I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has said to me at work, “I’m an ally, by the way,” as if it’s a badge they can wear simply by saying it out loud. I appreciate the sentiment—really, I do. But allyship, like trust or respect, isn’t something you claim. It’s something you prove.
Being gay in the workplace can still feel like walking a tightrope. Some days it’s fine, even empowering. Other days, it feels isolating—especially when you’re the only one speaking up about exclusion, or when people go quiet when the topic of LGBTQI rights comes up. That’s why allies matter so much. But not just the ones who call themselves allies. The ones who do something.
Let’s be clear: if you’re not part of the LGBTQI community, your support matters more than you probably realise. You might think we’ve got it covered, but most of us are tired. Tired of being the ones to always start the conversation. Tired of having to come out again and again. Tired of managing how others respond to who we are.
What we need are colleagues who don’t just nod from the sidelines but walk with us. Who use their voices when ours are being ignored. Who notice when we’re excluded and say something—not privately after the fact, but in the moment. That’s what separates an ally from an advocate.
So how do you make that shift?
First, start by listening. Really listening. Not to respond or be seen as “woke,” but to understand. Ask your LGBTQI colleagues what they need. Ask what feels supportive and what feels performative. And when they answer—don’t get defensive. Just take it in. That conversation might be uncomfortable, but if you’re serious about allyship, that discomfort is part of the work.
Then, act. Don’t wait to be invited to the table. If you’re in a position of influence—whether you're a manager, HR lead, or just someone with a respected voice—use it. Raise the issue of inclusive policies before someone has to ask. Challenge a homophobic joke even if it wasn’t aimed at someone present. Speak up when you notice all the LGBTQI staff are being asked to do the emotional labour of organising Pride events.
And if you're not sure what to say? Say something like, “This doesn’t feel inclusive to me,” or “Have we considered how this affects our LGBTQI colleagues?” You don’t have to be perfect. You just must be present.
Also, reflect on your own privilege. Being straight, or cisgender, or not having to worry whether your identity will cost you a promotion—that’s privilege. It doesn’t mean your life is easy. It just means this particular path is a little smoother for you. Use that to make space for someone else. Not in a grand gesture—but in small, consistent ways that add up.
Another important shift: don’t just support us when it’s safe. I’ve seen many people post about Pride on LinkedIn but say nothing when LGBTQI rights are under attack. Or they attend the Pride social but won’t challenge a colleague making inappropriate comments. Performative allyship is exhausting for those of us who live the reality. What we need is consistency. Not just in June, but all year round.
You don’t need to lead the charge. But you do need to show up. Especially when we’re not in the room. That’s when advocacy matters most—when there’s nothing to gain from it, and you do it anyway.
And please, remember this: we are not all the same. The LGBTQI community is made up of people with different identities, backgrounds, and struggles. Being a good ally to one of us doesn’t mean you’ve got it sorted. Listen across the board. Recognise the unique challenges faced by trans people, queer people of colour, disabled LGBTQI staff, and others who face overlapping layers of bias. One voice isn’t the full story.
I know some people worry about saying the wrong thing. But silence doesn’t protect anyone—it just maintains the status quo. If you’re nervous, that’s okay. You’ll make mistakes. We all do. What matters is that you try, you learn, and you do better next time. That’s growth. And growth is what allyship is all about.
There are plenty of ways to start. Join your workplace LGBTQI network. Advocate for better training. Recommend inclusive suppliers. Suggest diverse speakers for events. Flag where policies might be excluding someone. Offer mentorship. Share credit. Be open about what you don’t know. And if you see someone stepping up and doing this work—support them.
Ultimately, the shift from ally to advocate is not a single moment. It’s a practice. It’s choosing to care out loud, in ways that cost you something. It’s doing the work even when no one is watching. And it’s using your platform—no matter how big or small—to push for change.
So next time you tell someone you’re an ally, take a moment and ask yourself: what have I done lately that proves it?
Because we don’t need more rainbow lanyards. We need people who are willing to walk with us. Not just in celebration, but in solidarity.