The Pride That Cried

As we say good-bye to June 2020 we also say good-bye to The Pride Celebration that was not to be. Normally, Pride celebrations take place around the country and around the world for that matter. Typically there are celebrations, carnivals, festivities and as most people know there are colorful parades.

I clearly remember marching in my first Pride parade in NYC in 1979, just 10 years after the Stonewall uprising and pre the AIDS crisis. I had just come back from my 1st year of being away at college and my older (late) brother had asked me to meet him and a group of his friends in Manhattan to join in the celebration. I was extremely happy to spend any amount of time with him having been away for the past year. And at the time, I wasn’t secure enough to say that I was gay but in my heart of hearts, I knew I was.

Well the day didn’t disappoint. There were thousands of people, loud dance music, creatively decorated floats, men who looked like women and women who looked like men, even groups like Dykes on Bikes were in full attendance. I had never seen or experienced anything like it before. It was late June and it was so sunny and hot outside, some people barely had any clothing on at all. And although the day was thrilling and fun, I also knew something else was happening, more powerful than just a parade down 5th Avenue.

Sadly, this year there were no parades, no festivities, no music, no dancing in the streets. We all took to our social media platforms to be colorful, to educate and to cry out for social justice not solely for the LGBTQ+ community but for all of humanity. And for those of us brave enough to put ourselves in the middle of a crowded protest during a pandemic, we got out there and stood side by side our black and brown brothers and sisters. And while I know we’ll once again proudly march down the street together in PRIDE, for now this is year that Pride Cried.

Stay strong, be well and stay safe.

Pam Damnit