Lack of Pride

“When is Pride this year?” straight friends ask, voices raising with equal parts excitement and condescension. As a gay, I’m presumed to be well-versed in such things, but alas, there’s no easy answer. There exists no single “Pride,” after all, simply a long sequence of independent extravaganzas across North America, each observed on conveniently different dates.

Los Angeles Pride happened long ago, on the traditional first weekend in June. San Francisco pride — the big one — has come and gone as well, occurring, as it does, on the last weekend of that same month. Vancouver Pride kicks off this Saturday, and Vegas Pride comes a month after that, in early September. Countless other cities are sprinkled somewhere in-between.

Such cleverly staggered scheduling, which allows the don’t-stop-the-music set to engage in summer-long “Pride tours” across the continent, hopefully helps illustrate the fundamental vacuousness of this would-be holiday. It’s certainly one of many variables justifying my profound disinterest in it. I am a gay man who not only shuns pride, I actively resent the implication that attendance provides any meaningful indication of one’s LGBT tolerance.

I’ve always felt a bit of sympathy for Rob Ford’s various mumbled explanations of why he’s never attended Toronto Pride during his four years as mayor. His no-show status has of course been widely taken as proof of his supposed homophobia, but his official excuse — that he’s simply an old-fashioned guy who finds the garish flaunting of sexuality uncomfortable — seems perfectly reasonable. To modern elite opinion-makers, however, who have done so much to inflate Pride as the culture’s leading litmus test of tolerance, personal uneasiness is a sentiment so exotic it may as well be uttered in Swahili.

While I’m no prude — actually, strike that, I am a prude. And what of it? Flipping through online albums of Toronto Pride 2013, one finds ample documentation of S&M bondage couples, barely-there thongs, buttless chaps, and all manner of grinding, thrusting, jiggling, and twerking. It’s perfectly acceptable to find such things gross or distasteful, and an exploitive cheapening of both sex and the body.

It is no great character flaw to value modesty or dignity, nor is it bigoted to esteem forbearance and control. Libertine attitudes towards sex, nudity, fetishism, and exhibitionism are issues entirely disconnected from the civil rights matter of whether peoples of divergent sexual orientations are deserving of the same rights and protections of those in the majority. To argue the contrary is to claim possessing a minority sexual preference should be synonymous with sexual deviancy in general — a premise not only dated, but dangerous.

There was a clever Onion piece published more than a decade ago (I doubt such a thing would be written in this more sensitive age) headlined “Local Pride Parade Sets Mainstream Acceptance Of Gays Back 50 Years.”

“I thought the stereotype of homosexuals as hedonistic, sex-crazed deviants was just a destructive myth,” the paper quotes one horrified onlooker. “Boy, oh, boy, was I wrong.”

Sounds about right. Indeed, one has to wonder just how much comfort Pride is even attempting to offer the genuinely sexually conflicted at this point. Considering how much “coming out” anxiety tends to center around fears of lost normalcy, it’s not clear at all how declaring common cause with society’s most brazen display of freakshow non-conformity is a useful means to that end.

Looking at photos of America’s earliest Pride parades is a window into a different world. The marchers of those days, calmly holding hands with their same-sex partners in sensible polo shirts and penny loafers, were certainly subversive, but only to the extent they were seeking to remind a society in denial of the unavoidability of their existence, and the bland, non-threatening nature of it. Theirs was a call for inclusion in the most literal sense, the welcoming of homosexuals into society’s most central institutions: family, work, religion, politics, and the acceptance of their love as valid as any other sort.

That goal having now largely been achieved, the Pride movement, like so much of the modern Gay Rights activist complex, has become a victim of its own success. As Americans get used to people being here and queer, the moderate LGBT middle class has drifted away from leadership of the tolerance movement, allowing the wild fringe to fill the void. What results is a historical irony: just as society is most eager to assert its tolerance, Pride redefines the deal. Endorsing the acceptance of ordinary people distinguishable only by what gender they love now demands an additional stamp of approval for all-purpose indecency and licentiousness.

Politicians, corporations, and all manner of interest groups clamor to agree to the terms. But for an increasing lot of gays, it’s hardly obvious why we should care.