Joy is the Protest. Community is our Shield.
Pride, Joy as Protest, Resistance and the Power of Being Seen
This past weekend, I co-hosted a Pride Party in my neighborhood. It was part celebration, part protest, all love. What started as a desire to push back against fear and erasure became a vibrant night of community, visibility, and resistance. Friends, family, and neighbors came together in my front yard to sing, share stories, dance, and be witnessed in our fullness. It was soft, powerful, and unforgettable.
The event was grounded in the belief that joy is the protest and community is our shield. In a time when being queer, brown, or visibly proud can feel dangerous, coming together in celebration becomes a radical act. We put up rainbow balloons, held an open mic, danced, did karaoke, welcomed strangers who wandered in, and connected across generations, including some incredible older queer couples. It felt deeply human. And deeply political.
I built the platform pictured here with the help of my mother who is my greatest ally .
I had the incredible opportunity to talk about the event live on KJZZ’s The Show, alongside Jo Haas, an artist who leads The Anger Project. In the segment, we talked about how joy and anger both serve as pathways to collective healing and action.
76% of Americans say democracy is under threat. How 2 AZ activists use joy and anger to resist - KJZZ | By Sam Dingman [link]
Panchi made so many new friends during the pride party, she’s still very new to the world and her joy is contagious
One thing I wish I had shared more clearly in the interview is how I understand anger: anger is our body telling us that a boundary has been crossed, that we feel unsafe or are witnessing injustice. It’s a natural and necessary response. And yet, many people are uncomfortable with anger. I urge us, especially in moments like that, to respond with curiosity and compassion instead of judgment. Dismissing people’s anger often means dismissing their pain.
Community is our shield because it is where we find that understanding. It’s how we keep each other safe. It’s not just symbolic, it’s material. Mutual aid has always been part of how we survive: whether it’s fundraisers for medical costs or legal fees, or hotline networks like the one run by Puente, and local community leaders where volunteers confirm ICE activity before alerting neighbors to prevent unnecessary panic. It’s collective protection in action.
This Pride Party was made possible by the community. My friends and family helped build the stage platform, decorate the yard, my mom and one of our neighbors, Martha, even cooked delicious homemade Mexican food. That’s what I mean by a shield, a network of care where information flows, needs are met, and no one stands alone.
Joy showed up in so many ways that night. In the music, in the karaoke, in the laughter, in the hugs between old friends and new ones. Yes, we have all year to fight and organize. But joy, especially during Pride, is not a distraction, it’s fuel. In a world that profits from our isolation and dysfunction, joy is a strategy for survival. We can hold deep concern about the rise of fascism and still maintain our gratitude and love for life. In fact, we must.
We are collectively living through a loneliness epidemic. It’s easy to spiral into despair, even easier when you’re the one trying to pull someone else out. We need community to regulate, to breathe together, to remind each other of the light.
There is nothing wrong with us. We are not going back into hiding.
Haben is holding a Trans Pride Flag inspired drink made by Linda Yeung
Yes, there is rightful anger. And in uncertain times, people often gravitate toward leaders who validate their fear. But ultimately, we are drawn more powerfully toward love and belonging. I hope this moment, with all its instability and pressure, can be fertile ground for deeper unity and understanding. I believe in our power. I believe in our joy. I believe in us.
With love and fire, In Lak'ech.
