Still here. Still queer. Still fighting for a better future.
A response to the prompt: What are your hopes and dreams for the future of the LGBTQ+ community?
I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to post on June 30th—the last day of Pride Month. Then I saw that Lady Libertea shared a post on Substack from Rich Dornisch 🏳️🌈 asking:
“What are your hopes and dreams for the future of the LGBTQ+ community?”
I’m 61 years old. I’ve lived long enough to know that progress is never a straight line. I’ve seen the needle move forward, only to get yanked back. I’ve seen victories turn into caution signs. But I’ve also seen what happens when people rise up anyway.
I came out in a world that did not feel ready for me. Pride was still in its infancy. Safe spaces were few and far between, just quiet nods in dark corners and the hope that someone else understood. But we found each other. We always do. We built something out of nothing. Not just friendship or nightlife, but real connection. Community. Resistance. Fierce, stubborn love. The kind that says, “I see you. You matter. You’re not alone.” That’s where Pride started for me, not as a parade, but as a lifeline.
That’s why I still have hope. Because I know what we’re capable of.
Recently, when Viktor Orbán in Hungary passed a law banning Pride marches and promoting anti-LGBTQ+ censorship, under the usual Christian guise of “protecting children,” I felt that old, familiar ache in my chest. The safety of shadows started calling again. They always do.
And given the rise in anti-LGBTQ+ legislation here in the U.S., it’s chilling, but not hard to imagine the GOP taking aim at Pride itself.
But then the people of Budapest rose up. Over 200,000 marched anyway, waving flags, holding each other, taking up space. They didn’t ask for permission. They didn’t wait to be allowed. They just showed up. That kind of courage never stops inspiring me. It reminded me that we are stronger together, and that we cannot run back into the shadows out of fear of being erased.
And it’s not just happening over there. Here in the U.S., we’re seeing it too. The No Kings marches earlier this month were raw, urgent, and unfiltered. Those protests reminded me of what Pride really is—not performance, not polish, but protest. These are the marches that speak truth and stand unwavering in their commitment to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all.
Pride should absolutely refuse to be watered down for anyone’s comfort. We must continue to shout what we’ve always known:
We are not here to be tolerated.
We are here to live fully, loudly, and without apology.
That’s the spirit I want to carry into the future. That is my hope and my dream for the LGBTQ+ community.
Because I’ve fought too hard and lost too many to settle for shadows and survival. I want more for the next generation. I want them to grow up knowing their worth, not questioning it. I want our elders to be cared for, not forgotten. I want trans kids to feel safe. I want trans joy to be celebrated. I want every queer person, especially those living where silence still feels safer than truth, to know they are not alone.
We will not be erased. We will not be legislated out of public life. We will stand proud and cling to our self-worth, our dignity, and each other. And when the time comes—and it always does—we will flood the streets with love. Fierce love. Love that holds signs and hands and stories. Love that refuses to disappear.
We are here.
We are queer.
We are not going anywhere.
We’ve been through the fire, and we’re still dancing.
Still building. Still dreaming.
And we are not going anywhere.
Get out there, Queers. Join hands. March. Protest.
Be bold. Be free. Be you. 🏳️🌈💙
Thank you Rich Dornisch 🏳️🌈 for asking!
—David