This is Peter de Waal and his late partner Peter "Bon" Bonsall-Boone.
You may not know who they are here in Aotearoa, but what they both managed to achieve in their lifetimes has had a massive impact here and across the Tasman.
Peter and Bon were both part of the first group of people who marched against police in 1978 in Sydney.
Back then it was known as a protest, today it's known as the Sydney Mardi Gras Parade.
I was lucky enough to go to this year's WorldPride celebrations.
Last week marked the first time the event has ever happened in the Southern Hemisphere, held alongside the Human Rights Conference.
There's something to be said about people walking around in mesh tops and hot pink short shorts in the middle of the day and not one person batting an eyelid.
You can thank Peter, Bon and the rest of their group, known simply as the '78ers' for that.
Not only did I get a chance to experience the rainbow madness (to tell you the truth, I would be happy if I didn't see another one for the rest of the year), but I got to chat to Peter, who after 45 years is still marching.
Getting to high-five the '78ers' from the sidelines is a moment that will live rent-free in my mind for a long time to come. Another remarkable new memory was witnessing Anthony Albanese follow in Peter's footsteps.
It's taken so long to finally see a sitting Australian prime minister walk the parade. But Peter reminded me, progress is invaluable — regardless of when it comes.
He would know. He has been an activist for the rainbow community for more than 50 years.
In 1972, Peter and Bon shared the first openly gay male kiss on Aussie television, and it came at a cost.
Bon lost his job over that simple display of affection, which Peter says catapulted them into a life of fighting back against stigma. And it wasn't just them, but for the LGBTTQIA+ community.
They went on to set up Australia's first national gay rights organisation, the Campaign Against Moral Persecution, or 'CAMP!'
And in 1973 they set up a Phone-a-Friend support line right from their living room, a service that's saved so many lives and continues to do so today across Australia.
When I asked Peter about his life, he described it as one of permission.
He says he always felt he and Bon were always asking for validation.
Asking for permission, for who they could love.
For how they could live.
For whom they were allowed to marry.
And that was something they wanted for each other, and they spent their entire lives fighting for that permission.
But in the end, it came too late.
This is where Bon comes in.
You're probably wondering if he too marched in this year's parade — he didn't.
Bon was diagnosed with cancer and passed away in 2017.
He was five months shy of seeing the fruits of his labour, when same-sex marriage was legalised across Australia in December 2017, four years after New Zealand.
Peter was home alone when he heard the announcement on the radio, a moment of enormous happiness and sadness.
He recalls how he had previously pleaded to then prime minister Malcolm Turnbull for permission to get married to Bon earlier that year.
But his calls went unanswered.
Bon ultimately had no choice but to accept he would die waiting for that last permission. In his last days, he said to Peter: "I think we've missed the boat."
But there's one thing he did live long enough to see change.
Bon had carried the burden of two convictions for homosexual acts from the age of 20. These had impacted his career and tainted his life with a senseless stigma.
But in 2014, Peter worked with Equality Australia and the New South Wales LGBTI Parliamentary Working Group to pass legislation to erase historical homosexual convictions.
And at 79-years-old on his deathbed, Bon had that record erased — he was finally an innocent man.
Peter says that was the last time he saw him smile and it's something he'll hold onto forever.
It's hard not to wonder how different my life could have been had all these gains not been made.
Others like them, doing what they could to get those of us in the rainbow community where we are today.
What would I have I done if I had to live my life under the cloud of an unjust criminal conviction like Bon just because I was gay?
I certainly wouldn't have been a journalist telling this story.
The journey of Peter and Bon. You may not have known about them before you started reading this, but hopefully you can appreciate what they achieved for all of us 45 years ago.
Peter has left me with an enormous amount of gratitude.
In some ways, I feel guilty for ever having taken my freedom for granted.
But it's given me perspective about why Pride exists.
Why there's so much glitter, mesh and tight clothing.
Why the performances matter, just as much as the marches.
And why my social media feed has been so clogged up with WorldPride content from those who shared the privilege of being there with me or understood why it matters.
Put simply, visibility matters, because with visibility, comes a life living without permission.
Peter describes his as a "rough time", but he and his partner made a decision to stand up to indifference.
He says he's happy to see the impact that has had on people like me 45 years later.
To that I said: "Well Peter, I hope that in 45 years, I'll be saying the same thing to someone else."
For now, all I can do is say "thank you" to the many Peters and Bons, and the Georgina Beyers.
They spent their lives asking for permission but dedicated their time to fighting back so people like me could walk the world with Pride.
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