Are We Facing a New Lavender Scare?
The Fear-Fueled Tactics Of The 1950S Lavender Scare Are Being Revived In Today’s Anti-LGBTQ+ Crusade
I was recently listening to the podcast ON with Kara Swisher, an episode titled The Red Scare Returns? Lessons from McCarthyism in the Age of Trump 2.0, where she interviews New York Times journalist and author Clay Risen. Toward the middle of their conversation, they briefly mention the Lavender Scare.
If you’re not familiar, that was the U.S. government’s 1950s purge of LGBTQ+ employees. It was part of the broader Red Scare campaign to root out suspected Communists during the Cold War. A little slice of paranoia served up with a side of puritanical control.
Then Kara shares something that made me pause. When she was considering a job at the State Department, they asked her if she was gay and told her she could be blackmailed because of it.
It wasn’t news to me. Homophobia rarely is. But it hit me all the same, like history reaching out from the past, grabbing me by the collar and giving me a good shake. It’s still happening. It never went away. Wake the fuck up.
I’ve known about the Lavender Scare for years. But in that moment, listening to her story, it didn’t feel like history. It felt like a warning, the same old fear just dressed in a fresh coat of paint. The playbook hasn’t changed; it’s just been uploaded and optimized for social media. The propaganda’s been regurgitated for a new audience, a new media, but the lies are the same.
Back in the 1950s, at the peak of Cold War panic, the U.S. government launched a campaign of fear and persecution against queer people. If you’ve seen Fellow Travelers, with Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey, you’ve caught a glimpse of what that looked like—the longing, the danger, the high cost of hiding. If you haven’t watched it yet, I highly recommend it. It’s not just beautiful television, it’s a window into a truth we can’t afford to forget.
But the real history was even uglier.
Thousands of federal workers were interrogated, outed, and fired. Being gay or suspected of being gay made you a national security risk. Queer people were painted as emotionally unstable, morally corrupt, and easy blackmail targets. Dangerous simply for existing.
The Lavender Scare didn’t come out of nowhere. It was a spin-off of the Red Scare, another episode in the long-running series called American Fear-Mongering. McCarthy and his crusade against communists needed a sequel, and gay people were the perfect target: easy to demonize, hard to defend.
In 1953, Eisenhower signed Executive Order 10450 (see sec 8, (iii)), which banned anyone considered “sexually perverted” from working in federal jobs. The FBI kept lists. The press ran hit pieces. People lost their livelihoods over rumors, side glances, or the wrong bar tab.
And here we are, decades later, watching the rerun.
Different names. Different tools. Same goals.
LGBTQ+ people are once again being painted as threats, not to national security this time, but to children, to families, to the so-called sanctity of “traditional values.” You know, the very values some MAGA types love to ignore in their own lives: secret abortions, pedophiles within the church, affairs, out-of-wedlock kids, sex scandals, indictments. All while clutching their pearls at drag brunch.
We are being cast once again as villains in someone else’s culture war. And the script is painfully familiar.
Just look around.
Queer books banned from schools like they’re toxic waste.
Trans kids denied healthcare, sports, and even a place to pee in peace.
Drag queens painted as predators despite being beloved staples of everything from brunch to Broadway.
Teachers fired for Pride flags.
And that old, ugly word creeping back into headlines and hearings: grooming.
That one makes my skin crawl. Not just because it’s a lie, but because I know exactly where it comes from.
In the Lavender Scare, they didn’t use the word grooming, but they sure pushed the idea—that gay people were dangerous to children. That we were perverse, unstable, and unfit to serve. That lie cost people their careers, their families, their lives.
We’re watching that same narrative, though dusted off and digitally enhanced, being used to justify laws, bans, firings, and fear.
And yes, we saw it again when Trump banned transgender Americans from serving in the military with EO 14183. First by tweet (because why not be petty and destructive?), then through formal policy. It was the same Cold War logic: identity as liability. The same tired tropes about stability, distraction, and disruption, even though every credible military study, including the RAND Corporation’s, debunked those claims.
But this was never about facts. It was about fear.
Some folks like to say a Lavender Scare couldn’t happen now. Not in a world where gay men wear $5,000 suits, host fundraisers in the Hollywood Hills, and shake hands with presidents. They’ll point to people like Richard Grenell, Trump’s former ambassador and cabinet official, now installed as head of the Kennedy Center, of all places. A queer man overseeing America’s crown jewel of the arts, thanks to an administration that did everything it could to roll back LGBTQ+ rights.
Then there’s Scott Bessent, the current U.S. Secretary of the Treasury, openly gay, openly powerful, and very publicly aligned with a party that has turned queer lives into political punching bags. And of course, there’s Peter Thiel, billionaire tech bro and political kingmaker, living out his white supremacy wet dreams and funding a future where most of us don’t fit.
And sure, they’re out. They’re wealthy. They’re in the room where it happens.
But let’s not confuse access with safety.
Being at the table doesn’t mean the meal isn’t poisoned. Sometimes it just means you’re the garnish.
This kind of representation isn’t protection. It’s a smokescreen. It’s the politics of the fig leaf, tokenism wrapped in a flag. It lets those in power say, “We’re not anti-gay. Look at our gay friends,” while quietly gutting civil rights, banning books, and criminalizing access to gender-affirming care. It gives cover while the rest of the LGBTQ+ community, especially trans people, young people, parents, teachers, and performers, are shoved back into the margins.
It’s not solidarity. It’s cover. It’s not liberation. It’s lipstick on a purge.
Let’s be honest. Representation without advocacy is just decoration.
And you can feel it, can’t you? People are scared. People are tired. I know I am.
But we’ve been here before.
The Lavender Scare thrived on silence. It devoured people because they had no one to speak for them or beside them. But this isn’t 1953. We have allies. We have platforms. We have each other.
And we have history, not just as a warning, but as a blueprint for resistance.
What We Can Do:
1. Speak Up — Loud and Often
The thing about silence is, it always feels safer, until you realize it’s not protecting you, it’s protecting the people who want you gone.
I used to think that telling my story was just for me. That saying, “Yes, I’m here. This is who I am,” was about claiming space. And it is. But it’s also about something bigger, it’s about leaving the door open a crack wider for the next person.
When we speak up, in PTA meetings, in classrooms, online, in line at the grocery store, we remind people that we’re not theories or threats. We’re not headlines. We’re their neighbors, their cousins, the person who held the elevator. We’re the kid who just wants to play trumpet in the school band without being called a slur. We’re the teacher with a Pride sticker on her desk who makes one scared student feel like maybe it’s okay to exist.
School boards and governors may not seem like places where our stories live, but believe me, they are. I’ve seen what happens when we show up. One voice trembling with truth can outshine a hundred shouting lies.
There are days it’s hard. Of course there are. But the beauty of speaking up is that it multiplies. It gives someone else permission to do the same. And pretty soon, silence doesn’t stand a chance.
So tell your story, even if it’s messy, even if you’re tired, even if it’s just over coffee with someone who needs to hear it. Speak like the world depends on it. Because, in more ways than we like to admit, it does.
I’m coming out. Again.
Actually, I don’t care what the world knows. It’s my life. If I want to be out, I’ll be out. If I don’t, I won’t.
2. Vote Like It Matters — Because It Does
I know, politics can feel like the least romantic thing in the world. It’s slow, it’s messy, and half the time you’re voting for the least awful option. But don’t let anyone convince you it doesn’t matter. Because the truth is, while we’re busy living our lives, someone is always deciding how much of those lives we’re allowed to live.
They’re deciding whether your kid can check out a book with two moms in it. Whether your niece can play on the soccer team that matches who she knows herself to be. Whether your partner can visit you in the hospital. Whether your name is yours in the eyes of the law.
And all of that gets decided closer to home than you think, in school board meetings with bad lighting and folding chairs, in sleepy statehouses where some guy in a suit introduces a bill that sounds harmless until you read the fine print and realize it’s targeting your entire existence.
I’ve seen the difference when we show up. I’ve seen bigots get very nervous when they realize we’re paying attention. You don’t need to know all the policies. You just need to know your people, and vote like they matter. Because they do. So do you.
So yes, drag yourself to that ballot box. Vote in the local races. Vote when it’s boring. Vote when it’s raining. Vote like your queer neighbor’s future depends on it, because it probably does.
Contact legislators and oppose anti-trans bills in your state or country.
Vote for candidates who protect LGBTQ+ rights.
Stay informed through organizations like ACLU or Trans Formations Project, which track anti-trans legislation.
3. Support Queer and Trans Organizations
We don’t get through this alone. We never have.
Queer and trans organizations are the ones doing the work most people don’t see, the late-night hotline calls, the legal battles, the mutual aid drives, the warm meals and warm beds when someone’s been kicked out of their home for simply being who they are. They are the ones showing up when the world looks away.
They’re not always polished or well-funded. Sometimes they’re scrappy and tired and held together with donated coffee and deep love. But they are keeping people alive, literally and spiritually, and they need us.
If you have money, give what you can. If you have time, offer it. If you have a platform, lift them up. If you don’t know where to start, ask around. There’s probably someone within a ten-minute walk of your door doing this work right now.
And don’t just support them when tragedy strikes or laws pass. Support them when joy happens too. Show up to the trans prom. Share the fundraiser for queer summer camp. Celebrate the little victories. That’s where the real power lives, not just in fighting back, but in building forward.
These orgs are the chosen family structure for people who don’t have one. If you’ve ever been carried by someone else’s kindness, this is your chance to return the favor.
4. Disrupt the Lies
It starts small. Someone makes a joke that isn’t funny. A relative posts something vile on Facebook and calls it “just an opinion.” A neighbor says, “I don’t care what people do, as long as they don’t shove it in my face.” You feel your stomach knot. You think, Do I say something? You don’t want to start a fight. You don’t want to ruin dinner. You don’t want to be that person. Be that person.
The lies being told about us aren’t new, they’re just louder now. And every time we let them slide, they grow stronger. So yes, speak up. Call it out. Ask questions. Say, “Actually, that’s not true.” Say, “That’s harmful, and here’s why.” Say it kindly if you can, fiercely if you must, but say it.
I’ve had those conversations. They’re not fun. They don’t always end in hugs. But sometimes they plant something. Sometimes someone comes back later, when it’s quiet, and says, “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
You don’t have to know all the stats. You don’t have to win the debate. You just have to break the spell. Remind people that what they’re repeating isn’t harmless, it’s how harm starts. Lies don’t need a megaphone if everyone around them stays quiet.
The world doesn’t get better by pretending it’s already fine. It gets better because someone, often someone queer, someone trans, someone tired of being lied about, decides not to let it slide.
When Gratitude Becomes Complicity
It’s one thing to separate art from artist. It’s another to ignore the harm an artist continues to inflict while profiting from that art—and to help them do it.
5. Refuse to Go Back
We’ve already done the hiding. We’ve done the whispering and the coded language and the glances that said, Are you one of us? We’ve lived in the margins, in the footnotes, in the shadows of someone else’s version of decency.
We’re not doing that again.
We are not going back to a world where queerness is something you keep behind closed doors. We are not going back to closets that double as coffins. We are not going back to being someone else’s scapegoat just because they’re too afraid to look in the mirror.
This doesn’t mean we have to be fearless. It just means we have to be stubborn. And tender. And loud when we need to be, soft when we want to be, and unapologetically ourselves no matter who’s watching.
The Lavender Scare worked because people were isolated, shamed, and silenced. But this isn’t 1953. We have each other. We have history on our side and a future worth fighting for.
They will try to make us small again. That’s what all this noise is about, fear of our joy, our freedom, our refusal to fit their mold. But we know who we are. And once you’ve tasted your own truth, once you’ve been fully seen, you can’t pretend you’re invisible again.
So no. We’re not going back. We’re going forward, arm in arm, glitter in our hair, scars on our sleeves, and love, big, messy, radical love is lighting the way.
Still here. Still queer. Still fighting for a better future.
I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to post on June 30th—the last day of Pride Month. Then I saw that Lady Libertea shared a post on Substack from Rich Dornisch 🏳️🌈 asking:
6. Follow And Amplify Queer Voices Making A Difference
One of the most powerful ways to push back against disinformation, erasure, and hate is by amplifying the voices already doing the work. There are creators, journalists, artists, and activists who are informing, inspiring, and building community every day, often with little institutional support but a whole lot of grit.
If you want to stay informed and empowered, these are some of the folks and platforms worth having in your feed:
👉🏻 Good Queer News
👉🏻 Gay Buffett
👉🏻 Erin In the Morning
👉🏻 QStack LGBTQIA+ Substack Directory,
👉🏻 Collide Press
👉🏻 The Queer Love Project
👉🏻 Oh Kay! Lavender Stories
👉🏻 Charlotte’s Web Thoughts
👉🏻 Kornerz: Your Social Network of the Future
Follow them. Share their work. Boost their voices. Visibility isn’t just survival — it’s solidarity. Know others doing great work? Drop their names in the comments and keep the circle growing.
This moment is serious, no doubt about that. But it’s not hopeless.
History doesn’t just repeat itself. It circles back like an old ghost, asking, Have you grown? Are you braver now?
It’s not here to haunt us. It’s here to see what we’ll do differently this time.
Me? I’m still learning how. But I choose to fight, not with fists, but with truth, with tenderness, with all the fire I’ve got left in my chest. Each day my voice gets louder, more focused. Yours will too.
I hope you’ll fight too. Because you matter. Because we all do.
And because no one else gets to write the ending for us.
Be Bold, Be Free, Be you!
-David
Gotta stick together.
LOVE this, thank you!