And then, of course, a year after the murder of George Floyd, it’s hard to ignore the ever-growing list of Black and brown people killed by police officers. According to the Human Rights Campaign, at least 27 trans or gender-nonconforming people, most of them Black or Latinx, have been murdered so far in 2021, and many of their killings have gone unsolved. Violence against Black trans women remains disproportionately high, with many reporting that they don’t feel safe going to the police for fear of encountering more violence or facing disbelief and indifference.
community, whether it is mishandling intimate partner violence in our relationships, physically and verbally assaulting us, refusing to investigate the crimes we suffer or abusing their power when they police our events. When the police tried to arrest several people, they were pelted with debris until they fled the area.Īnd even now, the police across the United States can be incredibly hostile to the L.G.B.T.Q. The police began harassing patrons at Cooper Donuts, a cafe that welcomed not only gays and lesbians but also transgender patrons. Ten years before the Stonewall uprising, there was a similar incident in Los Angeles. Police harassment didn’t begin or end in 1969 - nor did queer resistance. They beat us, blackmailed us and put us in jail. They enforced laws about how we dressed, where we congregated and whom we had sex with. For decades, the police have tormented our communities. Our history is young, and we have not forgotten it. But many of us want no part of a display of police pride. officers are now the ones being marginalized. Now, after Pride organizers asked police officers to refrain from marching in uniform as a group in the New York parade (as Pride organizations have done in other cities), there has been an outcry and complaints that L.G.B.T.Q. community to march proudly through the streets of our cities, to claim our identity in a world that criminalized our sexuality, demanded our shame, expected us to hide in the dark. Pride parades are and have been a way for the L.G.B.T.Q. Our experiences mirror those of millions of other queer people who have needed, at some point in their lives, to find their people. I knew, deep in my bones, that I was among my people.
There were pamphlets about marriage equality and activists giving fiery speeches.
My first Pride parade, in Omaha, was a modest one - but there were rainbow flags everywhere and beautiful queer people of every stripe.
I didn’t know how to ask a girl out on a date or where to get the right haircut. I didn’t know many people, and I certainly didn’t know other queer people. But after a misadventure in Arizona, I found myself in Lincoln, Neb., my home state. It was a relatively unremarkable experience. I came out as a lesbian when I was 19 and would, in later years, identify as bisexual. community, and allies, celebrating our right to be. She is wearing a T-shirt that says, “Yep, I’m Gay.” Around her are hundreds of people from the L.G.B.T.Q. There is a picture of her on Christopher Street, beaming. Her first Pride parade in New York City was also the first time, she told me early in our courtship, that she was able to understand what it feels like to be proud. My wife, Debbie, came out as a lesbian when she was 50 years old.