I thought I’d never go to Pride – now I volunteer for a LGBT+ charity in Scotland

Arshya Mittal began volunteering as an ambassador for Just Like Us, the LGBT+ young people’s charity, after moving to Scotland.

Coming out felt like a slow start for me, then suddenly it was all at once. 

It took me years to emerge from the haze of ‘compulsory heterosexuality’ – a phenomenon many queer people experience, where heterosexuality is assumed and forced upon LGBT+ individuals as a result of a heteronormative and patriarchal society.

Growing up in a small, close-knit Indian family, I was terrified of my own queerness and constantly questioned my identity. With no mainstream Asian LGBT+ representation to look up to, it was easy to live in a frustrating grey area — not fully myself, yet yearning to find out, while rejecting any suggestion of queerness.

To me, being at home in India meant being in the closet, and it began to feel like a prison. So, in the middle of a global pandemic, I shipped myself off to another continent, to Scotland, and everything changed. 

Just like that, I was out. I had no fear of being caught because for the first time, I was surrounded by others who were out and proud, and who had been for years. While I was finally truly comfortable, I also began to feel like I had missed out on all the “firsts” that people experience as they discover their queerness, specifically going to my first Pride. 

Pride typically is held during the summer months, which also happens to be summer break for students. Every year, I would fly straight back into a closet-shaped home, where I would scroll through pictures of all the festivities from across the globe rather than experiencing them myself. Those three years at university went by, and I still had never been to Pride. 

“Becoming an ambassador deepened my understanding of my own identity.”

— Arshya Mittal

Wanting to immerse myself further in the community I’d found in Scotland, I began volunteering as an ambassador for Just Like Us, the LGBT+ young people’s charity. I was able to speak in schools, sharing my story in an impactful context that would help young people, both LGBT+ and not, and I was also able to connect with other ambassadors who shared similar experiences. Becoming an ambassador deepened my understanding of my own identity, helped me process conflicting feelings I held about my coming out and personal relationships, and helped me forge a secure place within the queer community. 

By the time Edinburgh Pride 2024 rolled around, I was out, proud and comfortably so, and I felt a little silly making such a big deal about it. Everyone else had already been, and I no longer felt new to the LGBT+ community. I was trying to play it cool. However, I wasn’t quite ready for just how emotional that would make me. 

Edinburgh Pride began with a gathering in front of the Parliament building, and in true Scottish fashion, I was greeted by the nicest people and their dogs, all head-to-toe in rainbows, within minutes of arriving. 

The event saw a significant turnout of notable political figures, including First Minister John Swinney, who spoke in support of LGBT+ inclusive education in schools and promoted the protection and enhancement of community rights. Maggie Chapman, the Equalities Spokesperson of the Scottish Greens, delivered a powerful speech to the hundreds gathered by Parliament to mark the parade’s beginning. 

Taking it all in, it became evident to me that Pride is a powerful intersection of political protest, honouring the activists and heroes who fought for the rights we have today, and a celebration of the freedoms we now enjoy. The air buzzed with a sense of history and hope, each step forward echoing with the footsteps of those who marched before us. The streets of Edinburgh, usually steeped in ancient tradition, felt reborn in the kaleidoscope of colours, as if the city itself was celebrating with us. 

There is a balance to be found between fighting for further freedom in the current political climate — where hostility against trans rights is rampant, and no part of the UK has banned conversion therapy — and celebrating how far we’ve come in a world where same-sex marriage is legally recognized in 36 countries, with that number constantly rising. 

In a beautiful moment marking the start of the march towards the main stage and through the city, hundreds gathered by the Scottish Parliament observed a moment of silence to honour those affected by AIDS and HIV, and to celebrate the resilience and unity of the LGBT+ community over the years in the face of such challenges. 

It was a silence filled with reverence and remembrance, yet also with an unspoken promise to continue to exist boldly. Then, the music swelled, movement began, and people started dancing. Surrounded by bright colours, flags and rhythmic drums, the most special part of the entire festival was sharing this moment with one of my closest high school friends, who had seen me through my years of questioning and was one of the first people I ever came out to. It felt like a full-circle moment. 

Walking up the hilly streets of Edinburgh, it was surreal to watch thousands of queer people celebrating. I definitely lost my cool. I cried at my first Pride.

This year Just Like Us, the LGBT+ young people’s charity, will train volunteers in Scotland for the first time.