In his 2025 Inaugural Address to the nation, President Trump declared, “As of today, it will henceforth be the official policy of the United States government that there are only two genders: male and female.” Later that afternoon, he signed an Executive Order limiting the federal definition of gender. Within two weeks, the president had promulgated a slew of additional orders targeting LGBTQ+ rights. The first months of the Trump administration have been dispiriting for the queer community, who have seen hard-won legal gains evaporate with the stroke of a pen. Given the president’s animosity, the future seems to hold little promise of improvement.
But in these dark times, there is a great deal of comfort to be found in history.
My recent book, Family Matters: Queer Households and the Half-Century Struggle for Legal Recognition, details how American law and society changed dramatically for the better for LGBTQ+ people in a relatively short period of time. The LGBTQ+ movement’s history provides an account of hope for the future, reminding us that, even amid the darkest moments, the law can become more just.
In the middle of the twentieth century, the outlook for the LGBTQ+ community was bleak. Homosexuality was defined as a mental illness, a classification that prevented gays and lesbians from obtaining federal employment, serving in the military, and securing custody of their children. The state went to great lengths to suppress homosexuality, insisting that it was deviant, immoral, and socially harmful. Every state criminalized consensual sodomy, and vice patrols wielded a host of other statutory provisions to repress the queer world. That meant that members of the queer community risked arrest, prosecution, and punishment every time they sought affection, companionship, and comfort.
The punishments for same-sex sexuality could be extreme. Consider the story of Bert Chapman. In 1940, Michigan police arrested the 35-year-old for being sexually intimate in his home with another man. The court confined him to a psychiatric institution until he “fully and permanently recovered” from his homosexuality. Chapman spent thirty-one years detained in psychiatric institutions because he was gay. He was finally able to secure his release in 1971, after convincing a jury that he was no longer a danger to society. Chapman’s ordeal was the exception, not the rule, but he was also far from the only gay man who suffered prolonged periods of confinement because of his sexual orientation.
Chapman’s story is a sobering example of what LGBTQ+ Americans were up against. Yet his release underscores that American law could and did in fact change. Activists and others fueled this shift. Over five decades, queer and straight society developed new understandings and conceptions of same-sex sexuality. These changes would prompt legal reform, giving rise to a significant transformation in American law.
The events that would change the country include inspiring accounts of resistance, heartwarming tales of affection, and humorous moments of wit. Some were headline-grabbing theatrical protests, such as when a queer rights activist Tom Higgins literally shut the mouth of evangelical leader Anita Bryant by hurling a banana cream pie her face. The gay and lesbian press reveled in the fact that Higgins self-identified as a “Groucho Marxist.” Others were personal moments of activism, like the elderly lesbian couple who contributed to the cause by coming out in the newsletter of their assisted living community. Still others were painful stories of hardship, agony, and injustice, experiences that all too often dominated the lives of those who fought against America’s discriminatory legal regime.
What Family Matters shows is that advocates fought long and hard against seemingly impossible odds. Marriage equality is one of the movement’s most conspicuous victories. Yet in 2004, the legal landscape was so daunting that many movement leaders were convinced they would never win. That year, same-sex marriage rights had been on the ballot in eleven states. In every single one, voters approved a constitutional ban on marriage equality. Moreover, the country had re-elected President George W. Bush, who was known for his opposition to queer rights. These results left members of the queer community despondent. When leaders of national LGBT rights organizations convened to discuss how to move forward, some were convinced the movement needed to walk away from the fight for marriage rights entirely. Others, however, urged their friends and colleagues to remain steadfast. They believed in their goals and were convinced that a different strategy would work. They were right.
What history shows is that change takes time. The arc of the moral universe is long, and while motivated citizens try to slowly bend it towards justice, many people suffer the consequences of harmful laws and policies. Gay and lesbian parents lost custody of their children. When their partners became ill, many could not visit them at the hospital, participate in making medical decisions, or attend the funerals. Others became sick because they could not access their same-sex partners’ health insurance. Still others suffered brutal attacks at the hands of bigoted assailants. The injustices were legion, and the fact that the law now recognizes same-sex marriage rights does not erase that history.
But America’s anti-LGBTQ+ laws can and did change, because advocates did not give up. After every defeat, they took stock, changed their approach, and tried again. What this history offers is a beacon of hope. For progressives, this administration’s actions have been demoralizing. It is not, however, the end of the story. The fight will continue, with dedicated Americans mobilizing for what they know is right. That is why, despite the odds, I have faith that the law can change for the better. After all, it already has.