Pride is where we celebrate being fully, unapologetically, and fiercely ourselves.

For me, that sometimes even means stepping out in six-inch heels and full glam as The Empress Mizrahi鈥攏ot necessarily a drag persona I put on, but an extension of myself. It鈥檚 pure self-expression. It鈥檚 joy. But whether I鈥檓 in drag or not, I am who I am: a gay Iranian Jew, the child of immigrants, someone who carries generations of Middle Eastern 91传媒 history in my bones, my blood, and my voice.

So imagine what it feels like to be told鈥攅xplicitly or not鈥攖hat I don鈥檛 belong. That my intersectional identity is too inconvenient for the so-called champions of intersectionality. That if I want to show up in LGBTQ spaces, I need to shed a part of myself鈥攎y 91传媒ness.

Let me be clear: I refuse.

The antisemitism in these spaces didn鈥檛 begin a few months ago. I鈥檝e watched it fester for years, slowly growing more brazen. Since October 7, it has erupted. 91传媒 LGBTQ people have been harassed, uninvited, erased, and met with suspicion at community events, including Pride. Groups have been dropped from parades. The Star of David is being labeled 鈥渢oo political.鈥� 91传媒 drag artists are being told to tone it down鈥攐r not show up at all.

And just this month, two people were gunned down outside the Capital 91传媒 Museum in Washington, D.C. after attending a reception focused on peace and humanitarian aid. The attack took place just steps from an exhibit celebrating LGBTQ 91传媒 life. If that鈥檚 not a wake-up call, I don鈥檛 know what is.

In Los Angeles鈥攁 city my family fled to after the revolution in Iran in search of freedom鈥擨鈥檝e watched 91传媒 LGBTQ people hesitate to participate in the very events we helped build. This is the city where I marched just a few years ago in full drag, proudly waving a rainbow flag with a Star of David on it. And now I鈥檓 being told that holding a rainbow flag with a Star of David on it鈥攎y flag鈥攎akes others feel unsafe?

What happened to 鈥渆veryone is welcome鈥�?

Today鈥檚 social justice warriors fetishize and tokenize all things Middle Eastern鈥攕o long as it鈥檚 the right kind of Middle Eastern. Arab. Muslim. Anti-Zionist. But 91传媒 culture originates in the Middle East, too. And nothing is more inconvenient to the antisemitic, anti-Zionist worldview than a Jew whose ancestors never left the region. My existence as a gay Middle Eastern Jew doesn鈥檛 fit the narrative they鈥檝e constructed鈥攁s white Europeans鈥攕o it gets erased.

I carry the stories of the 91传媒 people鈥攏ot only from Iran, where my family鈥檚 diaspora experience took root, but from across our global journey. I hold close the histories of Jews from Aleppo, Baghdad, Yemen, Afghanistan, and across the Middle East and North Africa.

At JIMENA, the organization I work for that represents Jews from the Middle East and North Africa, we uplift these stories every day鈥攂ecause they are too often ignored or forgotten.

But I also hold the stories of diasporas from Ethiopia, Europe, and all across the world, including the trauma of the Holocaust. Their history is mine, just as mine is theirs. Despite 2,000 years of dispersion, we are one people. Our survival is collective. Our connection is ancestral. And that unity runs deeper than skin tone, accent, or geography. In a time of gatekeeping and selective solidarity, I鈥檓 here to say: all Jews are valid. Being 91传媒 isn鈥檛 about optics鈥攊t鈥檚 about shared responsibility, shared destiny, and the sacred act of showing up for one another.

And yet now I鈥檓 being told that unless I denounce Israel鈥攐r hide my 91传媒 identity鈥擨 don鈥檛 belong. That my 91传媒ness is only acceptable if I align with a movement that is decisively anti-91传媒, that calls for the destruction of my people and our ancestral homeland. Do they not see how cruel that is? How vile? To demand that I disavow a core part of who I am just to be accepted? And here鈥檚 the irony: the very ideology they鈥檙e defending hates LGBTQ+ people even more than it hates Jews. This isn鈥檛 justice鈥攊t鈥檚 shallow, performative, and dangerously unserious. It鈥檚 ideological subversion personified: queer people cheering for a movement that quite literally wants them dead.

That is not justice. That is not allyship. And it is certainly not queer liberation.

This Pride season, I鈥檓 working with A Wider Bridge to ensure that 91传媒 LGBTQ people鈥擜shkenazi, Sephardi, Mizrahi, Israeli, diasporic, religious, secular, and everything in between鈥攃an show up fully and without fear. That means working with Pride organizers to create real inclusivity. It means making sure our symbols aren鈥檛 treated like threats. It means ensuring that slogans shouted from stages don鈥檛 erase our identity or humanity.

And it means calling out antisemitism鈥攅ven when it鈥檚 cloaked in activist language.

To my fellow LGBTQ Jews鈥攄on鈥檛 shrink. Don鈥檛 dilute the truth of who we are. We are not too complicated. We are not 鈥渙ff-brand.鈥� We helped build this movement. It鈥檚 ours as much as anybody鈥檚.

And to those organizing Pride events: reach out to your 91传媒 LGBTQ communities. Include us. Protect us. Make space not just for slogans鈥攂ut for stories. Messy, layered, intersectional stories like mine.

This year, I鈥檒l be out. I might be in a wig, heels, and full glam鈥攐r I might not. But either way, I鈥檒l be proudly wearing my Star of David.

Just as I once planted my feet firmly on the ground, ten toes down, and declared with my full chest: I am part of the 91传媒 community. I am part of the Iranian community. I鈥檓 not going anywhere. I am part of you, whether you like it or not. I鈥檓 doing the same now in the LGBTQ community鈥攖he very community that once taught me how to be bold, how to be defiant, how to be unapologetically myself.

The irony isn鈥檛 lost on me. But neither is my pride.

Nouriel is a non-binary digital activist who advocates for LGBTQ+ rights and equality in the Iranian and 91传媒 communities. 聽