Pope Leo XIV was billed as a progressive figure when he was first elected as the leader of the Roman Catholic church in May 2025. In the months since, however, this hasn’t quite been the case. He made a quiet and succinct statement regarding the impossibility of gay marriage ever being allowed within the church. He did not sit with the transgender women who were invited to the World Day of the Poor. Last November, bishops in the U.S. voted to ban gender-affirming care for transgender patients at Catholic hospitals. 

The age of progressive Catholicism, it seems, has lost its momentum.

These actions strike a noticeable contrast to Pope Francis, known for his progressive takes, especially on LGBTQ+ topics. In a now-famous — or to some, infamous — interview, Pope Francis asked, “Who am I to judge?” gay people and gay clergymen. He talked with trans Catholics, while Leo has refused to.

Even though these two may seem different, they ultimately adhere to the same doctrines and traditions. The official stance, as stated in the Catechism, is that the inclination for “homosexual tendencies” is “objectively disordered” and that “homosexual acts are intrinsically disordered.” 

The passage calls for compassion and respect, but firmly states that gay marriage or sexual acts are “contrary to natural law” and must never be allowed.

The stance on trans, nonbinary and intersex individuals is less clear, but the Catechism asserts that humans were created only male and female and implies that gender and sex are one and the same and cannot be dissonant. Any sex or gender divergence, even when founded in biology, is ignored outright. 

These different reputations, while ultimately grounded in the same dogmas, coincided with differing political climates. Francis made ripples when he refused to judge gay people harshly in 2013 — what kind of uproar would he have faced under the Trump administration, as the global political pendulum swings farther right?

So instead of planting himself stubbornly in a camp of perceived progress and acceptance, Leo has followed the trend and appealed towards the more conservative Catholics. Dogmas on gay marriage and issues like abortion, contraception and divorce remain steadfast, while the optics and appeals sway. This betrays that the claims to be respectful and welcoming towards queer people are only enforced when convenient. 

LGBTQ+ people are being stripped of rights at an alarming pace. A Utah law allows landlords to bar trans people from housing; a proposed Tennessee bill would make trans people’s entire medical histories available; over 30 trans people were murdered in 2024 alone. These violate Catholic teachings on basic human dignity. Where is the compassion they spoke of?

All of this distant dogmatic and political jargon has a deep impact on queer people — particularly those whose practice Catholicism or are raised in the religion, though the doors are technically open to anyone. It feels like being given an open invitation to a dinner where you can still socialize and participate, but you’re allergic to all the food, and the host refuses to prepare alternatives. The host claims you’re welcome, some of the guests say it’s unfair that you can’t be served, and still other guests mock you openly. You don’t know who to trust, and your hunger gnaws at you.

Moreover, being outside of gender or sex binaries and hearing these claims of universal acceptance feels like being invited to a dinner where the host completely denies that your allergy exists, even when it complicates your access to healthcare and makes you feel uncomfortable or guilty about your own body. You don’t get served dinner, and most people seem confused or even disgusted by you. Yes, the invitation is there for anyone, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe for you to go.

A church is not just its officials; it’s the actions of its believers. Some Roman Catholics — or dinner guests — believe that the rules on gay marriage and the lack of recognition of trans, nonbinary and intersex people are backwards and must change. Some Roman Catholics believe that being gay is inherently evil and that queer people should not be allowed in the church. Both of these two believers are misaligned with the doctrines. Both of them go to the same Mass on Sundays. A queer person gambles their safety whenever someone joins them in the pew.

I realized I was trans when I was 11 years old; I then also realized that I had to stay silent around the teachers and classmates at my Catholic school. Francis’ words and reputation gave me hope that my existence was not wrong or at odds with the faith that was so significant in my life. 

But then I learned about the doctrines and the dogmas and the restrictions. My religion teacher — who was also a long-time family friend — handed me a book that compared queer relationships to rape. She asked me if it helped me understand. What I understood was that I could not trust her anymore.

When I hear a Catholic person self-identify as an ally, I’m reminded of people who don’t make homophobic jokes but maintain friendships with those who do. They may disagree with these friends. They might even feel troubled by the behavior and call it out on occasion. But they excuse and forgive consistently. 

It’s easy to forgive when you’re not the one in danger.

I have known so many wonderful Catholic people in my life who claim the title of allyship. But I also know the depths of the homophobia and transphobia that they may not have unlearned. I know who they dine with. Dinner guests with that second allergy are now on their way to being subjected to a genocide, according to the Lemkin Institute. 

I cannot afford to extend my trust to an institution which has been absurdly transphobic and yet denies such a thing. By extension, I choose not to trust those who still identify with it.

So forgive me if I seem harsh or overly judgmental. It’s hard to remain generous when your mere existence is seen as unforgivable.