Not affirming is not the same as causing harm

The idea is everywhere by now: if you do not affirm a transgender person in their identity, you are causing them harm. If you have doubts, you are doing something wrong. If you openly think differently, you are attacking them. It sounds caring and reasonable, and it is repeated in policy documents, at schools, in consulting rooms, and on social media. But it is not true, and it is time someone simply said so — not out of harshness, but out of honesty.

An opinion is not an attack

Causing harm means concretely disadvantaging someone. Taking something away. Doing something to them. Having an opinion does not fall into that category. Asking a question does not either. And honestly saying, “I see it differently” certainly does not. Yet these things are increasingly lumped together with harm, as though there were no difference between hitting someone and refusing to repeat what they say.

Behind this conflation lies a striking assumption: that every person has a right to the complete, unconditional agreement of everyone around them. That right does not exist. It never has. No one has it — not the believer, not the atheist, not the politician, not the neighbour. We live alongside people who think differently, and that is how it should be. Anyone who demands that others share their convictions on pain of being accused of “damaging me” is not asking for respect but for submission.

And consider what that demand does in practice. It reverses the burden of proof. It is not the person making a far-reaching claim who has to substantiate it, but the person who has doubts who must justify themselves. It is not the claim that is questioned, but the person who does not immediately embrace it. In this way, a substantive disagreement is quietly transformed into a moral accusation — and people who are accused often prefer to remain silent rather than risk being written off as bad people.

If you are not for it, you are against it

That is the core of the argument, and it is precisely where it falls apart. There is no room left for nuance, for doubt, or for an honest alternative perspective. Anyone who does not immediately affirm is automatically placed in the opposing camp. No middle ground, no conversation, no questions — only agreement or hostility.

But that is a false dilemma. You can fully accept someone as a human being and still think differently. You can love someone and profoundly disagree with them. You can treat someone with respect without adopting their worldview. There is no contradiction in that. It is exactly how mature people have related to one another for centuries. Anyone who erases that distinction turns every disagreement into a moral war — and ultimately loses the ability to speak with anyone who has not already been declared right.

Moreover, this cuts both ways. Anyone who applies the rule that “not affirming is harmful” should consistently acknowledge the opposite position as well: that forcing affirmation can be harmful to someone who sincerely thinks differently. But that is never how it works in practice. The accusation always goes in one direction. One side is allowed to feel hurt and derive moral power from that; the other side must remain silent and put up with it. That is not an equal conversation. It is a power relationship disguised as compassion.

Not affirming is not the same as rejecting

Not affirming and actively rejecting are constantly conflated, but they are two different things. Aparent who asks questions before their child takes an irreversible step. A doctor who conducts research instead of blindly following along. A friend who honestly says they disagree. A teacher who does not immediately go along with every new term. That is not hatred. These are people dealing in their own way with something that is new, far-reaching, or difficult for them to understand. They are not turning against the person. They simply think differently — and they are allowed to.

In fact, asking questions is often a form of genuine concern. People who do not care about someone can easily go along with them. It costs nothing to follow whatever is popular. Those who do care about someone sometimes dare to disagree, precisely because the consequences matter. Dismissing that concern as “harm” is not only unfair, it is downright perverse — it punishes the very people most willing to think things through and rewards those who go along without question.

This is even more true when children and young people are involved. An adult who soberly examines an irreversible decision is doing exactly what an adult ought to do. It would be truly worrying if no one dared to ask questions anymore — if doubt itself were forbidden. A culture in which adults are afraid to say “no, wait a moment” does not protect children. It abandons them instead.

Transgender people often experience a lack of affirmation as rejection, as an attack on who they are. That pain is real and should not be brushed aside. Someone who feels unseen truly suffers, and that deserves recognition. But pain is not proof of guilt. The fact that something hurts does not mean the other person has done something wrong. Otherwise every honest word, every dissenting opinion, every boundary would become a form of violence — and society would no longer be possible, leaving only a competition over who feels the most hurt.

We accept this distinction without difficulty in virtually every other area, by the way. A child who does not get their way feels pain — but a parent who says no is not doing harm. A job applicant who is rejected feels hurt — but the employer has not committed an injustice. Someone whose love is not returned feels grief — but the other person is allowed to say no. Everywhere else, we understand that pain and injustice are not the same. Only on this one subject is that distinction suddenly erased, and pain is automatically treated as proof of guilt.

In conclusion

A mature society can make that distinction: between rejection and refusing to echo someone else, between hatred and doubt, between pain and injustice. It can meet someone with warmth while disagreeing with them. It can listen to sorrow without immediately turning every expression of sorrow into an accusation.

A society that abandons this distinction ultimately abolishes conversation itself. What remains is not understanding but fear — fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of asking a question, fear of being honest. And a society that has become afraid to speak has not achieved compassion. It has merely imposed silence. Without honest conversation, nothing remains through which we can truly reach one another — only the appearance of harmony, bought with the silence of everyone who no longer dares to say what they think.