


Photo credit: Bahaghari Philippines
Across much of the world today, Pride has become a sanitized celebration of queer visibility, co-opted by liberal and corporate narratives. In Mesoamerica, Southern Africa, and Southeast Asia, regions shaped by colonial violence, state repression, and economic precarity, Pride is not a singular event. It is a fragile, risky, and deeply political act of presence.
Here, Pride is not only a legacy of protest, it remains one. The mere assertion of queer and trans existence is often met with systemic backlash: surveillance, arrests, censorship, and targeted attacks. Yet, Pride exists not in spite of these contexts, but through them: in whispered meetings, underground zines, rural processions, courtroom battles, and intergenerational healing circles.
These complexities demand a different lens, one that refuses to globalize Pride into a template and instead sees it as a situated, political act shaped by centuries of violence and ongoing resistance.
Queerness, gender diversity, and fluidity has existed across cultures and continents long before colonialism. From Indigenous two-spirit traditions to Southeast Asian gender nonconforming identities and Southern Africa’s histories of diverse sexualities, these expressions were not aberrations but were part of the social fabric. It was colonialism that imposed rigid gender binaries and criminalized same-sex love and trans existence through imported legal codes, religious frameworks, and moral policing mechanisms. What we now call “anti-LGBTQIA+ laws” in many countries are, in fact, colonial holdovers that continue to shape state violence and social stigma today.
In Mesoamerica, Pride is intertwined with decades of resistance against femicide, militarization, forced disappearances, and gender-based violence. Queer and trans activists have historically stood alongside Indigenous, feminist, and land rights movements, embedding Pride within broader struggles for life, territory, and memory.
In Southern Africa, Pride emerged under the shadow of apartheid in South Africa but continues to evolve across a region where legal realities and lived experiences remain sharply divided. While South Africa has constitutional protections for LGBTQIA+ people, many neighboring countries in the region continue to criminalize queer and trans identities outright. Even where legal recognition exists on paper, Black, trans, and rural communities still face systemic exclusion, violence, and economic marginalization. Across the region, Pride exists at the fraught intersection of legality, precarity, and survival.
In Southeast Asia, Pride has become both a reclamation and a refusal. It challenges state-imposed heteropatriarchy, counters the myth of queerness as a Western import, and pushes back against NGO-ization that often reduces queer resistance to sanitized service delivery. In recent years, it has become a venue for resisting authoritarianism and fundamentalism. State violence intensifies and, in certain cases, specifically targets LGBTQIA+ political activists.
As part of our work alongside feminist and queer movements across Mesoamerica, Southern Africa, and Southeast Asia, JASS has the privilege of accompanying activists and organizations who are living, resisting, and redefining Pride in their own contexts. The voices we share here reflect that shared political journey; people and organizations we organize with, learn from, and walk beside in the fight for justice and freedom.
Tinay Palabay, Secretary General of KARAPATAN, Philippines – one of JASS’ movement allies, shares,
In the Philippines, Pride is an expression of protest when LGBTQ+ rights are trampled upon, especially when this takes the form of hate crimes, gender-based discrimination and violence, and when State violence is inflicted…discrimination and homophobic violence form one facet of the prevailing repressive social order and that the struggle for LGBTQ+ rights cannot be divorced from the broader movement for social change.
Here, Pride is not a borrowed model. It is a politically situated, historically rooted practice of resistance, held together by community memory, survival strategies, and refusal to disappear.
Across these regions, queer and trans repression wears many faces: morality laws, “family values” campaigns, state surveillance, digital censorship, and criminalization masked as public order or national identity protection. The underlying goal remains control–over bodies, identities, narratives, space and joy itself.
Joy, in these settings, becomes suspect, coded as deviant, foreign, or destabilizing to the status quo, because joy is never apolitical.
As Juliana Davids, Community Engagement and Empowerment Manager at Triangle Project, A longstanding movement partner and ally of JASS from South Africa writes:
Pride, for me, is being able to love without having to explain it first. To not shrink, translate or clean it up to make it palatable… What I’ve learned from the queer community is that love can be messy and soft, intentional and chosen, expansive enough to hold grief and joy and healing, all at once… Pride is the joy of saying: we’re still here. Our love isn’t a deviation. It’s a return. It’s how we decolonize, with tenderness.
Black queer joy, trans joy, joy in translation, joy in resistance, it is all subversive. It declares, without apology, that colonial logics have failed to erase us. This is what Collective Protection looks like in action. Queer movements across the Global South are building safety infrastructures not out of institutional funding, but through networks of care and solidarity. From mutual aid to trauma-informed digital security, trans and queer organizers are developing protection models that do not rely on the state.
These are not acts of survival alone; they are claims on power. Claims on public space. On narratives. On legal systems that recognize gender and sexual diversity. On resources that enable safety and care. And on belief systems that affirm expansive identities as vital and natural.
Reflecting on this, Bianca Leigh Van Rooi, Community Organiser at Triangle Project writes,
Pride is a joyful rebellion. It refuses to forget our past or fear our future. Sometimes it dances. Sometimes it marches. Sometimes it simply insists on existing as a feeling, a presence, a refusal to disappear.
When Global Pride narratives export sanitized models of visibility without attending to safety, political context, or lived risk, they leave frontline defenders more exposed.
This version of Pride travels easily. The riot becomes a parade, urgent demand becomes a slogan-for-all-seasons, and the lives of those most vulnerable – trans sex workers, Black lesbians, disabled queers, Indigenous youth, become footnotes, if acknowledged at all. What we must reclaim is not just Pride as protest, but Pride as political imagination, a refusal to let our movements be domesticated into tokenized moments. A refusal to separate love from struggle, or joy from rage, and to let global narratives overwrite the stories we carry in our bones.
As Sattara Hatirat (Tao) of Backyard Politics, a key movement ally of JASS from Thailand, writes:
Pride is not just a rainbow parade for tourists, or a ‘progressive’ token for political gain. Pride began as a fight, and for those still cast aside, it remains a fight. Wherever people speak what’s been silenced and take up space in a world that tries to erase them, that is Pride…Pride means challenging the rules of a patriarchal society. If a parade or celebration doesn’t do that, no matter how bright the rainbow cloak, it’s not Pride.
Pride, in its truest form, is a promise of solidarity that shows up in action. It is the collective, cross-border promise that queer and trans people will continue to resist disappearance in all its forms. It is a commitment to survival and safety, but also to joy and political power. It’s the insistence that queer and trans people will continue to build, organize, and love in the face of every system designed to erase us.
What we need most is safety that is understood as a right, not a privilege. And social recognition that affirms and centers our existence, our leadership, and our movements on our own terms.
As Sammie Macjessie, Executive Director of Ivy Foundation, another movement ally of JASS from Malawi, shares,
Pride as resistance means refusing to be erased, silenced, or shamed. As a queer person in Malawi, where existing openly can be dangerous, simply living in my truth is an act of bravely. Pride is a statement that says, I exist and I matter.
Pride was never meant to be comfortable. It was meant to be a disruption. And across Mesoamerica, Southern Africa, and Southeast Asia, that disruption continues–messy, unfinished, and full of life. Because Pride is not a celebration of what has been won. It is a call to stay in the struggle, with clarity, courage, and care. And that is what we carry forward, and together, we keep the promise alive.