This may seem like a small gesture, but it's also a visible sign of change. My generation, now in our 30s, came of age when a rainbow flag was assumed to be an invitation to violence, we started dating when marriage was banned; we started careers or joined the military when we could be fired without protection; we started families when your rights to see your children or your spouse were tenuous.
In 20 years as I've grown from adolescent to an adult, the tide has turned. When my family first arrived here in Seattle, we saw a couple holding hands - in public! - and we practically shouted in excitement and relief. Wow, I could do that? Not everyone gets to do that. Usually the idea of holding hands with a girlfriend brings up a twinge of fear. I still talk about it with those close to me, who live in more conservative communities: it's a risky calculus. When I "look normal" (i.e. hold hands with a man) I often feel invisible, like I should be constantly coming out to "draw fire". For the first time it felt like, I didn't have to. LGBT people around me - working, buying groceries! - just expected to be treated like everyone else. I was giddy.
I haven't always lived somewhere I take my safety for granted on a daily basis. Let's be honest, there are too many people who don't.I haven't always lived somewhere I take my safety for granted on a daily basis. Let's be honest, there are too many people who don't. We've made progress for LGBT folks in this time and place. Although that's a relief, I sometimes shake myself, worried I'm living in a bubble. The hard-fought-for ability to expect everyday, simple peace, respect and fair treatment is also a calling: to strive for that same equality for every human being, everywhere.
In 2017, "Pride" is also a calling to include solidarity with black people, brown people, and overcoming racism. I can't know what it's like to be in someone else's shoes, or to suffer the worst of fear and oppression. But I can strive to stand for my values even when I'm not hit by personal tragedy, even when I feel relatively safe - especially then.
What is "Pride" about for me, if not the dream of living without fear? That's why we shout from the rooftops and dance in the streets.
The hard-fought-for ability to expect everyday, simple peace, respect and fair treatment is also a calling: to strive for that same equality for every human being, everywhere.
Over many years, every small step - every flower for Pulse in Orlando, supportive t-shirt, official statement, legal change - these steps start to repair a damaged sense of trust with society. They've built a better sense of welcome, safety, support, protection, and inclusion: a cultural acknowledgement of essential human worthiness that I didn't realize would get so much attention and support in my lifetime. Somewhere along the line the scales tipped, and people realized how crazy it was NOT to stand by the basic rights of the LGBT community. Brown and black people deserve this feeling too. They deserve to hear a million times and from every corner, BLACK LIVES MATTER.
What does "Pride" mean to me, if not the daring, revolutionary idea that I'm not committing a crime by existing? That in fact, every human being has inherent worth?
One day, one city, one symbol or one "win"; it's not the end, but it does add up. So that I feel welcome, there's a rainbow painted across my city street - and new diversity training programs. So that I feel safe, there are "Safe Space" stickers on my buses and businesses - and new EEO laws. So that I feel supported, there are 400,000 people at a Pride parade - and 200 orgs on the loudspeaker about what they've done to walk the walk. So that I feel protected, the police department wears rainbows - and their LGBT members are there with their families, talking problems and progress. It all says "YOU MATTER," over and over again. It's said with the understanding that we need to say it, we need to hear it not because others don't matter, but because some communities have gone too long being told we don't.
It's not the same thing. But it sounds too familiar to ignore.
We envision a world where everyone can walk down the street, hold hands, go to a night club, take the train, drive their car, go about their daily business and expect peace, fairness, dignity, respect.
What does "Pride" mean to me, if not the daring, revolutionary idea that I'm not committing a crime by existing? That in fact, every human being has inherent worth?
What is "Pride" about for me, if not the dream of living without fear?