It’s Not Really About Rainbow Crosswalks
It’s not about paint. It’s about power.
Conservatism, in its various forms, tends to hinge on control—control of ideas, identities, and institutions. It thrives on the belief that society must be ordered, that hierarchies are natural, and that change is dangerous unless it reinforces the existing power structure. Whether it’s religious fundamentalism, economic elitism, or nationalist politics, the underlying mechanism is the same: keep people in predictable lanes, discourage critical thinking, and ensure that those already in power stay there. Conservatism doesn’t often sell itself as control; it dresses it up as “tradition,” “values,” or “stability.” But peel back the rhetoric, and it’s about maintaining who gets to define what’s “normal,” who belongs, and who doesn’t.
A vital part of that control strategy is the creation of a common enemy. It’s hard to rally people around protecting entrenched power for its own sake, so conservatism manufactures a threat—immigrants, queer people, feminists, progressives, anyone whose mere existence challenges the status quo. Fear becomes the glue that binds its followers together. The “enemy” becomes the justification for surveillance, for moral policing, for cruelty in the name of order. It’s not about truth or morality; it’s about cohesion through opposition. Conservatism’s survival depends less on what it builds and more on what it convinces people to hate.
That’s why fights over rainbow crosswalks, drag shows, or who uses which bathroom aren’t really about those things at all. They’re symbols in a larger war for control. Every time conservatives frame inclusion as a threat, it reveals just how fragile their version of “order” really is. Because if a rainbow painted on asphalt can shake your worldview, maybe your worldview was built on sand. What’s actually being defended isn’t faith, or family, or patriotism—it’s a hierarchy that demands some people always be beneath others. The noise about “protecting children” or “preserving tradition” is camouflage for something much darker: the need to dominate, to decide who is fully human and who is not.
But here’s the truth they can’t control—love, justice, and liberation always find a way. Every movement toward equality, from women’s rights to racial justice to LGBTQIA+ inclusion, has been met with the same predictable backlash. And every time, that backlash has eventually been buried beneath the steady march of compassion. Rainbow crosswalks aren’t dangerous; they’re declarations that the old gatekeepers no longer have a monopoly on holiness, beauty, or belonging.
So, when people rage about the colors on the street, remember: it’s not really about paint. It’s about power. It’s about who gets to tell the story of what’s good, right, and sacred. And the good news—the Gospel news—is that power built on exclusion always crumbles. Because love, by its nature, refuses to stay in the lines.
