NY’s trans liberation stage 202515 Images
The sun was unrelenting over Manhattan at PrideFest on Sunday, June 29, casting a honeyed glow across 4th Avenue as the streets pulsed with music, glitter, and bodies in motion. Feathers, leather, bare chests, and bedazzled faces flooded the blocks around 10th Street. It was the kind of day when joy felt heavy, like you could reach out and grab it.
As a trans woman, I’ve often felt like Pride wasn’t really for me. Over the years, it became a corporate pageant or a rainbow-branded marketing campaign. With floats funded by banks and stages sponsored by fast fashion, somewhere along the way, its radical edge dulled. But this year’s PrideFest in New York felt different. With anti-trans legislation mounting across the US, there was a shift in the air this year – a quiet storm beneath the sequins and stomping.
At the centre of PrideFest stood the Trans Liberation Stage, a dedicated segment of NYC Pride organised by UK-based activist Lucia Blayke. Known for founding London Trans+ Pride, an event that has grown from 2,000 to over 50,000 in just five years. Blayke traveled across the Atlantic to build something trans-specific in New York, a city whose queer history runs thick with riot, resistance and reinvention. Her mission? To remind us that trans joy is sacred and trans visibility is still protest.
This year’s theme, Pride as Protest, felt like a collective homecoming. A return to the movement’s true origins: trans women like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, throwing bricks, starting revolutions and building new worlds. “Protest is about love and community,” said Sterling Tull, a performer and makeup artist featured on the stage. “Community has historically got us through some of the most difficult times. And this time – this moment – it’s made me realise the kind of people I want around me; the ones I’ll hold space for to protect my peace.”
Blayke’s presence brought a transatlantic weight to the day. In the UK, as in America, trans people face relentless media attacks, political scapegoating and rising violence. And yet, trans-led events like this continue to multiply – not because the fight is over, but because the movement refuses to be erased. “I’m here because visibility is vital, but it’s not enough,” says Blayke. “We’re in a moment globally where our existence is being debated in parliaments and pundit panels. Just showing up isn’t safe, but we do it anyway. That’s power.”
There’s something powerful about watching trans people gather in joy across borders. The flags may differ, but the fight is the same. And so is the love that fuels it. On the Trans Liberation Stage, I saw women, femmes and nonbinary angels reclaiming softness as a strategy, without confusing it for weakness. Glamour became rebellion. Sequins became armour. New York Pride didn’t feel like the usual parade this year. Instead, it felt like a pulse. A protest. And a plea.
We’re in a moment globally where our existence is being debated in parliaments and pundit panels. Just showing up isn’t safe, but we do it anyway. That’s power.
At the close of the hour-long segment, Lucia Blayke stepped forward. As the music faded, the atmosphere shifted and people leaned in. Behind her, the LED screens on stage lit up in the soft pastel stripes of the trans flag, casting a subtle but striking glow over the crowd. It was a visual cue that marked the moment, quiet but unmistakable. “There is a global attack on our rights,” she said, catching her breath. “It is time to stand together – this is for trans women from all over the world.”
Blayke led the crowd in a chant – “Trans rights now! Trans rights now!” – that rang through 4th Avenue like a rallying call that felt less like a performance and more like a promise. The moment offered a glimpse into the future: one where trans voices are centred, celebrated and completely unfiltered. It wasn’t about production value or sponsorships. It was about truth. “I’m fighting for my community and the safe spaces that keep us alive,” said Sterling, with a mug so perfectly painted, I wondered how she managed to keep it from sweating off her face.
Another performer, Afrodite, put it like this: “By being out here and celebrating the things they hate about us is the most stunning form of protest there is.” And maybe that’s what Pride should be. Not sanitised or shrink-wrapped to be digestible, but alive. Unruly. Complicated. Imperfect. And unequivocally beautiful.
This weekend, for the first time in a long time, I felt a collective togetherness: us, in unison, holding trans people from all over the world in our hearts as the future remains uncertain. But what is certain is how our community shows up, how we see each other and how we love each other through it all. That is the thread that will carry us through.
Historically, trans people have been asked to justify our existence. But what if the point isn’t to prove we deserve to live – what if the point is to live out loud anyway? The Trans Liberation Stage reminded me that protest can be messy and magical. That our collective refusal to disappear is itself an act of beauty. That, sometimes, joy is what keeps the riot going. And maybe, just maybe, Pride can feel like coming home.
