What if LGBT+ census data doesn’t help – but hinders?

LGBT+ people share data about their lives with the promise that things will get better in the future. But what if the collection, analysis and presentation of data does not improve the situation and instead makes things worse?

This thorny question is worth asking as the Office for National Statistics (ONS) publishes its first results from the 2021 census questions on sexual orientation and gender identity in England and Wales. The census reports that around 1.5 million people aged 16 and over (3.2 per cent) identify as gay or lesbian, bisexual, or having a sexual orientation other than straight or heterosexual. Around 262,0000 (0.5 per cent) identify as a gender that is different from their sex registered at birth.

This initial release offers some fascinating insights: Brighton and Hove is the local authority with the largest proportion of LGBT+ people (10.7 per cent), while the London borough of Newham ranks top for the proportion of people whose gender identity is different from their sex at birth (1.5 per cent).

Census 2021 describes itself as “the most inclusive census ever”, and, for some, being included in the count marked a key moment in the history of LGBT+ recognition. I admit, something feels instinctively good about the notion of “being counted”. But – behind the positive veneer of inclusion – who do we overlook when we use data to “make sense” of LGBT+ communities?

Participation in existing data exercises is often a lose-lose situation for LGBT+ communities. In some situations, findings are weaponised by groups opposed to LGBT+ rights and equalities, simultaneously describing the size of the LGBT+ population as “too big” and “too small”.

Those in the “too big” camp point towards the proportion of young people identifying as neither heterosexual nor cisgender, and discard this finding as youthful experimentation, something fashionable that will fade with time.

Those in the “too small” camp question the disproportionate attention directed towards LGBT+ communities and the funding of LGBT+ services, when these individuals constitute a numerically small share of the broader population.

Data about LGBT+ people (as with any other minority group) is not some natural material that statisticians unearth deep from within the Earth’s core. It’s the product of historical, social and political decisions about “who counts”, shining a spotlight on some parts of the broader community while discarding elements that don’t align with a straight understanding of the world around us.

Firstly, the census required all respondents to identify their sex as either “male” or “female”. For non-binary people, who may not identify in this way, selecting a binary sex option was compulsory, with non-completion risking a fine of up to £1,000 – a situation made worse by the failure of the ONS to defend in court its guidance for the sex question, entrenching a more rigid and exclusionary definition of sex (a mistake not repeated by the National Records of Scotland in Scotland’s 2022 census).

Secondly, as a once-in-a-decade snapshot, the census embeds an understanding of gender, sex and sexuality as something fixed in time and space – an account of identity at odds with how a lot of people understand themselves in day-to-day life.

And finally, the census only counts LGBT+ individuals who are “out”. Information was returned for each household, which required one person to answer questions on behalf of others in the household.

Although individual forms were available upon request, many individuals likely chose not to share information about their sexual orientation or gender identity to avoid the risk of outing themselves to family, friends or flatmates.

With these limitations in mind, the presentation of LGBT+ census data arrives with an undercount already baked into its design. In 2011, the firebrand writer and Aids activist Larry Kramer wrote “God save us from statisticians”, suggesting that demographic analyses that underrepresent minority groups can damage important political and social aspirations.

When we understand the LGBT+ community as a fixed percentage, the lives of those who sit on the fuzzy edges of categories are ignored. We need to rethink LGBT+ census data and foreground questions about history, biases, politics and power.

Being counted is sometimes an important step on a bigger journey, but – in isolation – data does nothing to change the world when it’s not followed by action.

Dr Kevin Guyan is a researcher and writer whose work explores the intersection of data and identity. He is the author of ‘Queer Data: Using Gender, Sex and Sexuality Data for Action’ , and has published extensively on LGBT+ data in the UK