Not Feeling the PRIDE Quite Like I Used To

 Some thoughts for PRIDE MONTH though I'm thinking a month may be pushing it.

I was a late bloomer, or should I say a late boomer. I came out in my 30s after a very long and arduous journey filled with fear, denial, guilt, shame, depression and anguish. My coming out was, for me, the very definition of Gay Liberation and I’ve been wearing the Lambda symbol on a necklace for 40 years, since 1984.

Gay Liberation, born in the 70s but conceived years before that, was a political and human rights movement that grew in response to years of oppression and lies and prejudice and misinformation and violence.

During the early hours of June 28, 1969, the Stonewall Inn, thought to be associated with the NY mafia, was raided by police with no warning. Armed with a warrant, police officers roughed up patrons and arrested people for bootlegged alcohol and other violations, including criminal mischief and disorderly conduct.*

Some of our sisters and brothers decided that they just weren’t going to take it anymore and defied the status quo that included regular police harassment and arrests. What followed were not peaceful protests and colorful celebrations. There was street violence born of abuse and pent-up anger and humiliation and frustration. It was the beginning of the modern Gay Rights Movement.

In the years that followed, we marked the anniversary of those angry riots in Greenwich Village with peaceful parades and colorful celebrations. Our liberated voices proclaimed who we are, refuted the lies and misguided opinions and defied the institutions and laws that kept us repressed and powerless. It was a time when all of our new-found pride and optimism and dignity and confidence was wrapped up in a Rainbow Flag speaking volumes to the straight world. It was a time when a cream pie to the face was about as violent as our protests ever got.

The activism of the 70s became more urgent with the growing AIDS epidemic in 80s. It included protests and civil disobedience, widespread media coverage, books and articles, and the voices of enlightened psychologists, medical professionals, religious leaders, politicians and others. Celebrities and public figures came out in solidarity and others were forced out when they became ill with HIV/AIDS.

Lesbians, bisexuals, transgender and other sexual minorities declared their own unique liberation and celebrations throughout the 80s, 90s, 2000’s.

We were finally being heard and the truth of who we are was finally being understood by many who hadn’t really known us, or who had misconceived notions about us. But there were many more who would never, ever, “get it”.

Still, we were optimistic. We were making strides. Some stalwart organizations and even religious and educational institutions were beginning to realize that given the discrimination gay men and women were subjected to by society, government, religion, businesses, other entities and individuals, it was not likely that our sexuality is a choice, but is rather a natural and innate fact of our existence.

Even the Supreme Court had the sense to recognize that we are persons with rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and that should include the rights and privileges of marriage. Many of us, partnered for years, for whom marriage was never even conceivable, decided to marry after the Supremes gave their blessing.

I think our/my pride was rooted in optimism. My unfettered optimism of those 36 or so years, particularly 1984 through 2014, has begun to erode in recent times. I once believed that truth and facts and reason would be our weapons against lies and ignorance and obstinate beliefs. Because, of course, all people have the capacity to recognize truth and facts and reason, have they not?

The evidence in recent years says no. It seems that the hate and ignorance and over-valued straight sense of superiority has multiplied one hundred fold. It seems that the haters have become more bold and vocal and recalcitrant. And our allies have become complacent and, at best, continue to use tired rhetoric and mild-mannered words in a feeble attempt to incapacitate the enemy.

I remain a proud and out gay man, but I think I am realistic enough to also be afraid. I have conflicting thoughts about Pride celebrations, Pride parades, Pride days, Pride month, rainbows. I fear that we are possibly making ourselves easy targets; that we are creating new Stonewall Inns and Pulse nightclubs but they are venues without walls or disco or booze. I would hesitate to drive across country with a rainbow sticker on my car or depending where, to kiss my husband goodbye at an airport.

Our law makers and law enforcement agencies have shown mediocre, if any, commitment to keeping us safe and of late many lawmakers throughout the country have actually passed laws that could or will endanger us. They threaten to take away our hard earned rights like marriage equality and non-discrimination laws. If the law is no longer on the side of human rights and safety, where is a safe space to be found?

These haters and religious fundamentalists are cowards. Cowards with dangerous weapons. Cowards who target the minority within the minority among us, the phalanx with fewest numbers. The trans community, the non-binary, the gender dysphoric young people. The ignorant, utterly stupid folks who cannot understand same-sex attraction do not have anywhere near the mental capacity to comprehend the realities of those who identify as the opposite sex or who identify as neither or who are born ambiguous or who experience their selves in unique or different ways. Understanding, empathy, curiosity, openness are non-existent among the troglodytes.

And this brings me to my own rather politically incorrect thoughts about our Rainbow Flag.

I remember when the Rainbow Flag made sense. It was just a celebratory and subtly defiant symbol affirming our right to exist fabulously and be ourselves gayfully.

Back in the days of liberation and Pride, the Rainbow Flag was never meant to represent various or individual sexual or gender identities.

In recent years the addition of "Identities" by virtue of additional stripes or symbols or patterns may have the potential for engendering divisiveness, rather than being unifying.

I have no problem with the inclusion of any and all sexual/gender/identities or minorities in the larger LGBTQ+ community. But it seems the anti-gay, anti-everyone-who-is-not cis-gender-heterosexual segment of the human race has decided that our individual differences make us vulnerable. And they are using our differences to chip away at the rights we've gained by attacking the most vulnerable and visibly different. 

We best be vigilant. Because they hate all of us and would wipe us off the face of the earth if that were remotely possible.

……And, taking the time time machine back to when I remember the term "GAY" was all inclusive.

“Gay” referred to anyone, male or female or transgender or transvestite (that’s a long forgotten term) or drag queen or butch or fem - anyone with same-sex attraction and to all sexual/gender non-conforming individuals.

There were "gay women" and flamboyant queers and macho guys and the ones who went both ways occasionally. We were all gay. And proud and rebellious and illegal.

With women's lib the gay girls preferred the "lesbian" moniker. OK. I worked for the Gay and Lesbian Health Collective back in that day and age. And then the bi-sexuals want to be singled out with a B and the transfolk didn't feel they were necessarily gay or lesbian or bi, so we added a T.  And then they put the L before the G in deference to giving priority to the women. OK, no problem. All the letters a bit awkward and unwieldy, but progress.
 

Even with the LGBTQ+, not so long ago we were all one family on Pride Day, but not so much these days.

Honestly, are we all but just a letter of the alphabet? The more we splinter our community into specific identities and preferences, the less a part of the whole I feel. I don’t think I am alone in that. 

I would suggest that it is in being a part of the greater whole that engenders true Pride.

Oh, well, I am old, so what do I know? The youth will have to journey forward and live on the road they pave.

I lived through a time of repression, liberation, HIV/AIDS and the era our of civil rights, marriage equality, homes in the burbs and RVs.  It's been a ride.

Happy Pride.

 

* In the 1960s, while homosexuality was legal in the state of New York, establishments openly serving alcohol to gay customers were considered by the State Liquor Authority (SLA) to be "disorderly houses," or places where "unlawful practices are habitually carried on by the public." 

Oh What a Relief It Is

 Yes, good news for the moment. We will see what it all means and what the fallout will be. I have little to say beyond that right now.

Longing for Ocean Breezes

 Summer has been a topic here on RRebel many times. I write this while sunning my aging body down by the “lake” in my swim suit with a cold drink and my beach music* playing on the mini Bose. 

It is a gorgeous day. Blue skies with white wiffs of clouds. A nice ocean breeze to counter the heat of the sun. (OK, I  can pretend that it’s an ocean breeze). 

It may not be Long Island Sound or Cape Cod or “Boys’ Beach” at Herring Cove but there are enough sensual stimuli in common just now to put me in a different mind-body dimension. 

The music is a major component of the sensual experience. I cannot count the times I have been stretched out naked on a towel or blanket on the sand at Moonstone Beach, Rhode Island or Boys' Beach in Provincetown, or more modestly attired at a beach in Connecticut or Maine, drifting in and out of some gentle stage of sleep while Sergio Mendes or Soul Flutes did their magic. (And maybe a little Al Jarreau and Astrud Gilberto and El DeBarge)

Those were my most peaceful and transcendent hours. Absolutely no cares or needs or desires. 

While I am not naked on the beach right now, I am feeling the feelings of the memories and it is a kind of bittersweet ecstasy because the pleasure is mixed with tears. 

Am I grieving for lost moments or fading memories or sensing the limits of the future? If I could choose how to leave this world I think it might be while lying on a blanket on the beach in late afternoon after a perfect summer day with a gentle breeze blowing and my beach music playing. I hope the only person there is Leon who is asleep on the blanket next to me.

 

  

  

*Back before digital, my "Beach Music" was on a homemade cassette tape recorded from vinyl on my (not high-end) integrated stereo system. I had a very compact Toshiba cassette player that was smaller than the cassettes and had a removable radio insert (that I hardly ever used).

Attempting to Get This Uneasyness Out of My System

(Let me apologize in advance for complaining. If you don't want to deal with my negativity, please, read no further.)

 I don't even know what I want to say. 

I am not growing old gracefully. 76 is the new 66. Or is it the new 96? Which is how I feel these days. 

Having to adjust to or at least deal with bodily changes. I don't have any life-threatening diseases that I know of, but all of the minor ones are like a thousand paper cuts. I'm not on my death bed but I think about death often. At 76, I see it approaching.

When I was young, a pain, a bruise, an illness would be better in a few days. When I was in my 30s the pains, the bruises, an illness might take a few weeks before getting back to normal. In my 60s it was more like a few months. Now it seems like nothing gets better, even after a few years. If anything, things get worse.

I think about my life with Leon. Leon has had health issues, some serious, but treated and more or less resolved. He is, of the two of us, the one who loves life. He wants to do things...and I, I no longer see any point to doing things, going places, seeing things. But I want to be healthy for him, to be able to travel, hike, walk, be enthusiastic and do things with him, for him.

Hearing loss and hearing aides. That took months to get used to. There were days I wanted to throw the blasted things out in the trash. I'm still not thrilled with having these things in my ears. 

And the cataracts will need to be taken care of sooner or later...

Arthritis in my left knee and stiffness and pain down my leg. I hobble around and walk slowly. I had some major improvement with physical therapy, but then I push myself to the limit and beyond, causing major relapse. Arthritis in my thumb joint whic sometimes makes picking up a cup of coffee or gardening or writing painful. Back issues which the Pain and Spine clinic really had nothing to offer except a boiler plate treatment that was irrelevant by the time I was scheduled...the back issue mostly did resolve but not cured with only physical therapy.

The aches and pains don't help with insomnia, another more or less ongoing issue.

I've struggled with depression for most of my life. I've said goodbye to more therapists than I care to recall.. A fairy extensive list. None of whom, except perhaps for one, were able to make a dent in my armor. I think I am very adept at masking my depression. My most recent therapeutic relationship was my weekly social contact. Kind of like visiting a friend for an hour each week.

I've tried a few different prescription meds, none of which helped, some of which had undesirable side effects, some of which just made matters worse. So I've come to distrust psych meds entirely. 

Here it is a sunny, another blue sky day in the Land of Entrapment. 

I long for beaches, salt water, sand, waves, and gentle breezes.