Pride Cometh
I’m sure every one of you has heard, whether from time to time or on an annoyingly regular basis, someone referring to someone or something as “gay”. Usually this is said in a tone conveying sarcasm, disrespect, or ignorance in a way that brings to a simmer the blood of any socially-conscious person. However, I feel like I can say– without any fear of admonishment– one thing for certain:
Pride is gay.
Southern Maine Pride took place last week. It culminated Saturday with a parade replete with dykes on bikes, floats sponsored by local gay bars, religious organizations fighting for equality, student groups for gender diversity, and a handful of odds-n-ends guests (a lone man in a black cape, someone riding a tandem bike dressed up like a bumblebee, and a troupe of actors from a local production of “Hair”) The parade started in Monument Square and ended in Deering Oaks Park, where booths, stands and a stage were set up to present, proffer, and perform various ideas, comestibles, and songs (respectively). The group of revelers was at once incredibly diverse and similar, for all in attendance had in common, if nothing else, the spirit of celebration.
The decorations, the floats, the flags, and even the small costumed dogs had this queer glow about them. And the people!—oh baby, the people. Bulldykes, lipstick lesbians, soft butches, androgynes, bisexuals, pansexuals, trannies, grannies, twinks, bears, leather daddies, and topless ladies of both chromosomal origin buzzed around the park like a hive of excitable honeybees. It could’ve been gayer, but only if it was being viewed on TV as shot through a rainbow lens.
It was quite an unusual atmosphere for me to be a part of. And my mild sense of displacement has nothing to do with the people or the goings-on. I’ve got no issue with watching svelte, shirtless men saunter by in a pair of denim daisy dukes. I don’t turn away at the sight of the grandmotherly life-partners sharing a kiss or two next to the lemonade stand. I love every one of the myriad expressions of queerness and hereness.
But the thing that’s always made me a little confused is the name attached to all these festivities: Pride.
When I think of “pride”, I think of something worth being proud of. When I think of something worth being proud of, I usually go next to things that one can achieve or attain, either through individual or collective efforts. Perhaps this achievement required the overcoming of an obstacle of some sort. Pride, to me, is a reward earned from and for ourselves. Pride involves making choices.
A self-made person should have pride in who they’ve become through hard work.
A person who takes confident steps down a winding path of life questions should have pride in their dedication to arriving at some ultimate truth.
A person who is able to break free from a pattern of harmful behavior should feel proud to have overcome themselves.
But should the parade-goers and flag-wavers whose lifestyles don’t fit the heteronormative paradigm feel proud?
One of the largest misconceptions regarding homosexuality is that it’s all about choice. You choose to be gay. You choose to act on it. You choose, choose, choose, choose. But the overwhelming response to questions and accusations of choice is simply “this is just who we are.” So although there is always a choice in whether or not to come out, it would appear as though there is no choice at all when it comes to truly being gay.
Because of my ideas surrounding the topic of pride, I am not proud to be an American. I am not proud to be white, of French-Canadian descent, or female-bodied. I wouldn’t deny that I identify as any or all of those things, but I never chose these aspects of my identity for myself. No choice, no pride.
So to me, being gay is as worth being proud of as having a naturally good complexion, size-7 feet, no family history of heart disease, or a ring finger longer than your index. It’s just part of who and what you are.
However, tremendous pride should be taken in the work of the gay-rights activists who have fought and continue to do so for all of us.
Through great effort and perseverance are events such Pride celebrations able to take place and bring together the local queer community and its allies alike. Wherever the easy choice is made in a difficult situation, amazing things can occur. The magic really happens when so many people from all walks of life choose the same thing for a common cause.
And Pride is magic—and I’m not just saying that because there’s so much goddamn glitter.
So maybe Pride isn’t about being proud of who we are. It’s not about being here and queer and telling the others to deal with it.
Maybe Pride is about being proud of what we’ve done
Maybe we’re just proud of Pride. I think we’ve got plenty of reason to be.
And might I add that there’s a very unique sting that comes from seeing a man’s ass and realizing it probably looks better in those denim daisy dukes than yours would.