Pride | An Illustrated Column By Ezra W Smith

Pride month is over. And what a month it was!

So many times I heard people saying that this 2020 pride is the most authentic one we’ve had in a while. I cannot agree more. I liked it, I liked it a lot. It felt authentic. Centering pride around people of color is the way to go, in my opinion. Intersectionality is the key to understanding human experiences. Let’s do it more from now on, let’s center people with disabilities, let’s center children, who often are not allowed to speak for themselves and basically denied their queer experiences and identities!

But let me tell you one thing: pride was always a riot for me. And for (too) many other people on this planet. I happened to be born to a place where pride was never allowed. I happened to live in a place where up to this day pride is met with violence and hate.

It’s easy to be comfortable in a relatively small New York or San-Francisco bubble, or Amsterdam bubble… we have some good bubbles on this planet, and we should be grateful for them. But that’s not all there is.

Here are just some numbers to reflect on:

Only in 29 countries (out of 195) can same-sex couples get married.

Only 26 countries allow same-sex couples to adopt children.

Only 9 countries in the world have constitutional protection against discrimination based on sexual orientation.

In 70 countries around the world, consensual same-sex sexual activity is criminalized.

In 13 countries people are still facing the death penalty for same-sex acts.

Even in the countries where LGBTQ+ folks’ rights are protected by law, social stigma means that it can be dangerous to live openly. I don’t know anyone from my hometown who would be queer and not live in constant fear.

I wished I could attend a safe, non-violent pride march. I wished I could celebrate who I am without facing others yelling homophobic insults from the porches of the churches that happened to be on the march way. For a few years I really wanted to travel somewhere during pride month, like to the Netherlands, and actually see what “real Pride” looks like. I wanted to experience it at least once for myself.

I didn’t. And lately I don’t feel like doing that at all. Maybe I don’t need this. Maybe my harmful experiences are my strength. Maybe those experiences are the only thing that prevents me from forgetting how many of my queer siblings are suffering, how many are still unsafe. I am not sure if I want to enjoy who I am unless EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US can too.  

On the other hand, how many hours per day can a queer human individual think of all of the harm and violence done to queer folks around the globe and still stay sane? Does anyone have any tips on how to not take every hateful statement on queerness personally and actually sleep at night instead of drowning in fear and anxiety?

I was thinking a lot about queer representation in pop culture lately and how that makes me feel unsafe too. A few decades ago there was almost no representation whatsoever. I am glad that changed. But also, it changed to mostly one type of representation – queer struggle. I am glad to see experiences I can relate to in movies and series, but it also retraumatizes me every time. I can’t help it.

Growing up as a queer in the majority of places on this planet is tough. To a lot of us it means abuse, violence, the inability of being ourselves and, in some cases, legal troubles. Going through all of this and then watching it again and again on a screen is a lot to swallow. As much as I find these stories valid and important to tell, I feel like when these stories are The Only ones that are out there it makes me feel incredibly unsafe.

I feel like pop culture desperately needs more stories of queer people’s success. Or just a normal life with problems not connected to our identity.

The show “Politician” felt like a breath of fresh air to me. What a pleasure to see people of different queer identities running a political campaign without being abused, neglected, and finally killed. But that is a rather rare exception.

I think at the end of the day I (and every one of us) have to find a balance between staying angry and staying calm, between fighting and taking care of ourselves. Between educating ourselves about the struggle of other queers, especially queers of color and trans people, and preventing burnout.