On this day in queerstory: Pride at Work

Across continents and decades, October 29 has been a day for visibility — not just the rainbow-flag kind, but the everyday, workplace, structural kind. On this date, two moments in queer history remind us that pride doesn’t stop at the parade route, and liberation doesn’t end with legislation.

In the U.S., October 29 marks the anniversary of Pride At Work, the labour organisation that put queer issues squarely on the union agenda. Half a world away, in Taiwan, the same date recalls the 2016 Taipei Pride Parade, when more than 80,000 people flooded the capital’s streets in a show of colour, defiance, and collective belonging. Both events shared one idea: when LGBTQ+ people organise — in workplaces or in the open air — visibility becomes power.

For much of the 20th century, unions were strongholds of solidarity — but rarely for queer people. LGBTQ+ workers were expected to stay quiet, blend in, and leave their identities at the factory gate. That silence began to fracture with the rise of Pride At Work, which traces its roots to queer labour activism throughout the early 1990s. The movement formally came into national focus on October 29, a symbolic date now recognised within U.S. LGBTQ+ history.

The group fought for inclusive workplace policies, domestic-partner benefits, and protection against discrimination — long before such issues gained mainstream political traction. By 1997, Pride At Work had been officially recognised as an affiliate of the AFL-CIO, the country’s largest federation of trade unions.

“Being out at work shouldn’t mean being out of a job,” one early organiser said at the time. The slogan stuck — an elegant summary of what it meant to demand both dignity and a pay cheque.

That demand reshaped the union landscape. What began as a fringe caucus of queer activists within labour circles became a nationwide organisation representing thousands of LGBTQ+ workers. The group continues to operate today, pushing for trans-inclusive healthcare, wage equity, and fair workplace protections.

If the union hall symbolised structural power, the streets of Taipei symbolised cultural power. On October 29, 2016, despite steady rain, tens of thousands of marchers filled the city centre for Taiwan’s annual Pride Parade.

Carrying banners reading “Equal Love, Equal Rights,” and “Asia’s Rainbow Future,” participants demanded marriage equality and social inclusion. At the time, Taiwan had not yet legalised same-sex marriage — that victory would come three years later — but the energy of the 2016 march was unmistakable. It was the biggest in Asia, drawing support from activists across Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong, and the Philippines.

“What we do here echoes across borders,” said one marcher interviewed by The Guardian. “Visibility in Taipei gives hope to people in countries where pride can’t yet exist.”

The parade marked a cultural milestone: queer identity in East Asia, long forced into private spaces, was now an exuberant public phenomenon. Rainbow umbrellas dotted the boulevards as drummers and drag performers turned the protest into a moving festival — a vivid declaration that queer joy could be political too.

At first glance, an American labour network and a Taiwanese pride parade might seem worlds apart. But their connection runs deeper. Both insist that visibility — whether on the job or in the street — is essential to equality. Both expose the structures that keep queer people silent. And both transform that silence into solidarity.

Pride At Work built power by unionising the invisible. Taipei’s parade built power by making invisibility impossible. Together, they show that queer liberation thrives wherever people come together to be seen, heard, and counted.

Nearly three decades after its founding, Pride At Work remains a crucial link between labour and LGBTQ+ justice. And nearly a decade after that record-breaking parade, Taiwan continues to lead the region in equality, with growing calls for protections for trans and non-binary citizens.

October 29, then, is not just a date on a calendar — it’s a reminder that pride isn’t confined to one mode of action. It can be collective bargaining or collective dancing; a contract clause or a chorus of chants.

Because when queer people organise — anywhere — history moves.