"I mean, why do we even need pride parades anymore? Gay marriage is legal now, so at this point, it's just like they're showing off."
I overheard the above statement in a store last week. Apparently, the speaker was perturbed about all of the traffic issues the annual pride parade would create. While a small part of me sympathized, as the Northern Virginia area already has an immense amount of traffic congestion on a good day, the vast majority of my brain was consumed with righteous indignation: Are you KIDDING ME?! Gay marriage is legal, so homophobia no longer exists? By that logic, racism wouldn't exist because we have a black president, and sexism wouldn't exist because we have a woman currently running for president. Oh, wait, except it totally does!
Of course, I was too introverted (read: terrified to interact with strangers) to tell the guy this to his face, so instead I continued to fume internally. With all the diversity that exists in the area I live in, I'm constantly surprised by the depth of people's ignorance. I, for one, knew about gay people from the time I was very young.
When Rosie O'Donnell's first talk show, which my mom used to watch regularly, got canceled, I asked mom why that happened. She said it was partly because she resigned after coming out as gay and wanted to spend more time with her family. Since I was five and didn't know what "gay" meant, she calmly explained that some women were in relationships with other women the same way that she and dad were, and that some men were in relationships with each other, too. And guess what? My head didn't explode and I didn't become so emotionally traumatized that I needed therapy. (That would come seven years later for vastly different reasons.) At most, I think I said something like, "Oh, okay," and then moved on. For those of you concerned about having to "explain" queerness to your kids, it's literally that simple. Don't overthink it.
Growing up, I always had a diverse group of friends; I knew kids in middle school and early high school who came out as gay, something that people of older generations probably weren't exposed to. As I got older and started taking women's studies classes in college, I met people who weren't only gay or lesbian, but also bisexual, pansexual, and asexual as well. (Not to mention people who are transgender, gender-fluid, agender, etc.) Actually, now I think I may have more friends who fall somewhere on the LGBT spectrum than straight friends; go figure.
I'm pretty open to anyone's sexuality or gender identity, and since I've been exposed to so much, virtually nothing sounds "strange" to me anymore. With that being said, I know there are a lot of people who, unfortunately, aren't so open-minded. My friends shouldn't have to worry about getting stared at, verbally harassed, or physically attacked for publicly holding hands with the person they love. (In high school, I saw straight kids do a lot more than that in the middle of the hallway and not even get a second glance from their peers.) They shouldn't have to hide who they are for fear of being dismissed, patronized, or worse, be denied jobs, housing, adoption opportunities, and so forth. That's why pride parades and gay bars and nightclubs are so important: They provide a safe space for people to express their feelings without having to be afraid.
At least, that's what I thought before I heard about the shooting in Orlando, Florida yesterday. When I heard that 49 people were killed, the largest amount of casualties in a terror attack in this country since 9/11, my heart broke. When I realized that the shooting happened at a gay nightclub that was especially popular among queer people of color, I was absolutely shattered. Those poor people thought they were safe, but they weren't.
What should have been a place for joy and celebration turned into a space for fear, panic, and death. I was so frightened that I wanted to text all my friends who were going to the pride festival in D.C. and beg them to stay home. I love that they want to celebrate who they are, but in the liberal area we live in, I hadn't thought that their visibility could get them killed. And to think, the day before I was most worried about whether they had enough sunscreen.
In the end, I decided I was being overly paranoid. They went and had a good time, despite the sobering events that had occurred hours earlier. I was proud of them for remaining out and strong; I probably wouldn't have had the courage. Of course, I'd love to say that this could all be solved by stricter gun control laws and that certainly would help. (There is no way that a guy who had been on the FBI's watch list since 2013 should have been able to purchase any kind of gun, let alone a semi-automatic weapon.) But the root of this attack was homophobia. All of this started because the gunman was "disgusted" after seeing a gay couple holding hands in Miami.
It's sad for me to think that we live in a country where we're more comfortable seeing men holding guns than holding hands. No one should have to die for loving someone. We don't only need prayers; we need tangible change. I don't want to worry about anyone's safety like this ever again.
