It seems ironic that one of the more tiring months in which to be queer is Pride Month. And this year, it feels more intense than ever. I don’t want to complain about it too much for fear of being seen as, I dunno, ungrateful? Pride is a strange concept in the first place. It feels like a platitude to say it now, and still it bears repeating, that when it started it was a protest. A protest in response to a raid on the Stonewall Tavern where the police were looking to arrest people who were breaking the ‘three-article rule’ — a rule that policed people wearing three or more items of clothing that did not belong to their perceived gender. For years after, Pride remained a protest, a set of demands.
Since I was old enough to fathom the concepts of pride (and therefore shame I might add), Pride (note the capital P) has become increasingly distant from these roots. Already in 2013 at my first ever Pride, the brilliant Act Up London, which I was lucky enough to be a part of, stormed the front of the parade and carried a coffin that bore ‘PRIDE’ atop it in flowers. And now, its borders are so porous that the police have marched, BP (which is trashing the environment) marches, while more queer friends than ever take to social media to report rising hate crimes.
Pride Month is a time when we are asked to reflect on our history and question the current climate, while being a celebration of the progress made since that revolutionary night at Stonewall in 1969. But there’s this strange dynamic I mentioned up at the top there: this idea of gratefulness that we are able to walk on the street. This idea of thankfulness that we’re no longer over-policed. This idea of security that we have the same rights and licences as our cis peers. First of all, none of these things is true. And secondly, to whom am I supposed to be grateful? That I have been granted licence to… be myself?
To whom am I supposed to be grateful that I have been granted licence to… be myself?
In recent years it has become increasingly clear to me that Pride (note the capital P) is something that is permitted by society, and not always ours to have freely. But it is worth remembering that pride in our sexualities, our genders, our divergences, our conformities, our kinks, our culture is within and between us as a community. It’s there always in the small moments: in his hand on my lower back on the Tube, in dancing in the basement at Dalston Superstore, in protesting together at Trans Pride. It can never be given to us by any institution and it can never be taken from us by any government.
The LGBTQIA+ community looks set to face some tough years. All this visibility, this freedom, has asked questions of normative ways of life. And when people don’t like the questions, they get angry. Not because they have anything to be angry about, but because their answers aren’t structurally sound. And so with proper pride — which leads to proper power — we will continue to revolutionise the streets, the clubs, the culture and the media. London, enjoy your pride. Just remember where it really lives. In your communities. In your chosen families. In your spaces. And (oh, God) in your hearts.
