The recent erasure of the Pulse nightclub memorial crosswalk reveals troubling parallels between American evangelical influence and Uganda’s own battles for LGBTQ rights

In the cover of darkness on a Wednesday night in August, Florida transportation crews painted over a rainbow crosswalk that had served as a memorial to the 49 people killed in the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando. The memorial, which had stood for eight years with state approval, was erased overnight without warning to city officials or the community it served to remember the deadliest mass shooting targeting LGBTQ Americans in modern history.

For those of us watching from Uganda, this act of erasure carries profound implications that extend far beyond American shores. The systematic removal of LGBTQ memorials and symbols under the Trump administration represents not just domestic policy, but a global signal that emboldens anti-LGBTQ sentiment worldwide—including here in East Africa, where American evangelical influence has long shaped local attitudes toward sexual and gender minorities.

The Sacred Nature of Memory

In Ugandan culture, as in most African traditions, the desecration of memorials is considered deeply offensive, regardless of one’s personal feelings toward those being commemorated. The concept of respecting the dead transcends political disagreements. When we honor those who have passed, we honor their humanity and the grief of those who loved them.

The Pulse memorial crosswalk was is part political symbolism, and part community space. Iit was a sacred space where families, survivors, and community members could remember 49 souls whose lives were cut short by hatred. Among the dead were young people like Akyra Monet Murray, 18, who had just graduated high school, and Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32, whose mother became a fierce advocate for gun reform. These were sons, daughters, siblings, and friends whose memories deserved dignity.

As Brandon Wolf, a Pulse survivor, wrote on social media: “A memorial to my dead brothers isn’t political.” His words echo a fundamental truth that transcends borders: grief and remembrance are human experiences that should be protected, not politicized.

The Evangelical Connection

The erasure of the Pulse memorial cannot be separated from the broader influence of American evangelical organizations that have spent decades exporting anti-LGBTQ ideology to Africa. These same groups that now celebrate the removal of rainbow crosswalls in Florida have historically funded campaigns in Uganda that frame LGBTQ identity as “un-African”, a colonial imposition rather than an indigenous reality. Side Note: The irony of white people telling us what is and isn’t colonialism and what completely lost on them. 

Of course, this narrative conveniently ignores the documented presence of diverse gender and sexual identities in pre-colonial African societies. It also obscures the fact that the rigid binary understanding of sexuality and gender being promoted as “traditional African values” is itself a colonial import, imposed through missionary Christianity.

President Trump’s transportation secretary, Sean Duffy, justified the directive to remove rainbow crosswalks by claiming that “taxpayers expect their dollars to fund safe streets, not rainbow crosswalks” and that “political banners have no place on public roads.” Yet this same logic is never applied to other memorial displays or public art that doesn’t challenge conservative Christian sensibilities like the deeply offensive confederate memorials to racists and proud slave owners. 

Global Implications for LGBTQ Activism

The Trump administration’s systematic erasure of LGBTQ symbols and protections sends a clear message to authoritarian leaders worldwide: persecuting sexual and gender minorities is not only acceptable but actively supported by the world’s most powerful democracy. This emboldens countries like Uganda, where the Anti-Homosexuality Act  is already on the books. 

For LGBTQ advocates in Uganda, the American regression represents both a tactical challenge and a moral crisis. How do we advocate for rights and dignity when our strongest potential ally is actively rolling back protections for its own LGBTQ citizens? How do we counter the narrative that LGBTQ equality is “Western decadence” when the West itself is abandoning these principles?

The impact extends to practical matters of service provision and advocacy (which are important and essential by the way), International funding for LGBTQ organizations in Uganda has become increasingly precarious as American funding priorities change, the closure of USAID and reduction in HIV related funding from the US government, the now emboldened evangelical donors redirecting resources toward “family values” initiatives that explicitly oppose LGBTQ rights. Meanwhile, local organizations struggle to access global advocacy networks as diplomatic channels become increasingly hostile to LGBTQ concerns.

Faith, Memory, and Moral Consistency

Perhaps most troubling is the role of Christian faith in justifying the desecration of memorials. Governor Ron DeSantis, who defended the erasure by claiming he would not allow state roads to be “commandeered for political purposes,” presents himself as a defender of Christian values. Yet what Christian teaching supports the nighttime erasure of a memorial to victims of violence?

The contradiction becomes even starker when we consider that Jesus Christ himself was executed by state authorities who viewed his message as politically dangerous. The same faith tradition that honors Christ’s memory through symbols, memorials, and public displays now sanctions the erasure of memorials to other victims of hatred and violence.

For people of faith in Uganda who genuinely seek to follow Christian teachings, this presents a profound theological question: If we believe in the inherent dignity of all human beings as created in God’s image, how can we support the desecration of memorials to those killed for their identity? If we believe in love, compassion, and justice as core Christian values, how do we reconcile these beliefs with actions that cause additional pain to grieving families and traumatized communities?

Community Resistance and the Power of Memory

The immediate response to the memorial’s erasure offers hope for those of us watching from afar. Community members gathered with chalk to restore the rainbow colors, even as intermittent rain washed away their work. By Friday evening, the crosswalk had been fully repainted in rainbow colors, with messages like “Not going anywhere” chalked between the lines.

This grassroots resistance demonstrates the power of community solidarity that transcends government hostility. It mirrors the resilience we see in Uganda’s LGBTQ community, which continues to exist, love, and advocate for dignity despite legal persecution and social hostility.

As survivor Brandon Wolf shared on social media, a double rainbow appeared in the sky above the restored crosswalk during the Friday evening protests—a potent reminder that some truths cannot be erased, no matter how much paint is applied in the darkness.

Looking Forward: Lessons for Uganda’s Movement

The Pulse memorial erasure offers several lessons for LGBTQ advocates in Uganda:

First, the importance of building broad coalitions that extend beyond LGBTQ communities. The outrage over the memorial’s removal came not just from LGBTQ advocates but from city officials, community leaders, and ordinary residents who understood that desecrating memorials crosses fundamental lines of human decency.

Second, the power of cultural and religious arguments in defending LGBTQ dignity. By framing the memorial’s removal as a violation of basic respect for the dead , a value shared across cultures ; advocates can appeal to universal principles rather than relying solely on rights-based arguments that may face more resistance.

Third, the necessity of documenting and preserving LGBTQ history and memory through community-controlled spaces and narratives. When official memorials can be erased overnight, community memory becomes even more crucial for maintaining continuity and resistance.

The Enduring Power of Truth

The overnight erasure of the Pulse memorial crosswalk symbolizes a broader attempt to erase LGBTQ existence from public life and historical memory,  Yet the immediate community response demonstrates that memory cannot be so easily destroyed.

For those of us in Uganda watching this unfold, the message is both sobering and inspiring. Sobering because it reveals how quickly hard-won progress can be reversed when political winds change. Inspiring because it shows how communities can resist erasure through solidarity, creativity, and persistent witness to truth.

The 49 people killed at Pulse nightclub died because of hatred. The attempt to erase their memory stems from the same hatred. But love, as demonstrated by the community members who restored the rainbow colors with their own hands, remains more powerful than any government directive.

As we continue our own struggles for dignity and equality in Uganda, we carry with us the memory not just of those 49 souls, but of all LGBTQ people worldwide who have faced violence for simply existing. Their memory cannot be painted over. Their truth cannot be erased. And their legacy continues in every act of love, resistance, and community solidarity that refuses to let hatred have the final word.