Every June, America has the same conversation.
Some people celebrate Pride Month. Some people criticize it. Others ask why it still exists at all. Social media fills with familiar questions: Why isn’t there a straight Pride Month? Haven’t we already achieved equality? Why are we still talking about this?
By now, most of us could probably predict the arguments before they happen.
What strikes me is that these conversations often focus on the wrong question.
The real question isn’t why Pride Month still exists. The real question is whether we’ve forgotten why it started.
Pride Month was never primarily about celebrating being different. At its core, it has always been about remembering why millions of Americans had to fight for the opportunity to be treated the same as everyone else.
That distinction matters because history has a way of fading faster than we think.
For younger Americans, the world can look very different than it did for previous generations. Many grew up in a country where same-sex marriage was legal, where openly LGBTQIA+ public figures were commonplace, and where visibility became part of mainstream culture. That’s not a criticism. It’s evidence that society changes.
But there are people alive today who remember a very different reality.
They remember when being openly gay could cost someone a job. When it could cost housing, damage careers, strain family relationships, or make someone a target for harassment and violence. They remember when entire segments of the population were expected to remain silent about who they were simply to avoid consequences.
That history isn’t buried in a textbook. It isn’t ancient history.
It’s living memory.
Whether you’re conservative, liberal, progressive, moderate, libertarian, or simply exhausted by politics altogether, history matters. When we forget why movements began, we often forget what problems they were trying to solve in the first place.
Now, I know some people reading this don’t agree with every aspect of modern LGBTQIA+ activism. That’s okay. Democracy isn’t supposed to be a loyalty test. People can disagree about organizations, policies, political strategies, or cultural debates. In a healthy society, disagreement is inevitable.
What shouldn’t be controversial is something much simpler.
Every American deserves to live without fear of discrimination, harassment, violence, or being treated as less than human.
That shouldn’t be the ceiling.
That should be the floor.
And honestly, that’s where I approach this issue. Not from a partisan perspective, but from the perspective of basic dignity.
Over the years, I’ve learned that most people want remarkably similar things from life. They want meaningful work. They want people who love them. They want friendship, family, stability, security, and the opportunity to build a life that matters to them.
They’re not nearly as different as politics often suggests.
That’s one reason Pride Month continues to matter. It reminds us that there were people who spent decades fighting for opportunities many Americans take for granted. The ability to hold a partner’s hand in public. To get married. To serve openly. To build a family. To exist honestly without constantly calculating whether being yourself might carry consequences.
Those victories didn’t happen automatically. They happened because people pushed for them.
The word “pride” itself is often misunderstood. Some hear it and think arrogance, celebration, or self-congratulation. Historically, however, pride meant something very different.
It was the opposite of shame.
For generations, LGBTQIA+ Americans were told they should be ashamed of who they were, who they loved, or how they existed in the world. Pride emerged as a response to that message. It was a way of saying that no one should have to hate themselves simply to make other people comfortable.
You don’t have to agree with every modern political debate to understand why that message resonated.
In fact, I would argue the lesson extends far beyond any one community. Nobody should have to apologize for existing.
Nobody.
If you’ve followed Hold ‘em Accountable for any length of time, you know I spend a lot of time talking about accountability. Government should be accountable. Corporations should be accountable. Political parties should be accountable. Activists and media organizations should be accountable.
But accountability only works if we remember something equally important: people are human beings before they are political categories.
That’s one reason our current political climate feels so exhausting. Too often, we’ve replaced curiosity with assumptions and disagreement with suspicion. We have become increasingly comfortable arguing about people instead of talking to them.
Democracy requires something better.
It requires the ability to disagree while still recognizing each other’s humanity.
Pride Month doesn’t require anyone to abandon their faith, change their values, or agree with every political argument taking place in America. At its core, it asks something much simpler. It asks us to recognize that people whose experiences differ from our own are still our neighbors, coworkers, friends, and fellow citizens.
That’s not a radical idea.
That’s citizenship.
It’s also personal.
Most people know me as a retired Marine, a husband, a father, and a guy who spends entirely too much time reading legislation and yelling at spreadsheets. What most people don’t know is that I’m also intersex. It rarely comes up because it isn’t the defining feature of my life. It’s simply one part of who I am.
But it serves as a useful reminder.
Human beings are often far more complicated than the categories we place them in.
Many of the people affected by these conversations don’t look the way others expect them to look. They don’t fit neatly into political stereotypes. They are veterans, teachers, business owners, parents, healthcare workers, neighbors, and friends.
Often, they’re people you’ve known for years without ever realizing it.
That’s another reason visibility matters.
Not because everyone must agree on every issue, but because understanding becomes much harder when entire groups of people remain invisible.
Pride Month isn’t a declaration that America is perfect. It isn’t proof that every debate has been settled. It isn’t an announcement that everyone suddenly agrees.
It’s a reminder.
A reminder that progress often happens because ordinary people decide that exclusion, discrimination, and fear are not acceptable ways to treat their neighbors. A reminder that rights are rarely inevitable. A reminder that freedoms we inherit were often secured through struggles we never personally experienced.
Every generation inherits victories it didn’t have to fight for.
The danger is that inherited victories can start to feel permanent. They can start to feel inevitable. We forget how difficult they were to achieve because we’ve only known the world that came afterward.
That’s why remembering matters.
History matters.
Dignity matters.
Visibility matters.
And perhaps most importantly, humanity matters.
Whether you’re celebrating Pride Month or simply observing it from a distance, it’s worth remembering that every person you encounter is carrying a story you probably know very little about. The more we remember that, the healthier our communities become.
The goal was never perfection.
The goal was always dignity.
That’s why Pride Month still matters.
