kalpurna

Happy Pride, flist! I didn't actually go to the parade, but I've been sitting here thinking about what Pride means to me. As someone who pretty much exemplifies passing, a feminine-looking bisexual woman who could drop out of sight without a problem, I care about the visibility of Pride parades. I know that some people don't appreciate the way the parades tend to show queerness at its "worst" - really flamboyant drag queens and naked people and leather and all kinds of sexual deviancy. But to me, those things are important to keep in mind, especially now, especially when we're starting to, well, blend.

Pride started as a memorial - a commemoration of the Stonewall riots. It started as a way to keep in mind the moment when we stopped being okay with being pushed around. And "we" in that place, at that time, were not well-dressed successful parents and members of society. We were drag queens. We were butch lesbians. We were the Stonewall Girls, who wore our hair in curls, wore no underwear, and showed our pubic hair.

"Throughout the night the police singled out many transgender people and gender nonconformists, including butch women and effeminate men, among others, often beating them."

The people who still have it toughest, who will always have it toughest, are the people who are up there on floats being celebrated at Pride parades. That guy in hot pants and a bra has it harder than I do, he really does, and I am so ridiculously proud of him. Unlike many in the queer community, I do strongly support the fight for gay marriage and gay adoption and gay acceptance in the mainstream. But I will never support furthering that goal by leaving behind those of us who aren't the mainstream, because they fought back first, and they still spend more time fighting than I ever will.