Raise a glass to freedom: Celebrating Independence Day and Pride Month in the PH

As we celebrate Independence Day and Pride Month in the Philippines this June, many Filipinos express immense pride and love for their country. Many proudly wear the colors of the Philippine flag alongside the rainbow, expressing themselves through fun runs, social media activism, and other outlets that allow them to share their thoughts and identities with the public. 

However, as these two celebrations intertwine with one another, many are left to wonder if these public expressions truly reflect widespread acceptance and freedom, or if an undercurrent of exclusion and misunderstanding still dampens the spirit of liberty.

This confluence invites us to ask: Are we truly celebrating freedom in its fullest sense, or are some voices still being silenced by traditions and norms restricting how people express their truest and most vulnerable selves?

Oftentimes, we overlook the personal and collective liberation of our LGBTQIA+ Filipinos, who remain trapped in heteronormative systems that resist change in our ever-evolving society. Many still refuse to acknowledge individuals based on their chosen names, pronouns, or the genders they wish to be recognized as–to which this lack of recognition perpetuates feelings of invisibility and invalidation, reinforcing harmful stereotypes and discrimination.

Thus, true freedom should not only focus on the right to free speech but should also shed light on the absence of oppression and the active celebration of diversity. For national independence, it should shed light to the ongoing struggles for LGBTQIA+ rights and the importance of inclusivity in our understanding of freedom as achieving true freedom means recognizing the challenges faced by our queer friends, brothers, and sisters, and standing for genuine acceptance — not mere tolerance — here in the Philippines.

While the Philippines is rich in queer culture, the rights of LGBTQIA+ individuals are frequently overshadowed by societal norms and prejudices. Many often forget that, just like in the queer sector, Filipinos have also fought for freedom, equal rights, and societal recognition — a battle that remains to this day.

During the Spanish Era, heroes of the past such as Andres Bonifacio, Jose Rizal, Gabriela Silang, and Gregoria de Jesus fought courageously to reclaim our independence, shedding their blood, sweat, and tears to free the Filipino people from centuries of colonial rule, sacrificing their lives to set us free. Their efforts, alongside those of other heroes, were the reason why the Philippines celebrated the declaration of independence on June 12, 1898, as a pivotal moment which ignited the spirit of nationalism and resistance among Filipinos. Their bravery embodies a legacy of resistance against oppression — a legacy that echoes in the fight for LGBTQIA+ rights today.

In a similar fashion, during the dark years of Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s authoritarian regime, countless Filipinos suffered under oppression and violence during Martial Law. In response, the Filipino people united and walked the streets of EDSA in a peaceful revolution on February 25, 1986, to restore democracy, justice, and freedom. This remarkable movement was immortalized in the history books as the courage of ordinary citizens, including nuns offering flowers to soldiers and police, symbolizing peace and non-violence in the face of tyranny.

Parallel to these historical movements is the path toward LGBTQIA+ recognition in the Philippines. On June 26, 1994, the Philippines made history by becoming the first Asian country to hold Pride parades. This landmark event was organized by the Progressive Organization of Gays and the Metropolitan Community Church Philippines in Quezon City to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, as well as to protest against anti-LGBT+ policies and discrimination faced by the queer community.

The event, named “Stone Wall Manila,” was a bold, colorful, and courageous statement of visibility and pride in a society often characterized by conservative values. This pride celebration not only marked a significant moment for queer rights in the Philippines but also laid the groundwork for future advocacy and activism, inspiring generations to come. It served as a powerful reminder that the fight for equality and acceptance is a vital part of the broader struggle for human rights.

Since then, progress has been steady but slow, as various local governments have enacted anti-discrimination ordinances such as San Juan City Ordinance No. 58 and Quezon City’s Right to Care Card Policy. These ordinances provide some protections against bias and harassment based on sexual orientation and gender identity. They symbolize incremental victories in a country still wrestling with the tension between a proud history and contemporary prejudices. However, the stalled and untouched SOGIE Equality Bill remains a critical barrier to nationwide protections and equality under the law. Despite decades of advocacy, the bill’s continued delay reflects lingering resistance and the conditional nature of freedom for the queer community — leaving most to rely on our historical roots to persist in erasing or even sidelining the relevant history of queerness here in the Philippines.

Currently, the Philippines is ranked as the sixth most LGBTQIA+ friendly country in the Asia-Pacific region, surpassing countries like Japan, Timor-Leste, South Korea, and China in the rankings. In terms of overall rankings that include all countries from different regions, the Philippines holds the 54th position. These rankings reflect growing awareness and some positive steps toward inclusivity and equity in the country, and while we already made strides in LGBTQIA+ visibility and awareness, many queer individuals still face systemic discrimination and social stigma. 

The celebration of Pride Month and the adoption of rainbow-themed marketing by corporations, on how often they lack genuine commitment to advocacy and meaningful change. This raises concerns about whether the support is merely performative — aimed at capitalizing on trends rather than practicing true inclusivity. Many consumers are increasingly aware of this disconnect and are calling for brands to demonstrate authentic support through tangible actions, such as funding LGBTQ+ organizations, promoting diverse voices within their leadership, and implementing inclusive policies. Without these efforts, the vibrant colors of Pride can risk becoming a superficial marketing gimmick rather than a celebration of diversity and equality.

As such, many queer Filipinos continue to experience significant hate and discrimination in schools, in the workplace, in public spaces, and even in their household. With no action taken to address these issues, a repetitive toxic cycle is created reinforcing traditional norms, harming individuals for who they are and whom they love. This cycle is perpetuated as societal stigmas and deeply ingrained cultural and religious beliefs normalize exclusion and prejudice, which discourages open discussion and a willingness to engage with LGBTQIA+ issues. 

Furthermore, rejection and backlash often force many queer individuals to remain closeted, limiting their visibility and authenticity as they suppress their true selves. This leads many to mentally break down and suffer, as the cycle of discrimination makes it even more challenging for future generations to live openly, boldly, and authentically.

Such is the case for Dylan Tansico Silva, a trans man who was denied by his school the right to dress according to his gender expression for his graduation. His situation highlights the discrimination faced by many transgender individuals, as the definition of gender expression is often narrowly interpreted to apply only to those who have undergone medical procedures or taken hormones. This effectively excludes those who have not yet transitioned from the conversation about their right to express their gender identity.

“Trans people are not limited to just physical transitions,” Silva explained. His case was further complicated by several trials and tribulations, as his graduation photo was not presented on stage because he wore a tie, which the school deemed inappropriate. This incident not only denied him a moment of celebration but also sent a damaging message to other students about the acceptance of diverse gender expressions.

From Silva's experience, it underscores the urgent need for educational institutions to adopt inclusive policies that recognize and respect all forms of gender expression, allowing every student to celebrate their identity without fear of discrimination or exclusion. It is essential that schools and other spaces create safe and affirming environments where gender diversity is understood and embraced, not policed or restricted by outdated norms. Such policies should not only protect the rights of transgender and gender-nonconforming individuals but should also practice a culture of acceptance that benefits everyone in the community by promoting empathy, respect, and equality in the long term. 

Choice — once a scarce and precious currency — is now an ocean in which many risk drowning rather than sailing freely. In the fraught arena of identity, silence has ceased to be an option; instead, an overwhelming deluge of labels, definitions, and pronouns demands urgent navigation. What began as a breath of emancipation now verges on an imperative: to name, to fix oneself publicly, irrevocably, and without hesitation. To hesitate, to falter, to resist definition is to risk delegitimization.

Barry Schwartz’s "Paradox of Choice" illuminates this modern malaise: the abundance of options, contrary to liberating, can immobilize. The proliferation of identity categories — designed as affirmations of selfhood — can inadvertently induce a kind of vertigo, a dizzying pressure that threatens to freeze the very subject it intends to empower. What if the word I select today becomes obsolete tomorrow? What if I am still evolving, still unlearning, still resisting the neat boxes offered? What if I cannot commit to a single, stable identity because my truth is inherently fluid?

For many young queer Filipinos, this tension manifests in a cruel crucible: caught between the necessity of visibility and the desire for veracity, where silence is often misconstrued as duplicity, and fluidity mistaken for uncertainty or lack of resolve. The process of becoming — a once-private, ongoing unfolding — has been compressed into a public demand for legibility.

Must selfhood now be notarized by taxonomy before it is granted authenticity? When did queerness, a radical force that once shattered categories, begin policing its own margins? When did the freedom to name become a compulsory declaration, a threshold for acceptance rather than a personal exploration?

Pronouns, crucial as they are, remain but a sliver of the vast topography of identity. Labels, while helpful coordinates, seldom capture the shifting, sprawling landscape of the self. When classification supersedes compassion, when clarity is prized over complexity, what vanishes is not only nuance but the humanity at the core.

The words of Mina Lampitoc, Filipino non-binary individual, crystallize this ache of illegibility:

“I never felt like a man or a woman… I was gay, pretending to be bi, but that was a phase long gone. Despite learning about being non-binary, I was still afraid of using it because not a lot of people around me knew about it.”

Lampitoc’s testimony exposes a violence more insidious than erasure — misrecognition. Not invisibility, but active negation: to be seen but not known, to be named but not understood. Where clarity is demanded, silence takes root; where belonging is sought, alienation grows. The greatest freedom, perhaps, is not the demand to define but the radical permission to remain undefined, to inhabit contradiction, to be a work perpetually in progress.

Beneath the glittering streamers and corporate floats, behind lipstick slogans and sequined smiles, Pride — when stripped to its rawest scaffolding — is not a festival of ease or entertainment, but a fierce, uncompromising act of defiance. It did not begin with choreographed parades or viral hashtags; it began in resistance: riotous, urgent, unyielding.

From the embers of Stonewall to the heat of the first Manila march in 1994, Pride has always been a story of confrontation: with power, with silence, with erasure. Much has changed — but far more has endured.

To step into the street as a queer person is to audaciously reclaim space within a society that persistently demands difference be muted, hidden, or relegated to the margins; in a nation where LGBTQIA+ rights are too often reduced to mere ornamental gestures — glossy marketing campaigns that dazzle the surface, legislative efforts that linger in limbo — Pride refuses the guise of costume or performance. Instead, it assumes the weight and resilience of armor: a forged shield, tempered by decades of relentless struggle against systemic invisibility, persistent erasure, and the ever-present threat of violence.

Rainbow capitalism crescendos each June, its polished campaigns and corporate endorsements saturating airwaves and social feeds alike; yet beneath this kaleidoscope of commercial celebration simmers a persistent and less visible harm — students misgendered in classrooms, patients deadnamed in sterile hospital wards, identities reduced to caricature and spectacle. Beneath the confetti-strewn streets and behind meticulously curated smiles, a ledger of enduring wounds accumulates. 

And still, despite the weight of these contradictions, we march.

True liberty, elusive and exacting, demands far more than the mere right to speak — it insists on exemption from the ceaseless, performative imperative to name, to define, to narrate oneself within constricting frameworks. It requires, above all, the radical permission to remain unresolved; to resist the seductive tyranny of tidy coherence; to embrace contradiction without apology, without concession, without the need for resolution.

If freedom is to transcend abstraction, if it is to bear the weight of lived experience, it must enshrine the sacred space for uncertainty — the latitude to be unfinished, unfixed, perpetually unfolding, and irrevocably in flux.

Pride, ergo, is no mere aesthetic, no curated taxonomy of pronouns or neatly circumscribed identity markers. It is life itself: sprawling, messy, irreducible, and stubbornly in motion.

To celebrate freedom — true freedom — this month, then, is to commence here: with the radical act of permitting one another simply to exist — unsimplified, unperformed, unboxed. To occupy space without apology, to defy the relentless demands for clarity, to allow the messy, beautiful ambiguity of selfhood to breathe.

It is in this suspended space — between articulation and silence, between definition and refusal — that freedom finds its fullest expression. Not in declarations made under duress, but in the quiet, enduring courage to be seen and held as we are: incomplete, complex, and unapologetically human.