In a surprising turn that has sent shockwaves through both conservative and queer circles, a vocal community group of self-identified LGBTQ+ supporters of the Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement has been formally expelled from the broader organization. The reason? Their bold, unapologetic rebranding of the iconic slogan into “Make America Gay Again.”
The dissident faction, which calls itself the Rainbow Patriots Caucus, announced its ouster late last month following what insiders describe as a tense, closed-door confrontation with senior MAGA leadership. The group had been operating on the fringes of conservative rallies, online spaces, and local GOP events for over two years, proudly waving modified red MAGA hats adorned with rainbow embroidery and sporting T-shirts that read “Make America Gay Again” in bold white letters.
For many Americans, the phrase itself is jarring—a deliberate collision of two cultural forces long assumed to be irreconcilable. Yet the Rainbow Patriots insist the slogan is neither mockery nor irony. “It’s reclamation,” said group co-founder Jamie Torres, a 34-year-old gay Texan and former small-business owner from Austin. “We’re not here to dilute the message of strength and patriotism. We’re here to expand it. America is greatest when everyone—straight, gay, trans, bi—can stand tall, unafraid, and unashamed.”
The expulsion letter, leaked to several conservative blogs and later confirmed by multiple sources close to the national organization, cited the slogan as “divisive,” “potentially offensive to core constituencies,” and inconsistent with the movement’s “traditional family values platform.” While the official statement avoided explicit language about homosexuality, it emphasized the need to “preserve unity around economic, border, and cultural priorities that resonate with the widest possible base of American voters.”
Rainbow Patriots members, however, see the decision as something far more personal. “They’re terrified of what we represent,” said co-organizer Marcus Hale, a 41-year-old Navy veteran from Ohio who came out after retiring from service. “We’re living proof that you can love this country fiercely, vote red, carry a gun, go to church—and still be proudly, loudly queer. That scares the gatekeepers more than any protest sign ever could.”
The group’s rise was unlikely from the start. In early 2024, a handful of LGBTQ+ conservatives began appearing at Trump rallies wearing rainbow MAGA gear. Social media clips went viral: a young lesbian couple holding “Gays for Trump” signs beside “No Men in Women’s Sports” banners, a transgender man in a red cap chanting “USA!” alongside evangelical families. What began as scattered individuals coalesced into an informal network, then a formal caucus with chapters in Florida, Texas, Arizona, and the Midwest.
Their messaging leaned heavily into themes of individual liberty, Second Amendment rights, free speech, and skepticism toward what they call “corporate DEI mandates.” Yet they refused to soften their queer identity. Pride flags appeared next to Gadsden flags at their meetups. Drag performers in stars-and-stripes sequins took the mic at local events. The phrase “Make America Gay Again” emerged organically in group chats before being printed on thousands of shirts, hats, and bumper stickers.
Supporters argue the slogan perfectly captures their vision: an America where personal freedom—including the freedom to love whoever you choose—is non-negotiable. “The ‘Great’ in MAGA has always meant strength through authenticity,” Torres explained in a widely shared video posted hours after the expulsion. “For us, that means no more hiding, no more apologizing for who we are. We want rainbow flags flying high over every Main Street, every small town, every city block—not as a special interest statement, but as proof that freedom applies to all of us.”
Critics within MAGA circles have been less charitable. Prominent commentators on right-leaning podcasts and cable shows labeled the group “grifters,” “infiltrators,” and “a distraction from real issues.” Some accused them of deliberately provoking division to gain attention or donations. Others worried—quietly—that the optics could alienate socially conservative voters in swing states.
Yet the Rainbow Patriots show no signs of backing down. In the days following the expulsion, their online following surged. A GoFundMe launched to “rebrand and rebuild independently” surpassed $180,000 in under a week. New chapters have formed in Pennsylvania and Georgia. Plans are underway for a “Pride, Patriotism, and Freedom” tour of battleground counties ahead of future election cycles.
For many in the group, the split feels less like rejection and more like liberation. “Being kicked out was the best thing that could have happened,” Hale said. “Now we don’t have to water anything down. We can speak plainly: America is for everyone who believes in hard work, personal responsibility, and the right to live authentically. If that makes us the truest heirs to the MAGA spirit, then so be it.”
The controversy has sparked broader conversations among LGBTQ+ Americans about political identity. Can queer conservatives exist without compromising their values—or being forced to the margins of both parties? The Rainbow Patriots answer with a resounding yes. Their version of MAGA isn’t about erasing differences; it’s about amplifying them under one red, white, and rainbow banner.
As one member put it in a viral post: “We’re not asking permission to be here. We’re already American. We’re already proud. And we’re already making America gayer—one unapologetic, patriotic step at a time.”
Whether the movement fractures further or finds uneasy coexistence remains uncertain. What is clear is that “Make America Gay Again” has evolved from a cheeky slogan into something larger: a declaration that pride, love, and fierce patriotism need not cancel each other out. In small towns and big cities alike, a new generation of queer conservatives is refusing to choose between their country and their identity. They want both—and they’re willing to fight for it.
