Netflix Has No Business Talking About Pride Month

Ricky Gervais is a smug Cheshire Cat, one with only the vaguest pretense of actually being funny. “Get it?” the comedian seems to bellow, grinning as he arrives at his barely-there punchlines. In his career following the original U.K. edition of The Office, he has spent much of his time marveling at his own bravery, against all available evidence to the contrary. After a photo of Gervais posing as Jesus with the word “atheist” written across his chest was rejected for a 2011 Rolling Stone cover where he discussed his opposition to organized religion, the comic suggested the reason the image did not go to print was that it was too edgy for the magazine’s core demographic. But the reason is likely a lot simpler: It just wasn’t as clever as he thought.

It’s not surprising that comedy’s preeminent stunt queen continues to beg for our attention, but what’s disappointing is that Gervais keeps getting a platform to pretend he has anything meaningful to say. In SuperNature, his new Netflix special, he opens by defining the concept of irony—because he thinks he is much smarter than you—before launching into his little routine about how there are no funny women comedians, delivered with a sly little wink and a self-satisfied smile. What comes next is a daisy chain of bigotry gussied up as humor: He leads by making fun of trans icon Eddie Izzard for being a female comic, with the punchline being that Gervais doesn’t believe she’s really a woman. His transphobia is then used as an excuse for a stream of subsequent jokes suggesting that trans women are rapists who pose a threat to women in public restrooms. You know, classic comedy stuff.

The special’s release was woefully timed. SuperNature debuted on the streaming giant on May 24, a week before the start of Pride Month. It’s totally how LGBTQ people wanted to honor the legacy of trans women of color fighting back against police brutality: by looking on helplessly as Netflix becomes the world’s most prominent platform for comedians with an axe to grind against trans people.

Like many other corporations, Netflix has already begun the annual ritual of reminding LGBTQ customers to give them money in the name of queer liberation. With this Wednesday marking the first day of Pride month, its Twitter account posted a key coming-out scene from the queer coming-of-age drama Heartstopper featuring commentary from showrunner Alice Oseman (who also wrote the graphic novel on which the show was based). The post, while seemingly innocuous, is a reminder that corporate Pride campaigns are just about pushing product. For instance, Netflix’s LGBTQ social media channel, Most, marked the first day of Pride last year by posting recommendations of queer Netflix shows to stream throughout the month of June. 

Netflix used to be a fixture at in-person Pride events in cities like New York, Sao Paolo, and San Francisco prior to the pandemic, and if it hopes to return this year with branded floats in tow, the company should save its proverbial breath. Netflix’s leadership has made absolutely sure that trans people and their allies can clearly see the line in the sand: Transphobia will always have a home as long as they have a say in it, and no amount of Jonathan Van Ness dancing in a hurricane of rainbow confetti will change that.

Amid the backlash over Gervais’ stand-up special, Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos doubled down on the streamer’s support of its comedy offerings. In an interview with the New York Times, Sarandos referred to Dave Chappelle—a man who mocked trans women’s genitals on Sarandos’ company dime—as the “comedian of our generation.” “Nobody would say that what he does isn’t thoughtful or smart,” he claimed, which is funnier than anything Chappelle has said in years. While one could reasonably argue that Sarandos is incredibly misguided, Sarandos’ support for Chappelle is less motivated by a love of comedy than hedging his financial bets: Netflix is deep in the Dave Chappelle business, reportedly paying $23.6 million for 2019’s Sticks and Stones and $24.1 million for 2021’s The Closer.

The amount of money Netflix has spent on Chappelle is an investment—cash placed into a product that demands a return. Sarandos told the Times that the company is merely supporting free speech and that it is not responsible for the real-world consequences of its programming, but there’s nothing neutral about a multi-million dollar check. Netflix even invited Chappelle to headline its comedy festival, Netflix Is a Joke, in the face of staff-wide walkouts protesting the decision. Instead of listening to their concerns, Netflix laid off 150 workers in May, many of whom were LGBTQ or people of color.

Netflix has demonstrated time and again that its financial support of people who deride the LGBTQ community is just as important as its LGBTQ customers. Since the company pivoted to original programming in 2012, the platform also has a collection of legitimately great queer-themed shows—including Feel Good, Special, One Day at a Time, and the reboots of Queer Eye and Tales of the City. It offered a larger audience to Schitt’s Creek, a once-little-seen Canadian import set in a small-town free of homophobia, and gave trailblazing trans actress Laverne Cox her breakout role in Orange Is the New Black. Despite being a cog in Netflix’s corporate Pride push, Heartstopper offered a rare depiction of queer teens as young, happy, and utterly lovestruck. Each of these shows allow their LGBTQ characters to be fully formed and three dimensional, as real as queer life itself.

This dichotomy—of buying support from the community just to continually betray its trust—is one that LGBTQ people are familiar with. The phenomenon is commonly referred to as pinkwashing: It’s the process by which a multinational enterprise covers itself in glitter to show that it remembers LGBTQ people exist when we have special days set aside for us on a corporate calendar, all while donating to politicians campaigning for our demise when they think we’re not looking.

At no time of the year is this more rampant than during Pride month. Last June, CVS Health changed its corporate logo to a rainbow heart, despite donating to the sponsors of a Texas bill criminalizing parents for supporting their trans kids. The same month AT&T created the Pride-themed hashtag #TurnUpTheLove in partnership with the national youth suicide prevention hotline Trevor Project, even as it donated thousands to Alabama Gov. Kay Ivey. Ivey has had a very busy 14 months: Since April 2021, she has signed laws banning gender-affirming medical care for trans youth, prohibiting trans athletes from competing in alignment with their gender, blocking trans students from using the correct bathroom at school, and forcing teachers to out trans students to their parents. She also approved a Florida-style “Don’t Say Gay” law. 

Corporations choosing to fund nationwide attacks on trans people is a choice, not an accident, and it inflicts real damage. A record number of anti-trans bills have been introduced in state legislatures across the country this year, with states like Arizona, Iowa, Kentucky, Oklahoma, and Utah enacting laws targeting trans youth who are, by and large, just trying to stay alive. A recent Trevor Project survey found that nearly 50% of LGBTQ youth considered suicide in the last year, while 60% of LGBTQ youth who want mental health care weren’t able to access it, whether because of lack of providers or not feeling safe enough to reach out.

Netflix—and all companies that campaign against LGBTQ rights behind the scenes—can no longer play both sides. In funding and supporting the hateful rants masquerading as comedy on their platform, the streamer is announcing to the world where it stands on our humanity. Netflix does not deserve to cover itself in the unbridled joy of Pride month. It not does not deserve our money, our time, or even our Pride filters. Netflix may want to wear the rainbow, but it’s easy to see their true colors.

Follow Niko Stratis on Twitter.