Today, under a North Carolina sun pushing well past 90 degrees, hundreds gathered in downtown Chapel Hill for Pride.
We assembled outside the town’s historic post office. Under tents, information about local LGBTQ organizations and resources was offered. Vendors handed out rainbow-colored swag. An Italian ice stand served a steady stream of people seeking relief from the heat. Nearby, a mobile DJ booth provided the soundtrack for the afternoon as people danced, laughed and visited with friends old and new.
Churches stood alongside civic organizations. Families stood alongside activists. Younger people and older people. Queer people and allies. Residents from across the Research Triangle gathered once again to celebrate the dignity and worth of LGBTQ lives.
Brian Henderson speaking at Binkley Baptist Church.
Before the parade stepped off behind a local drum corps, speakers addressed the crowd. A radio personality served as emcee. The mayor spoke. The former mayor spoke. The director of the senior center spoke. Two high school poet laureates shared their words.
It was the former mayor who made me pause.
Reflecting on the struggle for LGBTQ equality, he spoke passionately about the heroes of the movement whose shoulders we now stand upon. Then, with conviction and urgency, he declared: “Act Up!”
Instinctively, I wanted to respond: “Fight Back! Fight AIDS!”
The words came back to me immediately, echoing from another chapter of our collective story. But I didn’t. No one around me did either.
“The words came back to me immediately, echoing from another chapter of our collective story.”
The overwhelming majority of the crowd appeared to be younger than I am, and for a moment I wondered how many people there recognized what had once been one of the defining chants of LGBTQ activism.
To be clear, this is not a criticism. None of us can know what we never have been taught. Every generation inherits some stories and misses others. Yet standing there in the summer heat, I found myself reflecting on how important it is for us to know our history. Knowing our history does not make us nostalgic. It makes us grounded. It reminds us the freedoms we celebrate today did not simply appear. They were won through courage, sacrifice, organizing, advocacy, heartbreak and hope.
We remember people like Harvey Milk, who encouraged LGBTQ people to come out and be visible. Barbara Gittings, who challenged psychiatric and social stigmas. Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, whose activism helped ignite a movement. Audre Lorde, whose voice called us toward justice and truth. Billie Jean King, who transformed visibility in sports. Larry Kramer, whose righteous anger helped awaken a nation to the AIDS crisis. Bayard Rustin, whose contributions to both civil rights and LGBTQ history are finally receiving greater recognition. Edith Windsor, whose legal challenge helped reshape marriage equality in America.
Their stories matter. Their names matter. Their courage matters.
As executive director of the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists, I also think about the people whose names may never appear in national history books, but whose witness transformed — and continues to transform — Baptist life.
I think of Rodger Harrison, who helped found American Baptists Concerned, the organization that eventually paved the way for AWAB. I think of Rick Mixon and Barbra MacNair, whose leadership and faithfulness continue to help generations of LGBTQ Baptists know they are not alone. I think of Louise Rose, an openly lesbian African American Baptist minister whose courage in the 1970s challenged assumptions about who could lead and serve in the church. I think of Brenda Moulton, Robin Lunn, Madison McClendon, Cliff Matthews, Donnie Anderson and countless others whose names may not be widely known but whose impact continues to ripple through our congregations and communities.
“They simply believed that future generations deserve a more just and loving world.”
Many of these individuals did not know what victories would come from their efforts. They simply believed — and many still believe — that future generations deserve a more just and loving world.
And because they believed and believe still, we marched today.
Because they spoke, we speak. Because they organized, we gather. Because they dreamed, we celebrate. Pride always has been more than a party. It is a living act of memory.
As the parade began to move through the streets of Chapel Hill, I found myself grateful for the younger people around me. Their energy, creativity and hope are signs the future remains unwritten. But I also found myself grateful for the elders, the activists, the organizers and the dreamers whose work made this day possible.
We need both. We need those who are marching today. And we need to remember who taught us to march. Some planted seeds. Others continue tending the garden.
Today, we gather beneath the shelter of trees they helped — and are still helping — to plant. The least we can do is remember their names, tell their stories and continue the work.
Let’s keep acting up.
Brian Henderson serves as executive director of the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists.