As a closeted gay kid with limited exposure to the LGBTQ+ community or its history, I found it challenging to comprehend Pride.
The news always showcased the most extravagant visuals—oiled-up go-go dancers, leather daddies, and drag queens in elaborate costumes. My parents, who were generally open-minded and accepting, were still somewhat prudish, and I noticed that this imagery made them uncomfortable. This subtly influenced me.
I cringed, worried that this was what it meant to be gay. Would I have to get up on a float wearing a feather boa someday? Was making a spectacle truly the best way to win people over?
Even into my early twenties, I carried those doubts with me. I remember arguing with an elder in the queer community that Pride should be more "palatable" if we wanted acceptance, that we should prove we were just like everyone else. I thought I was making a reasonable point, and I doubled, tripled, and quadrupled down, convinced I was right.
He never agreed.
And now, decades later, with the perspective gained from lived experiences and numerous Pride celebrations across various states, I finally understand why.
A Reminder from TikTok
The other day, I stumbled upon a TikTok that struck a chord with me. The creator shared a quote from the peak of the AIDS epidemic:
“We would bury our friends in the morning, protest in the afternoon, and dance all night.”
The message was clear—dancing kept them in the fight.
Suddenly, everything clicked. For an entire generation, Pride wasn’t just about celebration but survival. It was about showing up when their friends were dying, when the government ignored them, and when their families abandoned them.
And still, they danced.
Not because it was easy.
But because it was necessary.
Why We Dance
When I argued with my elder, I completely missed the point. I believed that we could earn acceptance by making ourselves more agreeable. But now I understand the truth:
No matter how much we assimilate, those who hate us will never be satisfied.
That’s why we dance. That’s why we show up as we are, unapologetically queer, fully expressed, and radiant in our joy. The dancing isn’t frivolous—it’s a statement. It’s saying, "You tried to erase us, and yet, here we are."
These days, I’m much more offended by corporations slapping rainbows on their products for profit while failing to support our community in meaningful ways. (Looking at you, Target, for giving in to extremists.) But I no longer question why we dance.
Because joy is resistance.
The Radical Act of Joy
Oppression thrives on despair.
That’s why our joy is one of the most radical things we can hold onto. The forces that seek to harm us want us exhausted. They want us to burn out. They want us to feel as if fighting back is hopeless.
This is why the triad of activism is essential:
Show up for others. Be present in your community. Stand in solidarity.
Take action in alignment with your values. Protesting, voting, organizing, educating—whatever action is accessible to you.
Prioritize joy. Not as an escape but as fuel.
If we overlook that final part—if we allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by outrage without making room for joy—we risk burning out entirely.
Reflect: Where Does Joy Fit in Your Resistance?
Take a moment and ask yourself:
How do I show up for my community?
What actions align with my values, and am I taking them?
Where do I find joy, and am I making enough space for it?
When we embrace joy alongside activism, we become unstoppable. This doesn’t mean ignoring the pain or injustice in the world; instead, it signifies refusing to let it consume us.
How to Keep Joy in the Fight
Here are some ways to sustain yourself as you work toward change:
Make time for community. Whether it’s friends, chosen family, or support groups, spending time with people who uplift you makes all the difference.
Engage in movement. Dance, exercise, or walk—move your body in ways that bring you joy.
Laugh. Watch your favorite comedy, share stories with a friend, and find levity wherever you can.
Celebrate your wins—big or small. If you took an action that was aligned with your values, that matters. Acknowledge it.
Unplug when necessary. Doomscrolling won’t improve the world, but resting will give you the strength to keep going.
Our Joy is a Threat—So Let’s Keep Dancing
The world will always try to convince us that we should be smaller and quieter and that our joy is frivolous.
It’s not.
It’s essential.
So we will bury our friends in the morning, protest in the afternoon, and dance all night.
Not because it’s easy.
Because every beat, every laugh, and every step forward stands as a bold declaration: We are here. We are whole. And we are not finished yet.
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