Kicking Up a Right Fuss at London Pride 2011

BroccoliBiatch, aka Lilith, is BACK to discuss attending the recent Pride Parade in London!  —Sparkitors

Guys brace yourself: I’m still gay. Just getting that out of the way so that no one is surprised by the contents of this article. Jus’ sayin’.

I always seem to start these posts late at night.

At the time of writing it is 1:30 a.m. Holla at yo girl Lilith (UnicornPatronus210 on Pottermore!). It is too hot to sleep.

Can I first say that I’m extremely impressed that ONE INTREPID EXPLORER managed to correctly identify me on a popular blogging site known as tumblr? This is big news. Now one of you knows I have a face. Whether she’s glad of that information, I have no clue.

Now. For the (serious) questions.

Crimsonandclover23 asked: When you run in to anti-gay judgmental people, how do you deal with it? Do you ignore them or curse them out or find a rabid guinea pig to bite them? Just curious.

A: Well. This is a funny one for me. Generally speaking, if it’s someone I know, even in passing, I will call them out on it there and then. Due to my place as a non-stereotypical lesbian—and by that I mean I am presumed hetero until stated otherwise—I have sometimes been in the position where people have said certain things, unaware of my orientation, and I kick up a right fuss. However, if I don’t know them too well, or if they’re a complete stranger, I will generally leave the space if I feel uncomfortable/stressed/unsafe. Or I will get them kicked out of the premises, as I did to a young man in a health clinic in my city. Long story. Teehee. Also, are you a Jimmy Eat World fan? If so, I love you.

Re: confidence pants. I found a new pair which grew from the ashes of the old pair which recently simultaneously combusted, somewhat like Fawkes. These ones are extra-springy. They hold me in like Spanx. I used them the other day —let’s just say, my crush is definitely aware my identity crisis doesn’t mean I’m giving up on her, and I became extremely aware there appears to be no limit to my shamelessness. I embarrass myself sometimes.

I’m getting there guys, I’m getting there. If there are any happy announcements in the future you’ll be the first to know, hot off the presses.

She’s away at camp at the moment though so I’m kind of in emotional limbo. Everybody knows that feeling.

Some of you wanted to know about the faked deaths/anti-gay Christians story. I’m not sure how much of the language we used on that day will be allowed in this article, but I shall try my damnedest to keep it PG, even though I lead a PG-13 life. My day-to-day speech is rated R, however. Oops.

I have been to two Pride events this year. The one in my hometown (booo!), and the one in the capital of the UK; London, England (yaaay!). My crush and I met early in the morning to catch a coach from our city to there, and overcame great adversity in the form of the coach toilet (horrifying beyond comprehension), navigating the Tubes when 3 lines were more or less shut down completely for maintenance, using her 1980s map (successfully) and running to our place in the parade route (luckily near the front) when we reached the starting point.

Homotip: If you have the chance, go to a Pride event in your area. Generally speaking, even if you end up going to another area’s event and it’s better than your area’s, it’ll still be a mainly positive experience for you, particularly if you’re still figuring yourself out or are fresh out of the closet. It’s easy to forget there are other people like you. Going out there and meeting them will just reaffirm that you are indeed normal, and most importantly, you are not alone.

If you can, look up London Pride 2011, the pictures are incredible and it was a wonderful experience, much better than my town’s, where I was called a "straight-acting babydyke" by an older gay. Meow.

We were with a group called Queer Resistance. They are a "collective of queers and allies across the UK coming together to fight the cuts—including lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, intersex and queer folk," and we were led by an extremely entertaining shirtless young man, covered in glitter, with a megaphone. Our slogan for the march was "Protest is the new disco," so many of us were dressed to the nines and glitter was everywhere. It’s just how radical gays roll.

At this particular march, we were protesting the spending cuts currently being carried out by the coalition government here in the UK, and the tax evasions of various large corporations. I won’t get into my politics other than to say I do believe we need to make cuts, just not so quickly and not in the areas the government seems to be looking at.

I’m a leftwing liberal. Come at me, bros.

Another Homotip: Get involved with a subgroup at a Pride event. The good thing about the community is there is pretty much a group for every facet of your developing identity. If you don’t wanna get involved with a particular group, then simple, don’t! It doesn’t make you a bad gay or whatever. There will still be plenty for you to do.

Our group had two massive banners and a pretty impressive turn-out, with people from every part of the LGBT+ community, which was wonderful. They were some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. We had the crowd laughing along with our various profane chants which I can’t actually repeat here, and which we were told off for by the stewards later on and forced to alter as there were children watching. Hoo boy.

Anyways, to the fake deaths part.

On the route were some branches of the shops which had been skipping paying their taxes (Boots, Topshop, etc.) and our plan was to drop dead outside them while the chap with the megaphone made the crowd chant to revive us, yelling about how tax-evaders had killed all the queers. The whole thing was actually ridiculously hilarious as we basically had to wait for the group ahead of us to pull away before running forward suddenly and skidding to the hard London ground, sometimes on top of each other, so that we didn’t delay the people behind us too much.

The crowd seemed to love it. The stewards, not so much. The poor dears kept trying to make us get up in the middle of our deaths and we staunchly ignored them. They really underestimated the collective stubbornness of a group of progressively-minded LGBT+ people when they are trying to make a point. And trying to "die" as flamboyantly as possible, of course. There may have been feather boas involved.

Anyway. We get to this bit just after one of our die-ins and get a warning that there are some anti-gay Christian fundamentalists protesting the parade coming up. This didn’t go down well. As soon as they were in sight, our group started up a massive chant of "GOD LOVES FAGS"—which the crowd actually joined in with, woop woop— and the stewards halted us for a second and tried to perk us up.

Of course when they let us go, the chant started up again, louder than ever, and we stood/walked slowly for about 10 minutes straight in a stand-off with them yelling "GOD LOVES FAGS" to drown out their dude with a microphone.

The fact that this anecdote is 100% correct is so damn gratifying. Remember, homogays: there is strength in numbers. Do not be afraid to be 100% yourself at a Pride event; they are safe spaces and if anyone causes trouble, they will face the wrath of the LGBT+ community at large, not to mention the police/stewards supervising proceedings.

At the end of the day our group found ourselves in the Family Area of Pride listening to the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence’s service for the people we have lost in the (continuing) struggle for our rights.

The Sisters are queer nuns—if you look them up, you’ll be amazed by their painstakingly-applied make-up and beautiful clothes—and were some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. This took place in a church yard, and it was a church which was 100% LGBT+-friendly. It was a really lovely contrast to the stand-off with the anti-gay fundamentalists, I’ve gotta say.

The Family Area was a thing of beauty. If you ever feel low on hope, please just imagine a little grassy area full of little kids and babies with either two mums or two dads. Happy children and happy parents. All eating discount fresh fruit salad from Tesco. Gives me hope, you know?

So. That’s the story of London Pride 2011. The coach ride back was pretty special, including a frantic rush for tampons at the coach station just before we left (my damn luck), and nighttime heart-to-hearts with my crush wherein my Confidence Pants certainly came into play.

What can I say? I wear them hard, people. 24/7, seven days a week.

Then when I got back home (after a 20 min train ride out to the suburbs, yawn), I ate brownies out of a plastic bag at 2 a.m., in bed. It was awesome.

Do you think protesting is a good way to send a message?

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