01/06/2026
“𝐍𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬.” – 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐏. 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝘽𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚, 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩.
𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴. 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥. 𝘍𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵.
Every June, streets become seas of rainbow flags and Pride Month is embraced as a celebration of identity, love, and freedom. Yet history reminds us that Pride Month’s origin was anything but.
𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲.
That is how it all began. Long before rainbow confetti touched the pavement, there were police raids, bruised bodies, broken bottles, and people who had grown exhausted from being told that their existence was unlawful.
Pride traces its roots back to the early hours of June 28, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn, a small gay bar in New York City. At the time, LGBTQ+ people lived under laws that criminalized their existence. Police officers routinely raided gay bars, dragging people out, arresting them for same-sex relations or for wearing clothes that did not match the gender on their IDs. On that night at Stonewall, officers stormed the bar once again.
𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲, 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱.
The community had endured enough.
Instead of quietly dispersing, the people outside Stonewall resisted.
Accounts differ on who ignited the uprising. Some point to a “butch” le***an believed to be Stormé DeLarverie demanding action as police restrained her, while others remember Black trans woman Marsha P. Johnson and countless unnamed q***r people refusing to back down.
𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀: 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝘂𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸.
Bottles were thrown, crowds formed, anger erupted, and protests continued for several nights. It was messy, emotional, and born from years of accumulated fear and rage.
𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦.
Twenty-five years later, that spirit crossed oceans and reached the Philippines. On June 26, 1994, around 50 to 60 LGBTQ+ Filipinos marched through Quezon City in what became known as Stonewall Manila or the Pride Revolution—the very first Pride march in both the Philippines and in Asia. Organized by the Progressive Organization of G**s in the Philippines (PROGAY) and the Metropolitan Community Church, the demonstration commemorated the 25th anniversary of Stonewall.
𝙔𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡.
Protesters marched not only against discrimination toward LGBTQ+ Filipinos, but also against social injustices affecting ordinary citizens, including the implementation of the Value Added Tax (VAT) and oil price hikes.
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿: 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲’𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗲𝘀.
𝘛𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮.
Because of this history, Pride became a declaration—against violence, against discrimination, against systems that punished people for loving differently or living authentically.
Today, however, Pride has transformed into something beautifully visible. What was once hidden in fear now blooms openly in streets painted with rainbows. Pride Month has become colorful, vibrant, and celebratory.
𝗔 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲.
𝘈 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.
And rightfully so. Pride deserves to be celebrated because people fought for the right to do so—rights that should have belonged to the LGBTQ+ community in the first place were won through resistance, courage, and sacrifice.
To celebrate Pride is to remember those who marched when visibility was dangerous, those who resisted when silence was safer, and those who dreamed of a future where identity no longer had to be defended.
𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭.
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁.
Written by Rose Lee Ronquillo
