When I was a teenager, I rarely heard about LGBTQ Pride — and I heard even less about Disability Pride. In the church my father attended, LGBTQ people were spoken of as sinful, and disability in the culture in which I was raised was something to be hidden away in shame. I could never have imagined that one day, I would become an openly autistic transgender activist, working with disability and LGBTQ rights organizations across the world — from Ukraine and Russia to the U.S., the U.K., and Australia.

But I still remember the clenching emptiness I felt when my favorite stand-up comedian joked that gay people were “sick folks with proven hormonal problems.”

“We don’t celebrate illnesses,” he said. “What’s there to be proud of?”

The audience applauded. But to me, it felt cruel. Even though I was afraid to think too deeply about LGBTQ rights at the time, I had seen disabled children bullied and excluded. And I remember wishing there was a way for disabled people to celebrate their survival and their resilience.

Years later, I learned what Pride really meant. That LGBTQ people aren’t simply proud of who they are — they’re proud to still be here, to still be themselves, despite the hatred and violence they’ve faced. And when I learned more about Disability Pride, I realized it was rooted in the exact same principle.

Disability Pride Month is July. 

It originated in the United States in 1990 when the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed. The movement borrows directly from LGBTQ Pride — from the very word pride to the idea of a disability pride flag, created in 2019 by Ann Magill, a writer with cerebral palsy. Today, the flag is used not just at Disability Pride events, but also within queer spaces — even on the self-care app Finch, where it’s displayed alongside LGBTQ flags.

Like many movements that began in the U.S., Disability Pride has since gone global. It’s been officially celebrated in the U.K. since 2015, and I first heard about it in Russia during a queer community event.

“Disabled people have their own Stonewall,” a colleague once told me during his presentation. He was referring to the Capitol Crawl, a protest in 1990 when over 1,000 disabled Americans marched from the White House to the Capitol. Upon arriving, about 60 activists, including 8-year-old Jennifer Keelan-Chaffins, left their wheelchairs and mobility aids behind and crawled up the Capitol steps, hand over hand. This powerful act of civil disobedience exposed the brutal inaccessibility disabled people faced daily. By the end of the day, 104 participants were arrested.

That protest helped push the ADA through Congress — and it’s remembered as a landmark moment, much like Stonewall. Disability rights activists around the world have long seen LGBTQ Pride as an inspiration — and the influence is undeniable.

Even within the broader disability rights movement, smaller communities have formed their own pride traditions. Autistic Pride Day is on June 18, and I was the first person to promote it in Russia — again, inspired by American activists. It was local LGBTQ organizations that helped me organize those early Autistic Pride events.

This seemed like a logical collaboration, but, sadly, this support happened less often than it should.

Even though younger LGBTQ activists — especially those from Gen Z — are often extremely supportive toward disabled and neurodivergent people, large LGBTQ organizations still struggle to follow through. As someone who’s worked with both LGBTQ and disability communities across Ukraine, Russia, Israel, Europe, Australia, the U.K., and the U.S., I can say this honestly: I’ve never seen a fully disability-inclusive LGBTQ event or Pride.

LGBTQ Pride culture is overwhelmingly neurotypical and built by non-disabled people for non-disabled people. This is despite the fact that at least 16 percent of LGBTQ people are disabled — the same percentage as the general population. In fact, the real number is likely even higher, due to the intersection between queerness and autism, and because LGBT people experience higher rates of mental health challenges because of the minority stress.

Making Pride more accessible isn’t difficult. It just requires intention:

• Choose routes and venues that are wheelchair accessible
  
• Allow support animals
  
• Create a quiet room for sensory regulation
  
• Avoid epilepsy triggers in lighting and visuals
  
• Provide clear, easy-read information about the event
  
• Use image descriptions and communication badges
  

But above all, listen. Adopt the disability rights movement’s principle of “nothing about us without us.” Include disabled LGBTQ activists in planning, outreach, and leadership for Pride preparation. Not as a checkbox, but as core contributors to the event and the community. We deserve more than just being a token. 

Even during the Trump administration, the American LGBTQ movement has powerful influence across the globe. If U.S.-based Pride events commit to accessibility, they can help set a new worldwide standard. And that would be a powerful message — especially now when both LGBTQ and disability rights are under political attack in the U.S. and beyond. Accessible and inclusive Pride parades may be the first step to make. The LGBTQ and disability rights communities need to work together against bigotry and hate — especially because of the Pride history we share — and not let accessibility barriers divide us.

As someone who’s spent a career working to ensure LGBTQ+ people are represented in politics, welcomed in public life, and protected under law, I know how powerful visibility can be. I’ve also seen what happens when that visibility is denied — especially to those at the intersection of marginalized identities.

That’s why, as WorldPride arrives in Washington, D.C., I’m filled with both pride and a sense of deep responsibility.

WorldPride isn’t just a parade. It’s a global platform — a moment when the world’s eyes will be on our city. It’s an opportunity to model what queer liberation should look like: bold, inclusive, principled, and expansive.

But I’m also hearing, more and more, from LGBTQ Jews who aren’t sure they’ll be safe to show up.

Since Oct. 7, antisemitism has surged around the globe — including in progressive and queer spaces. We saw it last week when two Israeli embassy workers were killed in a shooting at the Capital Jewish Museum. Across the country, Jewish LGBTQ people are being asked to choose between parts of who they are. I’ve seen groups disinvited from Pride events for displaying a Jewish star. I’ve heard from friends who are now afraid to wear religious symbols in LGBTQ spaces. And I’ve witnessed silence from movement leaders when antisemitism appears — cloaked in politics, but no less dangerous.

As a gay Jewish man, I know how that erasure feels. And I know what it looks like to be told you’re welcome only if you agree to leave part of yourself at the door.

WorldPride in D.C. must not send that message.

This is our city. And this is our chance to lead. We can’t just be proud — we have to be accountable. We have to ensure that Pride is truly a space for all of us, including LGBTQ Jews who carry grief, identity, and history that may not always align neatly with dominant narratives.

That means taking action. It means working with groups like A Wider Bridge to make sure Jewish LGBTQ people are included at every level of planning. It means briefing security teams and marshals to protect—not police—those who show up with Jewish symbols. It means being clear that antisemitism, like all forms of hate, has no place at Pride.

It also means recognizing how deeply intertwined Jewish history is with queer liberation. From Harvey Milk, one of the first openly gay elected officials, to countless Jewish LGBTQ activists who’ve helped shape movements from Stonewall to marriage equality, Jewish LGBTQ individuals have long been integral to our progress. Erasing their Jewishness erases our history and undermines our future.

We must reject purity tests that ask queer Jews to disavow who they are in order to be accepted. Such demands not only isolate LGBTQ Jews but weaken the solidarity that has been foundational to our collective progress.

To the organizers of WorldPride: You have the power to set the tone for the world. Use it to uplift — not exclude. Bring in diverse Jewish voices, especially Mizrahi, Sephardi, trans, and queer Jews of color. Make space for their grief. Honor their joy. Ensure their safety. And publicly affirm their presence, making clear that visibility at Pride includes the visibility of Jewish symbols, experiences, and identities.

To my fellow LGBTQ leaders: We’ve long said our movement must be inclusive. That must include Jews. Period. Inclusivity isn’t conditional. It means standing unequivocally against antisemitism, even — and especially — when it’s difficult or uncomfortable.

And to LGBTQ Jews: Don’t sit this one out. I understand the hesitation, the exhaustion, and the fear. But this moment calls for courage, too. You belong in every rainbow-colored corner of this movement. Wear your stars. Carry your flags. Share your stories and reclaim your visibility. Show up as your whole self.

WorldPride is here. Let’s make it a beacon — not just of celebration, but of courage, complexity, and true community. Let’s show the world a Pride that doesn’t just speak of solidarity but embodies it fully, unequivocally, and joyfully for every LGBTQ person — including Jews.

Marty Rouse is a renowned D.C. LGBTQ activist. He served for decades at the Human Rights Campaign and the Victory Fund.

There is a rising trend of countries in the region enacting laws that compel all non-governmental organizations to register in order to operate and prohibit any operation by unregistered organizations. The Financial Action Task Force (FATF) Recommendation Eight requires that states, in order to remain in good standing, must increase monitoring and regulation of non-profit organizations through a risk-based system to combat money laundering and terrorist financing. 

Most governments interpret this as “carte blanche” to compel all NPOs to register in order to operate, with legal measures enabling the government to monitor, and, in many cases, control these entities. Registration, in many contexts, comes with increased regulatory oversight, procedural operating requirements, and risks which often greatly increase operating costs for many associations. 

In many contexts, this not a mere administrative act but the legal requirements bear the risk of an association being denied registration at the discretion of the regulating authorities, many times for spurious or arbitrary reasons. This includes denial of registration for organizations deemed “immoral.” Organizations representing marginalized and criminalized populations like sexual and gender minorities or sex workers are likely to face significant difficulties in getting registered. 

For example, in Botswana, an LGBTI group was denied registration on morality grounds, and had to seek the intervention of the courts to be registered. The denial was based on the fact that same-sex acts were criminalized in Botswana. The courts, in the case of Attorney General of Botswana v. Rammoge and 19 Others, confirmed that equal enjoyment of human rights meant that everyone should be able to exercise the right to freedom of association, regardless of status, including sexual orientation. There is a similar situation in Malawi, where the refusal by the government to register an organization of LGBTIQ people on the same grounds is before the courts. 

The recently amended NGO Act in Malawi requires compulsory registration for all NPOs to be able to operate, with penalties for operating without registration that can be applied against every officer of the organization. In addition, registered organizations are required to submit an audit report annually; failure to do so can result in an organization being suspended or deregistered.

The Private Voluntary Organizations (PVO) Amendment Act of Zimbabwe, recently signed into law, amends the PVO Act to require the re-registration of all organizations in Zimbabwe that were previously operating as trusts or any other form of organization. These organizations must register as PVOs if they provide services to the public or receive public funding or donations. An application for registration (even of existing organizations) can be refused if the registrar decides that the organization’s activities are not in line with their stated objectives or that they do not comply with the requirements of the Act, which includes the receipt of money from “illegal” sources. Additionally, if a PVO intends to change its name or its objectives, it must make a new application for registration, which can also be denied. The operation of an unregistered PVO attracts criminal and civil sanctions for anyone in management. In terms of the law, even organizations that do not qualify for registration as PVOs can still be compelled by the minister to register if considered to be at high risk or vulnerable to terrorist financing. The regulating authorities (the registrar, NGO board, and the minister) wield immense, almost unchecked power including the power to deregister an organization and suspend and replace the governance of an NGO with their own appointees. 

Zambia has also proposed legislation to amend the NGO Act to include compulsory registration of all NGOs. The difference with the Zimbabwe PVO Amendment Act is that existing legally registered organizations are deemed registered under the proposed law. However, all organizations would be subject to a licensing requirement after five years. An organization whose activities are considered to be against the law can be denied a license. The law proposes that unlicensed organizations would not be allowed to operate in Zambia, with criminal sanctions for operating without a license. The registrar would have extensive powers to regulate an NGO, including suspension or deregistration. 

Amid all this excessive regulation, activists flounder. The most effective advocates are community advocates, as the adage “nothing about us without us” implies. Freedom of association, a fundamental right, has enabled communities to organize and advocate for the issues at heart, including human rights, healthcare, economic and social inclusion. It has also enabled them to participate in public processes and increased civil engagement. 

The levels of organization for communities differ, from community-based organizations to national, regional and international organizations, and their structures and needs are different. Their resource requirements are also different. Some CBOs are not even formally organized with employees or other organizational structures but can advocate for their communities, gather and sometimes raise resources. A rigid regulatory system for these, with rigorous auditing and reporting requirements, is likely to deplete the capacity for activism and not be sustainable financially. In addition, the excessive intrusion of the state into community or social groups is not in line with plural democratic or transformed societies. 

Regulation may be necessary in some instances, such as the handling and accountability of public funds and safeguarding of vulnerable communities, but a truly risk-based approach to regulation that does not impose onerous burdens or restrictions on civil society is needed. Additionally, the disproportionate focus on civil society for regulation regarding money laundering or terrorist financing is largely unnecessary. Claims that NPOs are particularly vulnerable to terrorist financing are highly exaggerated and do not justify singling them out for increased monitoring. Even the FATF has recognized the unintended effect of its Recommendation 8 being used as a pretext for draconian interference and issued revised guidelines that dissuade states from imposing regulations that hinder the important and necessary activities of NPOs for society. Other countries like South Africa, whilst complying with tightening up NPO regulation, have applied a risk-based approach to the registration and regulation of NPOs. 

In conclusion, current and emerging risks with illicit financial flows cannot be ignored as they affect society in general, including government and commercial entities. However, adequate laws and regulations can be enforced to combat money laundering and terrorist financing without risking the life and structure of activism by forcing rigid regulations. 

Tambudzai Gonese-Manjonjo is the deputy director of the Southern Africa Litigation Center.