The best way to fight fascism? Throw a damn Pride parade

I celebrated my first Pride over 35 years ago, not long after graduating from college. I was with my first love, walking through the streets of Eugene, Oregon. It wasn't a massive parade—there were certainly no corporate sponsors or rainbow-branded floats. Just PFLAG, a few progressive churches, and some scrappy "Lesbian and Gay" organizations (that's what we were literally called back then). We marched a few blocks with a small but enthusiastic crowd cheering us on. It was thrilling. Yelling "I'm here! I'm queer!" at the top of my lungs felt revolutionary. I was finally free to be myself—a soft butch lesbian—out and proud.

Fast-forward to 2025, and it's astonishing how far we've come since the 1990s. Our community has become more inclusive and expansive under the broader LGBTQ+ umbrella, embracing the use of pronouns and greater visibility. We've gained legal protections and landmark victories, such as the legalization of same-sex marriage in 2015. We're more represented, more accepted, and more powerful than I ever dreamed possible growing up as a closeted kid in the late '70s. We really have come a long way, baby.

But in the face of today's political climate—especially under the Trump administration—we're reminded that Pride is not just a celebration; it's a protest. With over 525 anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced, attacks on trans rights, rollbacks on gender-affirming healthcare, and efforts to dismantle anti-discrimination protections, it's more important than ever to remember where and how Pride began—with resistance.

On June 28, 1969, police raided the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in New York City—a common and brutal practice in an era when being openly queer was criminalized. But that night, the community had had enough. Led by a fierce trans woman, Marsha P. Johnson, people fought back. While LGBTQ+ folks had been quietly resisting for decades, Stonewall was a breaking point. A year later, the first Pride Parade marched down Christopher Street in New York City, commemorating the resistance that had begun at Stonewall. Soon after, cities across the country followed suit, and what started as a protest sparked a nationwide movement.

Since then, we've steadily moved toward greater equality and fundamental rights nationwide. And while progress has sometimes felt slow or uncertain, I can say with confidence—as someone who's observed for decades—that we have made real gains.

I know many people are feeling afraid and uncertain right now, hesitant to be out, visible, or celebrate Pride the way they may have in recent years. For a while, we lived in a time when many of us felt relatively safe, supported by an administration that embraced the LGBTQ+ community. But that sense of safety is shifting, and it's okay to feel the weight of that. That's precisely why we lean on each other. We've always had our community. Through every era of fear and resistance, it's been our chosen families, our allies, and our shared strength that have carried us forward. We are never alone in this.

The best way to fight Trump's fascism is through resistance. He and his administration want us to live in fear. They want to erase us—literally, as demonstrated by the outrageous removal of the 'T' from the Stonewall Inn website. This is especially egregious, considering it was a trans woman who helped spark the Stonewall uprising. We cannot be erased, nor will we be pushed back into the closet of shame. I know these are scary times, but the worst thing we can do in the face of such extreme adversity is to retreat or remain silent.

Pride didn't come from government approval. It didn't come from corporate sponsorships, capitalism, or money. It was—and still is—about fighting for our right to exist as we are and love who we want to love. It's our collective resistance to the status quo, to the institutions that try to define us, police us, or shove us into their narrow idea of what's "normal." Pride is the unapologetic refusal to conform. We stand on the shoulders of giants, people who dared to live openly and proudly, even in the face of extreme danger and adversity.

They didn't just survive; they celebrated who they were.

Pride isn't only about protest and resistance; Pride is also about joy. No one throws a celebration like the queer community: fabulous dances, vibrant parties, and parades bursting with color, music, and, yes, glitter. We honor our queerness with joy. And no matter how much hostility this administration hurls at us, we never forget to laugh, dance, and celebrate.

That, too, is a form of resistance.

Here's my hope and call to action: If you're able, come out. Show up. Be seen. You matter. At this moment, with a fiercely anti-LGBTQ+ Trump administration and a hardline conservative Supreme Court, visibility is more vital than ever. The more we show up together—as LGBTQ+ people and as allies—the more chances we have to build understanding, break down prejudice, and fight back successfully. When we wave our flags this year, let's remember: Pride is rooted in defiance, in community, and in the unshakable demand to live and love freely.

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