Queer Joy: A celebration of your right to exist
As an openly transgender, non-binary, and queer person, I can honestly say I’m not excited about the uncertainty ahead. The preview we've gotten so far is unsettling. The rise of Christian nationalism is already hurting so many people—and eventually, we’re all going to feel the squeeze.
But today was a reminder of everything worth fighting for.
On the steps of the Michigan Capitol, we gathered for the Transgender Day of Visibility rally. The outpouring of support, the diversity of voices, and the spirit of togetherness were inspiring.
As a board member of one of the organizations that hosted the rally, I saw firsthand the effort and love that went into making this event possible. A couple of my close friends coordinated a de-escalation training the day before. Sitting in that room, listening to people—in person and on Zoom—share why they showed up to protect and support our community, I felt deeply humbled. Inadequate, even. But also reminded that we each play a role, and by standing in our truths, we build something greater together.
I struggle with that—accepting that I don’t have to do everything. Yesterday, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough. Today, I was reminded of what I bring to the table.
A beautiful crowd for the Transgender day of Visibility on 3/30/2025
Queer Joy in Queer History
At Inclusive Justice Michigan, we didn’t want our message to be only about anger or fear—there's already plenty of that. We wanted to uplift a message of empowerment, resilience, and joy. Our goal this season is to celebrate and elevate queer joy.
The current political landscape is tough. But our elders—many who lived through the AIDS epidemic and the Reagan era—have seen and survived immense adversity. In a recent episode of the Inclusive Justice podcast, a guest reflected on queer life in the 1980s:
"Bury your dead in the morning, protest in the afternoon, and dance at night."
That line hit me. The right to dance at night was what they were fighting for. Their light, their joy, their presence was their act of resistance.
Today, in the face of oppression, choosing joy and pride is still a revolutionary act. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t feel anger, grief, or fear—those are valid and important. But if we lose ourselves completely to rage, we risk forgetting what we’re fighting for.
We need to nurture the communities that get it—the ones that see our humanity and reflect it back with dignity and love.
Where Do I Fit In?
I’ve often wished I could change the world myself. But I’ve come to accept that I can’t—and shouldn’t—be the one to do it all. No one person can hold the vastness and complexity of all our experiences.
At the rally, I ran a photo booth with a trans-flag backdrop, props, whiteboards, and markers. People stopped by to take pictures, write messages, pose with friends, and capture a moment of celebration. On the surface, it might not seem like much—just a photo booth—but it became something more. People expressed so much gratitude. Not just for the photos, but for the intention: to document queer joy and show the world that it’s not just resistance that defines us—it’s life, connection, pride, and beauty.
I got to be a facilitator of that. A small part of creating a space for people to showcase themselves and celebrate their community. Their expressions, their messages, their laughter—all of it came together to form a collective moment of visibility and pride.
There were so many beautiful messages that people wrote and held up. Some were playful, some deeply personal, some fierce and bold. But there was one that really made me stop and think “wow.” It came from a person who stood thoughtfully for a while before writing it out. Their message wasn’t loud or flashy, but it hit me hard:
“I am a transgender truck driver and have been all over the US. There are more people that love us than who hate us.”
That’s what they wanted to share with the world. It was quiet, hopeful, and powerful. It felt like they were saying, “I know it’s scary out there. I know it’s easy to feel alone. But please remember—there are so many more people who want us to exist, even if the ones who don’t are louder.”
Where Do We Go From Here?
The rally featured powerful speakers from many walks of life. While I couldn’t hear every speech clearly from where I was, the messages I did catch rang true:
You are valid and sacred. We are all in this together. We will keep fighting for a better future.
One speaker who left a lasting impression was a mother—formerly entrenched in Christian nationalism—who shared her story of transformation and healing with her transgender son. She took accountability for the harm she caused, spoke candidly about the dissonance she felt, and ultimately realized she was the problem. Her journey inspired her to advocate for trans rights and to reassure other parents that their children aren’t dead—they are here, and they have a beautiful new name.
I think it’s vital to remember: being yourself in public—especially in environments that were not designed with you in mind—is an act of quiet revolution. You don’t have to be loud to make an impact. Your presence alone can be enough to shake someone’s certainty, to challenge the stories they’ve been told, to open a crack where light can get in.
You don’t need to educate everyone. You don’t need to argue your right to exist. Sometimes, it’s enough just to exist anyway. To live your truth in the spaces you inhabit. To be the small disruption in a system that depends on your silence.
That, in itself, is powerful.
As we move into what may be a difficult season, I want to leave you with this:
Your light is beautiful. Shine it boldly.
Celebrate your joy. Rest when you need to. Drink water. Care for your body. Find your people. Make your art. Speak your truth.
We have a long road ahead—but we’ve already come so far.
Wilder Dreams - Vivian
