“When the sun rose on 1 Nov., 2025, Pride morning in Palapye, the open space where the march was scheduled to begin was empty. I stood there trying to look calm, but inside, my chest felt tight. I was worried that no one would come. It was the first-ever Pride in Palapye, a semi-urban village where cultural norms, religious beliefs, and tradition are deeply woven into everyday life.

I kept asking myself if we were being naive. Maybe people weren’t ready. Perhaps fear was going to win. For the first 30 minutes, it was me, a couple of religious leaders and a handful of parents. That was it. The silence was loud, and every second felt like it stretched into hours. I expected to see the queer community showing up in numbers, draped in color and excitement. Instead, only the wind was moving.

But slowly, gently, just like courage often arrives, people started to show up with a rainbow flag appearing from behind a tree and a hesitant wave from someone standing at a distance.

That’s when I understood that people weren’t late, just that they were afraid. And their fear made sense. Showing up openly in a small community like Palapye is a radical act. It disrupts silence. It challenges norms. It forces visibility. Visibility is powerful, but it is never easy. We marched with courage, pulling from the deepest parts of ourselves. We marched with laughter that cracked through the tension. We marched not because it was easy, but because it was necessary,” narrates activist Seipone Boitshwarelo from AGANG Community Network, which focuses on families and friends of LGBTIQ+ people in Botswana. She is also a BW PRIDE Awards nominee for the Healing and Justice Award, a category which acknowledges contributions to wellness, mental health, and healing for the LGBTIQ+ community across Botswana.

Queer Pride is Botswana Pride!

Pride is both a celebration and a political statement. It came about as a response to systemic oppression, particularly the criminalization and marginalization of LGBTIQ+ people globally, including in Botswana at some point. It is part of the recognition, equality, and assertion of human rights. It also reminds us that liberation and equality are not automatically universal, and continued activism is necessary. A reminder of the famous saying by Fannie Lou Hamer, “Nobody is free until everybody’s free.”

The 2023 Constitutional Review process made one thing evident, which is that Botswana still struggles to acknowledge the existence of LGBTIQ+ people as full citizens. Instead of creating a democratic space for every voice, the process sidelined and erased an entire community. In Bradley Fortuin’s analysis of the Constitutional review and its final report, he highlighted how this erasure directly contradicts past court decisions that explicitly affirmed the right of LGBTIQ+ people to participate fully and openly in civic life. When the state chooses to ignore court orders and ignore communities, it becomes clear that visibility must be reclaimed through alternative means. This is why AGANG Community Network embarked on Palapye Pride. It is a radical insistence on belonging, rooted in community and strengthened through intersectionality with families, friends, and allies who refuse to let our stories be erased.

Motho ke motho ka batho!

One of the most strategic decisions made by the AGANG Community Network was to engage parents, religious leaders, and local community members, recognizing their value in inclusion and support. Thus, their presence in the march was not symbolic, but it was intentional.

Funding for human rights and LGBTIQ+ advocacy has been negatively impacted since January 2025, and current funding is highly competitive, uneven and scarce, especially for grassroots organizations in Botswana. The Palapye Pride event was not funded, but community members still showed up and donated water, a sound system, and someone even printed materials. This event happened because individuals believed in its value and essence. It was a reminder that activism is not always measured in budgets but in willingness and that “motho ke motho ka batho!” (“A person is a person because of other people!”).

Freedom of association for all

In March 2016, in the the Attorney General of Botswana v. Rammoge and 19 Others case, also known as the LEGABIBO registration case, the Botswana Court of Appeal stated that “members of the gay, lesbian, and transgender community, although no doubt a small minority, and unacceptable to some on religious or other grounds, form part of the rich diversity of any nation and are fully entitled in Botswana, as in any other progressive state, to the constitutional protection of their dignity.” Freedom of association, assembly, and expression is a foundation for civic and democratic participation, as it allows all citizens to organize around shared interests, raise their collective voice, and influence societal and cultural change, as well as legislative reform.

The Botswana courts, shortly after in 2021, declared that criminalizing same-sex sexual relations is unconstitutional because they violated rights to privacy, liberty, dignity, equality, and nondiscrimination. Despite these legal wins, social stigma, cultural, and religious opposition continue to affect the daily lived experience of LGBTIQ+ people in Botswana.

The continuation of a declaration

AGANG Community Network is committed to continuing this work and creating safe and supportive spaces for LGBTIQ+ people, their families, friend, and allies. Pride is not just a day of fun. It is a movement, a declaration of queer existence and recognition of allyship. It is healing and reconciliation while amplifying queer joy.

Seipone Boitshwarelo is a feminist, activist, social justice healer, and founder of AGANG Community Network. Bradley Fortuin is a social justice activist and a consultant at the Southern Africa Litigation Center.

A Jamaican LGBTQ rights group is raising funds to help victims of Hurricane Melissa.

The funds that Equality for All Foundation Jamaica is raising through the Rustin Fund for Global Equality will “provide emergency housing, transportation, essentials, and rebuilding support for those in our community most in need.”

“Hurricane Melissa has caused extensive devastation across Jamaica, leaving many families and communities struggling to recover,” said the Equality for All Foundation Jamaica in a social media post that announced the fund. “Among those affected are LGBTQI+ Jamaicans, many of whom already experience homelessness, displacement, and further barriers to accessing public relief and safe shelter due to fear or past experiences of discrimination.”

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Melissa on Oct. 28 made landfall in Jamaica’s Westmoreland Parish with sustained winds of 185 mph.

The BBC notes the Category 5 hurricane that caused widespread destruction in western Jamaica killed at least 28 people on the island. Melissa also killed more than 30 people in Haiti and in the Dominican Republic.

Heavy rains and strong winds caused widespread damage in eastern Cuba after Melissa made landfall in the country’s Santiago de Cuba Province on Oct. 29. The hurricane also impacted the Bahamas, the Turks and Caicos Islands, and Bermuda.

Jamaica is among the countries in which consensual same-sex sexual relations remain criminalized. Discrimination and violence based on sexual orientation and gender identity is also commonplace in Jamaica, as the Washington Blade has previously reported.

“Jamaica has just endured one of its worst natural disasters with the passage of Category 5 Hurricane Melissa,” wrote Craig Rijkaard, a member of the Rustin Fund’s board of directors, on Oct. 29 in a post on the organization’s website. “The damage and disruptions across central and western parishes are immense — flooding, road blockages, power outages, loss of buildings/homes, mass evacuations, and tragic loss of life.”

“LGBTQI+ Jamaicans are especially vulnerable, as one in three has experienced homelessness or displacement,” added Rijkaard. “Unfortunately, government-led relief efforts do not always work well for our communities, as many LGBTQI+ Jamaicans are afraid to access public services due to fear and the lived reality of discrimination — over a third report they would avoid emergency aid for this reason.”

Click here to donate to the fund.

Across Latin America and the Caribbean, where LGBTQ rights advance and retreat with every political tide, there exists a reality that remains almost invisible: that of people who, in addition to belonging to the LGBTQ community, live with a physical, motor, or sensory disability. In them, two battles converge — one for recognition and another for accessibility — often fought in silence.

According to the World Bank, more than 85 million people with disabilities live in Latin America and the Caribbean. At the same time, the region is home to some of the most vibrant LGBTQ movements in the world, though deep-rooted violence and exclusion persist. Yet studies that cross both realities are almost nonexistent — and that lack of data is itself a form of violence.

Being LGBTQ in Latin America still often means facing family rejection, workplace discrimination, or religious exclusion. But when disability is added to the equation, the barriers multiply. As a Brazilian activist quoted by “CartaCapital” put it, “When I walk into an interview, they look at my wheelchair first, and then they find out I’m gay. That’s when the double filter begins.” This phenomenon, known as double prejudice, appears both outside and within the LGBTQ community itself. Disability is often invisible even at Pride marches or in diversity campaigns, where young, able-bodied imagery predominates. Ableism — the belief that only certain bodies are valid — seeps even into spaces that claim to celebrate inclusion.

The desexualization of people with disabilities is one of the most subtle and persistent forms of exclusion. The Argentine report Sex, Disability, and Pleasure, published by Distintas Latitudes, shows how society tends to deny the right to desire and love for those living with physical limitations. When that person is also LGBTQ, the denial doubles: they are stripped of their body, their desire, and a fundamental part of their human dignity. As Mexican psychologist María L. Aguilar states “the desexualization of people with disabilities is a form of symbolic violence. And when it intersects with sexual diversity, it becomes a denial of the right to pleasure and autonomy.”

One of the most visible examples of inclusion comes from the world of sports. 

At the 2024 Paris Paralympic Games, at least 38 LGBTQ athletes competed, according to a report by Agencia Presentes. Yet the question remains: how many LGBTQ people with disabilities outside the sports world have access to employment, relationships, or basic services? In a continent marked by inequality, the intersection of sexual orientation, disability, poverty, and gender creates a mix of vulnerabilities that few public policies address.

Various studies show that LGBTQ people in Latin America experience higher rates of depression and anxiety than the general population. Reports on disability in the region also point to high levels of isolation and lack of support. But there are no intersectional data to measure how these challenges unfold when both realities converge. In countries like Chile, the Disability and Inclusion Observatory reports a high prevalence of mental health issues and insufficient access to specialized services. In the U.S., the Trevor Project has found that Latine LGBTQ youth face a greater risk of suicide attempts when exposed to multiple forms of discrimination. Across Latin America and the Caribbean, the absence of such data does not just reflect neglect — it perpetuates invisibility.

Neither disability laws nor LGBTQ policies address this intersection. A report by the International Disability Alliance warns that LGBTQ people with disabilities “face multiple discrimination and lack specific protections.” Even so, signs of progress are emerging: in Mexico, the Collective of LGBTQ+ People with Disabilities works to raise visibility around double exclusion; in Brazil, Vale PCD promotes labor and cultural inclusion; and in the Eastern Caribbean, Project LIVITY, led by the Eastern Caribbean Alliance for Diversity and Equality, known by the acronym ECADE, strengthens the political participation of people with disabilities and LGBTQ communities.

True inclusion is not measured by ramps or tolerance speeches. It is measured by a society’s capacity to recognize human dignity in all its expressions — without pity, without voyeurism, and without conditions. It’s not about applauding stories of resilience but about ensuring the right to a full life. As one Caribbean leader quoted by ECADE put it, “inclusion is not a gesture; it is a moral and political decision.”

This issue calls for a continental conversation. Latin America and the Caribbean will only be able to speak of real equality when the body, desire, and freedom of LGBTQ people with disabilities are respected with the same passion with which diversity is proclaimed. Naming what remains unnamed is the first step toward justice. Because what is not measured is not addressed, and what is not seen does not exist.