Opinion piece originally published in GCN, May 2012 – Issue 269
Photo: Heather Buckley
I never expected to see so many heavily pregnant women traipsing the streets, some with their hands clenched in the air while others grappled with the weight of giant baby bumps. Likewise, I was quite surprised to find a slew of doting hetero couples, not only lining the pavements, but marching alongside their queer buddies, demanding equal rights for all. You can bet your granny’s dentures that the sight of stoned hipsters waving the rainbow flag in this particular context was a whole new experience too. So perhaps it was inevitable that I would fall in love with Brighton that day, when I showed up for an ultra-liberal take on Gay Pride.
I’m fortunate enough to have travelled widely so far and, because of that, have witnessed many Pride events around the world. Nevertheless, none compared to that which happened in Brighton last year, the like of which seems to be the norm on that particularly sunny patch of southern England. It was the best Pride ever! It was the best because it actually achieved something.
Most of us will happily take to the streets every year and proclaim our rights for this, that or the other. Soon afterwards, we might take our discontent to the nearest gay bar or club and turn it into a party. Naturally, there’s no harm in that either.
Then again, it’s hard to measure the actual success of any Pride march, whether it’s that which spills onto the streets of Old Compton in London or that which marches towards Christopher Street in Lower Manhattan. The best that any of us can do is to show up, make our voices heard and hope for the best. In Brighton, however, the upshot is rather different. The Pride Festival itself is the real success. It is a giant, all-inclusive and rather wonderful salute to diversity; gay and straight, black and white, Christians and atheists, meat eaters and veggies, little monsters and Madonna die-hards. Indeed, what struck me most about Brighton Pride was that it engaged such an incredibly eclectic line-up of folks, all of whom held a similar agenda. As far as I could see, it didn’t really matter what happened after the party. The work was already done; best Pride ever!
Photo: Heather Buckley
As the evening edged closer to midnight, however, I noticed that the ravishing view of multi-cultural and cross-societal tolerance began to vanish. I suspect that many day trippers were, by then, hurriedly making their way to Brighton rail station, in hope of making that last train back to London. I can only assume that the hipsters, by then, were slowly migrating to North Laine, where they might have hoped to hear less of Lady Gaga and more of Led Zeppelin. Taking advantage of Kemp Town’s convenient layout of door-to-door gay bars, my friends and I ventured further afield, hoping to recapture some of that love buzz that had made the day so special. Alas, it was nowhere to be found.
As the clock finally struck twelve, I was suddenly left with an all too familiar sight… and an all too familiar sense of disappointment. What remained were very few women and very many men, lurking in dark corners, clutching pints and not talking to each other; just like a typically icy scene in Gay Paris, just like the hostility so often displayed in Barcelona’s boy bars, just like the status quo in Dublin’s queer city. Brighton Pride had been a success, alright, but for all the wrong reasons. The visitors had made the day special, but it would seem that the gay scene in Brighton was no more progressive than anywhere else on the globe.
Is this what we fought for? Is this why we endured and risked the pitfalls of the potentially difficult ‘coming out’ process? Is this why we scream so loudly for gay marriage? Has this entire struggle taken place just so that we can all feel a little more comfortable, while playing the part of the aloof and ever-elusive gay male? Of course, this outcome would be perfectly fine if what we all desired was the single, no-strings-attached lifestyle. Some of us do, that much is true. On the other hand, it only takes a few minutes of snooping through Gaydar profiles or swiping through Grindr pics to prove that, for most guys, this is not the case. It’s hard to deny that the general theme amongst gay men in particular is loneliness.
For a long time, parts of our community, both locally and internationally, have been blaming general discontent on everyone else. It’s the hetero’s fault for not accepting us. It’s the government’s fault for not granting us equality. Despite this, straight folks showed up in droves last summer for Brighton Pride and celebrated the fact that full equality is rapidly becoming a reality in the UK. I watched it all unfold before me. Yet, that didn’t seem to make much difference to the many gay men that moseyed through Kemp Town until the early hours, seemingly waiting for someone to say “hello”, at the very least.
No, I fear that we need to take some of the blame. We are a very lonely section of society and that particular outcome may be no-one’s fault but our own. We must melt that ice; defrost that cool exterior that is preventing many of us from finding great friendships and great love. What if we were all a wee bit nicer to each other, eh? What if that was our new theme for Pride? This doesn’t mean having to throw your leg over anyone who shows an interest. What it does mean, however, is showing respect to those who are kind enough to show an interest in the first place. Let’s not fester in dark corners, fabulously fashionable and impeccably groomed, all whilst living life in ‘mute’ or ‘standby’. If I may, I’d like to leave with you the wise words of one very famous homo, one who has let down his guard on more than one occasion, choosing to reveal more in public than many would even dare to imagine.
“Sometimes the clothes do not make the man.”
Photo: Heather Buckley
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George Michael
Freedom ’90
1990
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