Steven LaChance Blog

You know, I’ve been thinking about all this hostility toward the LGBTQ+ community lately, and maybe—as painful as it is—it’s a harsh reminder we needed. For years, it felt like we were blending into the mainstream, which isn’t inherently bad, but something started slipping. Remember those iconic queer spaces that used to pulse with life? Places like New York’s Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center, or San Francisco’s The Stud—they weren’t just bars or venues. They were radical hubs where we built family, protested, and celebrated survival. Now, so many of those spaces are shuttering or getting watered down by bachelorette parties and corporate Pride merch. It’s like we’re being folded into a system that still doesn’t fully accept us, just monetizes us.

And let’s not forget: Pride began as a riot, not a parade. The first Pride was a protest born from the Stonewall uprising—when Black and brown trans women like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera threw bricks at police brutality, not confetti. Today, when corporations slap rainbows on products while donating to politicians pushing anti-LGBTQ+ bills, it’s a stark reminder: Pride isn’t a party. It’s a rebellion. Look at Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act or Russia’s escalating crackdowns—these aren’t distant issues. They’re proof that complacency costs lives.

But here’s what strikes me: This backlash is forcing us to reckon with complacency. When states ban gender-affirming care or schools erase LGBTQ+ history from curricula, it’s a wake-up call. Real equality isn’t just rainbow logos in June or same-sex marriage legalization—it’s about trans kids accessing healthcare without fear, queer elders living safely, and bisexual folks not being erased. And let’s be real: Progress isn’t a straight line. Look at Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” law or the surge in anti-drag bills. These aren’t abstract threats—they’re real lives being policed.

So yeah, maybe this moment is about more than survival. It’s a chance to reclaim our grit. When I see mutual aid networks popping up to support queer refugees, or young people online organizing against book bans, it reminds me of ACT UP’s fierceness during the AIDS crisis. That’s the spirit we need now. Solidarity isn’t a buzzword—it’s showing up for each other, whether at a school board meeting or a protest against anti-trans legislation.

Our community’s strength has always been in refusing to be invisible, even when the world tries to silence us. Let’s use this anger to build something unignorable. Because until a lesbian couple can hold hands in Alabama without hesitation, until a nonbinary teen isn’t misgendered in their obituary, until every queer person can simply exist without apology—we’ve got work to do. And history shows us: When we push together, we bend the arc forward. Let’s make sure this chapter’s about resilience, not retreat.