Musings
Long before corporate big daddies like Target, McDonald’s, and banks got involved in Pride by slapping rainbows and the slogan love is love is love on everything, Pride was a riot. It was a battle cry for liberation, a fight against police brutality, a big F.U. to discrimination, and a demand for the right to be oneself.
A big chunk of my childhood was spent going to Pride marches, AIDS walks and advocacy events, dance performances and art shows dedicated to finding a cure for the “gay disease,” and watching my mom grieve for friends who died far too young.
Because I grew up in the safe little enclave known as Mt. Airy, my experience of queerness was largely one of celebration. Though when I think back a bit more, I remember being afraid to hold my first girlfriend’s hand at Hersheypark because I wasn’t sure what might happen. I remember friends in high school who couldn’t be completely out and completely themselves.
And in 2012 when my girlfriend and I were driving through rural Washington on our way to Vancouver. We hopped out of the car to grab some french fries at a highway spot and I—excited and unabashedly in love—grabbed for her hand.
At which point, she shooed me away.
Me—all butt hurt—didn’t understand.
Until she told me that we weren’t safe there, and that we didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves or put ourselves in harm’s way.
And yes, some things have definitely changed.
I feel a tremendous sense of pride that my friends’ children, at 9, 10, and 11 years old, get to question who they are and redefine what gender means and looks like. There are more elder gays today than ever before, living long and luxurious lives. Queer culture has entered the mainstream and, dare I say, become hip. Ballroom colloquialisms have been co-opted and normalized. I even saw a SEPTA ad that said something along the lines of, “Only spill the tea if the tea is hot.” And thank God that people are still able to marry the people they love.
And yet, we are living in very scary and tenuous times, where rights that once felt ironclad—rights many assumed were settled—are once again being called into question.
Meanwhile, the Trump administration is treating our trans friends as potential domestic security threats as if they are Antifa or drug cartels.
This is scary stuff.
So this Pride, be louder.
Be bolder.
Stand up for those in danger.
Speak up for our trans siblings.
Get radically pro-transgender.
Because apparently believing that people deserve dignity, safety, healthcare, and the freedom to exist as themselves has become a radical act.
Pride is a time not only to use our voices for those whose voices are being stifled, but it is also a time to be your most unapologetically you.
No hiding.
No quieting.
No dimming of your light.
It is an opportunity to have PRIDE in all that you are and all that you offer because this, my friends, is political.
In times of erasure and fascism, one way we fight back is by being ourselves.
By taking up space.
By loving who we love.
By dressing for ourselves and not the male gaze.
By refusing to become small.
Because joy is political. Queer joy is political.
And authenticity, my friends, is a form of resistance.
Stay proud. Stay loud. Happy Pride Month (and year).
And Move with Love.
xoxo,
Holly
Inspiration Station
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