BlufBear

As Pride month fills streets with colour and celebration, it’s easy to forget that this movement was never meant to be comfortable. Pride wasn’t born from acceptance. It was built from struggle, and by people who were pushed to the margins of society. Trans women, drag queens, working-class organisers, street-involved youth, people of colour, and Leathermen all played vital roles in the fight for queer liberation.

This isn’t about ticking boxes or dividing the credit. It’s about being honest about where we came from, and who we have to thank for the freedoms we often take for granted today. That’s more important than ever, especially when the most visible and defiant parts of the queer community are under attack once again.

Take Stonewall, for example. The 1969 uprising in New York wasn’t a tidy moment of political strategy. It was a riot. A spontaneous rebellion against yet another police raid on queer people just trying to exist. And it wasn’t led by polished spokespeople. It was led by those who were routinely excluded: trans women of colour like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, drag queens, and gender-nonconforming people who had simply had enough.

They weren’t alone. In those spaces were Leathermen, many of them war veterans, bikers, and men who had created their own subculture as a rejection of mainstream expectations around masculinity. Leather bars became sites of community, of resistance, and eventually of leadership during the HIV/AIDS crisis. Their contribution to safe sex education, mutual care, and activism saved lives when institutions looked the other way.

In the UK, the story had its own rhythm but shared the same energy. Early Pride marches in London weren’t just about sexuality. They were deeply tied to feminist activism, anti-racism, and working-class politics. Trans individuals were there too, even if they were often pushed to the sidelines. People like April Ashley helped change the public conversation, while others quietly fought for legal recognition behind the scenes.

It wasn’t just about visibility. Queer liberation in Britain was built by people running advice lines from their kitchens, by nurses caring for patients during the AIDS epidemic, by youth groups challenging Section 28, and by activists holding signs in the rain outside Parliament. That work rarely makes the headlines, but it shaped everything.

And it’s why current attempts to police who does or doesn’t belong at Pride feel so hollow. When people say Leathermen should cover up, or drag queens shouldn’t perform, or trans people are too political, they’re repeating arguments that have been used for decades to silence, shame, and exclude. But Pride has never belonged to just one kind of queer person.

It was never about being neat or respectable. It was about being visible. It was about saying we will not go quietly, even if who we are makes others uncomfortable. That defiance is what made Pride powerful in the first place.

Today, the movement is still evolving. Trans people are leading fights for healthcare and dignity. Drag performers are pushing back against censorship. Disabled queers are demanding access. Leather and kink communities are creating spaces of joy and consent without shame. None of these groups are new to the movement. They have always been part of it.

Pride doesn’t come from a single source. It’s not the property of corporations, political parties, or any one demographic. It belongs to the many communities that showed up when it was hard, when it was dangerous, and when no one else would.

So when you show up to a Pride event this year, remember who built the ground beneath your feet. Remember that Pride is not just about who we are. It’s about who we lift up.

It was never supposed to be easy. And that’s exactly why it still matters.