From a Police Raid in Kakuma to Freedom in Toronto
Published on Canada Day (1st July 2026) to commemorate Toronto Pride.
(Toronto Pride 2026 – Photo supplied by author)
On June 28, 2026, I marched in Toronto Pride for the first time in my life.
As thousands of people lined the streets cheering, waving rainbow flags, and celebrating with joy, I found myself holding back tears.
Many people around me saw a parade. I saw something much deeper. I saw what Pride looks like when it is protected instead of punished.
The day began with excitement, but also with fear. Although I am now living in Canada, my body and mind still carry the trauma of surviving as a transgender refugee. The memories of violence and persecution do not disappear simply because you arrive in a safer country.
As I joined the parade, those memories returned.
In Toronto, I was not hiding. I was not looking over my shoulder. I marched proudly alongside thousands of people from different backgrounds. Families smiled at us. Children waved rainbow flags. Strangers applauded as we walked past them.
What moved me the most was seeing police officers protecting the parade.
That single image almost brought me to tears.
For the first time in my life, I experienced what it means to celebrate Pride, knowing that law enforcement was there to protect us rather than threaten us. It was a dream I had carried for years, and in that moment, I finally understood the true meaning of celebrating Pride in safety.
But three years earlier, my experience of Pride could not have been more different.
Pride and Prejudice
In 2023, I was one of the organizers of Pride in Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya. We had spent weeks preparing for the event. Around 400 LGBTQ+ refugees gathered under the theme “Say No to Homophobia, Out and Proud.”
The camp was filled with color and hope. People wore rainbow clothing, danced, modeled their outfits, and prepared special meals together. Despite everything we had endured as refugees, we wanted just one day to celebrate our identities and remind each other that we deserved dignity and respect.
Then the police arrived.
As one of the organizers, I knew the responsibility rested on my shoulders. When officers entered the venue, I walked toward them to ask why they had come and whether there was a problem.
They never gave us an explanation.
Instead, they began dismantling our decorations and ordered everyone to leave immediately or face arrest. They did not allow the celebration to continue.
In a matter of minutes, what had begun as a celebration of our existence became another reminder that our lives and identities were not considered worthy of protection.
The violence did not end with the police intervention.
One transgender woman later described being attacked while walking home from the event.
“I was going back home from the Pride event in the evening, and I met a Sudanese gang. They immediately started beating me, but I managed to run quickly. Reaching home, I found myself having a lot of pain on my face and my neck.”
For many LGBTQ+ refugees, Pride was never simply a celebration. It carried enormous risks.
In the months that followed, our situation became even more dangerous. According to my experience and understanding of events at the time, authorities informed LGBTQ+ refugees that they should leave Kakuma because they could no longer guarantee our safety. For many of us, that message made one thing painfully clear: remaining in the camp had become increasingly dangerous.
A Tale of Two Cities
Today, as I marched through the streets of Toronto, I could not stop thinking about the friends I left behind.
Some are still waiting for safety.
Some are still afraid to be seen.
Some have never experienced a Pride celebration where they did not fear violence.
The greatest difference between Toronto Pride and the Pride I helped organize in Kakuma was not the size of the crowd.
It was freedom.
In Toronto, thousands celebrated openly while police ensured our safety.
In Kakuma, our celebration ended with police dismantling our decorations and ordering us to disperse.
One Pride reminded me that I deserved to exist.
The other reminded me how easily that dignity could be taken away.
Why Pride is Important
(Toronto Pride 2026 – Photo supplied by author)
As I walked through Toronto today, I realized that Pride means different things depending on where you stand in the world.
For some, it is a festival.
For others, it is an act of survival.
I am grateful that I finally experienced Pride without fear. But my celebration will never feel complete, while transgender refugees and other LGBTQ+ people around the world are still denied the freedom to live openly and safely.
My hope is that one day, every LGBTQ+ refugee, no matter where they are, will know what I felt in Toronto today: the joy of being seen, accepted, protected, and free.
by Charity Austin
Charity Austin is a refugee activist and founder of Trans Inclusion Group, working on advocacy, peer support and safety for LGBT+ refugees.
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(c) 2026 Rainbow Humanists. All rights hereby returned to the original author. We acknowledge the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nation, the Traditional Custodians of the land on which this material was prepared, and pay our respects to Elders past and present.