Pride was never meant to be just a party.
It started as a protest. A pushback against police violence, government-sanctioned discrimination, and the daily abuse LGBTQ+ people faced just for existing. This year, while the world watches genocide, war, and the rise of authoritarianism, we can’t afford to let Pride be reduced to corporate floats, glitter, and good vibes.
There is no pride in genocide.
Across the world, people are being killed, displaced, and starved. In Gaza. In Sudan. In Congo. In Haiti. In so many places being torn apart, especially in the Global South. And while the suffering continues, countries like Canada, the U.S., and others in the West keep funding or benefitting from that destruction.
Meanwhile, Western LGBTQ+ communities gather for Pride—dressed in fashion made by underpaid workers in dangerous factories, using phones and electronics built from conflict minerals mined by exploited labor. The same systems we celebrate “freedom” in are the systems that keep others oppressed.
If we’re serious about equality and justice, we need to look at that. Pride has to be more than feel-good slogans and rainbow merch.
Let’s be real—Pride was born from resistance. Stonewall wasn’t a festival. It was a riot. Queer and trans people, especially Black and brown folks like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, stood up to police violence in a country where queerness was criminalized and demonized. But even before Stonewall, there was resistance. In Toronto in 1981, one of Canada’s largest mass arrests happened during the bathhouse raids—a deliberate crackdown on queer spaces. More than 300 men were arrested, sparking public outrage and a protest of over 3,000 people. That protest laid the foundation for what would become Toronto Pride.
These were not sanctioned celebrations. They were acts of defiance.
Today, people are dying under systems upheld by the same governments and corporations that now sponsor Pride events. They say they support the LGBTQ+ community, but fund wars and back regimes that jail, kill, or erase queer people elsewhere. That’s not solidarity. That’s performative allyship. That’s pinkwashing. Pride can’t just be about ourselves anymore.
We have to understand how our liberation is connected to others. There’s no queer freedom without global freedom. And there’s no justice if we stay silent while other communities are being destroyed—especially when those communities include LGBTQ+ people too.
It’s not “too political” to care. Pride was always political.
This year, instead of just celebrating, let’s organize. Let’s show up for Palestine. Let’s speak out against the genocide. Let’s talk about how corporate greed and Western imperialism hurt queer people around the world. Let’s recognize that the same systems that tried to erase us are trying to erase others right now.
Let’s also call out the companies that profit from Pride while exploiting workers and harming the planet. Let’s stop giving platforms to influencers and brands that only show up when it’s trendy. And let’s build spaces where real solidarity and community can happen—not just one month a year, but all the time.
We’re not saying don’t have fun. Joy is resistance too. LGBTQ+ people deserve to dance, celebrate, and live loudly. But that joy should be rooted in truth and connected to purpose.
This year, Pride needs to twerk less and work more.
No more ignoring what’s happening because it’s uncomfortable. No more rainbow-washing genocide. No more pretending that our struggles aren’t connected
We owe it to the people who started this movement.
We owe it to queer people who can’t be out, can’t be safe, or can’t even survive right now.
We owe it to each other.
Because none of us are free until ALL of us are free.
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