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Nature’s Rainbow: The Myth of “Unnatural”

“It’s unnatural” is the oldest argument against us. Biology says the claim is untrue, and humanism says it’s irrelevant.

https://www.pexels.com/@connorscottmcmanus

For centuries, one of the favourite arguments against LGBTQIA+ people has been that we are “unnatural”. It has been used to justify bad laws, bad medicine and bad theology, and it still turns up in debates about discrimination and conversion practices. Let’s take it seriously for a moment, because the biology is not on its side.

The Birds and the Bees

In 1999, biologist Bruce Bagemihl published Biological Exuberance, which gathered more than two centuries of zoological research. Reviewers summarised it as documenting same-sex pairing, parenting and play in some 450 species, from whiptail lizards and flamingos to bottlenose dolphins, vampire bats and giraffes.

A word of caution. Biologists usually say “same-sex sexual behaviour” rather than “homosexuality” for animals, because we can’t assume that animals have identities or motives like ours. The behaviour, though, is real and widespread. For decades it was explained away as dominance, aggression or mistaken identity. Bagemihl argued that the explanation was simpler: nature is not always economical. Abundance and variety are part of how living systems work, not mistakes in them.

“Unnatural” is not an argument

Suppose the animals did none of this. It still wouldn’t matter. Here the humanist answer is simpler than the biological one: nature is not a moral authority.

Cancer, malaria and being eaten by sharks are all natural, and nobody thinks they are desirable or moral. Infanticide is widespread among animals, and parasitoid wasp larvae eat living caterpillars from the inside, a habit that troubled Darwin himself.

Antibiotics, on the other hand, are unnatural. So are reading glasses, vaccines, heart surgery and aeroplanes, and so is the screen you are using to read this article. No one refuses chemotherapy because the body didn’t make it. In practice, “natural” gets invoked only when it suits a prejudice that already exists.

What decides how we treat each other is the harm we cause or prevent, and whether people can live honestly and safely. Biology can remove a false premise, but the case for equality never rested on it.

From bad biology to real harm

The “unnatural” claim does more than hurt feelings. It underpins conversion practices, which try to change or suppress someone’s sexuality or gender identity and are based, as Equality Australia puts it, on the lie that LGBTQIA+ people are broken. Queensland passed the first ban in 2020, followed by the ACT and Victoria, and more recently New South Wales and South Australia. Queensland’s 2020 law applied only to health settings, which, advocates note, leaves out the religious settings where most such practices occur. Tasmania released a consultation draft of a Conversion Practices Prohibition Bill this year, and Equality Australia has made a submission on it.

Even if “unnatural” were true, there would be nothing to cure. And it isn’t true.

What nature does show

September is Biodiversity Month in Australia, so it’s a good time to remember what nature can and can’t tell us. It can’t tell us what’s right, but it can show us what’s resilient. Ecosystems tend to be sturdier when they contain many kinds of organisms, behaviours and strategies, and monocultures are fragile. A community that tries to stamp out difference makes itself less resilient, and so does a society.

So the next time someone says we’re against nature, we can agree that nature is wonderfully varied. Then we can ask why they want a world with less of it.

(c) 2026 Rainbow Humanists. All rights hereby returned to the original author. We acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which this material was prepared, and pay our respects to Elders past and present.

Counted at Last, But Counted Well?

This August, Australia’s Census asked about sexual orientation for the first time. For LGBTQIA+ humanists, the result will depend on more than one question.

In June we urged readers to mark “No Religion” on the 2026 Census if it reflected their lives. The Census was held on 11 August, so what did it change?

It nearly didn’t happen

For the first time, Australia’s national count asked people about their sexual orientation, and it very nearly didn’t. On 25 August 2024 the federal government cancelled the ABS plans to trial new questions that would identify sexually diverse, transgender and intersex Australians, with the Prime Minister reportedly wanting to avoid a culture war. LGBTQIA+ advocates were dismayed, and six Labor MPs, including assistant minister Ged Kearney, publicly called for a reversal. Within a week the Prime Minister reversed course on a sexual orientation question, and a little over a week after that the Treasurer announced that sexual orientation and gender would both be included, as optional questions for people aged 16 and over. A separate topic on variations of sex characteristics was not added, because the ABS had not recommended it.

The question put to respondents offered straight, gay or lesbian, bisexual, another term, don’t know, or prefer not to answer. It is modest, but governments fund what they can measure, and until now our communities have been counted only by proxy.

The proxy we’ve been relying on

Until this year, the closest thing to a count was same-sex couples living together, and those figures already told a clear story. As we showed in A Case for Rainbow Atheism, the ABS found in 2011 that 48% of people in same-sex couples reported no religion, against 21% of people in opposite-sex couples. By 2016 the figure was 57%. In 2021, 63.9% of people in same-sex couples reported no religion, compared with 37.6% of people in all couple relationships. Among those aged 15 to 24, the figure was 75.9%.

Over the same decade, the proportion of all Australians reporting no religion rose from 22.3% to 38.9%. LGBTQIA+ Australians have been moving away from organised religion faster than the population as a whole. That shouldn’t surprise anyone, given how many faith institutions have treated us.

A caution: the ABS itself notes that, because the 2021 Census had no sexual orientation question, couples data cannot be used as a count of diverse sexualities or treated as representative of all lesbian, gay and bisexual people. That is exactly why the new question matters.

Two optional questions

Almost everything on the Census is compulsory. The exceptions are two optional questions: religion and sexual orientation. Anyone who wasn’t safe or ready to be open about themselves might well have skipped them. Others may have ticked a religion out of family habit, because the ABS decided to keep the 2021 wording of the religion question rather than adopt its proposed redesign, and critics argue that wording inflates the religious count.

What to watch for

When the results are released (the ABS plans to publish them in three phases starting in June 2027), we’ll be looking at:

  • How many people chose “prefer not to answer” or “don’t know” on sexual orientation, bearing in mind that “don’t know” also covers people answering for someone else, and what the pattern says about trust and safety.
  • How the religion results compare for people who identified as LGBTQIA+ and the population as a whole, now measured directly rather than through same-sex couples.
  • Whether governments use the data to fund services for LGBTQIA+ people, including older people, rural communities and refugees, who are too easily overlooked.

Overseas, direct measurement has already confirmed what the proxies suggested. In England and Wales, 62% of lesbian and gay people and 66% of bisexual people ticked “No religion” in the 2021 Census. That question was voluntary too, and 8.5% of respondents answered neither the sexual orientation nor the gender identity question. Only 3.4% of people aged 16 and over identified as LGBT, lower than some other surveys suggest, which may reflect that the question was optional. We’ll see whether Australia’s numbers look the same.

Then we need to look at ourselves

If the numbers confirm what the proxies suggest, LGBTQIA+ communities will face an uncomfortable question: why do so many of our public spaces still behave as though faith speaks for everyone? In Sodom Today, Gomorrah the World! we described religious privilege inside queer communities. Religious voices are routinely invited to speak for the community, while openly non-religious voices are rarely heard at conferences, rallies or in community media. “Faith and diversity” often means only faith, and reaching out to the religious is treated as an obligation, while reaching out to the non-religious is rarely considered.

Religious privilege isn’t only done to us by outside institutions. We sometimes reproduce it ourselves. So when the data arrives, we ask community organisations, event organisers and funders to:

  • Count the non-religious in. Ask about religion, including no religion, in community surveys, and report the results.
  • Check who is on the stage. Look at who is invited to speak at conferences, rallies and panels, and whether openly non-religious people are among them.
  • Treat secular and religious inclusion equally. If faith groups have a seat at the table, humanist, atheist and secular groups should have one too.
  • Stop assuming. Don’t treat religious voices as the default voice of the community.

None of this is a case against LGBTQIA+ people of faith. Many find belonging and affirmation in their communities, and we respect that. We should also celebrate their work to change homophobic doctrines from the inside. The point is fairness: representation should reflect who we are.

Being counted is not the same as being heard. But you can’t plan for people you can’t see, and now the data will start to show us. We’ll be watching how it is used, including by ourselves.

(c) 2026 Rainbow Humanists. All rights hereby returned to the original author. We acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which this material was prepared, and pay our respects to Elders past and present.

Published 18 August 2026; added to the archive in October.

One Pride, Two Worlds

From a Police Raid in Kakuma to Freedom in Toronto

Published on Canada Day (1st July 2026) to commemorate Toronto Pride.

(Toronto Pride 2026 – Photo supplied by author)

On June 28, 2026, I marched in Toronto Pride for the first time in my life.

As thousands of people lined the streets cheering, waving rainbow flags, and celebrating with joy, I found myself holding back tears.

Many people around me saw a parade. I saw something much deeper. I saw what Pride looks like when it is protected instead of punished.

The day began with excitement, but also with fear. Although I am now living in Canada, my body and mind still carry the trauma of surviving as a transgender refugee. The memories of violence and persecution do not disappear simply because you arrive in a safer country.

As I joined the parade, those memories returned.

In Toronto, I was not hiding. I was not looking over my shoulder. I marched proudly alongside thousands of people from different backgrounds. Families smiled at us. Children waved rainbow flags. Strangers applauded as we walked past them.

What moved me the most was seeing police officers protecting the parade.

That single image almost brought me to tears.

For the first time in my life, I experienced what it means to celebrate Pride, knowing that law enforcement was there to protect us rather than threaten us. It was a dream I had carried for years, and in that moment, I finally understood the true meaning of celebrating Pride in safety.

But three years earlier, my experience of Pride could not have been more different.

Pride and Prejudice

In 2023, I was one of the organizers of Pride in Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya. We had spent weeks preparing for the event. Around 400 LGBTQ+ refugees gathered under the theme “Say No to Homophobia, Out and Proud.”

The camp was filled with color and hope. People wore rainbow clothing, danced, modeled their outfits, and prepared special meals together. Despite everything we had endured as refugees, we wanted just one day to celebrate our identities and remind each other that we deserved dignity and respect.

Then the police arrived.

As one of the organizers, I knew the responsibility rested on my shoulders. When officers entered the venue, I walked toward them to ask why they had come and whether there was a problem.

They never gave us an explanation.

Instead, they began dismantling our decorations and ordered everyone to leave immediately or face arrest. They did not allow the celebration to continue.

In a matter of minutes, what had begun as a celebration of our existence became another reminder that our lives and identities were not considered worthy of protection.

The violence did not end with the police intervention.

One transgender woman later described being attacked while walking home from the event.

“I was going back home from the Pride event in the evening, and I met a Sudanese gang. They immediately started beating me, but I managed to run quickly. Reaching home, I found myself having a lot of pain on my face and my neck.”

For many LGBTQ+ refugees, Pride was never simply a celebration. It carried enormous risks.

In the months that followed, our situation became even more dangerous. According to my experience and understanding of events at the time, authorities informed LGBTQ+ refugees that they should leave Kakuma because they could no longer guarantee our safety. For many of us, that message made one thing painfully clear: remaining in the camp had become increasingly dangerous.

A Tale of Two Cities

Today, as I marched through the streets of Toronto, I could not stop thinking about the friends I left behind.

Some are still waiting for safety.

Some are still afraid to be seen.

Some have never experienced a Pride celebration where they did not fear violence.

The greatest difference between Toronto Pride and the Pride I helped organize in Kakuma was not the size of the crowd.

It was freedom.

In Toronto, thousands celebrated openly while police ensured our safety.

In Kakuma, our celebration ended with police dismantling our decorations and ordering us to disperse.

One Pride reminded me that I deserved to exist.

The other reminded me how easily that dignity could be taken away.

Why Pride is Important

(Toronto Pride 2026 – Photo supplied by author)

As I walked through Toronto today, I realized that Pride means different things depending on where you stand in the world.

For some, it is a festival.

For others, it is an act of survival.

I am grateful that I finally experienced Pride without fear. But my celebration will never feel complete, while transgender refugees and other LGBTQ+ people around the world are still denied the freedom to live openly and safely.

My hope is that one day, every LGBTQ+ refugee, no matter where they are, will know what I felt in Toronto today: the joy of being seen, accepted, protected, and free.

by Charity Austin

Charity Austin is a refugee activist and founder of Trans Inclusion Group, working on advocacy, peer support and safety for LGBT+ refugees.

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(c) 2026 Rainbow Humanists. All rights hereby returned to the original author. We acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which this material was prepared, and pay our respects to Elders past and present.

Guidelines for Aged‑Care Homes Supporting Queer and Trans Elders

A Humanist, dignity‑based resource

Introduction:
Why Queer and Trans Elders Have Distinct Care Needs

Queer and trans elders often enter aged care with life histories that differ markedly from their heterosexual and cisgender peers. Many have lived through decades in which their identities were criminalised, pathologised, or treated as moral failings. These experiences shape how they approach residential care, trust, privacy, and personal autonomy.

Several factors are especially relevant for aged‑care providers:

  • Disclosure has carried real risk for most of their lives.

    Many elders grew up when same‑sex relationships were illegal, gender diversity was medicalised, and discrimination was routine. Many suffered family rejection, workplace or accommodation discrimination, and stigma and shame. This can make them cautious about sharing personal information with staff.
  • Many lost partners, friends, and whole communities during the HIV/AIDS years.

    They lived through grief, stigma, and abandonment that reshaped their lives. Some were cut off by family, shut out of workplaces, or pushed to the edges of their own neighbourhoods. These experiences still shape their needs in later life, especially now that this history is often forgotten or treated as if it never happened.
  • Family structures may differ.

    Queer and trans elders often rely on chosen family — partners, close friends, or community members — rather than biological relatives. These relationships may not be immediately recognised by traditional care systems.
  • Past experiences with institutions may have been negative.

    Some elders have faced discrimination in healthcare, education, legislation, religious settings, or government services. Uniforms, authority figures, or institutional routines may trigger anxiety or distrust.
  • Trans elders may have specific vulnerabilities.

    Many lived for decades without legal recognition or social acceptance. They may fear misgendering, loss of autonomy, or disrespect during intimate care.

These histories mean that LGBTQIA+ elders may enter aged care with heightened concerns about safety, dignity, and authenticity. Aged‑care homes do not need specialist expertise to support them — only clear communication, respect for identity, and consistent person‑centred practice.

Putting Dignity into Practice:

1. Respecting Identity and Life

  • Use affirmed names and pronouns in all interactions and documentation where legally possible.
  • Ask privately and respectfully how a resident wants to be addressed.
  • Avoid assumptions about partners, family, or personal history.
  • Ensure clothing choices are resident‑led, not staff‑directed.
  • Acknowledge that residents may hold overlapping experiences — queer, trans, disabled, migrant, or culturally diverse — and ensure care plans reflect the whole person, not a single label.

2. Privacy and Confidentiality

  • Treat sexual orientation and gender identity as sensitive health information.
  • Share details only with staff who need them for care.
  • Never disclose a resident’s identity to family without consent.
  • Provide private spaces for dressing, bathing, and personal care.

3. Trans‑Inclusive Care

  • Use the resident’s affirmed gender in daily life — activities, room assignments, social groups.
  • Respect choices around clothing, grooming, and gender‑affirming items.
  • Provide privacy and dignity during personal care.
  • Ensure staff understand that gender‑affirming items are part of identity, not “costumes.”

4. Health and Medical Considerations

  • Support access to gender‑affirming healthcare where relevant.
  • Ensure continuity of hormone therapy if prescribed.
  • Avoid pathologising language (“real name,” “used to be”).
  • Recognise the long‑term health impacts of HIV/AIDS on some residents.

5. Creating a Safe Social Environment

  • Maintain zero tolerance for harassment from staff, residents, or visitors.
  • Provide inclusive social activities that don’t assume heterosexual or cisgender norms.
  • Use subtle signals of inclusion, such as a small rainbow sticker at reception.
  • Train staff to intervene early in bullying or exclusion.

6. Family, Partners, and Chosen Family

  • Recognise chosen family as legitimate support networks.
  • Ensure visitation policies include partners and close friends.
  • Ask residents who they want involved in care decisions.

7. Staff Training (Short, Practical Modules)

  • LGBTQIA+ terminology and respectful communication
  • Privacy and confidentiality
  • Supporting trans residents in personal care
  • Responding to discrimination or bullying
  • Understanding the historical context of queer and trans elders

8. Inclusive Documentation

  • Include affirmed name, pronouns, gender identity, and chosen family contacts on intake forms.
  • Avoid unnecessary binary tick‑boxes.
  • Distinguish between legal and preferred fields to reduce misgendering.

9. End‑of‑Life and Legacy Care

  • Respect identity in death as in life — clothing, name, pronouns.
  • Ensure advance care directives reflect the resident’s wishes.
  • Honour chosen family in memorials and decision‑making.
  • Avoid reverting to birth‑assigned gender in documentation or ceremonies.

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(c) 2026 Rainbow Humanists. All rights hereby returned to the original author. We acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which this material was prepared, and pay our respects to Elders past and present.

Census 2026

If you’re not religious, mark ‘No Religion’ on the Census.

Update: The Census was held on 11 August 2026. Read our follow-up, “Counted at Last, But Counted Well?“.

Australia’s 2026 Census will be the first to count sexual orientation and gender, for people aged 16 and over. The sex recorded at birth question also gains an “Another term” option, though the Census does not add a separate topic on variations of sex characteristics. These questions matter because visibility drives policy: governments fund what they can measure, and communities that remain statistically invisible stay politically vulnerable. The census is not a survey of identity for its own sake — it is a national dataset that shapes health planning, anti‑discrimination work, service design and long‑term resource allocation. For LGBTQIA+ people and humanists, accurate reporting is one of the few structural tools we have to correct decades of erasure.

The 2026 Census is a chance for LGBTQ+ Australians to make our presence visible in the national record. For decades, our numbers have been guessed at, minimised or ignored — and non‑religious queer people have been overlooked even within our own networks. This census finally gives us a way to be counted on our own terms. If we want better services, better policy and better recognition, we need to show up in the data. Our invisibility has lasted long enough.

Make your voice count. Ensure that all Australians are fairly represented — and that religious organisations no longer receive special privileges based on inaccurate data.

Eight reasons for LGBTQ+ people to consider marking ‘No Religion’ on the 2026 Census

  • Visibility in national data — Census data determines who is seen and who remains invisible. If you no longer belong to a religion — or never did — marking “No religion” ensures you are counted accurately rather than absorbed into institutions that do not represent you.
  • Accurate population estimates — Many Australians tick a religion box out of habit or family tradition, not belief or practice. This inflates religious numbers and distorts the national picture. For LGBTQ+ people who left a faith or were pushed out, marking “No religion” reflects reality rather than history.
  • Funding and service design — Census affiliation numbers influence government funding for religious organisations, including schools, charities and service providers. When nominal affiliation is overstated, these institutions receive resources and political leverage that do not reflect actual community support — including from LGBTQ+ people they have historically excluded.
  • Health planning and outcomes — LGBTQ+ health needs are distinct and often unmet. Accurate secular data helps ensure that health planning is based on real demographics, not inflated religious membership that can skew priorities and reinforce institutional influence over public health.
  • Anti‑discrimination and legal protections — Religious exemptions in anti‑discrimination law allow some institutions to treat LGBTQ+ people differently in employment, schooling and service provision. Large census‑reported religious numbers strengthen political resistance to reform. Accurate secular data helps expose the gap between claimed influence and actual community affiliation.
  • Regional and rural visibility — LGBTQ+ people outside major cities are often erased twice: once by geography, and again by assumptions about religiosity. Marking “No religion” helps reveal the true diversity of regional Australia and challenges the narrative that rural communities are uniformly religious.
  • Evidence for advocacy and policy change — Community organisations, human‑rights groups and service providers rely on census data to demonstrate need, challenge misinformation and push for reform. Accurate secular numbers strengthen the case for inclusive policy and weaken arguments based on inflated religious affiliation.
  • Ending a long history of harm, exclusion and religious privilege — LGBTQ+ Australians — especially those who are non‑religious — have lived with decades of erasure, discrimination and institutional hostility. Religious privilege has shaped who gets counted and whose lives are treated as statistically relevant. It’s time for change.

The Safe Schools debate, controversy over religious-based discrimination, Gay Conversion Therapy, the Marriage Equality postal survey, and the current attacks on trans rights all show how organised religious influence can shape public policy and public sentiment in ways that harm our communities. Many still carry the impact of past trauma and ongoing injustice. Marking “No religion” is a way to correct the record and ensure our communities are finally seen on our own terms.

A note of respect

Many LGBTQ+ Australians are religious and find community, affirmation and belonging within faith traditions. This page is not a universal prescription. It is an explanation of why many LGBTQ+ people — especially those who grew up without religion, have left religion, or were harmed by it — may choose “No religion” in 2026. Speak up. Use your individual voice.

Visit

http://censusnotreligious.org.au

In 2026, mark ‘No Religion’ and make every secular Australian count.

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(c) 2026 Rainbow Humanists. All rights hereby returned to the original author. We acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which this material was prepared, and pay our respects to Elders past and present.

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