Pride in Protest

Beneath a blazing summer sun and a canopy of rainbow flags, my partner and I joined more than a million fellow revelers pouring into the streets of Manhattan for NYC Pride 2025. This year’s celebration — anchored by the iconic Pride March and the sprawling PrideFest street fair — carried a particularly defiant spirit. The official theme, “Rise Up: Pride in Protest,” harkened back to Pride’s origins at Stonewall and felt like an answer to a turbulent moment for LGBTQ+ rights. Organizers declared that as our community faces mounting hostility and legislative attacks, this theme was a powerful call to action for queer folks and allies to rally, march, and celebrate in defiant solidarity. In other words, Pride 2025 was a rallying cry.

On Pride Sunday, we staked out a spot along Fifth Avenue by noon, joining massive crowds eagerly awaiting one of the world’s largest Pride parades. At the starting signal on 26th Street, a roar rose up from the crowd. Floats began rolling forward and marching bands struck up brassy pop anthems as the NYC Pride March stepped off. This was the 55th annual Pride March — the largest in North America — and it lived up to its reputation. Organizers estimated more than a million spectators lined the route to cheer on tens of thousands of marchers and dozens of fabulously decorated floats winding downtown toward Greenwich Village. Rainbow confetti twirled in the air, sweat beaded on brows in the 90°F heat, and yet the atmosphere was defiantly joyful. Strangers high-fived each other, music and cheers echoed off skyscrapers, and you could just feel a collective sense of resilience and jubilation — a big queer “we’re still here!” — rising from the streets.

This year’s Grand Marshals embodied the theme of protest and pride. Leading the march was a diverse slate of activists and luminaries: Karine Jean-Pierre, the trailblazing former White House press secretary; Marti Gould Cummings, a non-binary drag artist and political activist; DJ Lina (Lina Bradford), a beloved Black trans nightlife icon; Elisa Crespo, a trans advocate and community leader; and the team behind Trans formative Schools, an initiative for trans-inclusive education. Each Grand Marshal was chosen “to recognize their resilience, activism and diverse contributions to uplifting the queer community” in New York and beyond. 

As Co-Chair Kazz Alexander noted, “our marshals this year remind us that we are stronger when united in our fight for equality and liberation … They reflect the understanding that LGBTQIA+ rights are human rights.”

Riding in classic convertibles or on floats at the front, the Grand Marshals waved to the crowds, showing off Pride’s mix of reverence and rebellion. Behind them, a torrent of community groups, activists, dancers, and allies followed — a human rainbow stretching for blocks.

“Rise Up: Pride in Protest” was not just a slogan but a lived experience along the route. Marchers hoisted signs reading slogans like “Our Joy is Our Resistance” and “We Refuse to Be Invisible.” Many parade groups blended celebrations with pointed messages. Contingents chanted for trans rights and queer liberation, highlighting issues from anti-trans laws to racism and immigration. As the parade proceeded down Fifth Avenue, the crowd at historic locales like the Stonewall Inn, which the march passed by in tribute, erupted in remembrance of Pride’s radical roots. It was 55 years since the first Christopher Street Liberation Day march in 1970, and the spirit of those early activists echoed strongly in this year’s demonstration.

Throughout the march, moments of celebration met moments of somber reflection. On one block in Chelsea, a flash mob of vogue dancers from the ballroom scene — the House of Evangelista, named after the famed house from FX’s Pose — struck dramatic poses, reclaiming space with every dip and spin. On another block, a group carried a large trans pride flag, stopping periodically to acknowledge transgender lives lost to violence, reinforcing why the protest in Pride remains vital. When a small anti-LGBTQ protest group appeared at a barricade, the crowd drowned them out with chants of “we’re here, we’re queer!” and an impromptu singalong of “True Colors,” keeping the focus on love and solidarity.

Security was tight but unobtrusive. The NYPD installed 10,000 barriers and scores of officers along the route, though NYC Pride has banned police contingents in uniform since 2021, a decision that remains a topic of public debate. This year, the Police Commissioner herself stood on the sidelines with the Gay Officers Action League to quietly protest that exclusion, even as her officers protected the marchers’ right to celebrate freely. “New York City will always be a place where every person can freely and openly be who they are,” Commissioner Jessica Tisch said of the day’s security mission. By and large, the focus stayed on the community — every shade of the LGBTQ+ family and its allies coming together in a mosaic of pride.

The Heart of the March

A hallmark of NYC’s Pride March is the variety of participants, each adding their own color to the kaleidoscope. This year, community organizations, corporations, unions, religious groups, schools, and more strutted their way through the city. 

Unions turned out in force to proclaim that queer rights are workers’ rights. The Association of Professional Flight Attendants (APFA) — representing American Airlines crew — marched behind a banner reading “We Fly With Pride.” Dozens of uniformed flight attendants, some waving pride flags styled like airplane safety cards, cheered and chanted in unison. 

Members of the stagehands and film technicians union IATSE — known as “the Union Behind Entertainment” — joined with a coordinated contingent. They carried signs declaring “An Attack on One is an Attack on All,” echoing IATSE’s Pride Committee stance that LGBTQ+ rights must be defended by all unions. Their float featured a giant theatrical spotlight draped in a rainbow flag, symbolizing how the labor movement is literally and figuratively shining a light on equality.

In a show-stopping blend of high culture and Pride flair, the Metropolitan Opera made a grand appearance with its own float. In recent years, the Met’s float doubled as a rolling stage — complete with operatic talent. This year, two young Met singers performed snatches of popular arias, their voices soaring above the cheering crowd.

The Met Opera has become an annual Pride favorite; in past parades they’ve featured stars like soprano Brittany Logan and bass-baritone Davóne Tines singing live, and 2025 kept that tradition alive. Flanking the singers were dozens of Met staff and performers in custom Pride costumes including choristers in glittering tuxedos and dancers from the Met ballet in rainbow tutus. A sign on the float underscored the Met’s message of inclusivity: “Opera is for everyone.”

“We definitely know how to bring the energy... after bringing the music to NYC Pride’s annual March!” the Met Opera wrote on social media, thanking the crowd for an “unforgettable” day. For many, seeing the storied opera company out in the streets — literally giving voice to Pride — was a goosebump moment that captured what makes NYC Pride special.

A heartwarming highlight was the float of God’s Love We Deliver — the nonprofit that has provided meals to people with HIV/AIDS and other illnesses since the 1980s. GLWD celebrated its 40th anniversary this year, and their Pride float was correspondingly festive, decked out as a giant birthday cake emblazoned with “40 Years of Love — and Pride!”

Riding atop were GLWD’s 2025 Pride Ambassadors: actress Niecy Nash-Betts and her wife — singer Jessica Betts — a glamorous couple whose love and visibility epitomize Pride’s joy. Notably, OUT@L’Oréal — the LGBTQ+ employee network of L’Oréal — sponsored the GLWD float and contingent — an example of corporate allyship in action. The float paused in front of the Stonewall Inn, where Nash and Betts led the crowd in singing “Happy Birthday” to GLWD. Honoring 40 years of service, it was a moving scene that blended Pride with gratitude.

“We’re here to feed people’s bodies and souls,” one GLWD volunteer said, tearing up as she recalled how the group formed during the AIDS crisis. By uniting celebrity, corporate, and grassroots support, the GLWD contingent symbolized the power of partnership and compassion at the heart of Pride.

The New York University Marching Band added a thunderous rhythm to the parade. Clad in purple and white, the band’s musicians and color guard were impossible to miss as they played upbeat pop and disco hits adapted for brass and drums. From “Born This Way” to “I’m Coming Out,” their set list of queer anthems had the crowd dancing on the sidewalks. At key moments, the NYU band would stop and perform a short routine: horns high, flags twirling, a saxophone soloist stepping forward to riff on the melody. One spectator remarked that the joyful noise “gave the parade a true big-show vibe — like our very own Pride halftime show.”

NYU has long participated in NYC Pride with students, staff, and alumni marching, but 2025 marked one of their biggest turnouts. The student musicians saw it as a chance to show that the younger generation stands proud and unafraid. “Playing loud is our form of protest,” shouted one drum major — and play loud they did. The band’s presence also underlined Pride’s connection to the city’s schools and youth: a reminder that campuses in NYC from NYU to CUNY and beyond are nurturing new generations of LGBTQ+ leaders and allies.

Near the front of the parade, a dignified but exuberant group of seniors marched under the banner of Services & Advocacy for GLBT Elders (SAGE). These LGBTQ+ elders — some in their 60s, 70s, even 80s — earned some of the day’s loudest applause, affirming that “we stand on their shoulders.” Many wore T-shirts that read “We Refuse to Be Invisible,” a slogan SAGE adopted for Pride season.

Indeed, these trailblazers have lived through decades of struggle and progress, from Stonewall and the AIDS epidemic to marriage equality and today’s crisis. As they slowly made their way down the route, the crowd elevated them with chants of “Thank you!” and “SAGE! SAGE!” Commemorating friends lost and urging the community to carry on their legacy, the SAGE contingent paused near the AIDS Memorial in Greenwich Village to release a flurry of rainbow paper doves into the air. The organization’s presence was a living link to Pride history, and in her remarks, DJ Lina shouted-out SAGE, noting how the group ensures “our elders are seen, heard, and cared for.”

Bursts of Caribbean music and a wave of island flags announced the arrival of the Caribbean Equality Project. The CEP advocates for Caribbean-American LGBTQ+ communities, and they brought Carnival flair to Pride with a high-energy celebration of queer Caribbean culture. Revelers danced calypso and soca in feathered Carnival costumes, a steelpan drum group played, and marchers carried the flags of Jamaica, Trinidad, Guyana, and Haiti emblazoned with the rainbow. A banner up front declared the theme of CEP’s Pride presence: “Our Visibility is Resistance.”

Highlighting issues facing queer and trans Caribbean immigrants — from stigma in their countries of origin to the challenges of asylum and community acceptance in New York — the group created one of the day’s most vibrant cultural tableaux, mixing Pride with Caribbean Heritage Month.

CEP members performed a short dancehall vogue routine, and as they passed, spectators could feel the bass of reggae beats and see signs like “Proud and West Indian” and “Out of Many, One People.” The Caribbean Equality Project’s presence underscored the diversity of NYC’s queer community; protest and celebration within the community are entwined with dance, music, and cultural pride. When their section reached the reviewing stand, the emcee crowned it “the most flavorful segment of the parade,” and indeed the legacy of CEP’s work — blending activism with cultural celebration — shone brightly in Pride 2025.

These examples barely scratch the surface of a march that included countless other groups: from PFLAG parents walking hand-in-hand with their LGBTQ children, a Hogwarts-themed LGBTQ+ youth group, and queer faith groups singing hymns of inclusion, to the “Dykes on Bikes” motorcycle brigade revving at the lead, and floats from allies within tech and finance companies (there were notably fewer corporate behemoths than in years past). This rich pageant of floats and marchers reflected the full spectrum of the LGBTQ+ family. As one onlooker marveled, “where else but NYC Pride can you see opera divas, drag queens, union workers, church pastors, student bands, and queer Caribbean dancers all in one parade?”

Is there a takeaway? Yes. In 2025, Pride’s power and common purpose is rooted in its diversity.

A Street Fair for All

Even as the March wound through Manhattan, the celebration continued just a few blocks away at PrideFest — NYC Pride’s annual LGBTQIA+ street festival. Now in its 31st year, PrideFest 2025 drew tens of thousands of attendees to a Fourth Avenue transformed from 14th Street down to Astor Place into a buzzing carnival of queer culture — part marketplace, part concert, part community fair, and all open to the public for free.

By midday, the asphalt was packed with people browsing and mingling among more than 100 vendors and community booths. Sellers offered everything from rainbow clothing and lesbian literature to handmade trans flag jewelry and LGBTQ+ history books. The air was filled with the aroma of global cuisines — jerk chicken, tacos, dumplings, and classic NYC street pretzels — as local restaurants and food trucks offered “flavors of Pride.”

Families with kids gravitated towards FamilyFest — an area of the fair with face-painting, balloon animals, and story time hosted by drag queens. Nearby, a WellnessFest booth offered on-the-spot HIV testing, mental health resources, and information on LGBTQ+-friendly healthcare. Community organizations had tables set up as part of CommunityFest, from queer sports leagues recruiting players to grassroots activists gathering signatures against discriminatory laws. In one corner, elders from SAGE sat comfortably under a tent sharing oral histories with curious younger attendees — an informal “Living LGBTQ+ History” installation that drew a constant crowd of listeners.

At the heart of PrideFest was StageFest — the main performance stage — which kept the street pulsing with live entertainment. Iniko — an emerging pop-soul artist known for their androgynous style and powerful vocals — headlined the StageFest lineup.

When Iniko took the stage in the afternoon, the intersection of 4th Ave and 10th Street transformed into an impromptu concert pit — a sea of people dancing and singing along to the hit song “The King’s Affirmation.” The lineup featured drag performers, including a few RuPaul’s Drag Race alumni who worked the crowd with lip-syncs and high kicks, comedians from the queer stand-up circuit, and a youth dance troupe that had won a citywide Vogueing competition. The talent was global and diverse — from a queer Bollywood dance ensemble that had everyone clapping along, to a Bronx-based LGBTQ+ salsa band that fused Latin beats with messages of unity. “PrideFest is the perfect place to stop and catch a live performance, grab a bite to eat, shop local, and get some great Pride gear. And the best part is, it’s totally free!” NYC Pride had promised — and PrideFest delivered on that promise of inclusive, accessible fun.

As the afternoon stretched on, the mood at PrideFest was pure celebratory chaos — in the best way. Strangers danced together in the street. An older gay couple twirled to a Donna Summer disco classic next to a group of trans teens perfecting their TikTok dance moves. City council members and corporate sponsors wandered through, chatting with community members without the usual formalities — just humans enjoying a day of Pride. In the Youth Pride section (a separate, adjacent event tailored to teens and young adults), young people found a safe space to celebrate with their peers: there were DJs, carnival games, and resource tables about everything from college scholarships to mental health — all designed “to empower LGBTQIA+ youth at a time when trans youth are under attack,” as NYC Pride put it. Notably, Youth Pride 2025 kicked off with a “Rise Up Rally to Protect Trans Youth,” co-led by Trans formative Schools (the Youth Grand Marshal) — blending fun with activism from the get-go.

By 5 p.m., as PrideFest began to wind down, the energy showed no sign of flagging. In the festival’s final hour, StageFest turned into an all-star drag revue and dance party — a last burst of catharsis. Attendees were reluctant to leave this queer haven that for one day took over city streets. Many people described PrideFest 2025 as “the best one yet” for its breadth of offerings and the palpable sense of community. “It’s not just a street fair, it’s a family reunion,” one longtime attendee observed, looking around at friends and strangers of every age and background reveling together. Indeed, PrideFest, like the march, embodied that dual spirit of Pride 2025: celebration and protest, hand in hand — joyful, inclusive, determined, and free.

Why We March

While Pride March and PrideFest centered moments of joy and unity, they unfolded against a social backdrop increasingly hostile towards LGBTQ+ people. State legislatures in 2024 introduced a record number of bills targeting LGBTQ+ individuals, particularly transgender youth. The American Civil Liberties Union tracked 533 anti-LGBTQ bills introduced in statehouses during 2024. Though only 49 passed into law (the rest were defeated), these bills took aim at the LGBTQ+ community in every way imaginable: banning transgender students from school sports, censoring classroom discussions of sexual orientation and gender identity (so-called “Don’t Say Gay” laws), outlawing drag performances in public, and outlawing or severely limiting gender-affirming health care for trans youth. By mid-2025, more than half of U.S. states had enacted some form of ban or restriction on gender-affirming care for minors. As of March 2025, 27 states banned best-practice medical care like puberty blockers or hormones for transgender youth, and in six of those states it is even a felony crime for doctors to provide such care. Now, some politicians are pushing to extend these bans to transgender adults — for example, lawmakers in at least eight states have sought to bar state Medicaid or other public funds from being used for gender-affirming care, limiting health care access for trans adults on public insurance.

This legislative onslaught has been accompanied by heated anti-trans and anti-queer rhetoric, creating what advocates describe as a crisis. In fact, for the first time in its 40-year history, the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) officially declared a “national state of emergency” for LGBTQ+ Americans in June 2023. HRC cited an “unprecedented and dangerous spike” in anti-LGBTQ bills and warned that LGBTQ+ people are living in an environment that is “increasingly hostile and dangerous.”

HRC President Kelley Robinson said, “LGBTQ+ Americans are living in a state of emergency,” noting that the multiplying threats “are not just perceived — they are real, tangible and dangerous.” At Pride 2025, this dire context fueled a renewed protest spirit. Marchers and speakers emphasized that Pride began as a riot and that activism remains essential. As one trans activist group honored as Grand Marshal put it: “in a time when trans kids are a target — from your local school board to the White House — we need everyone to rise up and build a movement that uplifts and invests in trans lives, right now.” The theme “Rise Up: Pride in Protest” was not just a slogan, but a call to action echoing throughout the events.

Nationally, the political climate has grown tense. President Trump, his administration, and his allies have openly attacked transgender rights and diversity initiatives. During his 2024 campaign, Trump pledged a series of extreme actions — and upon taking office he moved swiftly to follow through.

In his first week back, President Trump issued an executive order titled “Defending Women From Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government,” which rescinded the previous administration’s LGBTQ-inclusive policies and legally redefined gender in strictly binary terms. Under this order, the federal government now “only recognizes two sexes, male and female” as assigned at birth, and agencies were instructed to exclude transgender people from facilities or programs that align with their gender identity. The impact was immediate and sweeping: within days, federal agencies were scrubbing websites and documents of any mention of “gender” or LGBTQ+ topics to comply with the new policy. The CDC hurriedly took offline its public health guidance pages that mentioned transgender or non-binary people (such as STI treatment guidelines and vaccine recommendations), rather than leave references to gender diversity. Officials described a government-wide purge of terms like “pregnant person” (changed to “pregnant woman”) and removal of LGBTQ+ health data — even if it meant withholding critical information. By January 31, 2025, agency staff were racing to meet a White House deadline to strip out all gender-related content; pages that couldn’t be quickly rewritten were simply taken down. One public health advocate warned that “people will get sick … babies will die” as vital health advisories (e.g. on congenital syphilis and immunizations) were removed in the name of “biological truth.”

President Trump has also targeted anything he labeled as “DEI” (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion). Federal grant recipients — from nonprofits to local health departments — received orders to immediately terminate all programs or personnel related to DEI or “gender ideology” on pain of losing federal funding. Internal letters even suggested that staff must remove pronouns from email signatures and eliminate words like “diversity” or “inclusion” from all communications. In effect, the administration is using federal leverage to gut funding for DEI efforts and silence LGBTQ+-inclusive language well beyond Washington. 

Chris Piedmont — NYC Pride’s Media Director — put it succinctly in a statement during Pride weekend: “at a time when trans youth are under attack, queer art is being erased, and the clock is being rolled back on LGBTQIA+ rights across the country ... NYC Pride remains focused on advocating for our community as we face an onslaught of attacks.” Those words resonated throughout the march and festival. When the crowd chanted “Trans rights are human rights” and “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!” it was not just celebratory — it was resistance made audible.

Pride 2025 intentionally honored its roots in the Stonewall riots of 1969 — that first brick thrown in protest — and commemorated now more than half a century later it is a changed world, but one where the fight is far from over.

By Monday morning, as the glitter was swept up and the rainbow flags along the avenues were carefully stored away, New York City seemed to exhale — tired, perhaps a bit hungover, but proud. Pride 2025 will be remembered for its spirit of “defiant celebration.”

It reminded everyone that Pride was born as a protest and lives on as one: a dynamic, unapologetic affirmation of LGBTQ+ existence. In a year when LGBTQ+ Americans faced daunting challenges, NYC Pride offered a beacon of hope and a call to action. The sights and sounds of that last Sunday in June — the drums and cheers, the glitter and tears — all told the same story: we’re here, we will fight, and we will love openly. As Grand Marshal Marti Gould Cummings said on the parade route, “pride began as a riot, and we must hold onto that. Trans people are being vilified … I will use this platform to bring awareness to the grave issues impacting the most vulnerable in our community”.

For one glorious day, the streets of New York transformed into a living, breathing monument to queer and trans power — not just resilience, but joy in the face of everything trying to dim it. From the steps of City Hall to the crooked cobblestones of the Village, the message was clear — Pride 2025 wasn’t just a parade. It was a reclaiming, a resistance, a reminder that this community is alive, unafraid, and unwilling to be legislated out of existence. Marching with my partner that day — surrounded by elders who have fought for decades, kids perched on their parents' shoulders waving handmade flags, trans youth leading chants with bullhorns, and every flavor of queer joy in between — I felt something that’s hard to describe but impossible to forget. A clarity. A purpose. A refusal to let anyone steal the love we’ve fought to live openly. Pride is still a protest. It’s also a promise that we’ll keep showing up, arm in arm, until everyone in our community not only survives — but thrives. I’ve never felt more proud to rise up, and never more certain that we must.