UNBROKEN SPIRIT
Culture & Society
DC WorldPride. Joy That Doesn’t Get Swept Away
Crowds celebrating DC WorldPride in Washington, D.C.—a stark contrast to the streets today. Photo: Marisa Carper (TMN).
In the past few weeks, DC has changed. The city sounds different. The cheers are gone, replaced by the clank of metal poles as tents are torn apart, people’s possessions still inside, and tossed into garbage trucks. Police pull people from the sidewalks. On the National Mall, the heavy stomp of army boots echoes as the National Guard patrols the area.
WASHINGTON D.C. Written by Marissa Carper
This is the city I love.
And right now, it feels like a stranger.
But it wasn’t always like this. Just two months ago, the same streets overflowed with something entirely different. Love spilled from every corner during WorldPride DC. We took up space in the most defiant way possible; dancing, kissing, and living in full view of a government that has tried again and again to erase us.
I remember a DC filled with music.
I remember streets shimmering with sequins, colorful flags waving high.
I remember joy so loud it drowned out everything else.
Tap the images to enlarge them.
I remember cramming into a Metro car after the street festival, on my way to the Dupont Circle block party. The car was packed with people glittering in every possible color. One person started a cheer, and the whole car erupted. The sound didn’t stop when we reached the escalators; cheers and laughter followed us into the sunlight.
I remember the roar of the crowd when the parade floats came into view. The way strangers hugged like old friends, joy written on every face.
I remember looking around and thinking, this is what safety feels like.
DC WorldPride Map. Photo: Marissa Carper (TMN),
I remember Khalid taking the stage on Sunday night, pausing mid-set, eyes wet under the stage lights. “This is my first time at Pride,” he said. “Thank you for accepting me, for supporting me. I feel like I’m home.” He was right. That’s exactly what WorldPride DC was; for me, for him, for all of us. Home.
That weekend was more than music and parades. It was a reminder of who we are when we’re allowed to fill the streets without fear. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much now, to see those same streets emptied, swept clean of the people who can’t afford to exist here anymore.
It’s hard not to feel whiplash. Hard not to feel heartbroken by the cruelty that has taken over the city. I grieve the joy and love that once filled every block as I watch families being pulled apart, and people stripped of the little they had left. I wish I could go back to WorldPride, to a DC that was full of joy.
Tap the images to enlarge them.
But maybe that’s the point of Pride. It’s not just a weekend. It plants something deeper. It’s a reminder of how much love there is in the world.
Joy like that doesn’t vanish. It doesn’t get silenced. It doesn’t fit in the back of a garbage truck.
Queer joy is resistance.
The joy of WorldPride is still in me. Even in the shadow of the Supreme Court’s fall session. Even under boots and patrols. It’s still here. It’s proof that no matter how hard the world tries to crush us, we’ve built something untouchable.
So love. Dance. Take up space. Be yourself so fully that the world can’t look away.
Because Pride isn’t just an event.
It’s a heartbeat.
And mine is still loud.
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