LGBT Pride Month is upon us, even if our current White House occupant refuses to acknowledge it. The BF and I are preparing for this year’s Houston Pride in seemingly superficial ways—last week, we bought matching rainbow Apple Watch bands (limited edition, this month only!). But, for me at least, the rainbow band is more of an act of defiance against the homophobic and transphobic winds that are blowing in our political climate right now. I don’t need to list for anybody here the ways in which this administration has already been disastrous for LGBT people. Failing to recognize Pride Month is one thing, but rolling back protections for transgender kids is another. Meanwhile, LGBT people remain unprotected by civil rights laws in many states, not to mention vulnerable to hate-fueled violence inspired, in large part, by the guy in the White House. A year later, we continue to mourn the massacre of our people at Pulse. And here in Texas, our governor just signed a law allowing discrimination against LGBT parents in the foster and adoption process, and an anti-trans “bathroom bill” remains a priority in our legislative special session.
There are many reasons to be angry and defiant rather than celebratory this year. Hence why some people are confused as to why this year’s Houston Pride is so seemingly oblivious to what is going on in our national and state politics:
When the theme for the 2017 Pride Parade was announced on February 9, gay eyebrows arched across the city.
"This year's theme for the Houston LGBT Pride Celebration® is Wonderland. Inspired by Lewis Carroll's quirky fantasy world, this year's theme is primed for your imagination," the email declared. "Escape the craziness of today's real world and step through the looking glass to ... WONDERLAND!"
The response on social media was swift. "The world is going to Hell, and Pride's theme this year is WONDERLAND!" declared one veteran activist aghast at the committee's seeming obliviousness to the tsunami of anti-gay animus roaring out of Austin and Washington, D.C.
Parade organizers seemed unabashed. In another email, they asserted, "Pride Houston always promises to be a party, so registering to participate should not be a chore."
(The entire article, which delves into the history of Pride, is well worth reading. And, even though I am planning to attend “Wonderland” this year, I agree for the most part with the author on the inappropriateness of the theme.)
Yes, there is plenty to be angry and fearful about this year. Last year’s Pride, when I wore my rainbow Hillary shirt and laughed at the gay Donald Trump piñata, seems like a lifetime ago. And yet, I have also been reflecting lately on the progress that there is to celebrate. The progress I’ve been thinking about has been much more on the personal and family level—the kind of progress nobody, not even Mango Mussolini and all the crusty white homophobic fucks in Congress, can take away.
If the carefree days when we expected a Hillary Clinton presidency seem like a lifetime ago, my coming-out nearly ten years back seems like a millennium ago. I still remember calling my mom, scared out of my mind but determined to tell her, and keeping her on the phone for over an hour while I built up the courage. When I finally said it, I didn’t get the response I wanted, but I didn’t get the response I feared, either. I wasn’t disowned—only banned from ever bringing a boyfriend home. I hadn’t destroyed the family—only gravely disappointed her. We didn’t talk about it for a long time. But over the course of several months, something changed. Acceptance built and multiplied. After I met and started dating my first boyfriend (the only other gay guy in our small town, as I joked), my mom half-asked and half-demanded to meet him, which proved awkward. But she loved him, and still does to this day. (When my mom had to spend time in rehab for an injury, he was her nurse. After her recent heart attack and battle for her life, he came to visit her. And he still calls her “Mom,” much to my annoyance.) My brother’s reaction was much more supportive from the start. I came out by text, and he responded with a quote from The Office: “Gay porn, straight porn...it’s all goooood.”
My current boyfriend dealt with much worse issues during the coming-out process. The first stages of our relationship consisted of us sneaking around, lying, and planning things for when his family was out of town. It was a long and very painful process, filled with tears. In the same way that it did for my mom, however, acceptance developed and grew over time. We were over a year into our relationship before I finally met his parents, which was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life (mainly because of the anxious anticipation). Today, I feel like their son, and I am genuinely part of the family.
Both of our families have fundamentally changed, for the better. My own family has transformed over the past decade in ways that I couldn’t have even imagined when I made that scared phone call to my mom. Two family members, my cousin and my niece, have come out as transgender, and both have found acceptance—even if the family sometimes struggles with names and pronouns, there is an honest and genuine effort. The family that I worried would shatter when I came out as gay has proven quite capable of progress indeed.
These personal anecdotes of progress and acceptance are why early gay liberationists emphasized the importance of visibility and coming out. Long-term progress happens one person and one family at a time. This is the progress that can’t be rolled back, even in this period of tremendous civil rights backlash.
I submit that there is much to celebrate this year, even in the aftermath of Trump’s election. But, as we face a full-scale assault on our civil rights at the federal and state levels, resistance must be in the air at “Wonderland” as well.
What do you want to kibitz about tonight?