Let’s do the math. According to Statista, the average family size in Utah in 2021 was 3.51 people. Humans can’t really be halved, so let’s round up to four. That is the largest average family size among any U.S. state.
In 2024, a PRRI report found 28% of Gen Z self-identified as part of the LGBTQIA+ community. That means more than one in four people identify as queer. That also means that, according to the odds, one person within every Utah household could potentially identify as queer.
As a fellow Utahn, there’s a really good chance that someone you know, maybe even someone in your household, identifies as part of our LGBTQIA+ community. So why do you continue to vote for elected officials who continuously push bills denying LGBTQIA+ people of basic human rights?
I am a proud member of our local queer community, and I’m a proud Utahn. But living in Utah scares me. I’ve worked as a state employee, gone through the state education system and I have long been an active member in our community, but I feel unsafe in the place I once called home — and, because of this, I had to leave.
Utah prides itself on family values, community and togetherness. These are ideals that I, too, hold dear. But why do those values only apply to certain people? What happens when the community you support becomes the very force that drives you away?
The answer is simple: People leave. Queer people will continue to leave Utah — like I have done — because they no longer feel safe, welcome or valued. And when we leave, Utah loses a part of its vibrant, diverse community. We take our talents, our love and our potential to places that embrace us for who we are.
But what if we didn’t have to leave? What if Utah could actually be a place where everyone, regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity, could thrive? What if we could build a Utah that values all its citizens equally?
This is not just a hypothetical question; it is a challenge to every Utahn. It is a challenge to recognize the humanity of your queer neighbors, friends and family members. It is a challenge to stand up for their rights, even when it is uncomfortable or unpopular. It is a challenge to be the Utah that we all want to live in — a Utah that is truly for everyone. You don’t have to be queer to support and embrace our community.
It is easy to ignore the struggles of others when they do not directly affect you. It is easy to vote for representatives who promise to protect your values, even if it means harming others. But I urge you to consider the long-term consequences of these actions. Consider what it means to be a part of a community that actively pushes out its own members. Consider what it means to be a part of a state that values some of its citizens more than others.
While I don’t live there now, I still consider myself a Utahn — I love flashing my Utah driver’s license. And I ask you — my fellow Utahn — to question if you are being truly neighborly and taking care of those who you have grown up next to, or if you are complicit in pushing us out.
Ultimately, we all have a choice to make: We can continue down this path of exclusion and division, or we can choose a different path — a path of inclusion, acceptance and love. The future of Utah depends on the choices we make together, not separately. Hopefully, with these neighborly changes, I will be able to return home someday and feel safe in doing so.
(Luca Whittington) Luca Whittington (they/them) is nonbinary, queer and a friend to all.
Luca Whittington (they/them) is nonbinary, queer and a friend to all. An avid skier, climber and adventurer, Luca is off on the next adventure chasing love and finding community. They desperately miss their tribe at home.
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