Jullietta Stoencheva, 14 June 2025, Sofia
On June 14th, Bulgaria hosted its 18th annual Sofia Pride, now dubbed “the largest human rights march in Bulgaria.” This year, the Pride slogan was “We are people, not propaganda,” a direct reference to a recent Bulgarian law banning so-called “LGBTQ+ propaganda” in schools. Only 800 meters away, a counter-event named The Family Parade took place, supported for the first time by the Bulgarian Orthodox Church and sending a different message: that the heterosexual nuclear family is “the vital cell of society.”
Rules for attending Sofia Pride/The Family Parade, announced on their Facebook pages.
I’d been following the preparations for both events avidly online for the last two weeks. Both claimed they expected about 10,000 people, but neither generated much public attention in the weeks leading up. The public attention was focused on the European Commission’s recent announcement that Bulgaria will adopt the Euro as its official currency in 2026. Social media and public space were overwhelmingly dominated by the topic, and several large protests against the adoption of the Euro had already taken place in Sofia in the 10 days prior. Nevertheless, both Sofia Pride and the Family Parade consistently promoted their respective events, inviting people to attend. On the day before the event, the Sofia Pride page posted a list of prohibited items: weapons, explosive materials, alcohol, bottles, and pets without a leash. “Do not respond to provocations — be part of the change,” the post additionally stated. The Family Parade’s rules for their attendees were quite different: no flags or banners but the Bulgarian flag would be allowed. Instead, pre-approved placards would be handed out, “to preserve the spirit and unity of [their] message”.
I went to the Sofia city centre early, curious to see how these two ideological stages would be built — in infrastructure and in atmosphere. I got off the tube at the Sofia University station, which is only metres away from the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, the Family Parade’s site. The square in front of the cathedral was already busy, as many were out enjoying the Saturday sun. The stage was still being constructed, but the street market was already open. Stalls sold religious icons, Orthodox literature, engraved woodwork, and caps and t-shirts branded with the Family Parade’s logo.
Stalls at the Family Parade’s street market.
The short walk from there to the Knyaz Alexander I Square, the gathering point for Sofia Pride, was nothing short of strange. Every single lamppost, every trash bin I passed by was newly adorned with anti-LGBTQ+ stickers. Most simply represented a rainbow flag crossed out, but others exhibited more violent iconography: a white stick figure with the Odal rune symbol on its head kicking a rainbow-colored figure bearing a Soviet hammer and sickle as a head, accompanied by the text: “Gay parade? Not in my city!” (which in Bulgarian rhymes). I was struck by the heavy packing of violent symbols in this image. The Odal rune, in Scandinavian mythology referring to heritage and homeland, is famously appropriated by neo-Nazis and white supremacists. The hammer and sickle clearly imply a link between LGBTQ+ people and communism, a historically laden ideology in the Bulgarian context. The visual essence of the picture was clear: one exercising violence over the other.
Images 6, 7 & 8. Anti-Pride stickers in the Knyaz Alexander I Square area.
As I got closer to the square, I was met with metal barriers, police cars, and a large group of police officers standing by. I overheard one of them saying she believed it would be a calm event, and the sceptical reactions from some of her colleagues. I slipped through a gap in the metal fence, which was still being put up, and ended up in another street market area where stalls were being stocked with rainbow-coloured items. T-shirts, stickers, tote bags, water bottles were being put on display, fridges were being filled with beverages, soundchecks were in progress on stage. But as I was checking out the area, a police officer asked me to leave — no explanation given. I complied.
Barriers and police presence around the Knyaz Alexander I Square.
“Reviving family values” concert stage in front of the National Palace of Culture.
There was still plenty of time until any events would officially start, so I headed to the National Palace of Culture, where the far-right party Revival would hold their own counter-event — a concert titled “Reviving Family Values.” I found out about this event almost by accident — despite its symbolic timing during the Pride parade, it was surprisingly under-publicized, barely mentioned on the party’s otherwise very active social media feeds which were currently heavily dominated by anti-Euro discourse. Still, the stage was professionally set up, adorned with large banners depicting a pictogram of a man, a woman, and two children in the party’s signature green color. I went to the party’s Instagram page to see if they had announced an agenda for this event, which I would have to miss in order to attend the parade, but they hadn’t posted anything about it yet. However, among their many Instagram stories from that day centered around the Euro adoption, there was a re-share of the Family Parade’s poster.
When I returned to the Pride site in the afternoon, the barriers were fully closed. Entry was controlled, and each person wishing to enter was searched. “For your protection,” said the security guard as he dug through my handbag. But once inside, the atmosphere was cheerful. Two trucks covered in balloons were standing ready for the parade. Next to the large open bar, free condoms were handed out. Across them, there was a makeup station, where an artist holding a colourful palette was offering visitors a complimentary makeover. Pro-Pride stickers had already replaced the anti-LGBTQ+ ones I saw earlier — the territory had been retaken, if only temporarily.
Security searches attendees before letting them enter the Knyaz Alexander I Square. Anti-Pride flags at the Knyaz Alexander I Square torn down, pro-Pride sticker put up in their place. T-shirt mocking anti-LGBTQ+ Hungarian president Victor Orban on sale at the Sofia Pride street market.
The Pride truck parked and ready for the parade.
At the opening ceremony, diplomats from several countries offered words of support. “Being LGBTQ+ is not an ideology, it’s an identity,” declared MEP Marc Angel, and the crowd cheered. And with that, the parade began. I joined the march, intending to be an observer and determined to avoid all cameras. But suddenly, a microphone was in my face as a reporter was asking why I supported the parade and what Bulgaria needed in order to become more tolerant. Caught off guard, I hesitated — then spoke. It felt like a minor act of bravery. As I was watching myself on the news that evening, I found myself wishing I had said more.
Views from the Sofia Pride parade.
Me being interviewed by a news reporter at the Sofia Pride parade.
While the Pride Parade wound its way back to its starting point for an evening concert, I returned to Alexander Nevsky Cathedral to witness the opening of the Family Parade. Unlike Pride’s secured perimeter and mandatory bag checks, this event was open. The difference between the two was noticeable in colour, too: where Pride boasted with bright colours, the Family Parade began under the heavy formality of black robes. An Orthodox church choir, dressed head to toe in black, had lined up alongside several priests on the stage. Police presence lingered on the edges.
View of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral and Square during the opening of the Family Parade. A Family Parade flag that was being handed out to attendees.
The event’s start time slipped past 18:00 as sound checks continued in front of an assembling crowd. I found a seat under a tree, hoping to keep some distance, but the space’s insistence on participation found me anyway — an organizer approached and handed me a small flag bearing the Family Parade’s emblem. After choral hymns and a prayer for the family, various speakers took the stage. Among the attendees was Radostin Vasilev, leader of the nationalist Sword party.
Yet what struck me most wasn’t just the black-and-white contrast to Pride’s colours, or the careful blend of religion and nationalism. It was the reminder that, here too, I could not remain invisible. Sitting quietly under the tree, I spotted an old friend from middle school — now an outspoken conservative and “tradwife” activist. I shifted position, hoping to fade into the background. But within minutes, she appeared just metres away again. I couldn’t be sure she saw me, but in that moment I felt how impossible it was to be a non-participant observer of my home field. Across both events that day — the Pride Parade and the Family Parade — my plans to remain an anonymous witness were quietly undone. In spaces where people perform who belongs and who doesn’t, my mere presence made me visible, and made my observation inescapably participatory.
