What Kind of Community Do We Want to Be?
Natalie holds an “I heart Idaho” and “You’re in Boise Be Nice” buttons
As Pride Month begins, I wanted to take a moment to share something personal. I know that conversations around this topic can feel uncomfortable for some, but I hope you’ll read this with an open heart. Because at the heart of this story is a question that touches all of us: what kind of community do we want to be? One that turns away, or one that shows up with courage and compassion?
A few evenings ago, I was walking alone down a street in Downtown Boise. As I made my way to my car, I noticed a truck speeding by with a large American flag waving from its bed. It slowed near me, and my stomach instinctively tensed. At first, it was out of concern for my own safety. But then I saw the driver roll down his window and throw a beer can at a man walking just ahead of me. He yelled an expletive — one that targeted the man’s perceived sexual orientation — along with, "Get the f*ck out!"
The man was visibly shaken. I checked on him and we sat together as he collected himself, and he told me this wasn’t the first time he’d been targeted like this in Boise. He shared other stories — they are not mine to tell, but I will say this: I wept.
This isn’t just about politics or personal beliefs. Too often, people label something 'political' simply so they can ignore it. But this is about human dignity.
What I witnessed was hate. And when we see hate, we cannot stay silent. Calling out hatred isn’t political — it’s the right thing to do.
It was especially painful to see that act of aggression tied to the American flag. A flag I love. A flag that should stand for liberty and justice, not be used as a backdrop for cruelty. We must be careful that we don’t allow it to become a symbol of division and fear. That would be a heartbreaking betrayal of what it should represent.
I understand that this is complicated. Many belief systems have long held certain views about the LGBTQ+ community, and I know how hard it can be to wrestle with the tension between faith and love. I did it for years. But what I’ve come to believe is this: no one should be made to feel unsafe simply for existing. No one should be harassed, attacked, or shamed for who they are. In fact, that kind of behavior is the exact opposite of the teachings of the man so many Americans claim to follow in their Instagram bios.
I’ve also had to ask myself — why is there so much fear around these things? To what end? Why are we trying to control so many groups of people? What are we so afraid of? The answers to these questions aren’t simple — and I had to sit with that. I had to let myself feel the discomfort of not knowing, and even more so, the discomfort of realizing I’d been wrong.
Many people feel like they have to accept everything handed to them by their belief systems or political parties. And while faith can be a beautiful guide, blind allegiance can be dangerous. In some religious communities, the lack of curiosity has even been elevated as a sign of greater faith — as if not questioning is somehow more pious. But what a powerful way to keep people from ever examining systems that might be deeply harmful. But you don’t have to accept it all. That mindset can halt growth — it discourages us from asking hard questions, from staying curious, from learning. From stopping leaders who prey and manipulate. It’s okay to recognize when a system has failed people. Critical thought is what allows us to move toward something better. Doubt is not a weakness — it’s trusting yourself enough to ask questions and seek deeper understanding.
Let yourself go on alert when organizations start teaching against empathy. When they frame empathy as weakness or compassion as compromise — take note. Learn from history. And not just the history that makes you comfortable. We’ve seen what happens when societies normalize dehumanization.
There is no black and white — only the complexity of different experiences and perspectives. There is always another lens to see through. But we often stop listening because it’s hard. It’s easier to hold tight to the answers we already have than to challenge them. Shifting a worldview can be exhausting. My word — the last 15 years have been the most mentally exhausting of my life, spent rewiring, rethinking, and reexamining everything I had ever been taught. But that’s the nature of growth — it’s rarely easy, and almost always uncomfortable.
I promise you — yours and mine and everyone’s view is just peering through a keyhole. But we’ve been taught to believe we have a clear view of the universe.
Be brave enough to listen to stories that don’t validate your current lens on reality. Don’t try to remove them when they suggest there are ways of thought, life, and love that don’t mirror yours. There is so much magic in our differences. So much color when we look outside of the black and white.
As a straight person, born female and identifying as a female, I’ve never been told my identity is wrong. As a woman, married to a man with children born to us, I’ve never been told that my family is wrong — or worse, evil — simply for existing. I’ve never had someone interrupt a holiday gathering to tell me I shouldn’t be celebrating. In fact, we continue to celebrate Christmas — an obviously religious holiday — in public spaces, in schools, and in neighborhoods, and it’s often accepted as part of our shared culture, even by those who don’t observe the faith behind it. There’s even a large illuminated cross on Table Rock, visible from much of the city, that many accept as tradition rather than indoctrination. And I’ve certainly never been accused of indoctrination for simply living my truth. Imagine how exhausting it must be to live in a world that constantly questions your right to be yourself.
So, if Pride Month makes you uncomfortable, I invite you to reflect gently. You don’t have to attend a parade or wave a rainbow flag. But maybe — just maybe — you could smile at your neighbor. Maybe you could listen to a story that isn’t yours. Or be brave enough to interrupt hate when you hear it.
To the man in the truck: How dare you. A life that doesn’t validate yours does not need to scare you. How dare you tie our country’s flag to hate. Be better. Because there was nothing decent, noble, or brave in your actions. Only cowardice and smallness. No matter how loud your engine roars.
To the man I met on that Boise sidewalk: I’m so sorry. I hope that one day, this place feels safer for you. I hope our community leans more into empathy — not assumptions — and finds ways to honor each other's humanity. And I hope, for all of us, that we never grow too weary to choose love over hate.
Happy Pride Month.
