"The Heteros don't have a parade either." The most common argument against Pride only sounds logical until you really think about it
It's the same every year. As soon as Pride starts to approach, not only those who object to it on principle will speak up, but also some gay people who need to distance themselves from it a bit more ostentatiously. "I don't need this." "It doesn't represent me." "Why do we have to put ourselves out there?" "These people make other people not take us seriously."
And honestly? It's understandable. Pride really isn't for everyone. Not everyone likes crowds, loud music, allegorical floats, rainbow merch, and the feeling of turning your own identity into a public event for a few days. Some people are bothered by brands that hang around Pride, slap a rainbow on their logo in August, and prefer to keep quiet about queer people for the rest of the year. Some people just don't recognize themselves in it. And someone just has a simple desire to live their life without having to make a statement out of it.
That's all fine. Pride is not compulsory. No one is less gay just because they don't want to march downtown. The problem only starts when the phrase "this is not for me" becomes "this is not how gay people should behave".
We don't all want to be seen the same way
The queer community has never been one bunch of people with the same tastes, the same personalities and the same idea of life. There are people who love drag and people who wouldn't set foot in a drag show. People who feel at home in a club, and those who want to lie on the couch on a Saturday night. People who live their identity politically, and those who think of it as one of many things about themselves.
So it's actually logical that Pride doesn't sit well with some gay people. They may find it too loud, too flashy, too sexual, too activist, or too commercial. A man in a long-term relationship, going to work, dealing with a mortgage and a dog may not see himself in a colorful parade with a dance truck. And there's no need to tell him he should.
It's just as unfair to tell others that they should keep it down, get dressed, line up, and most importantly, "don't embarrass yourself." Indeed, this very phrase, suspiciously often, sounds like an echo of a world that has long taught us that we will only be acceptable if we are not too conspicuous.
The desire for normality is understandable. But it's not free.
A lot of gay men have grown up feeling that the best strategy is not to stand out. Not to be too feminine. Not to talk too much about relationships. Not leading your partner by the hand. Not giving anyone a reason to ask. Don't act "gay."
When you grow up with that, it's clear that you can come to associate safety with subtlety. And Pride can be almost uncomfortable for him because it does the opposite. He doesn't whisper. He doesn't apologize. He doesn't ask for acceptance in an understated tone. He just is.
But the right to live normally shouldn't depend on whether we appear orderly enough. We shouldn't earn respect by being "the good gay guys" who don't disturb anyone, don't provoke anyone, and are easy to explain to the family uncle at lunch. Acceptance that only applies to the least visible is not real acceptance. It's a deal: you can be here, but keep it quiet.
"I don't need Pride" doesn't mean no one needs it.
This is probably the most important one. Some gay people really don't need Pride in person. They have supportive family, safe friends, good jobs, live in a big city, and their orientation doesn't present a major problem in their daily lives. Great. That's exactly how it should be.
But not everyone lives that way.
Pride isn't just for the confident guy from Prague who has come out long ago and talks about his partner at work as naturally as his colleagues talk about their wives. It's also for someone who sits in a small town, looking at pictures of the parade on their phone, and for the first time feels like there are more than just fag jokes in the world. It's for the teenager who hears at home that "he'll grow out of it." For the trans person who has to explain his existence to someone all the time. For older queer people who lived most of their lives in a time when they weren't talked about at all.
And maybe even for those who will never go to one. Because they too live in a society that public visibility is slowly changing.
Pride isn't just a Saturday night parade.
Critics often see one part in particular: the inflated downtown, the music, the rainbow flags, the alcohol, the Instagram photos and the corporate logos. But Pride isn't just a parade. It's also a festival, debates, safe community spaces, counselling projects, support for young queer people, coming out work, rainbow families, workplace equality and legal protections.
Clearly, the parade is the most visible. And yes, it can be over the top, noisy, a little kitschy and sometimes tiring. But symbols are important precisely because they are visible. When queer people disappear from public space, the idea that we're just a private aberration that it's polite to keep behind closed doors quickly returns.
It's okay to criticize Pride. To be ashamed of it is something else.
Pride deserves criticism. We can talk about whether it's too commercial. If it's thinking enough about people outside of Prague. Whether it has enough space for trans people, bisexual people, older queer people, introverts or those who don't feel part of the young urban party culture. We may want it to be not just a pretty backdrop for brands, but a real community and political event. That's a healthy debate.
But it's another thing when criticism turns to shame. When someone says, "I'm gay, but I'm not like them," when they need to negotiate their own acceptability with the majority by cutting themselves off from those who are "too loud," "too effeminate," "too weird," or "too visible." Because these are exactly the people who often bore the risk before it was comfortable for others to live openly.
You don't have to love Pride to understand its meaning.
No one has to walk in a parade. No one has to wear a rainbow t-shirt. No one has to post a picture of a flag on Instagram or pretend that Pride is their personal Christmas. After all, queer freedom isn't about all of us being equally colorful and loud. It's that we can be different.
Some people want to dance in the street. Some people want to sit at home. Some people want to talk about rights. Some people just want to hold their partner's hand on the way home from the movies. In an ideal world, it would all be just as ordinary.
But we don't quite live in that world yet. And as long as there are people who are afraid of coming out, of hand-holding, of family, school, work, or government reaction, Pride is not a relic. It's a reminder that "living normally" is not meant to be a reward for subtlety.
