"Pride." - Kizantha Robinson (he/him/his)

"Bury your straight gaze."-Asher Smith (he/him/his)

Pride.  It's a big word that we hear a LOT through June, but what does it actually mean? 

Like most Big Concepts™, pride has a subjective feeling, because beyond the dictionary definition there's a sort of hierarchy of things someone thinks of when they consider what they're proud about.  I can tell you what pride means for me, and it may or may not match up with your feelings on the matter.

I'm proud to be a pansexual, kinky trans man.  But for me, when I talk about pride, I'm also talking about the actual accomplishments, particularly as they refer to being someone who has "come out" several times in the course of the last twenty years.  First, it was the sexuality reveal in high school, the one that got me ostracized from some groups but brought closer in to others - others that were ultimately far better for me than I could've known.  Then, it was the gender exploration reveal during the period of time wherein I identified as genderqueer.  My third round of coming out was about admitting my kink, and then came the trans reveal.  Sounds like a lot, right? It has been, and every time there have been new challenges, new road blocks, new heartbreaks and new joys.  I like to think that I've come through it all a happier, more fulfilled person, overcoming many things for which I've found an appreciation of self and of the chosen family and biological family who remain steadfast.

When I add my voice to the sea of supporters during Pride events, I am carrying the torch of every "alternative" variation of self I've been through, and championing the victory over all of those individual struggles.  I like to think that the same is true for other folx out there at events as well.  But, to add to my own personal victories and accomplishments, I'm carrying the torch for the folx out there who can't lift their own high.  I am not an advocate of hiding the bad and overemphasizing the good, but I definitely think we need to talk about the positive experiences as clearly as we fuss over the negative experiences we go through.  There's a kind of fellowship that is born out of shared experiences, and knowing that beyond the resurgence of acne, the voice cracking, the weight redistribution and irrational rage there are fantastic things to look forward to like chin whiskers, increased muscle definition, neck thickening, and libido increases made things so much more worthwhile.  The negatives I can commiserate on, but it's the positives that really carry me through.

But how do we herald the best parts of our journey as LGBTQ+ folx and also keep the door open for those who aren't out in some form or fashion? I think the best answer to that question comes in the form of a word used frequently in the polyamory community:  compersion.  Compersion is the feeling of joy at the experience of someone else's joy.  It's what I feel when watching animals living their best lives (think bats eating soft fruits, corgis splooting, that sort of thing) or when I hear a baby giggling, but your mileage on that may vary depending on what your thing is - some folks don't like kids or corgis and that's okay.  What I want you - my not-yet-out friend out there - to take away from this is that as a person who IS out, I can and will express myself in regard to topics that may run parallel to things you feel but can't or aren't ready to express.  I want you to take notice of the things people whose life experiences, sexuality, gender expression align with your personal feelings and relish the joy they feel.  It is all too easy to fall into the rut of feeling like you're not living because you're not out, so reaching for happiness from others can be helpful.  Of course, this gets complicated if you're selectively out, however that is configured for you.  Say, as one of the most common examples, you're not out to your family.  You can carry the joy you feel elsewhere in your life like a shield when you're isolated among only family, which is a tactic I used before having "the talk."

My version of pride is inclusive, and is every bit as much about my own triumphs as it is those of you out there who aren't able or ready yet to wave flags and don wild outfits, change your Facebook profile picture frame to a sexuality or gender flag, or however else folx are spending their Pride month time.  However you're reflecting on your own version of pride, it's my pleasure to share mine with you, and to hold the torch - either for you, or with you.

Let me tell you a story. It can be anything you want, any genre, any length, but one thing is certain. The gay character must be dead by the end. This unwritten rule has dominated mainstream media for decades, and it has a name: “Bury Your Gays.” The most notable early example of this trope is the 1919 German film /Anders als die Andern/ (“Different from all the Others”) which used it in an attempt to educate the public on the needless persecution of gay Germans. In the end, the character commits suicide. While the intent was good, it kickstarted a trend of tragedy for the heterosexual gaze. In the early half of the 20th century, LGBT identifying characters always had their stories end in tragedy, almost always in an attempt to avoid condoning the “homosexual lifestyle”. As the world caught up to us, the focus shifted to something else entirely. 
/Brokeback Mountain/: two men fall in love, but by the end they are kept apart by the untimely demise of one, implied to be beaten to death by homophobic townsfolk. /Buffy the Vampire Slayer/: the only confirmed gay character is slain in battle. /Rent/: the most openly gay and gender nonconforming character dies of an AIDS related illness. These characters were adored, but why did they have to die? It’s because these movies are not for us. 
When movies are seen as a way to escape, why would the victims of homophobia and transphobia seek to retraumatize ourselves with the reality of the lives we live every day? The real problem is that the modern iterations of “bury your gays” stems from a need for tragedy tourism. In a world where straight audiences find triumphant LGBT cinema (/Love, Simon/ comes to mind) boring and twee, where do we go to escape? The LGBT community deserves long, happy lives; onscreen and off. Straight people, find your sadness porn somewhere else.

"Untitled" -  Asher Smith - "he, him, his" 
​
“Oh, is your family supportive?”
We’ve all heard it before. A knee-jerk, nervous tic of a response. You’re transgender? Do your parents still love you?
Is it ever that simple?
It’s difficult to explain to someone who is cis and straight the effects of “hate the sin, love the sinner.” It’s difficult to explain that coming out to your family is often not a declaration of pride and confidence, but a desperate plea for forgiveness for something you can’t possibly control. The draining tragedy of “can you bring yourself to love me anyway?”
“Are your parents supportive?”
No, I wasn’t out on my ass, if that’s what you’re asking. No, my parents didn’t beat me for it. No, my story wouldn’t have made the news, so I don’t make a compelling martyr; which is exactly what I’m expected to be. 
That statement cuts to the core of the problem. When we are asked over and over again to share our little and big tragedies at the first interaction, it’s impossible to avoid feeling like cheap entertainment.
When you feel like you have to justify your existence through the lens of your suffering, it’s easy to trick yourself into finding mistreatment acceptable. “It’s ok for you to do this trans thing, but I don’t wanna hear about it.” “I love you even if you’re gay, but we can’t let this get out to the other members of the church.” “Well, of course I still love you, I just can’t support your transition.” Shouldn’t I just be grateful not to be disowned? Shouldn’t I just count my lucky stars that they’re willing to keep me around?
Are my parents supportive? It’s a complex question, and it has a complex answer that spans years. Are my parents supportive? It’s a moving target, a continuously unfolding story. Are my parents supportive? Frankly, it’s none of your fucking business.