I hadn’t been to a Pride march for a long time. Not because Pride had become any less important to me – quite the opposite. But in everyday life, at work, in times of grief and amidst the many little obligations of life, one sometimes loses that direct connection to those places where political history, personal memories and communal joy come together.
I was there with my guests at Mellerud Pride 2026. And suddenly, there was that feeling and the memories of the first Pride demonstrations that Hajo and I took part in just under 40 years ago.
People on the streets, rainbow colours, voices, music, conversations, familiar faces and new encounters. For one afternoon, it became clear what is often given too little space in everyday rural life: that queer people are here, that we are part of this region, and that community isn’t just found in the big cities.
Memories of past marches
The Pride March in Mellerud reminded me of years gone by. My relationship with Hajo began in 1986. Back then, the demonstrations in Freiburg or Hamburg were still considerably smaller. They seemed more vulnerable, and often more combative. Queer visibility (back then it was still called ‘gay and lesbian’; the word ‘queer’ hadn’t been invented yet) wasn’t a given; there was something of a risk involved.
Of course, there was joy, music, encounters and humour. But there was also the realisation that we were taking to the streets for something that many people were still denied: the right to love openly, to live visibly and not to be treated as an exception or a problem. Back then, we were fighting against Section 175, which criminalised homosexuality. We were still criminals back then! At the same time, we were also fighting against the new stigmatisation brought about by AIDS, which marked the beginning of our coming out.
These memories suddenly felt very close again in Mellerud. The forms have changed; rainbow flags are better known today, and much of what seemed almost unimaginable back then is now part of social reality. But the fundamental question remains: can people live freely and safely without having to explain themselves, hide or defend themselves?
Love, struggle, solidarity
The slogans at Mellerud Pride made it clear that Pride is not just a celebration. They combined joy with a political stance. The fact that these slogans were chanted together was important. They turned many individual people into a vocal public. Pride does not mean that everyone has the same experiences or lives in the same way. Pride means that no one should be left alone with their own story, their own identity or their own love.
Anti-racist slogans also clearly expressed the political side of the event. This was particularly emphasised by the participants right now, so close to the elections, where the Moderates (liberal conservatives) want to bring the Sweden Democrats (Swedish right-wing populists) into government, having tolerated them for the past four years. Queer liberation cannot be separated from the struggles against racism, fascism, war and social exclusion.
“We march for those who cannot march”
For me, Mellerud Pride was also a day when I found myself thinking a great deal about Hajo.
Hajo and I shared forty years together. His absence is with me in many moments – especially when the present stirs memories of a shared past. A Pride march is one such moment. I would have loved to have had him by my side: right there amongst the people, amidst the colours, the conversations and the noise, perhaps offering a critical comment, perhaps simply observing in silence.
The slogan ‘We march for those who cannot march’ therefore holds special significance for me. It refers to people who, for various reasons, cannot be seen today: because they are afraid, because they have been silenced, because they are ill, because they live in a state of dependency, or because they are no longer with us.
The dead, too, must have their place in Pride. Not outside the celebrations, not just in a quiet moment on the sidelines, but at the very heart of our remembrance. Pride carries on the stories of those who marched before us, who created spaces, lived love and fought against exclusion. Those who are missing walk with us, in a sense.
A Pride for Dalsland
Mellerud Pride has shown that an event like this is particularly important in a smaller community. An open Dalsland is not created simply by raising a flag once a year – however important that symbol may be. It is created in everyday life: in schools, in the health service, in the workplace, in cultural associations, in conversations with neighbours, and in the question of whether people here can be visible without fear.
For one afternoon, Mellerud was a place where this possibility became tangibly real. People walked through the town together, calling out for love and freedom, clapping, laughing and taking up space.
And yes: there was finally something going on.
But it wasn’t just any old event. It was a reminder that visibility matters. That love can be political. That freedom must be defended. And that we will carry on together – for ourselves, for one another and for those who can no longer walk with us.