PEACHY KEENAN: Everyone is gay, can you blame them?

In Team America, the 2004 puppet comedy from the creators of South Park, there’s a scene that satirizes the prevalence of gay-themed stage plays of that era (Angels in America, Rent, etc.) with the musical number “Everyone Has AIDS!”  

I couldn’t help remembering that song when I saw this story yesterday: “Forty percent of Brown University students say they are LGBT.” This percentage has tripled since 2010. 

“The Herald’s Spring 2023 poll found that 38% of students do not identify as straight — over five times the national rate. Since Fall 2010, Brown’s LGBTQ+ population has expanded considerably. The gay or lesbian population has increased by 26% and the percentage of students identifying as bisexual has increased by 232%. Students identifying as other sexual orientations within the LGBTQ+ community have increased by 793%,” the Brown Daily Herald reported.

A 793% increase? That’s not just a social contagion and Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria. It also tells us that this is the fastest growing religious cult ever seen. The pressure to join, to belong, is so tremendous and the instant social benefits are so irresistible, so powerful, that many cannot resist.

And can you blame them? Becoming LGBTQ is like becoming ordained into the priestly class, you instantly ascend to the inner ring of the elite circles. Yes, you sacrifice marriage and a family and “normal life,” but you are granted special favors and privileges that befit your rank above your hopelessly middle-class peasant roots. Imagine being white AND straight and “cis-gendered.” That’s like being German AND a Nazi! It simply will not do. 

The most elite of the priests, the Cardinals if you will, are the ones who submit to genital castration and body mutilation. “Top surgery” or “gender affirming healthcare” the university health center calls it in their glossy brochure, but we know what it really is: a hazing ritual you must endure to join the club. 

Survive it and you are instantly elevated to a position of Moral Leader. You are conferred almost magical powers to control, judge, and arbitrate all other disputes. You bask in the forever glow of corporate sponsorships, TikTok likes, and dopamine overloads. You might even get to one day …. meet Joe Biden!

The castrati class also gets first dibs on the unsuspecting children lured into the Temple of Transition via your local public kindergarten.

The University has become the seminary for this new caste of cult leader, where a BA is the sound you bleat as you are led to the slaughter with the rest of the rainbow sheep.

All the fairy tales were wrong. The witches that lure young children with promises of candy and treasure don’t live in thatched cottages in the woods, or on Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island. They live in New Haven and Cambridge and Palo Alto and Providence, Rhode Island, home of Brown University. 

Brown University has always been the weird hippie freak of the Ivies. Even when I was applying to colleges, I never wanted to attend a school with no majors, a school where all the rich misfits and f*ckups I knew somehow got in.

It was never a real college, at least to me. And here in 2023, it is offering a new sort of fantasy life to its undergraduate students, one where your freshman dorm room is the cocoon you and your old body will curl up in until you re-emerge around Spring Break in your new form, with your new body and your new identity.

Parents, if you like your child’s gender, you can’t keep your child’s gender if you send them to an elite university. 

If you are a white student with ambition and you want the shortest route to social stardom, peer acceptance, and entrée into the shiny world of post-graduate networks and connections and social approbation, then bending over and submitting to the rainbow branding iron is the only way to go. 

It’s like a miracle, really. In an instant, like a baptism, the hideous stain of white privilege is washed away. The stench of your unenlightened family or backwards hick suburban upbringing is expunged. You emerge like a butterfly and take your place at the right hand of the Regime enforcers. 

The long, arduous journey your early American ancestors made—through the shtetls and peasant villages and ghettos of Europe, taking that long transatlantic voyage to our shores, that backbreaking scrabble up from industrial poverty or agricultural depression—ends with you, a sterilized, nonbinary princeling, a gender-neutral dauphin, a hormone-addled aristocrat with more privilege and social clout than a 17th century Royal courtesan. 

You will never, ever reproduce, but that’s okay—the system is already busy minting thousands of your clones. 
 

Peachy Keenan is a senior contributor to The Federalist and a contributing editor and regular essayist for The American Mind, a publication of The Claremont Institute. She is the author of “Domestic Extremist: A Practical Guide to Winning the Culture War” (Regnery). She also writes at peachykeenan.substack.com, and you can always find her on Twitter @keenanpeachy, at least until she is canceled.

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