On Edmonton Pride.

Friends. I have to admit I’m angry.

I’m angry about what looks like bad governance. I’m angry about a lack of accountability. I’m angry that trans and especially racialized trans voices are being ignored. I’m angry that the narrative has become entirely about police. I’m angry that this has all resulted in so many organizations pulling out of the Pride parade.

This isn’t about me. I will admit I was looking forward to participating for the first time as me.

I have attended Pride before. I’ve been in the parade five or six times. But always officially as an ally. I just wasn’t ready to be honest with myself let alone everyone else. And last year I was out to a lot of people but not publicly, and I knew showing up as Vivienne would raise questions I wasn’t necessarily ready for while boymoding feel disingenuous and leave me dysphoric. I stayed home.

I did not have a hand in organizing or planning Pride or anything else. My partner and I were planning on marching with her work — they put out the ask several months ago. As such, what I have to say is based entirely on what I’ve gathered from various statements and news articles.

PrideFest — the organization that plans and organizes Edmonton Pride — has received calls for action from trans, Black, and Indigenous communities since at least 2018. That year, first events unfolded at a board meeting to discuss those calls that ended with protestors being removed from the room by police. The demands, as their often characterized, were made public, however I have not been able to access them recently. The ephemerality of the internet, I guess. I understand the room ended up well above capacity, and even the ability to voice why the calls were necessary was impaired. The same groups then stopped the parade calling for plain-clothes police and military be removed from the parade. I remember the crowd around our float basically taking the opportunity for an impromptu dance party — there was music, after all.

After that, there were 10 months of discussions. Some of the demands are noted to be legally outside what PrideFest could do. Specially, organizations demanded a portion of the Pride festivals grant funding, despite their hands being tied by grant agreements. Ultimately 2019 Pride was cancelled.

As far as I can tell, this was not an ask for funding to help organize the parade or the festival. Such an ask might be able to be worked into the agreements. This was a call for core operating funding from PrideFest to other groups.

Local groups filled the gap — Evolution Wonderlounge held street parties in 2019 and 2020 and I am aware of several smaller marches. But a large, organized Pride did not happen again until 2025.

Following 2025, there was a commitment to better include trans and racialized voices in the entire planning process. It sounds like there were other commitments made.

To me, such a commitment would require some immediate actions. Steps could have been taken throughout September and October 2025 to include more voices — and representative voices. Time would be needed to incorporate feedback, some of which might require a multi-year plan. I sit on a few boards and have helped set them up before — creating one is not the hard part.

As such, it strikes me as a bit odd that PrideFest did not put out a call for members of the trans community advisory council until the end of May 2026. Based on statements I have seen, it sounds like the council did not formally exist until mid-to-late July.

A month.

One month to consider trans voices. To consider and act on commitments. A lot can happen in a month, but by that point a good portion of the discussions, strategy, and planning would already be set in stone.

Frankly that is insulting.

Pride knew what many of the asks would be. I struggle to guess what might have led to such a short timeline without either incompetence or willful exclusion of our voices.

One of the biggest, consistent asks is for a police-free Pride. A plan to have no police presence requires a lot of work. Some have pointed to how the Edmonton Folk Fest manages traffic on their own. Folk Fest has a larger volunteer base, and is in a quiet neighbourhood. Getting to a place where Pride could manage traffic independently would require more volunteer recruitment and training, earlier on. Possibly relocating the festivities to a quieter place. Volunteers also manage the perimeter and basic security — in an enclosed environment with bag checks. Pride is usually open, especially the crowds at the parade and the market, which would likely either have to change or require that many more volunteers and gates. All of that requires a lot of capacity building, relationship building, and a continual effort to build trust both with the community and with police.

PrideFest put out a call for volunteers in March, about five months before the parade. Edmonton Folk Fest put out theirs in February, six months before their festival. And an established volunteer base, some counting decades of volunteering with the Folk Fest.

When I think about what this would look like without trust from the police, I think of the trans march in Montreal, with police tear gassing participants. There’s a time and place for that type of protest — Pride isn’t it.

This is a breakdown in governance, and I am angry and scared for what it means to our community.

After PrideFest posted about “enhanced police presence”, organizations started withdrawing. First the ones involved in the 2018 protests, and then more and more. Members of the trans community advisory council resigned. My partner’s workplace pulled out of the parade. At this point enough pulled out that a not insignifcant part of me wonders what is left — and if there’s much of a community in the parade left.

While I am angry at the organizing and the failure in governance, I am hurt that so many are backing away. There aren’t many tools available for accountability, I get that. And PrideFest has had eight years to reflect on these questions now.

Pride is important.

All too often I get the sense that there is a disconnect around Pride between people who have been oput for years and those of us just coming out.

Coming out isn’t easy. I knew most of the people in my life would be supportive, and I was still terrified.

Finding myself wasn’t easy, either. Decades of bi erasure and transphobia from every segment of society are not easy to overcome.

When I talk to queer youth, they still talk about unaccepting parents, hostility in schools. Fear.

This morning I saw a post about the route and grounds. I read the comments (I know, I know!) expecting to see a lot of anger from the community along with the hatred to be expected on anything explicitly trans and queer-related. There was a lot of that — is it too much to ask for some moderation of comments sections? There is so much of it that interacting with queer content online becomes excruciatingly taxing. Which is their whole point.

Instead, what moved me was the top comment. A woman saying their sibling had just come out as trans, and was excited for the parade and to see representation.

To see themself reflected in our city.

Pride’s very existence is a protest against that. It always was, it likely will be well after I’m gone.

I am read as white and roughly middle class. I know that brings privilege. A higher (though still much diminished) assumption of safety. And when I made the decision to publicly come out, part of that was a personal commitment to visibility. To help those of us who feel alone and invisible can see themselves.

So.

Despite my anger and frustration with the organization, I signed up with another group this morning.

And honestly? At least a part of that is for every past version of me, unable to see herself.