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Fire Island Classics is playing and it’s a beautiful Friday. I keep trying to think about what to wear to the Drag March tonight. The faeries are gathering soon to glitter up at Le Petite Versailles garden and dress or undress in preparation. Last year, it rained, but it was a glorious day until a police man once again pushed a road barrier against us to move us out of the street. Gently, but Still. That was 2009. I remember the crowd messing up the words to Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I’ll look them over and maybe head that off tonight, if I can gather that spirit. They are a bit tricky, like so many things. The most hope-inspiring happening I can see is TAKE BACK PRIDE. One activist, Jamie McGonnigal, who organized buses for the October March on Washington for Broadway Impact, has done what 1000s of existing organizations were blind to. He is seeking to inspire a movement. Pride is that moment. In 2008, I crossed the ocean and back to come home for Pride. I was living in Africa and supposed to stay the entire year, but the sadness was overwhelming. After a few months there, it occurred to me what I was feeling. Africans individually had no sense of entitlement. Generations of slaves had lost their intrinsic sense of self worth. It’s the most insidious aspect of being treated as inferior. Americans feel the opposite. But not US. Having seen the absence of it, I now see entitlement everywhere. I also see where it is not. And it is not in our movement strategy. So I cry for Pride. For the lack of Pride in our Movement. For a million people on Pride Day, and 50 on lobby day. For 30 million LGBT people and only 10 or so arrested in 2010 (though that’s 10 more than in 2009)? For a group of bills in congress that don’t add up to shit – including ENDA which creates a “separate water fountain” for gay discrimination compared to what everyone else has under The Civil Rights Act. For a new generation of grassroots activists infiltrated by the International Socialists Organization. For an HRC and Task Force that won’t even say the words “gay civil rights” – now alone demand them in a piece of legislation. But I’m most sad today about myself. I see the struggle ahead, but I don’t know if I have the strength to take it on. It’s hard to speak up and harder to motivate. I want to, but I am tired. I feel compelled to, but I am tired. So I cry for Pride. “Gay” Civil Rights is also tricky – or so I’m told by one amazing young activist, Chloe Noble. Evidently, young people 2 to 1 prefer “Queer”, but older folks (60s at least, I hope) aren’t comfortable with that. It sure makes the publicity messy. When asked if he preferred “The American Equality Bill” or “The Gay Civil Rights Bill,” a self identified “gay black man” at the Folsom Street Fair last week popped back: “I like the Gay Civil Rights Bill much better! …. Any more questions?” (and he explained it: http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=466827023635&oid=278882199073). The most interesting thing is that — without any context — he knew exactly what I was talking about: including US in the civil rights laws. Isn’t that what a title is supposed to do? But The American Equality Bill is a “better sell” right? Think about it. . . . I think I’m done crying for Pride for a bit. We’ll see. It’s definitely Time to put a little (more) mascara on and DRAG MARCH to the Stonewall! Today would be a very bad day for any officer to push a barricade against me. It’s WAY PAST TIME for another Stonewall UPRISING. Wow. What do you know. Speaking up has actually made me feel better. Try it. HAPPY PRIDE. LOVE, TIF
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Tears are all I can summon as I anticipate Pride. So I cry more about that. Deep tears, like mourning a great loss.
