India’s Pride marches are important calls for justice but elitist – they must be democratised

What does it take to march boldly in a society that often silences you for being yourself?

For the LGBTQIA+ community, the Pride marches in Bengaluru and Delhi on November 24 were powerful expressions of resilience, visibility, the collective fight for equality, acceptance and the right to live with dignity.

The history of Pride marches in India is deeply intertwined with the movement to decriminalise homosexuality and claim dignity. The first official Pride, known as the Kolkata Rainbow Pride Walk, was held in 1999. Since then, Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru, Chennai and other cities have been hosting annual marches that draw members of the LGBTQIA+ communities. Participants, draped in rainbow flags and adorned with colourful attire, carry placards celebrate their community and create awareness about their equal rights.

With time, Prides have also produced space for allies and families to show their support. In a society where societal norms are often hardwired into binary understandings of sex and gender, Prides challenge prejudices and toast to the life experiences of non-binary people.

The landmark Supreme Court verdicts of 2014 (acknowledging transgender people outside the male-female binary) and 2018 (striking down Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code and decriminalising same-sex relationships) are the pivotal moments commemorated in these marches.

Pride marches continue to highlight social justice concerns, such as urging marriage equality, improved healthcare access for LGBTQ individuals and the removal of anti-discrimination laws. They also highlight anti-war, anti-trafficking and other global concerns.

From the outside, Pride appears to be a glorious celebration of inclusion and solidarity.

However, two recent clips on social media, one featuring Chandini, a trans-activist and the other by Rituparna Borah, an Indigenous, disabled, queer feminist questioned whether the broader LGBTQIA+ movement was as inclusive as it believes it is.

Chandini noted that Pride events have deviated from their original intention of creating awareness and space for the queer community. Instead, they have turned into an annual display of Anglophonic, urban elite-ness. On a similar note, Rituparna accused elite queer rights activists of failing to respect Indigenous, non-English speaking, non-urban voices in the community.

These two accounts, along with many other narratives by Dalit, non-English speaking, non-urban queer people, question the ostensibly progressive frameworks of the queer movement and communitarian politics. In the present context, even the rise of Hindutva, deeply influenced by caste norms, poses a significant challenge to the concerns of un-represented queer people.

The statements of Chandini and Rituparna highlight the complex layers of non-binary identitities. They help shatter the stereotypical understating of queer as an all-embracing, homogeneous identity. Instead, they shine a light on the hierarchies that are embedded in the organising efforts of the contemporary queer movement.

They also challenge the notion that LGBTQIA+ communities are inherently emancipatory.

Over the years, the discussions on queer rights and solidarity in India echoed by the prominent – elite – queer activists helped bring about new understandings of alternate sexualities and gender identities. But they floundered in contesting the deep-seated hierarchy of class and caste.

Dalit, non-English speaking, disabled and Indigenous queer people are still sidelined from leadership positions.

Chandani and Rituparna’s statements emphasise class and caste consciousness along with the challenges of disability and indigeneity – concerns that have assumed an increasingly central role in queer discourse in India since homosexuality was decriminalised.

Chandini, noted that while the Pride celebrations are often for the “rich and English speaking”, the less privileged once dependent on begging and sex work are continued to be branded as “problematic” deviants.

The idea of Pride marches were adapted to India from the West so are closely associated with modern elite-ness. However, in the Indian context (with the history of criminality associated with queerness) these marches are more than a display of pride: they are a call for justice and a testament to resilience.

They are also political. The queer movement and by extension, the Pride marches intersect with other struggles like caste and economic emancipation. Prides are not just colourful celebrations: they have particular strategies and intentions.

But are Pride marches really serving their purpose? How are they responding to the concerns of Chandni, Rituparna and other marginalised voices?

Class and caste structures have accentuated the divide between the urban elite and the non-English speaking working-class queer communities. But solidarities based on caste, class, language and religion are emerging in queer communities – making it clear that queer lives are not homogenous.

In a country of diverse identities and beliefs, Pride marches embody the hope for a better future. What we need is more outrage, just like Chandini and Rituparna showed – not to disrupt Pride celebrations but to democratise them.

Swarupa Deb is a human rights lawyer and an academic. Their email address is swarupa@isec.ac.in. Aniket Nandan is a sociologist and assistant professor at the National Law School of India University in Bengaluru. His email address is aniket.nandan@nls.ac.in.