For many people, LGBTQ+ and otherwise, each year Pride Month elicits a variety of feelings, emotions, and actions. This has been especially true over the last several years, as the LGBTQ+ community has experienced a rollercoaster of social and political wins – along with the backsliding of legal rights and protections. The 2015 Supreme Court case affirming marriage equality is an easily identifiable marker and milestone. Since then, the LGBTQ+ community has become more prominently featured in entertainment and media of all kinds; has become more influential in politics and government (evolving from a primarily “activist class” to now include a number of elected leaders in a variety of positions within local, state, and federal governments); and has seen a record number of individuals identifying with the community.
At the same time, LGBTQ+ individuals (particularly those who are trans or nonbinary) have experienced increased rates of murder, violent crime, and discrimination based on sexual identify and/or gender identity and presentation, along with an assault on their legal rights and protections. For many, this duality encompasses the overall LGBTQ+ experience: finding joy, celebrating love, being one’s authentic self, and shrugging off arbitrary societal constraints – always with the possibility of derision, alienation, oppression, and violence looming overhead. There is so much to celebrate about queerness and what it means to be queer but can be incredibly difficult to disentangle that from the harsh realities that impact many (if not most) LGBTQ+ people in their daily lives.
The LGBTQ+ community, like many other strategically marginalized groups, faces higher rates of school dropout, under or unemployment, low wage work, workplace discrimination, substance use disorder, behavioral health challenges, housing insecurity and homelessness, negative interactions with law enforcement, incarceration, suicide, and homicide. This is not because of anything inherently wrong with them, but because of structural and systemic practices that were designed to uplift some types of people while diminishing others. This is why Pride is so important – it is a reminder to not just be proud of who you are and where you come from, but to remember the context in which it occurred. Queer joy is entirely self-constructed, it is hard fought and hard won, and there are always others who want to take it away.
In recent years, there has been a backlash to “corporate pride” – a sense that the community was selling out to major companies and conglomerates who might sponsor a parade or throw out swag from a float, but whose policies and practices were still discriminatory and exclusive – harmful to LGBTQ+ people and harmful to others. “The first Pride was a riot” is a phrase that surfaced as a reminder to the community that all of this “acceptance” is precarious. Similarly, so is the recognition of Marsha P. Johnson, a black queer woman, as the original “brick thrower” who ignited the modern LGBTQ Rights Movement.
Marsha represents the most marginalized among us – then and now. It is important to remember how we got here, and like Marsha and others before us, to remain resilient, steadfast, and committed in the face of ever-pervasive threats to our well-being, our safety, and our lives. The rainbow flags, flashy outfits, and vibrant festivities are a reminder, too – that fun, joy, levity, and love are restorative – and they are acts of resistance. To remain light, empathetic, and joyful – to be your true, colorful self in such a bleak world – that is something to be proud of.