As I watched the rainbow flags wave across downtown Orlando during this year’s Come Out With Pride, I felt a mix of joy and unease. Joy, because our community gathered—queer, trans, immigrants, families of color, allies—to celebrate our authentic selves.
Uneasy, because attacks on our rights, our dignity, and even our lives are relentless.
As a queer immigrant, I came to this country with little more than hope, a willingness to learn a new language, and the courage to adapt to an unfamiliar culture. I am now naturalized, and yet I still live in fear of ICE.
I carry my passport card in my wallet every day, a small reassurance in a world that judges me by the color of my skin, the sound of my name, or the slightest hint of an accent. Racial profiling or detention looms over me even as I try to build a life, raise my children, and contribute to the society I call home.
This fear becomes heartbreakingly real when I explain to my children why people who look like us, whose families of color are being taken away—and why hate crimes target the queer community, why someone would want to harm people like their moms. Even as I planned Come Out With Pride, I felt uneasy about ICE appearing.
My wife and I had to make a plan if I were arrested or detained—by ICE or by a king who insisted that, as a Pride organizer, I somehow broke his laws or offended his regime. These are conversations no parent should have to have, yet queer, immigrant, and multiracial families face them every day.
Come Out With Pride is more than a parade or festival. It declares that our community thrives under pressure. Economically, it supports local businesses, artists, and nonprofits. Socially, it provides a safe space to meet, connect, and uplift one another.
Pride reminds us that queer joy is revolutionary, that celebrating ourselves openly is a radical act in a world that often tries to erase us.
Yet the work is far from over. Women’s rights, gender equality, fertility rights, access to healthcare, the rights of trans and non-binary individuals, the struggles of communities of color, housing and food insecurity, and protections for undocumented and immigrant neighbors—all are under attack. These intersecting crises demand our solidarity, our action, and our unwavering attention.
In these challenging times, the LGBTQIA+ community must look inward for strength. We find it in love, compassion, and empathy. We find it when we lift each other up, when we lean on one another, and when we remind each other: you are not alone.
Come Out With Pride shows that queer joy persists even amid fear—and that joy is our greatest power. Together, we celebrate, support, and protect one another, building a community where everyone has a place, a voice, and the courage to be seen. We are in this together—and together, there is nothing we cannot overcome.
Reflecting on this year’s Pride, I see the importance of acknowledging our past, celebrating the progress we have made, and staying vigilant about the future. There is room to grieve losses and to rejoice in victories, big and small.
Pride mirrors who we are, who we aspire to be, and the values that must guide us forward: inclusion, justice, compassion, and solidarity.
Come Out With Pride reminds us that even in fear and uncertainty, queer joy persists. That unyielding spirit is our greatest weapon. We rise for one another, for those whose voices are marginalized, and for the generations who will inherit the world we fight to protect.
Because when we stand together—truly together—we are unstoppable.
Tatiana Quiroga is the executive director for Come Out With Pride. She is a proud mother, wife and LGBTQ+ advocate in Central Florida.
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