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To commemorate LGBT Pride Month, and coincide with the theme of this issue of CityBeat, I wanted to explore the definition of pride—what it means to our society, what it means to the gay community and what it means to me.
According to Wikipedia, Gay pride is “the positive stance against discrimination toward lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people to promote their self-affirmation, dignity, equality rights...” etc.
Nothing against Wikipedia, but I’m not crazy about that definition. I know, I know—far be it for me to straight-splain the meaning of gay pride to people, but I’m fairly well versed with what’s going on in the community. I have written a multitude of articles promoting LGBTQ rights, have helped organize Pride festivals in various capacities over the years, and though I know it’s not cool to say, “Some of my closest friends are gay,” they actually are, so I will. I’m not just talking out of my ass when I say that this Wiki definition—while literally accurate—does not capture the blood and guts meaning of LGBT pride as it pertains to the blood and guts humans who embody it.
It is the core part of the definition that I find problematic. It says that Pride is “a positive stance against discrimination…” which, I think, falls woefully short of the reality. To me, LGBT pride—and the parades and festivals that celebrate it—is less like a “stance” and more like an outburst, an explosive response to the straight up tyranny perpetrated by the mainstream against the queer community. I see the pride revolution as the manifestation of a psychological state I call, “Enough-is-Enoughedness.”
The state of Enough-is-Enoughedness occurs when the individuals of a repressed class stand up and collectively howl, “Enough!”
“Enough!—of the institutionalized bigotry that bushwhacks our Constitutional rights on a daily basis. Enough!—having to fear for our lives simply because we choose to walk down the street hand-in-hand with our lovers! Enough!—of the snide jokes and condescension from a society that cares more about what the couple name for Jay-Z and Beyonce should be than the fact that we are being institutionally tormented (the answer is Jayzonce by the way). Enough shunning by fuckwad parents —et tu mom and dad?—who somehow missed the memo that they are supposed to unconditionally love their children.
I have to say, I love me some Pride festivals. Not because of the outrageous behavior and vibrant costumery though, even though I’ll admit to secretly engaging in some GSP (Gawking Straight People) behavior behind the camouflage of my sunglasses. But the main reason I love Pride is the underlying message. Every bedazzled, shiny, skin-tight, jazz pant; every multi-colored parasol spinning over a bare-chested fireman in a rainbow hula skirt; every Rocky Horror fanatic grinning under a curly, black Frank-N-Furter wig with bloated, red, Rolling Stones lips; every gorgeous lumberjack butch in black boots and bolos marching down the path with her girlfriend (hands clasped and in the air like they just won a gold medal in logrolling); every man in a dress and woman in a tux; all the boy toys, bottom bears, Betty Boops, barbies, bulls and diesels, all the ink, and drink, and pink and twinks; every single, delicious expressive act there is to behold at LGBT Pride is just somebody blaring, “Enough already!” Enough is e-fucking-nuff!”
In October of 2011 I wrote a column in which I used some language that offended many in the gay community. People from around the country wrote vicious things about me on the various gay newsfeeds and message boards. They sent angry emails to the paper, and initiated a movement to get me fired. GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) even issued a letter scolding the magazine for publishing my transgression.
While many in and out of the gay community came to my defense, including Dan Savage—a fact I wear around my neck as a medal of honor (I just love that little cocksucker!)—it was a sad and scary time nonetheless.
I remember in the aftermath, being interviewed by a reporter who asked if I was angry at those who tried to get me fired despite that I had long ago proven myself to be a committed ally.
“Not at all,” I told him. “I am happy that they reacted the way they did. I’m happy that they’re not taking any more bullshit. I’m glad they’re getting in our faces when we rear our ugly, homophobic heads.”
Given the shit the queer community has endured for so long, their response actually gave me a feeling of—yes, I’m going to say it—pride. And no, not the condescending, “I-made-this-happen-for-you” kind of pride, but pride in the way you feel about a friend who accomplished something wonderful, a friend you are privileged to know and for whom you want great things. And that, my friends, is what gay pride means to me. I feel pride for my gay brothers and sisters and want you all to know, I have your back during the battles that are yet to be waged. Happy Pride month! Now go out there and rage.