Kate Brennan Harding reflects on Pride, pink-washing and the meaning of allyship.
It has been 22 years since my first Pride March in Dublin. I can remember the rush of nerves coursing through my body making every fibre of my being jitter and jangle. Filled with the energy of excitement, rebellion, empowerment, and fear. I was 18. ‘Queer as Folk’ and ‘Ellen’ had been my gateway moments to stepping into my queer lesbian dyke self. Some people still flinch when I use the word dyke. I love it, the discomfort of . . .