I started seeing ads for these about two weeks ago, I decided to get one. If you haven’t seen one, they come in different designs. All of them have a rainbow across the top. Some have another rainbow at the bottom but with different colors. And the words: “You are safe with me.” It’s a wearable sign of allyship. It signals to anyone in a marginalized community, especially LGBTQ, that the wearer is a safe person to approach. It says to them that you’re empathetic, and that you will not judge, discriminate or tolerate harassment.
Being a black man in the United States and knowing something about the history of racism and legalized segregation, I have always been opposed to discrimination and bigotry. Though I’ve never had a close relationship with anyone LGBTQ, I’ve felt solidarity with them for most of my adult life. This became even more relevant to me in 2015. That was the year the U.S. Supreme Court issued the landmark ruling which declared that same-sex marriage is a constitutional right.
But from where I stand, the ruling had a chilling effect.
It started when Don, a man I’ve known since high school (he graduated a year or two ahead of me), called the confederate flag a distraction. You may remember that around the same time, efforts were underway in several states to remove the confederate flag from public properties. Statues honoring confederate officers were also removed in some locations. It was a big story in the news that year. But, according to Don, the flag was a smokescreen because, in his words, nobody noticed the Obergefell ruling.
I resisted the temptation to tell him that he noticed.
Don was visibly angry about that. It should be noted that he was a preacher, and I imagine he his understanding of Christianity influenced his thinking.
Well, Don’s words were echoed by a number of others. The ruling was bad for America, or some nonsense like that. Apparently, a number of politicians heard that call as they pushed laws in several states – former confederate states, I should add – to try to put the genie back in the bottle, so to speak. Among them are the bathroom bills that demand transgender people to use the facility intended for their gender at birth, “don’t say gay” in Florida schools and book bans in libraries.
The politics of division.
Since those things began happening, I’ve wanted to be an ally, or at least a friendly face.
That’s where the pin comes in.
I don’t have any close associations with anyone LGBTQ. Either we’re not close, or I don’t know that they’re LGBTQ. Interaction has been non-existent, save for a few social media friends.
That changed on Friday, June 12, 2026.
My pins (I got two for the price of one) arrived a week earlier. I’d been wearing one to work since Tuesday. One co-worker muttered something unintelligible. He sounded almost as angry as the aforementioned Don. Another co-worker said she liked it.
During my break, I stopped at one of the Subway stores in town. The young lady, who made my sandwich noticed and asked how I got it. Her name is Arykah (sp). Sounds like Erica. I told Arykah about seeing them on my feed and knew I just had to have one. I mentioned that since I don’t really know anyone LGBTQ, wearing the pin is the least I can do to let them know I’m on their side. Arykah said, “You know me,” and smiled.
That was the highlight of my week.