Opinions
Why we need to protect ‘sacrilegious’ art
Australia sets dangerous precedent for classifying LGBTQ works as offensive
On July 8, Divine Playhouse opened inside a deconsecrated 158-year-old former church on Kent Street in Sydney, Australia. Although the organizers had a permit and received a $100,000 grant from Create NSW to host events in the previously unused space for a whole year, the organizers were forced to shut down after just three days of operations after receiving a tenant breach notice about “offensive trade” under the 1919 Conveyancing Act.
A day after the Divine Playhouse opened, Redevelop, the company leasing out the church (that was deconsecrated almost a century ago) to Heaps Gay Events cited a clause in their contract that prohibits tenants from noisy business. The clause didn’t include any note about political or religious imagery, but even so, Redevelop wrote that Divine Playhouse “insulted and mocked the sincerely held religious beliefs of millions of Christian Australians.”
On opening night, members of conservative Christian and Catholic groups including Fit for the Kingdom and Prodigal Sons protested (without proper authorization) the live music, cabaret shows, and performances they argued mocked the Christian faith. Protesters called drag queens dressed as nuns (the legitimate vestments of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence) and events like the Sunday Mess, a brunch party that incorporated religious imagery, “equivalent to hate speech” according to the Redevelop landlords and their lawyers.
But as reports show, the organizers were aware of concerns from the nearby Christian community and made changes in good faith to address those concerns before opening, including changing the name from Unholy Playhouse to Divine Playhouse. Organizers intentionally changed the name in order to make it more inclusive, rejecting the idea that they were mocking religious beliefs in their performances.
But this has not swayed members of conservative Christian groups who, on opening night, shouted at attendees that they “should be ashamed” and were “disgusting.” Redevelop gave the organizers two days to cease operations. As The Guardian reported, volunteers and organizers took down signage and painted over a mural that had all been commissioned for the year-round residency.
While the organizers initially explored whether they could sue for discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals, the organizers decided to cancel all upcoming events and close the space to protect performers, as protesters filmed people entering and leaving the event without their consent on opening night. Along with facing a breach of contract, Meta also shut down all of Divine Playhouse’s social media accounts, along with personal accounts and LGBTQ+ community accounts. This is an increasingly common problem for queer content creators.
Now, the LGBTQ+ community is in a justified uproar, and conservative Christians in Australia and beyond are furious about what they are calling “offensive art.” The lease violation sets a dangerous precedent for classifying LGBTQ+ art as offensive, which could lead to laws or local restrictions that could be used by developers to discriminate against people who they deem “offensive,” i.e. LGBTQ+ individuals and organizations. This already exists in the United States, where racial covenants enforcing segregation remain on the books.
As theater lecturer Charlotte Farrell wrote, there is a long history of art and performance in church spaces, but Farrell largely cites art in more progressive Christian spaces as opposed to Catholic ones. Queer art in Catholic spaces (including operational and consecrated Catholic churches) do exist, including God is Trans: A Queer Spiritual Journey hosted by the Church of St. Paul the Apostle in New York City in 2023 (although this show also generated controversy).
With the risk of empowering conservatives to lobby for laws or restrictions that would allow them to deny renting to “offensive” people or on the grounds that a person’s art is “offensive,” I argue further that there is an urgent need to call out what this situation was–the explicit attempt to equate queer art that challenges religious institutions, trauma, and abuse as inherently “offensive” and to use this to deny an artist and community’s right to exist in a space.
Art has historically been a vital way not just to evangelize but also to challenge religious institutions that use their power and influence to not just isolate and abuse LGBTQ+ people and other marginalized communities but to systematically oppose their rights. Take for example Sinead O’Connor’s protest performance on the October 3, 1992 episode of Saturday Night Live. O’Connor, who had experienced severe institutional confinement in a Magdalene Laundry run by the church and had experienced intense physical and emotional abuse by her devout mother, tore up a photo of Pope John Paul II.
While she originally planned to hold up a photo of a refugee child, she swapped it with a photo of the pope after singing an a cappella version of Bob’s Marley’s “War” where she changed the lyric to “child abuse.” She looked at the camera and said “fight the real enemy” before throwing the pieces to the ground. At the time, the Irish singer faced intense backlash and a lifetime ban from SNL, but as more information came out about her time in the Laundry, her mother’s emotional abuse, and systemic sexual abuse and people attempting to cover it up in the Catholic Church, people today recognize her protest as the start of a vital conversation.
For some people, O’Connor became a secular saint, a prophet exposing systemic sexual abuse before people were willing to confront the lived experiences that survivors were sharing and religious leaders were covering up. Dr. Margaret Kennedy, founder of Ministry and Clergy Sexual Abuse Survivors and author of “The Courage to Tell,” wrote for Premier Christianity that “when she tore apart a picture of the Pope on Saturday Night Live in 1992, she was preaching.”
Is O’Connor’s religious liberty to preach through this act of protest not equal to that of her critics? Did O’Connor, like anyone at the Divine Playhouse, threaten any religious person?
No, they made a statement about religious institutions and people that continue to abuse people. If that can be targeted so can any other form of protest or acts of resistance that threaten systems of power.
Protest art like O’Connor’s is at the bedrock of human rights in any democratic country. When people stop creating art or move out of spaces out of fear of precipitating anti-LGBTQ+ violence, or are forced out because of claims of lease violations, the whole society loses a vital way to challenge and confront abuse and exploitation. There is a need not just to legally protect people creating protest art but also protest artists themselves so that their work cannot be censored or attacked on the grounds of religious liberty.
To be clear, protecting people’s rights to create protest art is not the same as allowing people to insult or desecrate the imagery of marginalized faiths that face persecution and misrepresentation in the United States today. It’s also not a license for anti-religious bigotry or violence that hurts anyone. Instead, the protection of protest art is a protection of the right to protest itself, the right to challenge and grapple with institutional abuse and religious trauma in ways that cause no one physical harm.
As James Thorpe, co-chair of the Night Time Industries Associates, explained to The Guardian, “Christians have a right to preach, protest and stand outside Divine Playhouse and pray. Queer artists have the right to make art that is confronting, irreverent, and yes, offensive.” Thorpe says that LGBTQ+ artists and communities, and all marginalized groups, have a fundamental right to create art that unsettles people, that challenges social systems that prioritize and sacralize a cisgender, heterosexual norm intrinsically connected to Christian nationalism.
Because in a society where Christian nationalism is fast becoming mainstream, protest art, sacrilegious art is the only language that far right religious groups understand. At the heart of the issue is civility politics, or a strategy used by conservative and far right groups to argue that marginalized communities censor their protests and calls for change to be “respectful.” What respectful is and who deems it respectful is deeply subjective, often the creation of a dominant social group like Christians in the United States.
If far-right forces want to call LGBTQ+ protest art like that at the Divine Playhouse “offensive” or “sacrilegious” so be it. Yes, calling our art, our identities, “offensive” is a form of bigotry, a practice of hate. It reminds many of us raised in high control religious spaces that we are outsiders to the very religious systems that raised us and cultivates the same shame, guilt, and abuse that caused many of us to leave or explore affirming religious or spiritual traditions.
But calling art “offensive” doesn’t change or invalidate the fact that it is a fundamental exercise of our right to free speech, and our fundamental human right to create art that unsettles and upsets people in positions of power. It also doesn’t change the fact that for many of us, creating protest art is a spiritual practice, a form of sacred resistance that helps us challenge systems that have long abused us through purity culture, conversion therapy, and cultures of shame.
Protecting the right to create protest art isn’t just enshrining our right to free speech but for many of us, our right to practice a spiritual act of resistance. And in a time where LGBTQ+ identity, people, and bodies are deemed “offensive. Because at its core, this isn’t just an issue about art anymore, it’s about protecting our right to exist in public spaces and our right to create safe spaces for ourselves.
Emma Cieslik is a D.C.-based museum worker and public historian.
Opinions
Gloria Steinem’s life of substance and consequence
Iconic activist never stopped working to make life better for women
Gloria Steinem was an icon, a feminist, a woman of substance and consequence. A rare person who made a difference her entire life; sometimes quietly, sometimes by making noise. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, inside and out.
I heard of Gloria Steinem and admired her for all she was doing. But that was from a distance. I read about her, and saw her on TV. It was 1963 when Steinem wrote and published her undercover Playboy Bunny exposé, “A Bunny’s Tale,” about her going undercover at New York’s Playboy Club. Her account revealed the physical toll, exploitative conditions, and pervasive sexism faced by the women employed there, challenging the magazine’s image of empowerment.
It was 1972 when I first met her in person. That first meeting happened while I was campaigning for Bella Abzug (D-N.Y.) at a street rally. I said “Hello, Ms. Steinem,” and she said “It’s OK to call me Gloria.” I was honored to do so.
Gloria was there to support her friend. Bella had been through a grueling primary against Bill Ryan, after being redistricted out of her seat. She lost, but then Bill died of cancer before the election, and Bella was named the Democratic candidate in the general election for New York’s 20th congressional district. When Bella won that race, I went to work for her full time. It gave me the chance to meet Gloria again a number of times after that, once even with Bella at her apartment. While she was one of the many famous people I met while working for Bella, she was different. She wasn’t Hollywood. She began her career as a reporter, and worked hard for all she believed in. She was a true activist. That was what she saw herself as. She could say she came by the activism gene from her paternal grandmother, Pauline Perlmutter Steinem who Wikipedia reported, “chaired the educational committee of the National Woman Suffrage Association and was a delegate to the 1908 International Council of Women. Also, the first woman to be elected to the Toledo Board of Education and a leader in the movement for vocational education. She helped rescue many members of her family from the Holocaust.”
So yes, in many ways, activism was in Gloria’s genes. She was the one who told me it was OK to call myself a ‘feminist’. That it isn’t only women who can call themselves that, but also men who believed and fought for full social, economic, and political equality of the sexes. She helped me to understand I was brought up by a feminist. My mom, though she never called herself that, was one by dint of how she lived her life, and fought for others.
Gloria never stopped working to make life better for women, and to make sure other women joined her in her activism. In 1969, she co-founded Ms. Magazine. Then in 1971, with Bella Abzug, Betty Friedan and Shirley Chisholm, she founded the National Women’s Political Caucus, which provided training and support for women seeking elected and appointed office. Then in the same year she co-founded the Women’s Action Alliance, which until 1997 supported a network of feminist activists and worked to advance feminist causes and legislation.
Gloria would hold other women to task if they didn’t speak out, even at difficult times, but always with love. In 1986, Bella’s husband Martin died at the young age of 69. We were at the funeral home the night before the funeral, and Bella was sitting with some of us, and saying she didn’t know what she would do without Martin. It had been a true love affair. She was saying things like she didn’t even know where the checkbook was, what their rent was, etc., because Martin handled all that. Well Gloria overheard this and came over and said to Bella, “Don’t you dare say that in public, women look up to you as a feminist, as independent, you can’t say that.” And we all laughed, even Bella, as did Gloria, but she was serious.
Then in the 1990s Gloria helped to establish what she called ‘Take Our Daughters to Work Day.’ She did this to try to have young girls learn about future career opportunities. But her work wasn’t done and in 2005, along with Jane Fonda and Robin Morgan, she co-founded the Women’s Media Center. It is an organization that “works to make women visible and powerful in the media.”
The last time I saw Gloria was at the opening night of “Gloria: A Life,” at Theatre J in D.C. She was 88, as beautiful, and sharp as ever, having just come back from a speaking engagement in some far-off country.
Gloria, the world will miss you, RIP.
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
Commentary
Anti-science, anti-LGBTQ movements go hand in hand
HHS under RFK Jr. has blocked gender-affirming care for youth
A newborn baby died after contracting measles in Pennsylvania last month, and, as if it wasn’t enough grief for his parents, anti-vax activists are trying to track down and harass his family. Apparently, Gov. Josh Shapiro tangled with Robert F. Kennedy Jr. over his “inaccurate and misleading claims.”
On Aug. 26, RFK Jr., the secretary of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, declared that the deaths could be fabricated. We live in peculiar times, when it is government officials, not freaks on the internet, who are spreading conspiracy theories. The new spread of measles in the United States since Donald Trump came to power is one of the most shameful parts of the story of modern American politics, and the tragedy of parents who lost their baby because more and more people refused to vaccinate may seem absolutely unrelated to LGBTQ rights, but actually, there is a pretty solid connection.
Because RFK Jr., the same man who was fighting vaccination, promoted the false idea that vaccines caused autism, and even curated the anti-vaccine organization Children’s Health Defense before going into politics, is also a known opponent of transgender rights. Under his “leadership,” gender-affirming care for trans minors was banned, and there were also created new healthcare guidelines recognizing only two genders.
All around the globe, there is a weird correlation between anti-LGBTQ — particularly anti-trans — ideas and anti-science movements. And it should be clearer to the general public. People who are speaking against LGBTQ rights are not just threatening minorities. They are a danger to everyone.
The Trump-Vance administration is an iconic example of such tendencies.
Trump himself is a known critic of modern scientific studies — for example, believing in the same anti-vax conspiracies that Kennedy promoted, and showing obvious skepticism that global warming exists, despite all the evidence that has been shown by climatologists. And he is also a man who used trans people as boogeymen. Under his command, trans people were kicked out of the military. And even worse, recently he made an extremely chilling statement about the 2026 midterm elections, urging voters to “pretend I’m on the ballot” and vote for Republicans, and while discussing what he says is at stake, he said that if Republicans win, “transgenderism” will “end.” This is an offensive statement at best and genocidal at worst.
And, of course, I think everyone remembers the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), which was led by infamous billionaire Elon Musk, who announced to the world that he would destroy the “woke mind virus” that killed his child just because his trans daughter, Vivian Wilson, well, is happy to be a trans person.
DOGE is known not just for cancelling academic research around LGBTQ studies and gender studies. No, this agency abruptly canceled and froze thousands of federal science, research, and health grants, attacking such vital health programs as cancer research, vaccination research, and diabetes research, among others. As you can see, they are not just attacking people who are “affected” by the “mind” virus — they are dangerous to everyone, even if most of the public standing of Musk was around his anti-trans politics and he tried to present himself as a pro-science, pro-progress man by supporting the space industry.
An even more vivid example is the so-called Dark Enlightenment movement.
This extremely reactionary political movement was born in the late 2000s, and originally grew from very democratical classical liberal ideas. Until it became anti-democratic itself. And also often It was created by American software engineer Curtis Yarvin (writing under the pseudonym Mencius Moldbug) and expanded by British philosopher Nick Land. The movement is popular among some Silicon Valley businessmen, and got support from PayPal founder Peter Thiel, and one of their main ideas is that modernity is bad. They are basically obscurantists, who see modern universities as part of “the Cathedral” — a system that, in their opinion, promotes equality and modern science that society doesn’t need. Of course, the movement’s followers are mostly anti-LGBTQ rights, and, as you can see, anti-queerness once again go hand in hand with obscurantism. Unfortunately, the movement got the support of extremely prominent politicians, including U.S. Vice President JD Vance.
In his speech from 2021, Vance proved to be an obscurantist when he claimed that universities are the enemy. He is also a known homophobe and transphobe.
So, why are anti-vaxxers, people who oppose modern scientific studies, and people who hate universities more likely to be queerphobic? Why do the same people who are defending their transphobia by showing that they support common sense actually often show zero such sense when it comes to protecting themselves and their children from measles or decreasing the chances of getting cancer?
We don’t have any statistics or studies that show that all obscurantists are queerphobic, but around the globe, the same dynamic is visible.
In Russian anti-LGBTQ censorship, books about animal biology and zoology have been censored because the censors saw “LGBT propaganda” in them. The famous pro-Putin philosopher Alexander Dugin, who is extremely anti-queer, also speaks up against modernity itself.
In Taliban’s Afghanistan, modern science and LGBTQ rights are attacked at the same time.
Even in the UK, Reform UK is known as the most anti-trans and anti-queer party, and they are facing widespread criticism from scientists and medical experts for promoting climate change denial and anti-vaccine ideas. It doesn’t mean that LGBTQ supporters never believe in conspiracy theories or that progressive politicians always support science.
No, it just means that explicit anti-science and anti-LGBTQ statements often go hand in hand.
I think there are two reasons for this correlation.
First, LGBTQ people are real. You cannot deny that sex is not binary, gender and sex are different, and transition improves the quality of life of actual trans people. Or that same-sex relationships are natural, because even animals have same-sex sexual contacts. To deny it, you need an ideology or a conspiracy theory.
The second reason is that anti-scientific populism and anti-LGBTQ conspiracy theories are popular among the same category of people. It’s a “bundle” of ideas — a trend that conservative voters often adopt together. Studies also show that people who are likely to believe in one conspiracy theory are more likely to believe in another.
But the question is more broad. We don’t speak enough about the harm anti-scientific conspiracy theories and obscurantist politicians around the globe create for mankind in general. Not all people would suffer from a prohibition of hormone therapy, or attacks on same-sex marriage. But anti-global warming ideas, anti-vax advocates, and restrictions on modern research, especially medical research, are potentially dangerous to any human being.
And one of the best things LGBTQ activists could do is just show society that they are being used — that the same people who are stealing LGBTQ rights are also destroying medicine and the environment, and it’s a threat to their own traditional families and future of all kids no less than to queer people.
Opinions
Trans people need a politics of ordinary life
Seeking the freedom to stop explaining ourselves
For much of the modern transgender rights movement, our political vocabulary has understandably been a vocabulary of emergency. We talk about healthcare bans, bathroom restrictions, discrimination, violence, court decisions, and executive orders. We organize because something is being taken away, prohibited or threatened.
Those fights are necessary. But they cannot constitute our entire vision of transgender life.
The Williams Institute at UCLA estimates that approximately 2.8 million Americans ages 13 and older identify as transgender, including roughly 2.1 million adults. Transgender people are only about 0.8 percent of the adult population. Yet transgender Americans occupy an extraordinary amount of the country’s political attention.
Behind those political arguments are millions of people doing profoundly ordinary things.
We commute to work. We complain about rent. We walk our dogs. We sit in traffic. We buy groceries. We fall in love with people who sometimes disappoint them. We worry about our parents getting older. We try to make enough money to retire. We drink coffee before work and wonder what to make for dinner.
This ordinariness should be part of the political project.
For years, LGBTQ advocacy has emphasized visibility. Visibility was necessary because silence allowed discrimination to flourish. Americans needed to understand that gay and transgender people existed in their families, workplaces and communities.
But visibility is a means, not an end.
The endpoint of civil rights is not permanent visibility. It is freedom.
And freedom includes the freedom to stop explaining yourself.
There should be nothing remarkable about a transgender accountant preparing someone’s taxes, a transgender teacher grading papers, a transgender novelist writing a book that has absolutely nothing to do with gender, or a transgender retiree arguing with the homeowners association about somebody’s fence.
That sounds almost comically mundane. That is precisely the point.
For many transgender Americans, mundane life remains harder to obtain than it should be. The 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey, which collected responses from more than 92,000 people, found that 34 percent of respondents were experiencing poverty and 18 percent were unemployed. Eleven percent of respondents who had ever worked reported losing a job because of their gender identity or expression. Nearly 30 percent had experienced homelessness during their lives.
Those numbers tell us something important about what transgender politics should accomplish.
A successful movement cannot measure progress exclusively by representation in television shows, corporate Pride campaigns or the number of transgender politicians elected to office. It must also ask whether transgender people can build stable, boring lives.
Can you find a job?
Can you rent an apartment?
Can you go to the doctor without becoming a political subject?
Can you walk into a restaurant with your spouse without calculating whether everyone is staring at you?
Can you spend an afternoon thinking about something other than being transgender?
Even healthcare illustrates the distance between formal inclusion and ordinary dignity. A 2024 KFF analysis found that 33 percent of LGBT adults who had recently used healthcare reported being treated unfairly or disrespectfully by a healthcare provider, compared with 15 percent of non-LGBT adults. Thirty-nine percent said a negative healthcare experience had made them less likely to seek care.
Equality therefore cannot simply mean keeping a clinic open. It must mean being able to enter that clinic, receive competent treatment and leave without feeling that your identity has swallowed the entire encounter.
There is a broader political lesson here.
Transgender Americans have sometimes been transformed into abstractions by both sides of the culture war. To some conservatives, we are evidence of social decline. To some progressives, we become symbols of resistance. Neither description leaves much room for the complicated, frequently uninteresting reality of being a person.
Most people do not wake up every morning thinking about their demographic categories. They think about deadlines, relationships, bills, ambitions, annoyances and whether there is enough milk in the refrigerator.
Transgender people deserve that luxury too.
A politics of ordinary life would therefore defend transgender healthcare and civil rights vigorously while articulating something beyond defense. Its objective would be integration: transgender Americans participating in civic life without every interaction becoming a referendum on gender.
That means protecting employment and housing. It means making competent healthcare routine rather than exceptional. It means creating communities where transgender children can imagine futures that extend beyond surviving adolescence. And it means allowing transgender adults to become bankers, mechanics, professors, parents, entrepreneurs and retirees without expecting them to become activists simply because they are transgender.
There will always be people who choose activism. We need them. There will always be people who speak publicly about their transitions. Their testimony matters.
But there should also be room for the transgender person who wants none of that.
Civil rights movements succeed not merely when marginalized people become visible, but when their presence stops requiring explanation.
The most radical future I can imagine for transgender Americans is therefore surprisingly conventional: a country in which being transgender can become one fact among hundreds about a person rather than the organizing principle of a life.
Perhaps the ultimate measure of transgender equality will not be how frequently America talks about transgender people. It will be the day when it no longer has to.
Isaac Amend is a transgender man and writer based in D.C. In 2017, Isaac starred in National Geographic’s “Gender Revolution” documentary. He sits on the board of the LGBT Democrats of Virginia. His author’s portfolio is available at isaacamend.com and you can find him on Instagram at: @isaacamend.
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