, Romani communities, political dissidents, and others were also rounded up, imprisoned, and killed. Among the earliest acts of fascistic repression was the destruction of Berlin’s Institute for Sexual Science, a pioneering center for gender-affirming care and LGBTQ research. These books and medical records were among the first to be confiscated and burned. It is not a coincidence that these same communities are now the first to suffer under this regime, they are our canaries in the coal mine signaling what’s to come.
Congress, emboldened by the rhetoric of the Donald Trump campaign, recently passed HR 3492 to criminalize healthcare workers who provide gender-affirming healthcare with fines and imprisonment. This bill, sponsored by celebrity politicians like Marjorie Taylor Greene, puts politics and headlines over people and health outcomes. Healthcare that a number of cis-gendered people also benefit from byway of hair regeneration and surgery, male and female breast augmentation, hormone replacement therapy etc. Even when these bills targeting this care do not pass, they do real damage. They create fear among patients, legal uncertainty for providers, and instability for clinics that serve the most marginalized people in our communities.
Here in D.C., organizations like Planned Parenthood and Whitman-Walker Health are lifelines for many communities. They provide gender-affirming care alongside primary care, mental health services, HIV treatment, and preventative medicine. When healthcare is politicized or criminalized, people don’t wait for court rulings — they delay care, ration medication, or disappear from the system entirely.
As a pharmacist, I know exactly what that means. These are life-saving medications. Continuity of care matters. Criminalizing and politicizing healthcare does not protect children or families — it puts lives at risk.
Instead of centering these realities, political discourse has been deliberately diverted toward a manufactured panic about trans women in sports. Let me be clear: trans women deserve to be protected and allowed to compete just like anyone else. Athletics have always included people with different bodies, strengths, and abilities. Girls and women will always encounter competitors who are stronger or faster — that is not a gender or sports crisis, it is the nature of competition.
Sports are meant to teach fairness, mutual respect, and the shared spirit of competition — not suspicion or exclusion. We should not police young people’s bodies, and we should reject attempts to single out trans youth as a political distraction. Families and doctors should be the authority on sex and gender identity.
This narrative has been cynically amplified by the right, but too often Democrats have allowed it to take hold rather than forcefully rejecting it. It is imperative to pay attention to what is happening — and to push back against every attempt to dehumanize anyone for political gain.
Trans people have always been part of our communities and our democracy. Protecting the most vulnerable is not radical — it is the foundation of a just society. My work is grounded in that commitment, and I will not waver from it. I’m proud to have hired trans political team Down Ballot to lead my campaign for DC Council At Large. We need more ally leaders of all stages to stand up for the LGBTQ+ community. We must let elected detractors know that when they come for them, then they come for all of us. We cannot allow Fox News and social media trolls to create a narrative that scares us away from protecting marginalized populations. We must stand up and do what’s right.
Anything less is not leadership.
Rep. Oye Owolewa is running for an at-large seat on the D.C. Council.
Commentary
America is going in the wrong direction for intersex children
Lawmakers are criminalizing care for trans youth, while permitting irreversible harm to intersex babies
I live with the consequences of what America is willing to condone in the name of “protecting children.”
When I was young, doctors and adults made irreversible decisions about my body without my informed consent. They weren’t responding to an emergency. They were responding to discomfort with innate physical differences and the social and medical pressure to make a child’s body conform to a rigid female-male binary. That’s the part people like to skip over when they talk about “child welfare”: the harm didn’t begin with my identity. It started with adults deciding my healthy body needed fixing.
That’s why the hypocrisy unfolding right now from statehouses to Capitol Hill feels so familiar, and so dangerous.
While harmful medical practices on intersex children, the nearly 2 percent born with differences in one or more of their physical sex characteristics, have been ongoing in the U.S. for decades, until recently, there was no law specifically condoning it.
This month, House Republicans passed one of the most extreme anti-trans bills in modern American history, advancing legislation that would criminalize gender-affirming medical care for transgender youth and threaten doctors with severe penalties for providing evidence-based treatment. The bill is framed as a measure to “protect children,” but in reality, it weaponizes the criminal legal system against families and providers who are trying to support young people in surviving adolescence.
At the same time, the administration has proposed hospital and insurance policies designed to choke off access to affirming care for trans youth nationwide by making providers fear loss of federal funding, regulatory retaliation, or prosecution. This is a familiar strategy: don’t just ban care outright; instead, make it so risky that hospitals stop providing it altogether. The result is the same everywhere. Young people lose access to care that major medical associations agree can be lifesaving.
All of this is happening under the banner of preventing “irreversible harm.”
But if America were genuinely concerned about irreversible harm to minors, the first thing lawmakers would address is the medically unnecessary, nonconsensual surgeries still performed on intersex infants and young children, procedures that permanently alter healthy tissue, often without urgent medical need, and long before a child can meaningfully participate in the decision. Human rights organizations have documented for years how these interventions are justified not by medical necessity, but by social pressure to make bodies appear more typically “female” or “male.”
Here is the uncomfortable truth: all of the state laws now banning gender-affirming care for transgender youth explicitly include exceptions that allow nonconsensual and harmful intersex surgeries to continue.
A recent JAMA Health Forum analysis found that 28 states have enacted bans on gender-affirming care for minors that carve out intersex exceptions, preserving doctors’ ability to perform irreversible “normalizing” procedures on intersex children even while prohibiting affirming care for trans adolescents.
This contradiction is not accidental. It reveals the real priority behind these laws.
If the goal were truly to protect children from irreversible medical interventions, intersex kids would be protected first. Instead, these policies target one group of children, transgender youth, while continuing to permit permanent interventions on another group whose bodies challenge the same rigid sex and gender binary that lawmakers are trying to enforce.
Intersex people are routinely erased from American policy debates, except when our bodies are invoked to justify harmful laws, warning that intersex children are being used as legal loopholes rather than protected as human beings. This “protect the children” rhetoric is routinely deployed to justify state control over bodies, while preserving medical practices that stripped intersex children like me of autonomy, good health, and choice. Those harms are not theoretical. They are lifelong.
What makes this moment even more jarring is that the federal government had finally begun to recognize intersex people and attempt to address the harms suffered.
In 2024, at the very end of his term, the Biden administration released the first-ever intersex health equity report — a landmark admission that intersex people have been harmed by the U.S. health care system. Issued by the Department of Health and Human Services, the report documents medically unnecessary interventions, lack of informed consent, and systemic erasure and recommends delaying irreversible procedures until individuals can meaningfully participate in decisions about their own bodies.
This should have been a turning point. Instead, America is moving in the opposite direction.
On day one, President Trump issued an executive order defining “sex” in a way attempting to delegitimize the existence of transgender Americans that also erased the existence of many intersex people.
When medicine is used to erase difference, it is called protection, while care that supports self-understanding is treated as a threat. This is not about medicine. It is about control.
You cannot claim to oppose irreversible harm to children while legally permitting surgeries that intersex adults and human rights experts have condemned for decades. You cannot claim to respect bodily autonomy while denying it selectively, based on whose bodies make lawmakers uncomfortable.
Protecting children means protecting all children, transgender, intersex, and cisgender alike. It means delaying irreversible interventions when they are not medically necessary. It means trusting and supporting young people and families over politicians chasing culture-war victories.
America can continue down the path of criminalizing care for some children while sanctioning harm to others, or it can finally listen to the people who have lived the consequences.
Intersex children deserve laws that protect their bodies, not politics that hurt and erase them.
Kimberly Zieselman is a human rights advocate and the author of “XOXY: A Memoir”. The author is a co-author of the JAMA Health Forum article cited, which examined state laws restricting gender-affirming care.
Today, on World AIDS Day, we honor the resilience, courage, and dignity of people living with HIV everywhere especially refugees, asylum seekers, and queer displaced communities across East Africa and the world.
For many, living with HIV is not just a health journey it is a journey of navigating stigma, borders, laws, discrimination, and survival.
Yet even in the face of displacement, uncertainty, and exclusion, queer people living with HIV continue to rise, thrive, advocate, and build community against all odds.
To every displaced person living with HIV:
• Your strength inspires us.
• Your story matters.
• You are worthy of safety, compassion, and the full right to health.
• You deserve a world where borders do not determine access to treatment, where identity does not determine dignity, and where your existence is celebrated not criminalized.
Let today be a reminder that:
• HIV is not a crime.
• Queer identity is not a crime.
• Seeking safety is not a crime.
• Stigma has no place in our communities.
• Access to treatment, care, and protection is a human right.
As we reflect, we must recommit ourselves to building systems that protect not punish displaced queer people living with HIV. We must amplify their voices, invest in inclusive healthcare, and fight the inequalities that fuel vulnerability.
Hope is stronger when we build it together.
Let’s continue to uplift, empower, and walk alongside those whose journeys are too often unheard.
Today we remember.
Today we stand together.
Today we renew hope.
Abraham Junior lives in the Gorom Refugee Settlement in South Sudan.
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