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Stonewall Pride's 2021 theme is "Out of the darkness, into the light." It's gotten me thinking, and I feel that I have to say this. Forward it on, or don't. Think on it, or don't. I just need to get these words out of me and on the virtual page.
For much of the modern era, what we are was a crime. Sodomy laws in most of the world, mostly made and enforced by Europeans as they colonized as much of the globe as they could, made same-sex relations punishable by death. There were a few transgender people, but they mostly stayed under the radar, as it was assumed that you couldn't change your sex by most people. When Hitler rounded up people into death camps, there were special symbols for Jewish people, Romani, political prisoners--and homosexuals, who were given the pink triangle.
In 1945 the Allies liberated the residents of the camps, except for those with pink triangles, who were sent right back into prison. Because we were a crime.
Alan Turing, who broke the Enigma code, was gay. When this was discovered, and he was about to stand trial, he committed suicide rather than suffer the indignity of being sentenced to death for being himself.
In 1969, the gay nightclub Stonewall, a known scene for drag queens, gay men, and trans women, was raided by the police. Marsha P. Johnson, a black trans woman and sex worker, threw the first brick of the Stonewall riot. That was the first Pride.
Our parades began as riots. We took the pink triangle and adopted it for our own. We took slurs like "gay," "lesbian," and "queer" and wore them as badges of honor. As someone more eloquent than I once said, "We took the bricks that were thrown at us and built houses out of them."
And in all that confusion, I, as a teen in Alabama at the turn of the century, had to find my way without elder queers to help.
When I was a teenager, I was homophobic. So of course, the idea that I liked girls was ridiculous to me. Because I liked boys. Because "I only appreciate the aesthetics of a pretty girl; everyone does." Because I was Catholic.
At age 17, I was watching late-night TV, specifically TechTV's Wired For Sex episode about intersex people. One intersex person's journey was described with her finally deciding to live as a lesbian woman. At the time I was confused. "If she gets to choose what she is, why would she pick the one that's harder? Why not just be a straight man?" Gets to choose. As if gender were a prison that I was stuck inside of, but that she had been fortunate enough to escape.
At age 21, I realized that I actually was sexually attracted to women as much as I was to men. I knew I could never tell my parents. My father had made no secret of the fact that if his child said "Dad, I'm gay," they'd be sleeping on the streets that night.
When the fight for same-sex marriage became national news, I was on the right side of the fight. Because I'd realized that everyone who wants to get married deserves that right. That civil unions, while better than nothing, weren't the same as an outright marriage.
At age 30, I watched two friends get married on the first Valentine's Day after same-sex marriage finally became legal throughout the United States. I felt nothing but joy at seeing their love finally recognized after years.
At age 34, I finally discovered that I was genderfluid. My husband still denies it. He has never had reason to question his identity, has never had to hide an important part of himself from his own family. As a straight man, he's never had to think about it.
Some states are trying to pass laws to prevent same-sex couples from adopting children, to shut trans people out of public restrooms, to shut trans children out of school sports, to force us all back into the closet where they never have to see us or think about us. The "gay panic" defense for the murder of trans women is still legal in more states than not. And queer folks still have to fight for even the basic right of survival in some countries.
This Pride, let's celebrate those who have come through the other side of AIDS and COVID pandemics, through bigotry and suffering, to be here today; and honor those who didn't make it. Let's celebrate how far we've come, while looking forward at how much farther we have to go. Let's be people that Marsha P. Johnson would be proud to view as family.
For much of the modern era, what we are was a crime. Sodomy laws in most of the world, mostly made and enforced by Europeans as they colonized as much of the globe as they could, made same-sex relations punishable by death. There were a few transgender people, but they mostly stayed under the radar, as it was assumed that you couldn't change your sex by most people. When Hitler rounded up people into death camps, there were special symbols for Jewish people, Romani, political prisoners--and homosexuals, who were given the pink triangle.
In 1945 the Allies liberated the residents of the camps, except for those with pink triangles, who were sent right back into prison. Because we were a crime.
Alan Turing, who broke the Enigma code, was gay. When this was discovered, and he was about to stand trial, he committed suicide rather than suffer the indignity of being sentenced to death for being himself.
In 1969, the gay nightclub Stonewall, a known scene for drag queens, gay men, and trans women, was raided by the police. Marsha P. Johnson, a black trans woman and sex worker, threw the first brick of the Stonewall riot. That was the first Pride.
Our parades began as riots. We took the pink triangle and adopted it for our own. We took slurs like "gay," "lesbian," and "queer" and wore them as badges of honor. As someone more eloquent than I once said, "We took the bricks that were thrown at us and built houses out of them."
And in all that confusion, I, as a teen in Alabama at the turn of the century, had to find my way without elder queers to help.
When I was a teenager, I was homophobic. So of course, the idea that I liked girls was ridiculous to me. Because I liked boys. Because "I only appreciate the aesthetics of a pretty girl; everyone does." Because I was Catholic.
At age 17, I was watching late-night TV, specifically TechTV's Wired For Sex episode about intersex people. One intersex person's journey was described with her finally deciding to live as a lesbian woman. At the time I was confused. "If she gets to choose what she is, why would she pick the one that's harder? Why not just be a straight man?" Gets to choose. As if gender were a prison that I was stuck inside of, but that she had been fortunate enough to escape.
At age 21, I realized that I actually was sexually attracted to women as much as I was to men. I knew I could never tell my parents. My father had made no secret of the fact that if his child said "Dad, I'm gay," they'd be sleeping on the streets that night.
When the fight for same-sex marriage became national news, I was on the right side of the fight. Because I'd realized that everyone who wants to get married deserves that right. That civil unions, while better than nothing, weren't the same as an outright marriage.
At age 30, I watched two friends get married on the first Valentine's Day after same-sex marriage finally became legal throughout the United States. I felt nothing but joy at seeing their love finally recognized after years.
At age 34, I finally discovered that I was genderfluid. My husband still denies it. He has never had reason to question his identity, has never had to hide an important part of himself from his own family. As a straight man, he's never had to think about it.
Some states are trying to pass laws to prevent same-sex couples from adopting children, to shut trans people out of public restrooms, to shut trans children out of school sports, to force us all back into the closet where they never have to see us or think about us. The "gay panic" defense for the murder of trans women is still legal in more states than not. And queer folks still have to fight for even the basic right of survival in some countries.
This Pride, let's celebrate those who have come through the other side of AIDS and COVID pandemics, through bigotry and suffering, to be here today; and honor those who didn't make it. Let's celebrate how far we've come, while looking forward at how much farther we have to go. Let's be people that Marsha P. Johnson would be proud to view as family.
