It’s easy to throw on a rainbow during Pride Month, post a cute quote, or slap a “Love is Love” sticker on your laptop. And look, there’s nothing wrong with visibility. It matters. But real allyship? It’s more than a one-month photo opportunity. It’s what you do the other eleven months of the year—when no one’s watching, when it’s not trendy, when the stakes are a little higher. Because being a better ally to the LGBTQIA+ community isn’t about big gestures. It’s about consistent, quiet, meaningful actions that show up when it counts.
So what does support actually look like?
First, it starts with listening. Not waiting for your turn to speak. Not assuming you already know. Just listening—to stories, experiences, frustrations, and dreams that aren’t your own. LGBTQIA+ people don’t need you to speak for them; they need you to create space where their voices are heard, valued, and protected. That means stepping back, not stepping in front. Share the mic. Don’t take it.
Educate yourself. Google is free. So is asking thoughtful, respectful questions when you’ve built trust. Learn what the letters in LGBTQIA+ stand for. Understand the difference between gender identity and sexual orientation. Familiarise yourself with terms like cisgender, non-binary, and asexual. Don’t rely on your queer friends to be your personal diversity trainers—they’ve got enough going on. The more you learn, the more helpful (and less harmful) you can be.
Use your privilege. Got a seat at the table? Make sure someone queer has one too. Hear a homophobic joke? Call it out. See a transphobic comment in a WhatsApp group? Shut it down. Know a company is rainbow-washing but not walking the talk? Ask questions. Silence often protects power, and as an ally, your role isn’t to stay silent—it’s to gently, consistently shift the room. You don’t need to yell. But you do need to act.
Support queer businesses, artists, and creators. Follow LGBTQIA+ voices online, share their work, buy their books, wear their merch, go to their shows. It’s not charity—it’s community. Visibility pays the bills, helps movements grow, and reminds people that their stories matter. And if you’re in a position to hire, collaborate, or recommend? Lift queer people up. Regularly. Not just when it’s convenient.
Remember that allyship isn’t performative—it’s protective. It means checking in on your queer friends when the news is heavy. It means making your spaces inclusive before someone has to ask. It means respecting pronouns, learning names, and not treating someone’s identity like a trend or an icebreaker. It means walking the walk even when no one’s applauding.
And yes, sometimes you’ll mess up. You’ll say the wrong thing, get corrected, or realise something you’ve always believed wasn’t quite right. That’s okay. Growth is part of the job description. What matters is how you respond—do you get defensive, or do you listen and do better? Because allyship isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present, accountable, and open.
Want to do better? Start small. Put your pronouns in your email signature. Normalise asking people theirs. Support LGBTQIA+ events outside of Pride. Teach your kids about different types of families. Make sure your company policies actually protect queer employees. Donate to local LGBTQIA+ shelters or mental health services. Speak up at the dinner table. Offer support without centring yourself.
And most importantly—don’t stop. Don’t let June be the only time you show up. The queer community is still here in July. In October. On a random Tuesday when someone just wants to feel safe at work, or hold their partner’s hand in public without fear. That’s when allyship matters most.
So no, being an ally isn’t about waving a flag once a year. It’s about being the kind of person who makes life better, safer, and more dignified for the people around you—especially the ones who’ve been told they don’t belong. It’s about showing up, again and again, without needing a parade to remind you why.
