It feels like a strange thing to talk about joy right now.
Across Florida, new policies are taking shape that restrict how local communities can support or even participate in anything connected to diversity and inclusion. For a place like Wilton Manors, that is not abstract. Pride here is not just a parade. It is community, memory, visibility, and for many, a sense of safety that was hard won.
For many of us, this new wave of government crackdowns reopens old wounds we thought had long since healed.
So beneath all of this, there is a question people are carrying.
What happens when our community is told, once again, to go back into the closet?
If you know the history of this community, you already know the answer.
We have never depended on permission to exist.
Not in the early days when visibility came with real risk.
Not during the AIDS crisis when entire networks of care had to be built from scratch.
Not in the long years when silence was expected and dignity had to be insisted upon.
Why would that change now?
There is a temptation in moments like this to collapse into anger or exhaustion. Both are understandable. Both are human. But neither is the whole story.
Because there is something deeper that has always sustained communities like this one.
Joy.
Not superficial joy. Not denial. Not pretending the world is kinder than it is.
I mean the kind of joy that shows up anyway.
The kind that gathers anyway.
The kind that laughs, celebrates, loves, dances, and refuses to shrink, even when the world seems to be pushing back.
That kind of joy is not weakness. It is a form of resistance.
From a spiritual perspective, this is not new. The life of Christ was not lived in a safe or welcoming environment. It unfolded under pressure, misunderstanding, and real threat. And yet, He continued to show up. He continued to share meals, build relationships, and embody a kind of presence that could not be diminished by the powers around him.
On Palm Sunday, which we celebrated not long ago, Jesus paraded into the city of Jerusalem while people waved palms, shouting, “Hosanna”… “SAVE US!” No permits from Rome. No government subsidies. No corporate sponsorships. Just the raw power of a crowd joining their voices in commingled strains of joy and resistance.
Wilton Manors did not become what it is because it was easy. It became what it is because people chose visibility over fear, connection over isolation, and joy over despair.
No policy can undo that.
So as we move toward Pride season, whatever it may look like this year, the invitation is not to ignore what is happening. It is to respond with clarity, dignity, and a kind of joy that refuses to be legislated out of existence.
Because no law has ever been able to extinguish a community that knows who it is.
Father Rich Vitale is an Old Catholic priest, writer, and media creator whose work focuses on resilience, spiritual practice, and emotional health in a hyperconnected world. Through his publication Message from the Margins, he blends theology, psychology, and lived experience to help people stay grounded without abandoning reason.
