​I’m someone who knows what it’s like to have your humanity debated in public. That debate is louder than ever. Many of the rights we thought were settled years ago are being disputed again. Healthcare protections for transgender individuals are being rolled back throughout the country, and books are being pulled from shelves.

Accommodations for disabled people are framed as “too expensive,” and words like equity and inclusion are framed as controversial instead of compassionate. I know we’re tired, but hope is rising. Not because things are perfect or the attacks have stopped. Hope is rising because people refuse to give up. I see it in parents standing beside their trans kids. In queer youth, forming community when institutions fail them. I see Deaf and disabled advocates demanding access without apology. There are people choosing courage over comfort in rooms where silence would be easier.

Progress isn’t a straight line. Equality, to me, has never been theoretical. It’s an action. It’s a hard conversation where someone says, “We can do better.” It’s reviewing a policy and realizing who it unintentionally excludes. It’s making sure sign language interpretation is budgeted from the start. It’s asking who is missing and refusing to move forward until they’re included. Equality is built daily through courage, accountability, and intentional inclusion. We don’t stumble into justice. We practice it. But equality alone isn’t the end goal. What we are fighting for is belonging. Belonging is the difference between being tolerated and being embraced. It’s the difference between surviving a space and feeling safe inside it.  Belonging means you don’t have to edit yourself to be accepted. Your pronouns are respected without debate. Your wheelchair is anticipated, not questioned. Your Deaf identity is recognized as a culture. Your trans identity is not treated as a political talking point.

Belonging is a right. Every person deserves to live fully, safely, and unapologetically. And in a year like 2026, saying that out loud matters. Because when rights feel fragile, belonging becomes an act of resistance. I’ve learned that diversity isn’t something we manage. It’s power. Our differences are not cracks in the community; they are its foundation. Queer communities imagine beyond limitation because we’ve always had to.

Disabled communities innovate because access requires creativity. Trans communities embody resilience. Communities of color continue to lead movements that shift the culture forward. Diversity strengthens us. It makes us sharper, braver, and more adaptable. But none of it means anything without access. Access is non-negotiable. Inclusion only exists when barriers are removed. Not acknowledged. Not debated endlessly. Removed.

Access is language access. It’s ramps and accessible technology. It’s healthcare that affirms. It’s leadership that understands that if someone cannot fully participate, the system is incomplete. Access is love turned into structure. And community? Community is what moves history. No major step toward justice has ever happened because one person stood alone.  Change happens when we unite and amplify each other. When LGBTQ+ liberation, disability, racial, and economic justice recognize that our struggles are connected. We are turning fear into momentum.

So I leave you with this. You belong. Your voice matters. Your presence changes the world. Right now. The future will not become more just by accident. It will not become more inclusive because we hope it will. It will become more human because we are building it through courage, accountability, and solidarity. Even in a time when rights are being challenged, we are not powerless. Hope is rising because we are standing up for one another. I truly believe the future is more just, inclusive, and human because we are building it together, unapologetically, and without asking permission.

​Elijah Valdez is a Deaf transgender social justice educator and founder of Equity & Impact Consulting. His work focuses on helping communities move beyond performative acceptance by creating spaces centered on accessibility, accountability, equity, and authentic belonging.

For PJ Sedillo—author, activist, and historian—preserving Albuquerque Pride history is a committed effort, a way to honor the LGBTQ+ community’s voices, struggles, and triumphs. He served as President and Co-President of Albuquerque Pride for 21 years. Decades of history surrounded Sedillo: boxes of meeting minutes, photographs, and artifacts told a powerful story. This rich history was calling out to be documented, and the inspiration to write a book about the history of Pride in Albuquerque was born.
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“The inspiration behind both books was to record our history in print,” Sedillo says. “They showcase the vibrant, deeply researched chronicle of the Southwest’s enduring Pride celebrations.” From the first 1976 march - only twenty-five people marching quietly along Central Avenue - to today’s large celebrations, his work captures the heart of Albuquerque’s LGBTQ+ community and the dedication and resilience that went into the fight to be seen. His books also serve as a reminder that Pride in New Mexico was built by community members who organized, volunteered, protested, and created spaces of visibility during times when acceptance was far from guaranteed.

His latest book, If These T-Shirts Could Talk…50 Years of GLBTQ+ Pride in Albuquerque (1976–2026), expands that legacy. The updated edition covers the past decade of Pride events. It also highlights historic gay bars along Route 66, beloved landmarks for the community. “We are part of that historic roadway, holding a parade for 50 years on Central Avenue,” Sedillo notes. The book also documents organizations and individuals who helped shape Albuquerque Pride into one of the Southwest’s longest-running LGBTQ+ celebrations.

Documenting recent history proved challenging. “These new chapters were difficult to write in today’s digital world,” he says. Much of this history risks being lost without preservation. The past decade brought both celebration and hardship, underscoring the need for preservation. Sedillo also reflects on moments of division, leadership changes, and the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, all of which shaped the organization and the community.

Through these efforts, Sedillo’s work continues to center on unity. When signing his books, he includes a quote reflecting his belief: “Without Solidarity there can be no Pride and without Pride there is no Solidarity.”

Sedillo continues to build his legacy. He is planning the 20th anniversary of the Come Out, Come Out show in 2027 and working on a book about performers’ coming-out experiences.
Ultimately, for Sedillo, preserving history means more than recalling the past—it ensures future generations understand the resilience, unity, and pride that shaped their community.