For true inclusion, here’s the flag to fly

California state senator, candidate for Congress and perpetual pearl-clutcher Scott Wiener melted down recently as San Francisco’s Philz Coffee’s new owners announced a move to standardize their café chain’s experience –– and remove pride flags from all stores.

Wiener took to social media to decry corporate’s decision and declare that the chain “just lost its community values.”

But let’s admit it: Removing LGBTQIA+ flags from public or commercial premises is not some shocking act of cruelty or a declaration of war on rainbows.

It’s a refreshingly sane step toward genuine inclusion.

The coffee chain announced last week that it would remove the Pride flag from its stores. 

Outrage followed, as Wiener, Suzanne Ford (the executive director of San Francisco Pride), and an online petition all demanded the flag be retained at Philz.

This week, the chain’s CEO, Mahesh Sadarangan, says that while Philz won’t reverse its decision, it could’ve communicated better, remains committed to LGBTQIA+ causes, and will hold a contest to develop unifying artwork to display in lieu of the flag.

The broader issue, of course, is not with the LGBTQIA+ community or with that flag specifically.

The problem is that identity-specific symbols, by their very nature, highlight what divides us rather than what we share. 

In contrast, the American flag remains the only enduring, neutral emblem of freedom, democracy, and actual unity for every single citizen, no matter their personal background.

Wiener, of course, loves to pearl-clutch. He insists that removing the rainbow flag (or its ever-evolving “Progress” version with extra chevrons for whichever subgroup is currently trending) equals rejecting LGBTQIA+ people themselves. This is theatrical nonsense.

The original rainbow flag, created by Gilbert Baker and unfurled in San Francisco June 1978, was a simple celebration for a specific community. 

Today’s version, layered with triangles and stripes ranking identities by oppression points, has become a visual scoreboard of victimhood. 

It divides even within the community, elevating some letters while quietly sidelining others who dare question the latest gender doctrines or medical experiments on confused kids.

Supporters act as if the absence of their flag turns every coffee shop into a hostile wasteland, as though customers can’t enjoy a finely-crafted latte without a corporate endorsement of every pride parade talking point.

In shared spaces like stores, schools, or government buildings, flying the pride flag isn’t gentle “visibility.” It’s a demand for ideological alignment.

It signals that the institution has picked a side in hot-button debates over biology, youth transitions, sports fairness, and school curricula.

In fact, anyone who prefers not to play pronoun games can reasonably feel the flag is less a welcome mat and more a compelled loyalty test.

When businesses like Philz Coffee decide to standardize their stores by clearing out all the decorative flags (pride included) for a consistent look nationwide, the outrage machine immediately screams “betrayal!”

As if a plain, flagless wall somehow erases human beings.

The real exclusion happens when one group’s symbol is treated as mandatory while everyone else is expected to smile and nod or be labeled a bigot.

Supporters’ meltdown over a few missing flags reveals how much they’ve come to treat their banner as required decoration rather than a personal expression.

The pattern is telling. Companies that once rushed to blanket everything in rainbows during June (Pride month) are now quietly dialing it back, clearly not because they suddenly hate gay people, but because customers grew tired of the annual corporate cosplay.

When a symbol becomes politicized, tied to bathroom and locker-room policies, irreversible medical decisions for minors, or endless curriculum battles, it stops being harmless celebration and starts feeling like mandatory participation.

Removing it simply restores neutrality: No group gets to plant its flag in everyone else’s space and call it “inclusion.”

True inclusion means serving every customer with equal respect under the same rules, not turning every storefront into a billboard for one group’s activism. 

People can still wave their personal flags at home or at parades or put stickers on their laptops or cars; they just don’t get to demand the rest of society turn every shared space into Pride Month year-round.

The American flag, meanwhile, quietly does the job that identity banners can’t.

Its Stars and Stripes were designed for “E Pluribus Unum”: out of many, one. Thirteen stripes for the original colonies coming together; 50 stars for every state in the union. Red for valor, white for purity, blue for vigilance. It stands for the big ideas that actually hold a diverse country together: individual liberty, equality under the law, government by consent, and the right to disagree without being branded an enemy.

The American flag includes everyone –– gay, straight, trans, believer, skeptic –– without ranking whose experience matters more.

The American flag doesn’t require you to affirm any particular ideology to belong; it simply represents the constitutional framework that protects everyone’s right to live as they choose.

History shows its staying power. The flag has rallied Americans through revolution, abolition, world wars, civil rights marches, and moments of national grief. 

It invites aspiration toward a more perfect union without forcing citizens into competing identity tribes.

Neutrality –– either displaying the national flag or keeping things plain –– avoids the trap. 

It affirms that American citizenship itself is enough to belong.

Richie Greenberg is a political commentator based in San Francisco.

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