İstanbul's LGBTI+ activists hold Pride March in unexpected location to circumvent bans

Do you remember, my dear?

Today, June 30, 2024, marks the 22nd anniversary of our beloved Pride march.

Today, you closed down Istiklal, blocked all roads and squares leading to it. You halted life in a whole city. But you forgot one thing: if necessary, we can pierce through stones, bend time, and once again find each other in our smiles.

Since 2015, we have been contending with those who try to cast a shadow over our Pride March. Our struggle has taken root and thrived throughout the city from then until now.

In 2016, you obstructed our press releases in the streets and squares. We climbed balconies, appeared on television screens, mountains, and bridges, and shouted the voice of Istanbul from every city. We didn't just read one, but 1,000 press releases.

In 2017, they attacked us. While running from the police, we continued to shout our press release aloud. Those who dropped the rainbow flag while fleeing, others picked it up from the ground. Our flag waved across the entire city and will continue to wave.

In 2018 and 2019, we were in Taksim again! After our press release, despite efforts to disperse us with riot police and water cannons, our crowd seeped back into the streets. Tarlabaşı is ours, Beyoğlu is ours, The World Would Tremble If Queers Were Free.

Can your police know our streets better than us?

During the pandemic year, remember our online Pride March and distanced actions on Mis Street?

In 2021, you raided our picnic in Maçka, scattered our vegan food. Three days later, hundreds of us chanted slogans in Cihangir Square.

In 2022, we issued an ultimatum to the governorship. Once again, we flooded the streets, overflowed, sweated, we made love didn’t we. After your unlawful detentions, we greeted 373 people with halays and vegan baklavas.

In 2023, during last year's march, we watched your police chief panic as he arrived in Nişantaşı. You saw us organized and vibrant in a completely different part of the city. You took people from cafes, taxis, those you thought resembled us. You detained tourists, migrants in Repatriation Centers. Our solidarity knew no bounds. You couldn't stop our international solidarity. We gained new comrades. As you feared and tried to suppress us, we thrived from the cracks, we grew.

We remember everything: the marches we shared, our LGBTQ+ comrades we lost, our Gezi Park resistance comrades, Roboski, the municipalities overshadowed by the transport vote, our imprisoned MPs, Berkin Elvan, Ceylan Önkol, the thousands who lost their lives due to neglect in earthquake zones, the millions you left hungry, the street dogs that you labeled as strays and whose lives you endangered. We see the war crimes, genocide in Palestine and Rojava, and how you drain our future of its resources.

In these times, we draw strength and reaffirm ourselves from this crowd.

We never tired of deceiving the police, forcing them to deal with us. We called for our existence in various parts of the city every day. You tried to ban actions where we said, "We'll let our hair fly, paint our nails."

You banned our bazaars, concerts, tea events, and parties; we are still waiting for the official decision. We didn't recognize your absurd bans; in one day, we changed continents, partied until dawn, organized in the streets.

GET USED TO IT, WE ARE EVERYWHERE.

For those who couldn't be here today due to various concerns, who are in exile, know that we will meet again.

Our LGBTQ+ friends know how this political climate has isolated them, embittered them, and how it has affected them from this economic crisis and poverty. Don't ever forget that you are not alone, that there are millions like us. The crowd that now seems like a distant past, those people are still here. We never left.

Know this, 12th President, who made us a target in his victory speech: your organized family gatherings, your divisive politics won't work on us. We won't leave the streets, politics, or our lives to you.