55th annual Chicago Pride Parade marches on despite attacks on community: ‘We might have to Act Up again’

Ricardo Jiménez, director of public health initiatives for the Puerto Rican Cultural Center, has every reason to be quiet.

His activism for Puerto Rican independence landed him a 90-year sentence on allegations of seditious conspiracy. He was granted clemency in 1999 by President Bill Clinton, and has helped run the Puerto Rican Cultural Center’s Vida/SIDA program as an HIV/AIDS counselor for the last 15 years.

Sunday, he and others from the Puerto Rican Cultural Center took the lead at the 55th annual Chicago Pride Parade.

He said everything he’s been through has only made him louder for those who can’t.

“I’m from the age where everything was hidden, so now I take pride in my gayness and my Puerto Rican-ness,” Jiménez, 70, said. “Some of us still can’t come out completely.”

The parade kicked off at 11 a.m. near North Broadway and North Sheridan Road in Lake View, bringing thousands to the 20-block route that ended near Lake Shore Drive on West Diversey Avenue. With 155 entrants, it was four parade floats longer than last year’s.

The Puerto Rican Cultural Center, located in Ukrainian Village, was the parade’s “Out Front” leader, which is used to showcase local groups working to safeguard the LGBTQ+ community, for its work to “dismantle homophobia and transphobia while integrating LGBTQ+ advocacy into the core of public health and housing justice,” according to the parade’s organizers.

This year’s theme, “Free to Be Proud,” comes amid increasing attacks on the LGBTQ+ community across the nation — including in Illinois, which is largely considered a haven for queer people in the Midwest.

Jiménez said amid the ongoing attacks on the queer community and cuts to HIV treatment funding, it was time for the queer community to take notes from activism of days past.

“We might have to Act Up again to preserve our human rights,” Jiménez said, referencing the decades-old queer activist group. “We’re coming here united to make sure what happened before doesn’t happen again.”

Prior to marching in the parade, Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker signed three bills into law aimed at protecting the LGBTQ+ community, including a requirement that insurance companies in Illinois provide at least six months of medicine to patients prescribed hormones and removing testosterone from the state’s prescription tracker.

Miley Asari, a born-and-raised Roscoe Village resident, has been to the parade enough times that she knew to quickly find a shady spot on the route.

Along the way, she spotted lots of queer youth, which she said is a testament to the progress being made still and “how far we’ve come.” To her, “this is Chicago.”

“Seeing children here, and teenagers coming on their own, it’s just nice to know families are creating a culture of acceptance from a young age,” Asari said. “Being visible is really hard right now, so this is an incredible chance for people to still be out and feel safe.”

“It’s inspiring, especially for us old people,” the 24-year-old added. “We have so much work to do, but no matter what the administration says or what rights are taken away, one thing about queer people is that we will persevere.”

Friends Olivia Atkins and Kalyah Jackson’s drive from Bloomington in Central Illinois took almost as long as it took Atkins to make the crocheted lesbian flag-inspired hats they wore there.

Jackson said she loves the outfits she’s surrounded by every year at the event — this being her fourth — but more than anything, she takes comfort in being in community.

“I just enjoy being around my people,” Jackson said. “Love whoever you want, and even though there’s people who don’t think that way, it’s nice to know you’re surrounded by people who do.”

And for those who don’t often find themselves in accepting company, there’s Sharon Cochran.

The Oak Park resident spent much of her time hugging people over the parade route’s guardrail — a response to her sign saying “Free mom hugs” — as she marched with PFLAG.

She said she received a range of responses, everything from happy tears and laughter to someone thanking her because they “hadn’t been hugged by their [family] in years.”

A veteran of suburban parades, Cochran attends for her found family. She isn’t queer herself, nor does she have queer immediate family, but she has seen the way the world weighs on her friends’ trans kids.

“There are so many people in my life who don’t have family who speak to them anymore,” Cochran said. “I want to make sure they feel seen.”