We’re Here, We’re Queer. Everyone’s Used to It.

One of the primary conversations I’ve had with people after publishing my last blog post on the SCOTUS same-sex marriage ruling has been about the loss of a gay/lesbian community, or at least the appropriation and dilution of community. An acquaintance told me about attending the Seattle Pride Parade with her gay brother just last week.

“It was so corporate,” she said. “Even though the dykes on bikes still lead it off, and even though the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence still march, something gets lost when the last half of the parade is comprised of Starbucks, Microsoft, Alaska Air, Amazon and other giant corporations.”

I haven’t been to but one pride parade in Seattle since it moved from Capitol Hill for that very reason. Pride is no longer just the gay and lesbian community coming together in solidarity and defiance, marching to our own drummer, and flying our freak flags for all to see. Now Pride encompasses anyone who wants to join in the party—and the gays know how to throw a good party—and my sense of community has been shattered. We’ve been co-opted by big business, and it seems everyone wants to wear the rainbow. Apparently these are the costs of acceptance.

Again, I realize as I type these words that they may be misconstrued as hostile at worst and ungrateful at best, but hear me out. I used to attend Pride with a chip on my shoulder and a swagger in my step. The day was about being brave, stepping out, risking discovery. Back in the day, before smartphones, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, few of us advertised we were going to Pride. We joked about avoiding the cameras or ending up on the 5 o’clock news. How terrible, we thought, to be outed by Jean Enersen or Aaron Brown.

Pride was about letting our collective guard down, putting on our ass-less chaps and our leather vests or even simply our pink triangle or Act UP! t-shirts, holding our girlfriend’s hand and maybe even kissing on the sidewalk where anyone could see. For a whole day or a weekend we could just be ourselves. And on Monday morning, most of us bundled away the rainbow flags and nipple clamps for private use the rest of the year. When colleagues asked about our weekend, we shrugged and mumbled a few words about going out of town and enjoying a little street fair.

I came out in the mid-80s, when AIDS and anger defined the community, when “We’re here. We’re Queer. Get used to it!” was the rallying cry, when wearing my Names Project t-shirt seemed a very out and brave act. I remember one Pride weekend when I stopped by my parents’ house with a carload of lesbians on our way to the parade—somehow I thought my parents wouldn’t think twice about six women in mullets and jean shorts and combat boots. But, as my parents* pointed out later that week, they recognized the devil when they saw him.

Comedian Kate Clinton did a routine back then about being a stealth lesbian—Reagan was president and as a country we were spending (surprise) bazillions on defense (remember the SDI?)—lesbians were as good as the stealth bombers, Kate said, because we were invisible and low flying, undetectable in a patriarchal world, hidden even when we were in plain sight and powerful.

Some days I miss being a stealth lesbian.

The world doesn’t see what it isn’t aware of. And as long as gays and lesbians weren’t on the covers of Time and Newsweek (and identified as such), as long as celebrities like Ellen and Rosie weren’t out, no one noticed that they were lesbians. Honestly, once Newsweek did its lipstick lesbian cover in 1993, life as a stealth lesbian began its decline. These days it seems that no matter what friend I am out and about with, everyone (and by everyone, I mean wait staff, clerks, acquaintances) assumes we are a couple. Instead of dead people, everyone is seeing gay people, even when they aren’t.

Before I came out, I didn’t really know who else might be a lesbian. Oh sure, I had these mad and inexplicable feelings for Kate Jackson, my PE teachers, Kristi McNichol, and Jodie Foster. I knew something was up with Meredith Baxter Birney and Tatum O’Neal, but I didn’t have words for my feelings. (Even Tatum is only just now figuring things out herself.)

When I was in graduate school, some friends took me to my first lesbian concert. Cris Williamson and Tret Fure played at our little state college, and when I entered that concert hall, the energy electrified me—no kidding. The air crackled and snapped as I recognized woman after woman. Suddenly, biblically, the scales fell from my eyes, and I never saw the world in the same way again.

That night at the concert, I felt for the first time the rising inside me, the surge of recognition, camaraderie, an “us against the world” sense of belonging as if I’d been initiated into a secret society that was pulling off the greatest prank ever. I don’t know how else to describe that feeling, that way of being, that sense that I was getting away with something amazing in plain sight. The uninitiated couldn’t see us because they simply couldn’t imagine us.

And now they can. There’s no going back. And that’s the price we pay for progress. A little bit of loss for some big gains. I screamed like a giddy schoolgirl to see Abby Wambach kiss her wife on national television when the USA women won the World Cup yesterday. How amazing that baby lesbians can grow up with these positive images. How great that the next generation will be less compelled to hide their true selves. It truly does get better.

So, does it matter that Starbucks and Alaska Airlines and Boeing employees, gay and straight, are “encouraged” to march in the Pride Parade? Would I rather buy my coffee or my airline tickets from indifferent companies? Or is it okay to know that the corporations that want my lesbian money can and do imagine me and my people?

*My parents are now 100% supportive. They came around to the light many years ago. It took time and pain, but ultimately, love won out.

 

 

 

9 thoughts on “We’re Here, We’re Queer. Everyone’s Used to It.

  1. You should check out Tacoma’s Pride this Saturday. It’s much smaller than Seattle’s, and far less corporate (there are some big businesses, but they’re the less obviously money-hungry ones). Most of the booths are non-profits, churches, or small local businesses. It has much more of a community feel than the larger Prides, at least in my opinion. It’s more about connecting people with community resources than gaining your vote/money/etc.

  2. Tee hee. Baby lesbians.

    Thanks for a perspective that probably hasn’t occurred to most people. Truly, I was surprised how many corporations slapped rainbows on their logos when the decision was announced. Has the pendulum really swung all the way to the other side? What happened to all the prejudice I know is still out there?

  3. Hello Pam,
    It’s me Jana Macklin! =D I really liked reading this post and the previous one. And even though, I was born after the AIDs epidemic and the more homophobic past, I feel like I can relate to you. I have observed that Pride Parades have become more of a festive practice instead of an act of defiance like what I’ve seen in lots of documentaries and from what what your description. Even though I am happy that Pride is a more of a celebration, it is sad to see that to see that the LGBT community has lost some of it’s speciality (I don’t know how to say it). But like you said it is a price to pay for progress.I must say I’m jealous that you got to experience that type of bond and feel of doing some kind of “ultimate prank”. I hope it doesn’t sound that I’m unappreciated of the progress (because I do appreciate the progress). Lastly, I do belive that stealthy lesbians still exist. I would like to think I’m one of them. I am not out in the public nor do I ever intend to and my parents are not so supportive. But I do observe and keep track of what is happening in the community and at times reach out or spread awareness to church friends who are mostly homophobic (they keep on thinking I’m straight, because I act like a ” normal” person). That part is kinda entertaining. A new generation of stealthy lesbians do exist, but if we gave away our locations, we wouldn’t be stealthy would we? =) Anyway, sorry for the long post, I hope you are doing good. Great posts! =D

  4. Another excellent, well thought and provocative blog post. I will be interested to know the sort of response you get When does your other one go up on WordPress’s banner site? XXOO

    Sent from my iPad

    >

  5. “Some days I just miss being a stealth lesbian.” I totally get this 🙂 Great post! And there’s no way someone somewhere isn’t going to find something to grapple with, but you truly are offering up a valid and interesting perspective!

  6. I missed this one earlier. I came out on the 80’s too. This piece took me back to the joy. Anxiety. Fear. Excitement. And anger of that time. And yes it seems all pretty bland now. And yet I never could have imagined the changes that would happen since then. And right near the top of the list of amazing changes is acceptance from my parents. Even appreciation from my mom for my great relationship with Lin. Before she died.
    We have lived in transformative times. It’s just that there is still so much more that needs to change.
    Thanks for this trip down memory lane.

    • Thanks Stef–they were crazy, maddening, exciting, exhilarating times! I feel really old now–and boring. I was in class last quarter and two younger LGBT students stood up and said something like “well, I don’t worry about what people think now. I’m whatever sexuality or gender I want to be when I wake up on any given day. Fuck ’em!” And I wanted to say, “You are welcome from someone who came before.” They just look at me like I know nothing. It is so weird.

      anyway, glad you enjoyed the trip down memory lane, and so happy you got to have the acceptance from your mom. So important.

      xxoo

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