This year’s Pride felt different from before. Last year, it was more like a street party, which we joined at the last minute. But this year, I was determined to be there no matter what. Even if I faced the day with a lump in my throat rather than as a summer event.
The days leading up to this Pride carried a different vibe. The public discourse, political climate, and atmosphere felt heavier. It seemed harder to love freely now. Harder to say, “Here I am.” And even I, who has been to so many marches, felt afraid. Afraid of what might happen at Pride, what they would allow, and what they wouldn’t. But every time the thought crept in that maybe I shouldn’t go, I reminded myself: I’m too scared to be scared. Because whatever happens now is less frightening than the idea that one day freedom might truly run out.
We’re Still Here
On the day, the three of us set off for Pride: my partner, who marched with me last year, and a friend joining for the first time. We walked to the venue in colorful clothes, smiling, though deep down we all felt some anxiety. When I arrived at the gathering spot, my first feeling was relief. There were so many of us. So very, very many… And the mood—peaceful, cheerful, smiling, open—was just like always. Maybe even a bit gentler. People looked out for one another. No pushing, no anger, just joy. That’s why I come every year: to remind myself that we’re still here.
Sometimes it’s hard to remember this. Sometimes it feels like the majority believes what’s shouted loudly in comment sections, while you sit at home on your couch thinking: am I really the last one who still believes in love?
Then suddenly, you find yourself among hundreds of thousands of people smiling at you, and you realize you’re not alone. The reality is the young guy who cried as the march began. The reality is the middle-aged couple holding a “proud parents” sign, ready to hug anyone missing a mother’s or father’s embrace. The reality is the couple in love, perhaps daring to share their first kiss in front of the romantic Buda panorama. The reality is singing, dancing, hugging, and smiling.
This year’s Pride was in many ways like any other, yet it meant more than ever. It wasn’t just about LGBTQ rights, but about all our freedoms. About expressing ourselves, standing up for ourselves and each other, and knowing our voices haven’t been silenced. We have the right to sing, wave flags, and love. And if this freedom is ever taken from one community, it will eventually be taken from all of us.
The Power of Courage
This year’s Pride belonged to everyone a little, but let’s not forget where it all started. The liberating, almost cathartic experience we shared—something we missed so much in recent years—was thanks to the courage of the LGBTQ community. Their perseverance, hope, and faith made it possible for so many of us to celebrate together now.
They were the ones who didn’t back down when everyone else was afraid. And now, they’ve made it possible for us to stand beside them—to be part of this joy.
I truly hope that when we finally live in the kind of country we can only imagine now, we won’t forget who made it possible. We won’t forget who stood up first. And we won’t forget that we all owe them something: our courage, our voice, our vote, our presence.
That was the 30th Budapest Pride. I was there. And no matter what happens, I’ll be there next year, too.
