By Emily Stonehouse

At the first official flag raising in Dysart by Pride in the Highlands, I brought my kids.

I was thrilled to be there. A first in the community, and a clear-cut action that showcased a community who cares. Kudos to the many staff members and the one councillor who showed up for the historic moment in local history.

I used to be a member of the Pride in the Highlands committee, helping with their social media accounts for a few years. When life got busier, the organization was understanding when I needed to take a break from the volunteer-based group.

But as a member of the behind-the-scenes crew, I got to see what people were saying online. And while there were a few red flags on occasion, for the most part, our social channels were tagged with enthusiasm and joy.

Fast forward to present day, and the online world seems to have been cast in a tar impossible to wipe clean. Hate, vitriol, bitterness, anger. All teeming from individuals hiding behind the comfort of their screens. I’ve seen organizations who fly the rainbow flags forced to turn off comments, and take down entire posts showcasing their Pride; hidden once again into the shadows of the world, their colours dimmed.

It’s worse than it’s ever been. And we can point fingers for why, but it’s not set in stone. Is it that the ‘great’ leaders of this world use their platforms to spew hate? Is it because the keyboard warriors of the day are finding their footing when trampling others?

It’s not worth focusing on.

I can write a whole editorial dedicated to trying to convince those who carry cruelty in their very cores that they need to do better.

But it won’t make any difference. Many of their thoughts are already set in stone.

But here is my glimmer of hope: the next generation.

When I visit the accounts of the many who bring their digital pitchforks to the debate, searching for a pulse on their profile, I note that they are adults. Individuals who should know better, but who are fully formed in their thinking. An editorial won’t change their cruel cores.

But, at the first official flag raising in Dysart by Pride in the Highlands, I brought my kids.

While the eldest was in camp, I brought my youngest step-daughter and my toddler son. In a surprise to few, the toddler was busy. Very busy. It was a full-time job to keep eyes on him.

So I handed my camera to the nine-year-old.

And when I went back to look at the photos, I saw Pride through her lens.

She didn’t see hate, vitriol, bitterness, anger. She saw people holding hands. She saw colours contrasting with clouds in the sky. She saw smiles, she saw laughter, she saw friends, she saw love. A new lens, a new outlook, on the positivity of Pride, and everything it can represent.

Every photo of that flag raising in this edition is by her. A nine-year-old, who chose to see hope instead of hate, love instead of lashing, Pride instead of pain.

The lens of the next generation: it’s worth focusing on.