June 1969. 51 years ago, Pride began as a protest. Backed into a corner and frustrated by how society had ignored, persecuted and attacked them — Marsha P. Johnson, a Black Trans woman and Sylvia Rivera, a Trans Latina — led Black and Brown activists to rise up and change the course of history. It was the first time the LGBTQ+ community was truly heard by the world.
Progress and victories would come, albeit slowly. Leaders appeared; the rainbow flag would later become a powerful symbol recognized everywhere. Nonetheless the community endured countless setbacks. It is evident today more than ever that the path to equality is far from over.
That said, everyone in our community has a unique perspective of what Pride means to them. It is impossible to agree on one definition, nor will I attempt to judge one viewpoint over another.
What we can acknowledge however is that many in the LGBTQ+ community often have a shared experience that connects us. Your mileage may vary, but how many of us were bullied in school? Didn’t fit in because of our athletic (in)ability, stood out in our outfits or we preferred to play with the “wrong” toys?
Fast forward to our teenage years, full of confusion over our bodies and conflicting feelings preventing us from coming to terms with ourselves. Parents, teachers and others close to us built psychological walls preventing us from realizing our own destinies and desires.
Depression. Repression. Suppression. This was life. We felt alone.
Then, at times and places and circumstances unique to each of us, something ignites. Turns out there were others like us. For many, like a phoenix rising out of the ashes, a new life begins.
Being authentic and true to oneself can open doors, but not everyone walks through, nor can everyone follow. What of those parents, teachers and others close to us — how do we fit outside the parameters they set? Some reject us outright. Some hug us warmly and affirm their love.
But they don’t quite understand our world.
We invite friends and colleagues to our fabulous same-sex weddings. The straight guests are proud to shout “LOVE IS LOVE!” and we love them for the heartfelt sentiment.
But they don’t know the history or the struggle to simply get there.
We share our Pride parades and celebrations with the masses. Once a small protest, now an epic annual opportunity to change hearts and minds on a grand scale.
But for some, they don’t recognize the significance or honor those who helped pave the way. It’s all one sheer spectacle, mixed with a chance to take home some colorful swag.
Then in one horrible instant, we witnessed an understanding. When 49 souls were taken four years ago, the world grieved together, and our community experienced more love and support than ever before.
The messages of love were genuine. The dollars that were raised were impactful. But no one in our community should be wronged for possibly wondering, “why did it take a tragedy for people to act?”
Blame it on the human condition and how we’re wired perhaps. I don’t pretend to be a neuroscientist, psychologist or anyone else who can adequately explain our behavior. I would like to think however, that in times of crisis — particularly of significant magnitude — our blinders come off, our hearts open, and we’re able to create a connection amongst those who may otherwise be unable to genuinely see eye to eye.
This door that divides us is heavy and wants to close. It takes courage and a strong will to keep it open.
Our communities, large and small, physical and intangible, are heavily built upon shared experiences. These are personal, intimate, and not easily understood by outsiders. It shouldn’t take a leap of logic then to recognize that for many of us observing the current epidemic of racism in our country — and I’m speaking directly to those of us who sit outside the intersectionality of LGBTQ+ and Black and Brown communities — we cannot fully understand this crisis because it is not our story to tell.
It is important for us to show empathy, to try and take the experiences we know and understand — both the joys and the struggles — and realize that there’s more that connects us all than sets us apart. But let’s not for a moment profess that we have the answers, or that we can take what we know and directly apply it to this or any other community. Our thoughts and suggestions are not what’s most needed right now — we need to listen.
51 years later, our LGBTQ+ community exists because through actions and words our movement’s early heroes finally had a voice that could no longer be silenced. Those fighting for Black Lives Matter have been screaming for years, and for years we’ve ignored them. This Pride Month, if we really want to honor our LGBTQ+ history and the trailblazers who fought and died for us, we need to do the right thing.
Listen to the conversation around you.
Take it to heart.
Re-evaluate what you think you know and what you’ve been taught is correct because for others it is very much broken. Give yourself the grace to accept you don’t know what you don’t know.
Then finally make sure the door stays open and we keep listening and taking action. We can choose to remember 2020 as the year we all pray we forget. Or we can remember it as the year we took advantage of this amazing opportunity to transform the world into one with fairness and equality for everyone.
Jeff Prystajko has been with Come Out With Pride since migrating to Orlando in 2015 and has served as Board President since February 2018.
