This Pride Is a Collective Act of Solidarity
Don't go quiet. Stand with us.
It’s almost June, and I should feel more excited. I should be gearing up to celebrate community, resilience, and joy. But instead, if I’m honest, I feel tired. Not just physically, but emotionally, and I know I’m not alone.
As a trans and nonbinary person, Pride Month doesn’t feel like a celebration, this year—at least not yet. Rather it is a reminder of just how much we’re still fighting for: the right to simply exist, to be seen clearly, and to be met with dignity. It is bringing us back to the true roots of pride – that it was a riot. Our elders stood up for our community to exist and take up space. To reject the idea that we don’t belong here or get to exist like anyone else.
In the past few months alone, we’ve watched a relentless wave of attacks on LGBTQ+ people, but especially trans people—our rights, our healthcare, our public presence. Executive orders, bills, and bans stack up while talking heads debate whether we are real, whether we’re safe, whether we belong. That rhetoric has gotten more dangerous, more insidious. And as much as I’d like to believe people don’t take it seriously, it has grown harder to ignore the evidence to the contrary. On some level, people are taking it seriously.
That dehumanizing rhetoric—unchecked, repeated, and often unchallenged by our allies—seeps into public perception. It casts doubt. It sows fear. It makes standing with us feel optional. It makes silence feel safe.
And that silence? It’s not neutral. It helps build the world our oppressors want.
A world where we second-guess if we should be here.
Where we wonder if the people we trusted will still stand by us.
Where support for trans lives changes with the wind - fleeting like a trend, not a commitment.
This is how backsliding happens. It’s slow. It’s quiet. It’s disguised as discomfort, neutrality, or “staying out of politics.” But the harm is loud and lasting. And it hits trans and nonbinary folks hardest—especially those who were already navigating life at the margins.
So yes, I’m weary. And I’m wary. Because Pride Month, for all its promise, can feel like a month of false hope. A burst of visibility, rainbows, and smiling allies—followed by the deep, uneasy questions:
Will you still be here in July? Will you still be here in the next legislative session? Will you still show up when we stop asking?
Here’s what I need from you—what we need from you—this Pride:
· Be louder than the hate. Share the post. Fly the flag. Speak up in the room, in the comments, and at the table. Don’t let silence answer hate speech. If it feels like it risks something for you, our straight and cisgender allies, to do this, I can’t and won’t try to convince you anymore about a truth that hasn’t changed: the risk is worth it, every time. History tells us that story over and over.
“They’re certainly entitled to think that… but before I can live with other folks I’ve got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.” - Harper Lee “To Kill A Mockingbird”
· Don’t just celebrate us—stand with us. Especially at Pride in the Park and the Sunday March here in Casper, or anywhere else you find yourself at a Pride event. These spaces are beautiful, but they’re also vulnerable. Ally presence makes them safer. It tells us, “You’re not alone.”
· Let your support live beyond the moment. Pride isn’t the end goal—it’s a pulse check. If you’re with us in June, be with us when we testify at the Capitol. Be with us when someone’s name gets misused at work. Be with us when our healthcare drops out from under us.
Because the truth is: Pride is protest. Pride is power. Pride – the freedom to be ourselves – is a fight for ALL of us. And Pride is still deeply necessary.
So this Pride, I want to feel an abundance of allies standing with me, my friends, and framily, physically and emotionally. I want that for every single queer and trans youth, maybe more than I ever have. I want that for parents trying their hardest to raise their kids well and keep them safe from relentless attacks on their lives. I want LGBTQ youth to become LGBTQ adults and live long, happy lives. I want more people to name it clearly: stepping back from trans people isn’t strategy—it’s complicity, and it gives our opposition exactly what they want. I want to get online and see my friends supporting me and my colleagues work (reposting, commenting, fighting the trolls, sharing out events, etc). I want to go to the Pride march and feel that tingle we get in our chest and tightening in our throat as emotion creeps in, and you cry because you are overwhelmed by the sight of community showing up for community. I want to feel joy, and I know I will!
For those of us still here—still showing up, still existing boldly when we’re told not to—I hope we find moments of rest and real joy this month. I hope we remember that we’re not defined by how they see us or speak about us. We are defined by our persistence, our love, our truth.
Allies: if you’ve been quiet, now is the time to speak.
If you’ve been waiting for the “right” moment, this is it.
We need you—loud, visible, and unwavering.
Not just in June. But in all the months after.
Take good care, friends.