Tomorrow: a Conflicted SF Pride Parade

Tomorrow is the SF Pride parade, and it will be my first time to march. I should feel excited but instead I feel conflicted, a bevy of discordant thoughts and emotions coursing through my brain.

This Pride comes, of course, hot off the heels of the worst mass shooting in modern US history. This time, of all times, should be when we come together to mourn those lost. Lost to this killer. Lost to AIDS. Lost to police violence. Lost to family members whose hate outstripped their love for their own child. Lost to homophobes and bigots the country and world over.

This should also be a time to celebrate those that are still here. To celebrate our queer friends and family, to whom we’re all connected and indebted. To celebrate those that fought before us to make the world a more accepting place for us, and to those who fight still. To celebrate that we’re still here, and we’re not going anywhere.

It should be a time to be silly, and extravagant, and glamorous. To put on outfits even the most counter-culture of us has to admit is a bit absurd, because why not be absurd and outlandish?

It should be.

But it’s not.

Instead we’re going to be faced with a severe police presence. Watched by cops in riot gear. SWAT members usually called on to quell protests by marginalized communities tired of being killed by those very cops. Indeed, many of the more marginalized people who intended to march are these same people. They are no longer marching.

I don’t blame them.

We will be marching under the watchful eye of state sponsored violence. All in the name of safety of course. Which perfectly explains why shopping carts are forbidden, in case homeless ISIS terrorists decided to kill us because of our freedom. With shopping carts.

I debated whether or not I would still march. I thought about backing out in solidarity with those who are less safe with the cops there than without.

I decided to still march.

I decided to use my privilege of not being at risk of police violence to march for those not as privileged as I.

But I’m not marching to mourn, or to celebrate, or to be silly, or irreverent, or outlandish.

I’m marching to protest, and I’ll be dressed for the occasion.