Governor Cox, the governor of Utah, along with several other Republican governors, has elected to declare June “Fidelity Month,” or whatever that is supposed to mean. It like every thing he does panders to his religious base. He started out “ok” towards LGBT issues, but became a shill for his base and his party

There’s a lot of political flexing going on right now. Politicians are pandering to their bases, and honestly, that’s nothing new. I’d say that’s the problem, but this post isn’t really about politics.

June is still Pride Month.

In June of 1969, the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village, New York, was raided by the NYPD. It wasn’t the first time. Establishments frequented by the LGBT community were routinely raided under claims of “indecency” or supposedly checking liquor licenses. In many cases, bars serving the LGBT community weren’t allowed to obtain liquor licenses in the first place.

The Stonewall Inn itself operated without a valid liquor license because one was never going to be granted. Like many similar establishments of the era, it was run by organized crime because legitimate business avenues were effectively closed to the community.

What followed that raid became known as the Stonewall Riots. For six days, members of the LGBT community pushed back against years of harassment, intimidation, and discrimination.

Pride Month didn’t begin as a party.

It began as a protest.

It began because people were tired of being treated as criminals for existing.

The events at Stonewall became one of the sparks that ignited the modern LGBT rights movement. The freedoms many people take for granted today weren’t handed out because society suddenly became enlightened. They were fought for by people willing to stand up and say, “Enough.”

Today, Pride is often associated with festivals, parades, and celebrations. That’s understandable. Celebrating how far we’ve come matters.

But it’s important to remember why Pride exists in the first place.

This year, some governments are choosing not to recognize Pride Month. Others are replacing it with alternative observances. That’s their choice, even though it id despicable and divisive. it is a further attempt to keep minorities without a voice.

My point is that Pride doesn’t stop being Pride because someone refuses to acknowledge it.

Pride remains what it has always been: a reminder that equal rights require constant vigilance.

No, I am not calling for riots.

I am calling for people to remain engaged.

Celebrate. Have fun. Enjoy the festivals.

But don’t forget the protest.

Don’t forget the history.

And don’t forget that rights can move backward just as easily as they move forward.

My own story is tied to that history.

I grew up after Stonewall, but long before being openly gay was widely accepted. Then came the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s. The LGBT community, especially gay men, became targets of fear, misinformation, and outright hostility. Early on, AIDS was even referred to as “gay-related immune deficiency,” reinforcing the idea that an entire community was somehow responsible for a disease.

I was a teenager during that era.

While my friends were discovering relationships with girls, I was realizing that my attractions were very different. Back then, you didn’t talk about it. Many of us were afraid to even think about it too much because being discovered could have serious consequences.

People hid.

People stayed in closets.

People learned very quickly which parts of themselves were safe to show and which parts needed to stay buried.

I joined the Army in 1982. At the time, applicants were asked whether they had engaged in homosexual activity or identified as homosexual. Those of us who wanted to serve learned to keep our mouths shut.

You served, or you told the truth.

You weren’t allowed both.

In 1991, I spent four memorable hours with the Criminal Investigation Division after being accused of being gay. The goal was simple: get me to confess.

I didn’t.

I continued serving for years afterward.

Later came “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” It was often presented as progress, and in some ways it was. The military was no longer supposed to actively investigate someone’s sexuality.

But you still couldn’t openly serve.

You still had to hide.

You still had to live with the knowledge that being honest about who you were could end your career.

The day I officially came out was the day I left the Army.

For the first time, I was free to say it out loud.

I know it wasn’t necessarily what my mother wanted to hear at first. Like many parents of her generation, she had her own journey to take. But over the years she came to understand, accept, and support me.

That’s why I believe visibility matters.

The most effective form of protest isn’t always marching.

Sometimes it’s simply existing openly.

Being visible.

Being a neighbor.

Being a veteran.

Being a nurse.

Being a friend.

Being the person people already know and respect.

The more people realize that LGBT individuals are their coworkers, family members, veterans, healthcare providers, and friends, the harder it becomes to reduce us to stereotypes.

That doesn’t mean we should tolerate ignorance.

One phrase I still correct whenever I hear it is, “That’s so gay.”

Letting slurs or derogatory comments slide isn’t keeping the peace. It’s quietly accepting behavior that should be challenged.

Most of the time, those corrections can be gentle.

Sometimes they need to be firmer.

But they should happen.

Because silence teaches people that what they said was acceptable.

June is still Pride Month.

Not because a government proclamation says so.

Not because a parade happens.

Not because corporations change their logos for thirty days.

It’s Pride Month because people fought for the right to live openly, and because there are still people fighting for that right today.

As for me, I know my dog doesn’t care who I love.

And in the end, my mom came to understand that too.

Honestly, that’s a pretty good place to start.