Chicago Pride marches on after attacks, ‘Act Up’

At the 55th annual Chicago Pride Parade on Sunday, thousands turned out for a 20-block route as LGBTQ+ residents and allies said the attacks they’re facing—along with cuts to HIV treatment funding—make showing up feel urgent. Puerto Rican Cultural Center leade

When Ricardo Jiménez walked the 55th annual Chicago Pride Parade route on Sunday, it wasn’t just celebration he brought with him. It was history—both personal and political—and a sense that the moment demanded action, not silence.

Jiménez, 70, is the director of public health initiatives for the Puerto Rican Cultural Center. His activism for Puerto Rican independence led to a 90-year sentence on allegations of seditious conspiracy. He was granted clemency in 1999 by President Bill Clinton. and for the last 15 years he has helped run the Puerto Rican Cultural Center’s Vida/SIDA program as an HIV/AIDS counselor. Still, he said he didn’t come to march to look back.

“I’m from the age where everything was hidden, so now I take pride in my gayness and my Puerto Rican-ness,” Jiménez 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, then moved along a 20-block route that ended near Lake Shore Drive on West Diversey Avenue. With 155 entrants, it ran four parade floats longer than last year’s.

The Puerto Rican Cultural Center. located in Ukrainian Village. served as the parade’s “Out Front” leader—an honor organizers said is used to showcase local groups working to safeguard the LGBTQ+ community. In that role. the center is recognized for work intended 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 was “Free to Be Proud,” and the atmosphere carried an edge. Jiménez said the parade was happening 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.

He also pointed to cuts to HIV treatment funding, framing the day as another call to organize.

“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.”

Before the march, Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker signed three bills into law aimed at protecting the LGBTQ+ community. The measures included 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.

Along the route, people described what it means to be visible at a time when that visibility can still feel dangerous.

Miley Asari, a born-and-raised Roscoe Village resident, said she knows the parade well enough to find a shady spot quickly. She said she noticed queer youth along the way and took it as proof of progress.

“To her. ‘this is Chicago. ’” Asari said. adding that seeing children and teenagers coming on their own made her feel that families were creating a culture of acceptance from a young age. “Being visible is really hard right now. so this is an incredible chance for people to still be out and feel safe. ” she said. She added, “It’s inspiring, especially for us old people. 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.”.

For some, the decision to come wasn’t just about attending—it was about finding a sense of community that can be hard to come by during the rest of the year.

Friends Olivia Atkins and Kalyah Jackson traveled from Bloomington in Central Illinois. with Jackson saying their trip took almost as long as it took Atkins to make the crocheted lesbian flag-inspired hats they wore. It was Jackson’s fourth time at the parade. She said she loves the outfits and the energy. but what she values most is the comfort of being surrounded by people who understand.

“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.”

There were also people marching for families they didn’t necessarily have by blood.

Sharon Cochran, an Oak Park resident, spent much of her time hugging people along the parade route’s guardrail. Her sign read “Free mom hugs,” and she marched with PFLAG.

Cochran said the responses she received ran from joy to relief. She described seeing happy tears and laughter, and she said one person thanked her because they “hadn’t been hugged by their [family] in years.”

A veteran of suburban parades, Cochran said she attends for the kind of found family she’s seen become essential for friends—especially for 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.”

The day moved forward with the same promise people kept returning to: visibility, community, and the refusal to be pushed back into hiding.

As the parade stretched across Lake View and the North Side, the questions people carried with them were clear in the way they spoke—what happens next, and whether safety will hold. For Jiménez, the answer wasn’t only hope. It was the reminder that organizing has an urgency when attacks keep coming.

For the families and friends taking turns in the sun along the route, it was simpler and more immediate: being out, being together, and feeling safe enough to be seen.

Chicago Pride Parade LGBTQ+ community Ricardo Jiménez Puerto Rican Cultural Center Act Up JB Pritzker HIV treatment funding PFLAG Free mom hugs Illinois LGBTQ+ bills