Do Asexuals Belong at Pride?

Once a year, in June, the question of whether asexuals belong at Pride events becomes a subject of sometimes heated debate within the LGBTQ+ community. At first glance, the answer might appear to be no, they don't belong. After all, isn’t Pride a celebration of sexuality and gender identity, and doesn't the very word “asexual” mean "without sexuality"? Moreover, pride comes from overcoming adversity, does it not? And what obstacles have asexuals faced as a result of their sexuality, or lack thereof? But while asexuals may not always be a perfect fit, the answer is not a simple no. The reality is more complex.

Asexuals ("aces") do not experience sexual attraction, and they overwhelmingly consider this to be a sexual orientation of its own. Yet, one of the common objections to asexual inclusion is that asexuality is not, supposedly, an orientation—it's the lack of an orientation. This is often in the eye of the beholder, as the words can be parsed to support either side of the argument, and the definition of “sexual orientation” can be rather ambiguous to begin with. But it is self-evident to most aces that asexuality is an innate sexual tendency, even if it’s one that tends to eschew sex altogether.

There are a host of reasons to believe asexuality is, in fact, a sexual orientation,[1] but even if you are skeptical of this, it is irrelevant to whether or not aces belong at Pride. Transgender isn't a sexual orientation, yet transgender persons—many of whom are also ace—have been an historic part of the LGBTQ+ movement. And regardless of whether it’s a sexual orientation or not, a lack of sexual attraction is still a sexual self-concept—it is thus indisputably a sexual identity, comparable to being straight or gay, but it is neither of these. If nothing else, asexuals can be considered LGBTQ+ on this basis alone.

But doesn't pride come from overcoming adversity? Yes, this is why "straight pride" is ridiculed, and rightfully so. But while asexuals haven't suffered the sort of persecution that gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, or gender non-conforming individuals have throughout world history, aces—who comprise about 1% of the population[2] —unquestionably qualify as a "marginalized group" in our sex-obsessed society. We know what it's like to feel invisible, perhaps even more so than other sexual minorities, who have made great strides in visibility and acceptance in recent decades while asexuals have comparatively languished in the closet.

“We know what it's like to feel invisible.”

And asexuals do face some challenges that are comparable to the rest of the LGBTQ+ community; for instance, asexuality is often medicalized, like homosexuality was in the last century[3], and aces, like lesbians, bisexual women, and transgender men, have been subjected to so called "corrective rape."[4] Generally-speaking, aces also struggle with their sexual identity and "coming out" to potentially judgmental family members, friends, and partners.

(However, no one suggests that asexuals are persecuted to the extent that LGBT individuals have been and continue to be in many parts of the world.)

Moreover, while asexuals don't experience sexual attraction, many do experience romantic attraction, sometimes to the same gender ("homoromantic") or to both or all genders ("biromantic" or "panromantic"). These aces have the same queer experience of navigating non-heteronormative relationships as the rest of the LGBTQ+ community. (But even cisgender and "heteroromantic" (“cishet”) aces are generally considered queer, if they choose to so identify, because they, too, are not heterosexual. They may "pass as straight," as bisexuals might too,[5] but they are not straight.)

But despite this shared queer experience, "aphobia" sometimes exists within the LGBTQ+ community itself. I forcefully condemn so called “gatekeepers” who seek to exclude asexuals, whether evicting us from Pride events or invalidating us on Tumblr or in the comment sections on Facebook and YouTube. For instance, it is a commonly-heard refrain of exclusionists that asexuals are somehow foreign invaders of queer spaces, allegedly demanding the de-sexualization of those spaces and "hijacking" queer resources.[6] Obviously, this is predicated on the assumption that aces don't belong, and I don't agree with this. But I do feel that asexuals should tread lightly in these spaces, by no means as "second-class queers," but simply in recognition that the LGBTQ+ movement is primarily sex-positive.

Do asexuals belong at Pride? As aforementioned, the question is mostly academic because aces generally are welcomed at Pride events, especially over the past ten years as a nascent asexual community—mostly online, but increasingly offline, too—has grown in parallel to the LGBTQ+ movement. The LGBTQ+ community has helped to nurture this growth by generally being a safe, welcoming space for asexuals, and a positive example for them to emulate. This is a good thing, in my view, because a movement that celebrates sexual diversity and opposes sexual conformity is healthiest when it is consistent with its principles and inclusive of all sexual identities, including asexuals. Our differences are minor, and should not prevent us from celebrating what we have in common.

[1] https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/living-single/201609/asexuality-is-sexual-orientation-not-sexual-dysfunction
[2] https://health.usnews.com/health-news/health-wellness/articles/2015/05/04/asexuality-the-invisible-orientation
[3] https://www.researchgate.net/publication/308921535_Asexuality_Dysfunction_or_Sexual_Orientation
[4] https://www.huffpost.com/entry/asexual-discrimination_n_3380551
[5] https://matadornetwork.com/change/asexuals-one-alienated-groups-heres-lgbtqia-community-support/
[6] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGY6OmeY3XA