Pride month - what does it mean?
The origins of Pride date back to June 1969 and the Stonewall riots which happened in New York City when the police raided the Stonewall Inn. These raids were not uncommon at the time but on this particular day of June 28th 1969, the patrons fought back. A year later, the first Gay Pride Marches took place in Los Angeles and Chicago to mark the one year anniversary of the Stonewall riots.
Today, Pride is commemorated globally every June. What began as a protest has grown into a multifaceted celebration of love, resilience, and visibility—but the political roots of Pride must not be forgotten. Fifty-six years after Stonewall, the fight is far from over. In recent years, we’ve seen a worrying rise in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, particularly targeting transgender people, in the United States and beyond. The spread of transphobia, often fueled by misinformation and fear, is not only alarming—it’s deadly. Pride is still an urgent call to action.
For me personally, Pride is also about visibility. I identify as bisexual or pansexual—both terms resonate with me. And yet, growing up, I rarely saw people like me reflected in the world around me. Media representation of bisexuality was scarce, and when it did appear, it was often steeped in stereotypes: bisexual people were portrayed as promiscuous, indecisive, or simply “going through a phase.” In pop culture, bisexuality was often trivialized—as a punchline, a temporary experiment, or a stepping stone to coming out as gay. I remember Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” being hailed as bold and provocative, but to me, it felt more like bi-curious spectacle than representation. It sent a confusing message: this was something to flirt with, not something to be.
Those narrow depictions left me feeling unsure of myself. For years, I questioned whether my identity was real, valid, or worthy of naming. I internalized the belief that unless I fit into a more binary narrative—straight or gay—my experiences didn’t count. That kind of erasure is insidious, and it can be deeply isolating.
This is why queer visibility, especially for young people, is so crucial. Representation isn’t just about seeing someone who looks like you on screen or hearing your identity spoken aloud in a classroom or workplace. It’s about being reminded that you exist, that you’re not broken or alone. It’s about seeing a future for yourself that isn’t defined by shame or secrecy. When we see people like us living openly, thriving, and being celebrated, it creates space for us to imagine our own lives more fully.
Pride is that space. It’s a moment in the year when we come together to celebrate not just who we are, but how far we’ve come—and how much further we have to go. It’s a vibrant, unapologetic reminder that our identities are valid, our lives are meaningful, and our stories deserve to be told. For many of us who have been rejected by our families or ostracized by our communities, Pride becomes something sacred: a chosen family, a safe haven, a radical act of self-love.
It is also a protest. In places where LGBTQ+ rights are still under attack, Pride can be dangerous—but that only makes it more powerful. It is a declaration that we will not be silenced, that we will continue to demand justice, equality, and freedom. Simply being out and proud is a revolutionary act, especially in a world where acceptance is not guaranteed.
Pride is about love—romantic, platonic, familial, and chosen. It’s about honoring our history, uplifting our present, and fighting for our future. And it’s a reminder, now more than ever, that everyone deserves to be loved exactly as they are.