Pride

Pride & Prejudice: Being Disabled At Pride

A photo of Angela outdoors leaning forward with arms crossed. She wear a trans pride pin. In the background, sunlight highlights green grass, light pink flowers, and tall trees against a blue sky.
Posted on by Angela Lemus-Mogrovejo

There is always a bittersweet feeling for me whenever Pride comes around every year. 

On the one hand, I’m always grateful to be reminded that I am not in fact the freak various conservative politicians paint me to be. Being around other community members makes me feel oddly normal. I suddenly become just another girl who likes video games, goes on museum dates with my fiance, and likes to write poems. I’m just like everyone else.

On the other hand, even just making the walk over to Pride reminds me that isn’t true. Even as I trek over from a nearby bus stop in the daytime, I worry if someone is going to kill me. I worry if someone is going to stab me repeatedly like they did to Juniper Blessing just a few months ago. I worry if walking back with my partner as visibly trans people we will be shot and left for dead just like Shyell Sanchez-McCray was in Virginia. Or worse yet, maybe people won’t remember us at all. Maybe we will be deadnamed by our surrounding community and people will have to speculate about our deaths like they have with Marlow Trottie in Louisiana.

I don’t say any of this to detract from the much needed joy that has been brought to my life while living in Seattle. Ever since I moved here about seven years ago, I have been fortunate enough to see more trans people than I ever previously did. The first event I attended was even Tran Pride where I first got to see just how expensive trans existence and expression could be. Riding transit in my everyday life, I have not typically worried about people assaulting me or people spewing vitriol at me even though I do expect it to happen. My life is at nowhere near the same level of risk as other places across the US and I am not as likely to die for being trans while residing here.

But being trans and disabled makes things…complicated.

Having wandered around several booths at the most recent Trans Pride, I couldn’t help but notice the plethora of disabled folk among the attendees. So many people used mobility aids like walkers, canes, and even crutches to maneuver around the park. I couldn’t help but smile and compare my own flower cane with others or think of my other partner using the same kind of walker. For all that many everyday spaces feel hostile to the notions of acknowledging disabled people and of masks still being necessary, at least people here were using them. Not everyone was using them but at least the event being outdoors meant the event organizers were trying. That should be enough, right?

Well, that is just it: I don’t think it is.

Look, I have long accepted at this point that many people believe the pandemic is over. Many people think choosing to keep masking is overkill and absolutely an overreaction now that vaccines have become available. Many people don’t care about public safety and giving any thought to people worse off than them is too much trouble. But I refuse to believe this is the best we can do.

I refuse to believe that going to a Latine Pride event a few years ago should mean I would be the only one wearing a mask in a group of seventy five people.

I refuse to believe that with all the activists and booth runners who spoke about organizing resistance to ongoing fascism not one of them was capable of wearing a mask.

I refuse to believe that even with all the people who were wearing masks at Trans Pride being far more than the norm that that should ever be considered an acceptable amount.

I refuse to believe Pride means I have to set aside my disability needs and concerns just so other folks can have a break from thinking about the violence.

I understand how much people need these spaces. I know we need revelry and freedom to just exist for a while. I know how much I desperately need the reminder that I deserve to exist in a world that wants me dead.

I just cannot accept that being better than the average is acceptable at this point and time. The bar is in hell and we shouldn’t accept that doing a bit better than that is enough.

At least, I can’t.

A Pride to feel proud of would go something more like this:

The day is starting out and everything feels perfect. The sun is out shining with a light breeze blowing, enough to feel on your skin but not enough to stir up too many allergens in the air. Clouds dot the sky but only enough to provide cover for those who need some shade. Everything feels like the opening to what will be a wonderful event.

I arrive at the main tents covering registration whether by transit, by car with enough space to accommodate my partner’s walker, or even walking alongside others using mobility devices. Everyone has high quality masks, styled to show off their unique Queer identities and styles. In front of me are a pair of furries dancing to music only they can hear on headphones blocking out extra sensory stimulation. Behind me are signs clearly marking out where the low stim spaces are set up for peace to craft, fidget, and be at peace away from the louder areas. All around are folks just waiting to check out the booths and celebrate Trans Pride together.

When I manage to get in, I find myself overwhelmed by folks of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds. Whole contingents of Latine folk doing their own dance workshops for folks with chronic pain and other limited forms of movement. Asian activist centers coming by to talk about museum plans and memorials honoring people we have lost to Covid like Stacey Milbern and Alice Wong. Vendors and artists selling anything from leather care supplies, erotic artworks, and pup hoods to offering massages, pop up tattoo sessions, and info on kink workshops happening in the area. While the flags waving across the spaces lean blue, pink, and white, the crowd never privileges Whiteness as it has before. This place feels built by and for us and sees that trans life is informed by so many other aspects of our lives.

Turning to the stage, local performers take charge and run the entire creative gamut. Deaf contemporary dancers perform beautiful pieces set to songs one could never imagine dancing to in public. Poets give them space to clear out and protect one another with masks as they perform heartbreaking verses for everyone, some a bit raunchy while others just sweet, Queer, and trans. The day moves on, the sunlight dims a bit, and the big performers take the stage: choirs delivering classic tunes, lip-synchers dancing to the songs that make them show the world who they are, and bands letting attendees know the Queer riot isn’t over.

Everybody is watching out for each other, checking in about testing, and getting resources for health needs they haven’t addressed from fellow trans doctors.

Everybody is doing what they can to make the space fight not only for the joy of now but for the politics of tomorrow.

Everybody is safe from the violence for once.

For once, we just get to be people who not only see the complexity of how gender can be but also prioritize the different ways bodies can be.

For once, we just get to exist.

I get to walk around, know people give a damn about my chronically ill partner, and know that me getting sicker isn’t an excuse to make the event more exclusionary. I get to just be somebody who talks with pretty people, shares about books I’ve read, and shares my love openly and freely with all my partners. I get to be someone remembered for more than what I gave others.

I get to be more than just another dead name people will forget about when they remember trans folk exist next year.

Angela Mogrovejo-Bosch (she/they) is a disabled, autistic, trans Latina who has combed the gamut when it comes to writing. Having been motivated by on the ground activist movements and disability justice organizers, she sees writing as a tool for liberation. With writing, it is their hope that we can collectively imagine and create a better world for us all. She hopes to contribute to the kinder, interdependent vision of what makes disabled creative life so precious to cultivate. In these unprecedented times, they know disabled viewpoints are needed now more than ever.

About Rooted In Rights

Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights.

Pride in Community: No Queer Liberation Without COVID Mitigation

Top-down capture of a non-binary Black person lying back on top of various throw pillows, with one arm arched above their head. They wear tinted purple sunglasses, a KN-95 mask adorned by a double gold chain, and a “Pro-Black Anti-Bullshit” tank top paired with a denim vest and plaid skirt. A pink cane rests next to the person on a watermelon pillow.
Posted on by Denarii Grace

Image Description: Top-down capture of a non-binary Black person lying back on top of various throw pillows, with one arm arched above their head. They wear tinted purple sunglasses, a KN-95 mask adorned by a double gold chain, and a “Pro-Black Anti-Bullshit” tank top paired with a denim vest and plaid skirt. A pink cane rests next to the person on a watermelon pillow. Photo by Disabled and Here

I’ve been watching online chatter explode as cautious concern mounts regarding hantavirus. Sound familiar? It’s the rodent-derived illness that took Gene Hackman’s wife in 2025 and recently wreaked havoc on a cruise ship. As someone who has been masking since 2020, it’s really mind-blowing: people are terrified of what has yet to affect us on any large scale while COVID, which has been affecting us substantially for over six years, rages on.

Politicians have failed us, institutions have failed us, and – while many people don’t like to hear it – individual people have failed us as well.

Nowhere have I felt this more than in queer and trans “community.” As a bi activist of almost 20 years, teaching across the country as a community educator, I have been intimately familiar with our people for a long time. I have learned from our ancestors and elders. I’ve taught my peers and younger generations. I’ve dealt with conflict. I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been uplifted. I know well the sacrifices that we’ve made – particularly those most vulnerable – for the movement.

So it puzzles and frustrates me every late spring, when Pride Month rolls around, and organization after organization, movement leader after movement leader promotes COVID-unsafe events and programming. I feel hurt, angry, and disappointed that people who are “supposed” to care and champion liberation for all consistently leave out some of the most vulnerable of our community. Do we, disabled people, not also deserve joy? Social camaraderie? To be seen? Do we, those most negatively affected by COVID, not also deserve to show our Pride? Not just in June (in the colonized U.S.), but year-round?

To be clear, this is an indictment. I’m very exhausted tiptoeing around the evidence-based fact that completely abandoning COVID precautions, leaving the most vulnerable to fend for ourselves, continues to kill and disable people – queer and trans people! – unchecked. But it’s an indictment swimming in love and care. If I didn’t care, I would stay silent. But I’ve been doing this work too long to stay silent.

So this calling in (and out) comes with a roadmap for doing better. Because we can do better – no, we must.

At its core, this is a systemic issue. However, that doesn’t mean that we are helpless. There was another time in our history where the government abandoned us and we, as individuals, stepped up our community care efforts. It can be done again.

One way is through advocacy. We must hold our government – federal, state, and local – accountable for how they continue to (mis)handle an ongoing pandemic. Whether you challenge local anti-mask laws or advocate for cleaner air, there is something for everyone to contribute.

Secondly, you can start requiring masks and testing at events again. Yes, really – no one can stop you! Mask blocs are a great collaborative resource, but there are also websites like Bona Fide (which I personally use), if you have the budget to purchase directly, to provide to those who have stopped masking.

Finally, you can organize more outdoor-only events during the warmer months and virtual events during the colder weather (and year-round!). Even outdoors, airborne transmission is still a risk, especially in large crowds. Plan ahead with social distancing and limiting the number of attendees.

Does this all feel a little daunting? I’m not surprised! Especially if you haven’t been thinking about who’s being left out, it can feel burdensome to try to navigate new protocols and accessibility needs. But we are all we’ve got and, ultimately, it is those of us who are cut off from community who are the most burdened.

This offering is by no means exhaustive, but by the time you’re able to read this, it’ll probably be too late for June 2026 events. However, Bi+ Visibility Month (September), LGBTQ+ History Month (October), Trans Day of Remembrance (November), and World AIDS Day (December), among others, are right around the corner. Plus, you have an entire year to get ready for Pride 2027.
Don’t delay; start planning now. And this time, those plans can include how to make your spaces safer for everyone and more inclusive of those most isolated so that all of us can have a “Happy Pride!”

Denarii Grace (she/they – mix it up!) is a multi-hyphenate writer and editor, singer, and long-time activist. Founder of Fat Acceptance Month, they’ve been an editor with Rooted in Rights since May 2022. She can be found on Facebook, Threads, and Instagram @writersdelite.

About Rooted In Rights

Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights.