When I was younger, I was full of anger. Years of being closeted left me suffocating in silence, terrified to be myself in a heteronormative world that essentially hated me. Or, at best, treated me like an abnormal, second-class citizen. There was a lot of simmering rage with nowhere to go. When I finally came out and embraced myself as a lesbian, the last thing I wanted to do was acknowledge straight allies. F**k them! ran through my mind and, honestly, probably out loud more than once. Related Let this be the month we rededicate ourselves to Black queer and trans liberation Before rainbow capitalism, before viral visibility, and before anyone declared liberation, there were Black queer and trans people fighting to be free. In my defense, and in hindsight, it makes sense that I carried hostility toward the group that had always represented my oppression. I hadnt yet built the self-love or the skill to distinguish between individuals and the systems were all raised under. At that point in my life, I couldnt clearly separate the straight allies who genuinely loved me and stood by the LGBTQ+ community from the deeply embedded homophobia and transphobia of our broader culture. Never Miss a Beat Subscribe to our newsletter to stay ahead of the latest LGBTQ+ political news and insights. Subscribe to our Newsletter today Years later, though, I came to understand just how critical allies are, not just for the LGBTQ+ community, but forall marginalized communities. Oppressive systems dont dismantle themselves. They require disruption, solidarity, and collective effort. Cheering from the sidelinesBeing an ally is not about claiming an identity; its about action. Its about doing the work to understand your own privilege, listening without defensiveness, and educating yourself without burdening those already doing the heavy lifting. Allyship means showing up when it counts, especially when theres no spotlight or social media credit. It means speaking up when it would be easier to stay silent. True allyship isnt passive; its participatory. Its not about being centered in someone elses story, but about using your position to shift power, redistribute voice, and stand between harm and the people targeted by it.We cannot change this world unless we truly understand that we are all connected. The belief thatno one is free while others are oppressedmust become more than a slogan. It needs to be a lived value, integrated into every aspect of our lives. Weneedally support. But and this is critical allyship does not mean stepping into or taking over the space of the community youre supporting. Theres a difference between standing with us and standing in front of us.Take theDyke March, for example. Born out of resistance, its not your typical Pride event. Its not corporatized, its not sanitized, and it wasnt created for mainstream approval. The first official Dyke March organized by the Lesbian Avengers, took place in Washington D.C. in 1993, when over 20,000 lesbians took to the streets. It was a visceral and necessary burst of visibility from a group that was often sidelined, even within the LGBTQ+ movement.Since then, Dyke Marches across the country have continued as spaces for political protest, visibility, and lesbian-centered expression. Theyre grassroots, intersectional, and unapologetic. This is not a parade; its a protest. Its a space that centers dykes of all races, genders, and abilities. And while allies cis men, straight people, anyone not identifying as a dyke are encouraged tosupport, that support does not includemarching inthe space. Its not exclusion, its boundary. Its preservation of a space we rarely get to claim. When we say no cis men in the Dyke March, were not saying, You dont matter. Were saying, This is our space, and we need it.Im a fierce ally to my trans community, and as a lesbian, Im part of the LGBTQ+ alphabet. Still, I sometimes feel awkward marchinginthe Trans March. Im not transgender. So for me, it feels more respectful to be on the sidelines, screaming at the top of my lungs in support. Not because I dont care, but because Ido.A clearer example might be aJuneteenth parade. As a white person, its my responsibility to show up, to celebrate Black joy, Black culture, and Black history and to speak up against racism and ensure we never forget the brutal truths of our countrys past. But I wouldnt take center stage or try to speakforthe Black community. Id be there to uplift, to support, and to follow, not to lead. In the end, true allyship is about knowing when to stand beside, when to stand behind, and when to simply stand back and listen. Its about honoring the spaces that marginalized communities carve out for themselves, without demanding entry or recognition. Because sometimes, the most powerful thing an ally can do is respect a boundary and cheer us on from the sidelines.Shaley Howard is the author of the recently released book Excuse Me, Sir! Memoir of a Butch, which received the IPPY Silver Award for excellence in 2024. Shes a small-business owner and an award-winning activist in Portland, Oregon.Subscribe to theLGBTQ Nation newsletterand be the first to know about the latest headlines shaping LGBTQ+ communities worldwide.