Pride Around the World: A Conversation with Rainbow Railroad

What we’re seeing now is a rapidly growing demand for support that far exceeds the availability of safe pathways. Each year, more people are reaching out for help, often from increasingly complex and dangerous contexts where draconian laws and escalating anti-LGBTQI+ movements are intensifying risks. At the same time, this is compounded by a global pullback in commitments to durable solutions (particularly formal resettlement pathways), further widening the gap between those in need of protection and those able to access it.

What are some of the biggest misconceptions people have about LGBTQI+ refugees—and what do you wish more people truly understood about this work?

One of the biggest misconceptions is that LGBTQI+ refugees can access protection in the same way as other refugees. In reality, they often face compounded discrimination and heightened vulnerabilities within the very systems meant to protect them. Many who flee persecution in their home countries continue to experience violence, exclusion, and risk in transit countries and refugee camps. These systems are largely heteronormative and were not designed to recognize or adequately respond to the specific realities of LGBTQI+ people. I wish more people understood how uneven and fragile access to protection really is for queer and trans folks.

Displacement is rarely a single moment, but an ongoing condition. Behind every case is someone making incredibly difficult decisions about their safety, often with very few good options available.

Another major barrier to protection for LGBTQI+ refugees is the normative and often binary way queerness is understood within the mainstream protection infrastructure. These frameworks tend to rely on fixed, Western-centric categories of sexual orientation and gender identity, which don’t always reflect how people understand or express their identities across different cultural contexts. As a result, individuals may be disbelieved or excluded if they don’t fit expected narratives. Bisexual people facing biphobia and skepticism are a common example of this, or individuals whose identities are fluid or non-binary. This narrow lens shapes access to services and protection pathways, ultimately leaving many LGBTQI+ people without recognition or support. A more holistic approach requires moving beyond rigid definitions and acknowledging the diverse, contextual realities of queerness globally.

What does it take to operate an organization like Rainbow Railroad at a global scale?

I have always approached my work through the lens of operating with an activist orientation at a global scale. To me, this has meant working within systems that were never designed to protect the people we’re serving and requires us to consistently improve our ability to ‘queer the system’. It requires a willingness to pivot frequently, strategize under pressure, challenge restrictive policies, navigate political resistance, and take risks in environments where the rules are stacked against you. At the same time, it’s not activism in the abstract; it has to be grounded in pragmatism and risk management, because the stakes are incredibly high for the individuals involved. We are always trying to find ways to create openings in systems that are often closed.

We wouldn’t have been able to scale in the way we have without deep, sustained partnerships with grassroots activists. In many contexts, they are the first point of contact for individuals at risk. They navigate environments that are often hostile and high-risk, and they do so with a level of proximity and responsiveness that a global organization simply cannot replicate on its own.

Our ability to identify cases and support people effectively is directly tied to those relationships. Grassroots activists are often operating with limited support while carrying significant personal exposure, and scaling responsibly means ensuring that we are not extracting from those networks but strengthening them.

It takes an enormous amount of persistence and a real commitment to the long game to do this work effectively. Progress isn’t linear, and cases can take years to come to a resolution. Staying in this work requires a willingness to keep pushing despite those constraints. Rainbow Railroad’s success in scaling is the result of a dogged commitment to a better future for all.

Our Pride design this year is rooted in the idea of being a global citizen. What does that mean to you in the context of queer rights, and what responsibility do people in places like Canada have within that global community?

Being a global citizen in the context of queer rights means recognizing that the systems shaping people’s safety and freedom are not neutral. All states actively produce and reinforce inequality, including the conditions that make LGBTQI+ people unsafe in the first place. Queer oppression doesn’t exist in isolation within certain countries; it is embedded in broader global systems that regulate movement and access to resources. From that perspective, the responsibility of people in places like Canada goes beyond charity; it’s about challenging and transforming those systems through real solidarity. That includes interrogating how immigration and asylum regimes exclude and filter who is deemed “deserving” of protection, while also benefiting from global inequalities that shape displacement in the first place. It also means recognizing that queer liberation cannot be separated from broader struggles for justice, including migrant justice and economic equity.

Ultimately, being a global citizen is about solidarity that is political and grounded in an understanding that safety should not be contingent on borders. That responsibility also shows up in very tangible ways. It means leveraging one’s privilege to materially support others. This can be done by donating to organizations doing frontline work, such as Rainbow Railroad, volunteering, supporting newcomer sponsorship, etc. It also means voting and advocating with solidarity in mind. It is more important than ever that people support policies and leaders that expand access to protection for refugees and uphold the rights of LGBTQI+ people worldwide.

What has this work taught you about the resilience of queer communities around the world?

When thinking about this question, I came back to something I read that was written by Josh Rivers. Josh writes: “The mark of any queer person’s humanity appears to be indelibly linked to their resilience. Resilience is praised as one of our queer virtues, indeed the bedrock of our existence: in the face of increasing and persistent adversity, we keep getting back up, keep pressing on, keep surviving. To understand resilience, we have to place it in the context of its necessity. Resilience is at once a testament to an individual’s determination to survive and an indictment on a society that demands it. Perhaps my issue with resilience-as-virtue is that the pressure to be resilient lies firmly on the person who relies on their resilience for survival (for example, LGBTQIA+ people) and not on the systems, structures and societies that demand resilience in the first place.”

In my eight years working at Rainbow Railroad, I have witnessed that tension play out in very real ways. I’ve seen extraordinary resilience in people navigating unimaginable risk. People build networks of care in hostile environments, finding ways to survive and even support others despite having very little themselves. I’ve seen individuals advocate for their own safety while simultaneously helping others do the same, often at great personal cost. That kind of resilience is powerful, but it’s also revealing. Because what becomes clear very quickly is that this resilience is not a choice, it's a requirement imposed by systems that fail to protect. People are forced to become experts in their own survival, navigating systems that were never designed with them in mind. And while that speaks to the strength and ingenuity of queer communities globally, it also underscores a deeper injustice. Survival itself becomes a metric of success.

What this work has taught me is to hold both truths at once. I recognize and respect the resilience that exists, while also being clear that it should not be necessary. The goal is not to celebrate how much people can endure, but to build a world where they don’t have to.

Social Made Local is rooted in self-expression and storytelling—what role do social media, art, and personal stories play in raising awareness and supporting LGBTQI+ communities globally?

Social media, art, and personal storytelling are some of the most powerful tools we have to make LGBTQI+ experiences visible, especially in places where people are being pushed into silence.

Art, in all its forms, has always been both expression and resistance. Whether it’s visual art, music, performance, or digital content, it allows people to communicate truths that might otherwise be censored or erased. It carries emotion, identity, and defiance in ways that facts alone often can’t. For many LGBTQI+ people around the world, creating or sharing art isn’t just about self-expression; it’s an act of survival and activism.

Storytelling builds on that by creating connection. When someone shares their lived experience — of joy, of fear, of resilience — it cuts through distance and difference. It helps others see beyond headlines or stereotypes and recognize the humanity at the centre of these issues. That kind of connection is what shifts public perception, influences policy, and mobilizes support.

Social media amplifies both. It allows stories and creative expression to travel across borders instantly, reaching audiences who might never otherwise encounter them. It also creates space for community, especially for those who may be isolated or unsafe offline.

Together, they don’t just raise awareness — they build solidarity. And in a moment where LGBTQI+ rights are under increasing pressure globally, that visibility and connection can be life-changing.

From your perspective, what’s keeping you optimistic about queer life in 2026?

My optimism is grounded in collective history. Progress in civil rights has never been linear, and our queer history reflects that. Wins and progress are usually followed by backlash and retrenchment. But what grounds me is that, time and time again, queer communities have shown up to that fight not just for themselves, but for the generations that follow. Our elders and ancestors created space where there was none at great personal cost, and that legacy of care and resistance continues to shape our reality today. It makes me optimistic that the work we’re doing now will expand what safety and freedom look like in the future.