In Out’s Pride issue, we’re proud to feature folks who embody this ethos. As the old battle cry goes, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!” While we may see less carefree street-dancing this year, Pride will undoubtedly return to its roots as a demonstration of visibility and might against those who would seek to erase and oppress. It’s a lot to contend with, particularly following an era of pandemic-related stresses and Pride cancellations and restrictions. After years of progress in public attitudes toward LGBTQ+ people, right-wing lawmakers have found yet another way to legislate hate and rev up their base. Transgender students and athletes are likewise under attack. But similar bills have been introduced in over a dozen other states. Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” law, which restricts education of sexual orientation and gender identity in public schools, has become the poster child for this bigoted legislation.
As of press time, more than 300 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced in state legislatures this year. It’s hard to wear those rose-tinted glasses in 2022. That day in 2011 - and indeed, my life, up until that point - felt like a march of progress, moving inexorably forward toward greater equality. We were exhausted, delirious, and in awe of the history happening around us and the sheer joy of Pride itself. My boyfriend and I walked hand in hand down the length of Manhattan until our arms hurt from waving and holding up celebratory signs, which read, “Thank You, Governor Cuomo!” (Happier times for us all, indeed.) Afterward, we danced the night away on the streets of the West Village. The New York governor had just signed the state’s marriage equality act into law, and NYC was quite literally exploding with rainbow flags and confetti. The first time I marched in a Pride parade, I was 25.