Gay pride: Will you march with me?
As the rest of Singapore fret over our apparent lack of deft in the use of the English language, I want to consider a different lack of expression here.
This Sunday, thousands in New York City will march again during the city’s annual Gay Pride parade. I remember my first gay pride, and I will always remember it. It was my sophomore year in college. I had just come out, and there I was, standing by myself (yet not alone, but squeezed alongside what must have been all of Gay New York) on Greenwich and 4th on that warm, humid June 24.
I remember as the parade started, feeling somewhat embarrassed, as if I shouldn’t have been there (see what Singaporean Paranoia does to you). But what happened only seconds later… it marked such a fundamental development in the way I saw and understood myself.
The first wave of pride washed over the crowds as the parade opened with its shiny fleet of Dykes on Bikes - all 12.5 women strapped in leather vrooming (yes some were vrooming more than others) on their newly polished Harleys. As they sped past me, and as the crowds’ cheers yanked my own from my throat, I experienced the most incredible sense of being “home”.
Not that “home” was a new concept to me, but in that singular aspect of sexuality, it had filled a gap I had actually systematically taught myself to dismiss as unimportant. I must not forget to mention the section when some gay parents filed down the street. Two men pushing their baby daughter in a delicious pink pram wore matching white T-shirts with the word “DAD” emblazoned on the back. For me, that was another nugget of a wild fantasy played out in simple reality. I thought I was going to cry.
As the seconds dragged into hours, the parade would lose its novelty for me. But it had made its impact, and I believe that impact would speak most powerfully as the raison d’etre of the parade: This is why we march. Every community needs a parade to call their own.
It’s walking out in the sun, with your head held high for the world to see. It’s affirmation, respect and recognition that you can be who you are, and take to the streets without fearing for your very basic human rights.
Here in Singapore, we must consider our fortunes and take comfort in that at least, it is only the clubs we frequent that get stormed. At least, all our detractors do is make boorish jokes and stare, or frown. Our legislature discriminates, but not so much that we cannot live comfortable, silenced lives.