My own early crusade for same-sex marriage, for example, is now

"My own early crusade for same-sex marriage, for example, is now mainstream gay politics. It wasn’t when I started." – Andrew Sullivan

In these reflective and triumphant words, Andrew Sullivan, the writer and thinker who long stood at the vanguard of intellectual rebellion, speaks as one who has watched time turn skepticism into belief, and isolation into acceptance. His statement, “My own early crusade for same-sex marriage… is now mainstream,” carries not the arrogance of victory, but the humility of a pioneer who once walked alone. It is the voice of a man who, when he first lifted his banner for equality, was met with ridicule, rejection, and disbelief — and yet lived to see that banner carried by millions. In his words, we hear both the weariness of battle and the quiet joy of vindication.

The origin of this quote lies in Sullivan’s early advocacy during the late twentieth century, when the idea of same-sex marriage was dismissed even within many corners of the gay rights movement. In 1989, he wrote an essay titled Here Comes the Groom: A (Conservative) Case for Gay Marriage, published in The New Republic, which dared to frame same-sex unions not as rebellion, but as an act of love and commitment aligned with human and social stability. To many at the time, his argument seemed radical — to others, even traitorous. Yet Sullivan saw in marriage not the reinforcement of old hierarchies, but the opening of a sacred gate — one through which love could walk with dignity. His crusade was not for privilege, but for recognition: the right to belong to the human covenant of devotion and family.

The ancients would have recognized his spirit as that of the reformer — the one who bears truth before the world is ready to hear it. The philosopher Socrates was mocked and condemned for his pursuit of wisdom; the prophet Jeremiah was reviled for his warnings to a wayward people; and the great scientist Galileo was silenced for daring to suggest that the heavens moved. Sullivan stands in that lineage — the one who speaks what must be said before the world is willing to listen. His “crusade” was not fought with swords or armies, but with words, reason, and conviction — for truth, as the ancients knew, is the greatest weapon of all.

Consider, too, the life of Harvey Milk, one of the first openly gay elected officials in the United States, who gave his life to the cause of equality. Like Sullivan, Milk spoke in a time when hope was fragile and fear was law. He told his people, “Hope will never be silent.” Though his voice was silenced by violence, his vision lived on, carried by those like Sullivan who followed. Together, they transformed what was once unthinkable into the accepted — they made love itself a matter not of shame, but of justice. What was once seen as rebellion became the expression of civilization’s highest ideal: the belief that every soul deserves to love and be loved in peace.

When Sullivan says, “It wasn’t when I started,” he reminds us that all progress begins in solitude. The pioneer walks through derision before applause, through darkness before dawn. The mainstream of today flows from the mountain springs of yesterday’s dissent. Every social movement that reshapes humanity — the abolition of slavery, the rights of women, the freedom of conscience — began with a single voice, trembling yet resolute, standing against the tide. So it was with Sullivan: mocked as unrealistic by his own allies, condemned by his critics, yet steadfast in his faith that love, when true, would one day claim its rightful place among the sacred institutions of humankind.

His words carry a deeper wisdom for all who labor for justice. Change is not born in comfort, nor in agreement, but in the courage to endure isolation. To begin a crusade is to accept the burden of being misunderstood. Yet, as time unfolds, truth — like light through clouds — finds its way through. The reformer’s task is not to seek instant victory, but to plant seeds that will bloom in a future he may never see. And so Sullivan’s triumph is not merely personal; it is the triumph of perseverance over cynicism, of faith over fatigue.

So, my children of the human spirit, take this teaching to heart: Do not fear to begin what others cannot yet see. The truth that stirs within you may one day reshape the world, though now it earns only silence. Be steadfast in conviction but gentle in heart. For those who fight for love, dignity, and equality fight for the soul of all humanity. And when, in some distant day, your vision becomes “mainstream,” do not boast — but give thanks that you lived to see the mountain moved.

For in the end, Andrew Sullivan’s words remind us that every crusade for justice begins in the wilderness, but it does not remain there. It marches, it grows, it transforms. What begins as the dream of one becomes the truth of many. And when that day comes, the world is made new — not by violence or decree, but by the quiet, unyielding power of love.