A Pride Unlike Any Other
By: Aruna Rao
Until now, I saw Pride as a festival: a joyous, commercial event, awash with rainbows, glitter, and corporate logos that attempted to make some space for activism.
My first Pride parade was in New York City, where I walked with a group of Asian parents and allies from API Rainbow Parents of NYC. I was surrounded by the love of the LGBTQ+ Asian community. A stately Thai trans woman led our group with grace and dignity, Korean drummers circled around us, and one of the marchers carried a large rainbow umbrella to provide shade to the mothers walking with me. I was deeply aware of how small and distinctive our ally group was and how much it meant to LGBTQ+ folk to see parents walking with them.
At my second Pride in New York, I marched with SALGA NYC, one of the oldest LGBTQ+ South Asian organizations in the country. This time I was the only parent present, with my lonely sign that said “Desi Rainbow Parents & Allies: We love our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Children.” The Bollywood/drag-queen inspired outfits, a truck with a DJ blasting window rattling Bollywood music, and the group of queer people dancing along were unfamiliar to me, but the sign coaxed smiles from them, and one by one, they came over to say hello.
My third Pride felt like a homecoming, with my child by my side, my Desi Rainbow family marching along, and the now-familiar queer and trans faces from NYC and surrounding states who had come to be part of the celebration. My friend Aparna brought a small handmade sign that said “Free Hugs from a Desi Mom” and she was mobbed by riotously happy Desi people, some who jumped over the barricades on the parade route to hug her. An Indian-American family, a father, his cisgender daughter and transgender daughter marched with us, wearing matching blue and pink clothing as a living embodiment of the transgender flag. The two lawyers who fought to overturn Section 377 in India, a gay couple, walked with us, along with a group of IIT students from India and the alumni who danced along. One of the IIT students, a slender trans woman, hugged me long and hard, the tears rolling down her face soaking my shoulder.
The most vivid memory I have is of an unexpected and loving moment of connection with a tall, blond, trans woman carrying a massive American flag, who was leading the group ahead of ours. She told me I reminded her of her own parents, who were in their eighties and couldn’t be there in person, but were there in spirit, supporting her every step of the way. I treasure that rare moment of recognition that cut across the barriers between us to acknowledge our shared humanity and our love for family.
At the end of each of these parades, I crowded into the train to go home, my feet aching but brimming with elation, exchanging rare smiles and conversation with other commuters.
This year, the elation and joy has crashed to a halt, brought to its knees by the pandemic, the brutal murder of George Floyd, and the massive protests fueled by rage and grief. But in this bleak landscape, the meaning of Pride blazes through. Pride started as a riot led by Black and Brown trans people, and its origins are showing. I watched with awe as 15,000 people in Brooklyn marched on June 14th to support the Black trans community, as Black trans people in all their glory led the marchers.
Allies need to follow the lead of Black LGBTQ+ people now. Some of us may be able to be part of this profound social change by marching with our bodies. All of us need to be part of it with our donations to black LGBTQ+ led organizations and with our concrete efforts to make police and government accountable. We need to have conversations within our communities to understand how we benefited from the civil rights movement led by black people, how we perpetuate anti-blackness, how we can name and recognize caste and class privilege, and finally, how we can change the country with our votes in the fall. Allyship now is about humility during Pride.
