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One summer in Houston

One of the dangers of training as a historian is developing a love for primary sources and historical documents. I, of course, teach historical documents, including Supreme Court decisions.

The first Pride I went to was in Houston, shortly after Lawrence v. Texas was handed down. The giddy joy of the crowd was the most delicious thing, and I remember the t-shirts about the case: “legally gay.” The weather was appropriately sweltering for Houston in the summer, and we were all of us standing there in a historical moment. We knew that to some extent at the time, but you can never truly know the weight of a single event, because it’s impossible to know what comes next. But, even then, in 2003, standing there in the sticky sweaty Houston air, joyful and crowded and jostling and euphoric, we all knew we were witnessing something.

How wild that some judges argued somewhere else and suddenly we were all not criminals but people. Magic is real. Historical documents are powerful.

The Queer Nation Manifesto

There are documents and pieces of writing I revisit when I’m sad or when the world seems hopeless. Lots of poetry. Some speeches. A manifesto or two. In that last category is the Queer Nation Manifesto, distributed as a leaflet by people marching with ACT UP at the New York City Gay Pride Parade in 1990. It’s playful, aggressive, joyful. It’s the future I want, dreamed up in the past. It begins:

How can I tell you. How can I convince you, brother; sister that your life is in danger. That everyday you wake up alive, relatively happy, and a functioning human being, you are committing a rebellious act. You as an alive and functioning queer are a revolutionary. There is nothing on this planet that validates, protects or encourages your existence. It is a miracle you are standing here reading these words. You should by all rights be dead.

Queer Nation Manifesto

That call to arms doesn’t summarize the whole thing. Nothing could. So many lines land like punches, like upraised fists, like screaming in rage and joy and the pure thrill of being alive today, right now.

Keep loving, keep fighting

Celebrating Pride not in 1990 but in 2019 feels very different. Those of us who grew up isolated teenagers in the 1960s or 1970s or even 1990s can find ourselves both confused and delighted by a world in which Lawrence v. Texas means we’re all just people, where Pride onesies are for sale at Target, where marriage equality is a reality, even if a fragile one.

But, that isn’t the whole story. At the same time, LGBTQ youth face homelessness and mental illness at rates far beyond the general population. Transgender people, especially transgender women of color, face a level of danger and violence that is unacceptable and should shame the entire world. Conversion therapy is still legal and practiced in many places; it is torture. Discrimination in employment, housing, parenting, adoption, and a number of public accommodations remains common.

These are profound problems that demonstrate the tenuous position too many of us occupy. People deserve safety, shelter, security, community, care, joy. We cannot stop until those things that make life sustainable and worthwhile are available to all.

To quote the inspiring, vexing manifesto I started with earlier:

And we are an army of lovers because it is we who know what love is. Desire and lust, too. We invented them. We come out of the closet, face the rejection of society, face firing squads, just to love each other! Every time we fuck, we win.

Queer Nation Manifesto

Keep up the fight. In love and solidarity, happy Pride.