It’s so much more than rainbow logos
What does Pride mean today? Is it the vibrant parade of colors marching down the street? The rush of joy as music blares through the alleys and people dance uninhibitedly. Or is it a political statement, a reminder of a struggle that goes back decades, even centuries, for love, identity, and authenticity?
Maybe it’s all these things, and yet, so much more.
Pride isn’t just a party, though it can be fabulously unrestrained. It isn’t just a protest, though it raises fists against oppression. And it isn’t just a moment in June; it’s a year-round testament to the survival, resilience, and beauty of the LGBTQ+ community in a world still grappling with its own prejudice.
Let’s dig deeper — not just into the parades or rainbow flags but into the heart of what LGBTQ+ Pride truly represents. Spoiler alert: It will likely shift the way you think about it.
It starts with Stonewall
Have you heard of the Stonewall riots? If the LGBTQ+ movement has a genesis story, Stonewall is it. When queer folks at a New York City bar, including trans women of color like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, stood up against police brutality in 1969, it wasn’t dressed in glitter. It was born of frustration, a refusal to remain invisible. It was anger for being needlessly arrested and having personal lives splashed across the newsprint with seedy headlines. Real blood was spilled into the streets in front of that gathering place.
Stonewall wasn’t the first act of resistance, nor was it the last. But it was catalytic. It was a rebellion that echoed across the world. Pride, as we know it, emerged not as an annual disco ball bash but as a defiant roar.
Pride invites us to remember that history. Every time we step into its light, we honor the moments when queer people refused to be crushed by hate. Pride is built on resistance, on standing firm when the world shouts, “No, you can’t.”
Let us stop to think about how radical it is to celebrate yourself in a world that often vilifies your existence. Pride is nothing short of reclamation.
Every rainbow flag we wave, every bit of glitter we wear, every love we show in public is a declaration. For a long time, many of us were told to downplay, to conform, to hide. Some of us are still being told that today.
We are told then and even now not to shove it in people’s faces. Yet a vast majority of commercials and media shove heterosexuality into the faces of people with regularity.
So, we cannot keep quiet, pride cannot whisper. We will not ask politely for room to exist. We will claim our space unapologetically. It’s a revolution that is dressed in celebration drag.
We’re diverse, and we’re here to stay
It’s easy to think of Pride as a monolith as though it belongs to one kind of person, one kind of identity. But homosexuality, bisexuality, trans identities, and so on don’t look one way. They don’t love one way. And they’ve never expressed humanity in one way. Look at the evolution of the Pride flag itself, a spectrum that now includes black and brown stripes for queer people of color, and pastel hues for the trans community.
But here’s something to wrestle with: Is the Pride we celebrate today inclusive enough? How often do we leave room for those at its fringes? For the disabled queer person trying to access a venue that isn’t designed for them? For the trans person walking cautiously through a space heavy with cis assumptions? For people unable to celebrate in such visible spaces out of fear for their lives?
Are the “elders” in the community given the proper recognition and respect?
Celebrating Pride means celebrating all of us, not just the most palatable among us.
Pride is celebratory, yes. It is a raucous release of joy and freedom and sheer flamboyance that knows no limits. But don’t get it twisted; Pride is inherently political.
When lawmakers and governments continue to quash rights for LGBTQ+ individuals, dancing in the street becomes rebellion. When bigotry hides behind claims of “tradition,” wearing your queerness becomes defiance.
You can shout “love is love” at the top of your lungs, and yet the space you occupy in that moment says something much larger.
I want to offer this challenge. Pride doesn’t just happen to us; it asks something of us, it demands something of us! Pride requires action.
The personal is political
Are you standing up for LGBTQ+ rights, not just in June but in your daily decisions? Are you supporting businesses owned by queer individuals? Are you speaking up in conversations when homophobia or transphobia rear their ugly heads? Are you helping create safer spaces in your personal and professional life where the entire LGBTQ+ spectrum can thrive?
Pride isn’t comfortable. It isn’t performative. It’s a constant reckoning with what it means to support, to fight, to love, and to truly see.
Do you carry Pride with you every day? Not necessarily in the loud, exuberant rainbow-drenched way, but in subtler ways. A quiet nod to someone struggling. A donation to LGBTQ+ organizations. A vote cast in favor of equality.
The fact is, Pride doesn’t conclude when the sun sets on your city’s parade. It’s ongoing, a practice, a daily assertion that queer lives matter.
Pride challenges us to examine so many things about ourselves and each other. And while it’s exhilarating to be caught up in the confetti and samba of it all, the deeper invitation is this; to stay present even after the celebration ends.
Will you fight for LGBTQ+ rights, not just globally but within your own sphere of influence? Will you listen, learn, and uplift voices that often go unheard? Will you advocate so fiercely that this movement no longer needs to shout just to be noticed?
The beauty of Pride isn’t just in the celebrating; it’s in the sustaining. Let us make this month of June a time to demand, to honor, to celebrate and never go back into closets.
Let’s make Pride the real LGBTQ+ “lifestyle choice.”
Editor-in-Chief of Whosoever and Founding and Senior Pastor of Gentle Spirit Christian Church of Atlanta, Rev. Paul M. Turner (he/him) grew up in suburban Chicago and was ordained by the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches in 1989. He and his husband Bill have lived in metro Atlanta since 1994, have been in a committed partnership since the early 1980s and have been legally married since 2015.