To a lot of people looking from the outside in, Pride might seem like an excuse for people to lose some clothes and dance around in wild rainbow outfits, flaunting their sexuality. For those of us in the community, it is a chance to express ourselves freely. Anyone can tell you that sexuality is a huge part of who you are. When you're a member of the LGBT+ community, it's a huge part of you because you're outside of the typical in the heteronormal world we have.
When one steps inside PrideFest Saint Louis, or really any organization of the LGBT+ community, there's this sense of overwhelming belonging. People all around are draped in bright rainbows, smiling and happy to be there. Something about feeling different on the inside and accepting that tends to allow people to accept looking different on the outside. It's all about being comfortable with who you are. This means not only are the crowds bright, their clothing and hair choices are beautifully off beat. Everyone expresses themselves how they please and everyone is OK with that. It's a community of people who are stared at and judged every single day in a place where they no longer have to be afraid.
There's booths upon booths attracting grinning patrons looking at the merchandise. Among these vendors include the Clinton campaign, Purina, Whole Foods and Budweiser. It's an amazing sight. There are so many brands, so many people, who are proud to represent something that was once shameful.
Although we have progressed to the point where we can have pride festivals, parades, and even be joined in marriage, our society is still far from complete. Just outside the gates, men with signs spreading hate seem to be guarding heaven's gates. "What's up with these guys?" Someone said in passing. "Wouldn't Jesus love everyone?"
Seeing these men and women is dreadful. It's a reminder that while the LGBT+ community accepts each other, there are those out there who will never see us as just other human beings attempting to be happy. Instead, they try to ruin the one safe place we have.
Inside the festival, my friend and I spread out on a blanket to watch their showing of "Hairspray." People around us are completely comfortable talking to people they've never met. "Is that his girlfriend?" A man in a leather biker's vest with a bushy beard asked my friend and I. When we nodded, he grinned and said, "I never knew that! I love this movie!" Everyone was content and happy, enjoying their family's company in a space welcoming to all.
That is, until a loud explosion interrupted everyone's thoughts. People ran in all directions, some screaming, some seeming frozen in terror. I stayed low, but climbed to my feet. This is a feeling I'll never forget — my heart pounding in my ears, my mind working on an escape plan, and the dread of what was coming next. I was ready to run, and I would have if not for my friend. She pointed as the loud noise ended up being fireworks that flew into the sky and exploded.
"I was terrified," I said, and she agreed.
Someone laughed.
Someone thought it funny, in the wake of the Orlando shooting, to set off fireworks in a crowded, public space.
Isn't it enough that we have to hesitate before answering any questions about our personal lives? We never know how the person on the other end of the conversation will take the information. The crowd at this year's PrideFest is more hesitant than ever, because we still have to live in fear that we're going to die just for being who we are.
So, you, with your signs and with your hateful Facebook statuses, remember who you're talking to. You may not be firing a rifle into a crowed night club, but you are lighting off fireworks. You're making us worried and afraid. This is not a fear any heterosexual cis person would ever have, so why put that fear in our hearts?
