A question of faith and allyship

I was recently asked a question that got me thinking, and it's a question I felt was worthy of a broader conversation.

"How do you reconcile your beliefs as a Christian with your support for LGBTQ+ Pride?"

There was no malice in the question, just genuine curiosity, but it did make me pause and think for a moment. Not because it's a difficult question to answer but actually because it gave an opportunity for deeper understanding and to actually have a conversation with someone who may not always have had the opportunity to speak openly about it.

A brief history of intersectionality

What was particularly significant about it is that I was preparing for this week's theme for Pride as well, which is Intersectionality. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the term, it was originally coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw, a black woman (I promise this is important) who has spent more than 30 years studying civil rights, race, and racism and is a professor at the UCLA School of Law and Columbia Law School. In response to the false consensus that discrimination and racism in the law were irrational and “that once the irrational distortions of bias were removed, the underlying legal and socioeconomic order would revert to a neutral, benign state of impersonally apportioned justice.”, she argued that actually, the American legal and socioeconomic order was largely built on racism and the “stubborn endurance of the structures of white dominance”.

Her work mainly centred on legal examples of how discrimination historically was only viewed through a single-lens analysis legally, so when it came to cases that dealt with both racial and sex discrimination, there were conceptual limitations of these analyses. In other words, the law seemed to forget that black women are both black and female and thus subject to discrimination on the basis of both race, gender, and often, a combination of the two.

As with many things in this internet age, what began as a purely legal critique has taken a bit of a life of its own and gone viral! Intersectionality has broadened beyond the scope of black women’s experiences. It showed up in queer theory, feminist legal theory, and studies on race, gender and sexuality. It is a useful word, one that provides a framework for discussing broader patterns of oppression, power, and discrimination. To get to the heart of it, though, you can go back to Crenshaw's simple summary:

Imagine an intersection. Imagine that traffic flows through it from all four directions. Imagine being a person standing in the middle of that intersection. Danger can hit you from any side.

Back to the question

So when I was responding to the question, the answer is "because I believe it's the right thing for me to support, and because I genuinely care about it." But thinking about the underlying, unspoken questions, this came from someone from a similar background to me, who was also trying to navigate the perceived "danger" supporting Pride could present to the core values of their multiple identities.

More than just a question about the month itself, it was a question from a person trying to examine the intersectionality within their identities and how those values could align. As a British-Nigerian man raised in London (although now a resident of Kent), a Pentecostal Christian, and a vocal supporter of LGBTQ+ rights, I navigate the complexities of these interwoven identities daily.

Being British-Nigerian is a layer of complexity on its own. I would never say I was English, but I hold a British passport, and there is a regular not-quite-undertone-any-more of me not really being "proper British". But I'm also not quite Nigerian enough for the Nigerians because I've lived more than 90% of my life in the UK. It's difficult enough to just work out my identity let alone working out how that helps to shape and define my values.

While I've spent the majority of my life in the UK, I also inherited a set of cultural and religious beliefs from Nigeria, a country where homosexuality is criminalised (and carries a penalty of up to 14 years imprisonment under federal law, but death for states that operate under Sharia law), and my religious convictions intertwine with cultural norms. Growing up, these influences shaped my perception of the world, gifting me with some inherent biases that I've had to assess and unlearn as my worldview broadened.

The government made me do it...

I saw a satirical TikTok at the weekend that joked about a couple of friends who decided to go ahead and get gay married before the government made them do it. And while it's easy to see the satire for how ridiculous it is, the key to good satire is for it to be at least grounded in a kernel of realism. The more we hear about the "gay agenda" or "wokeness" being "forced on people", the more you realise this is a very real message that people are being brought up to see as a danger to their identity, one of the possible risks of standing at their own intersection.

I don't know if this is controversial to say, but here's your quick reminder:

No one is forced to be an ally.

Allyship isn't something you're coerced into. It's not something that other people can "force you to do". If you're more focused on appearing to be an ally, or if you are only doing it so your job isn't impacted, then it's performative, and, honestly you're not helping, so you'd be better off just getting out of the way, at least until you know whether it is something you actually fully stand by. Authenticity, particularly in allyship, is about having an intentional, personal commitment born out of empathy and understanding.

For me, the source of my conviction is actually in my identity as a Christian and my personal relationship with God. My beliefs urge me to love all, as captured in Luke 10:27: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and, Love your neighbour as yourself." This verse doesn't specify boundaries of race, religion, sexual orientation, or nationality. It aligns seamlessly with the core of allyship: recognising our shared humanity and extending love, respect, and support to all, irrespective of our differences.

As a British-Nigerian Pentecostal Christian man, I see no conflict between my support for LGBTQ+ rights and my faith. Instead, I view my allyship as a testament to the very essence of my faith – love and acceptance.

A moment for self-reflection

I was challenged by my wife to ask myself, "So what?" for these posts. What do I want people to leave with after reading this? How is this going to change anything?

I know one thing I absolutely am not trying to do. I am not telling you what is right or wrong. I'm telling you what I believe and how I have found my reason for allyship. So to you, whoever you are, whatever your intersections, I want you to remember that allyship is a journey of self-reflection, authenticity, and conscious commitment. It's about standing alongside your neighbours, challenging your biases, bridging divides, and extending love and respect to each person's unique journey.

How that presents itself will depend largely on your intersectional identities, the culture that you have been raised in, and the things you perceive as dangers. But I don't want you to allow that fear to lead to inaction. It can be scary, but I encourage you to examine your journey so far, your intersectional identities, and the role you can play in fostering a more understanding and respectful world.

Remember, change begins with one person, one decision, one act of love.

Sending you love and understanding on your journey.