Livejournal was the first blog I was openly queer on, and it’s hard to express how much of a change it made in terms of my online presence. Before I had used early LGBT+ social media websites. (Well, mostly G- the online options for the other letters were very poor in the early 2000s.) Sites like Gaydar, Out in the UK (Later OutEverywhere), and then the very excellent Thingbox, with friendly users and lively forums, which enabled me to make a sort of social home on the online LGBT+ community, and connect with other people who were both like me, but also quite different.

Learning from other’s experiences in this way was an important part of my education as a queer person, because it basically was the only major option. Apart from the odd monthly magazine, and maybe the odd website, that was it. Section 28 might have been given the heave ho, but I was in school when it was in force, and even after it was repealed, people were still pussyfooting around what could be taught, lest they give those who opposed the appeal more ammuntion for their case. (Indeed, we’re only now seeing the introduction of LGBT+ friendly lessons in Scotland, and the concept of LGBT+ friendly lessons is still being arguing about- presumably by people who don’t have the same experiences I did, and therefore don’t know why such lessons are actually a really good idea.)

Being on these websites was particularly good for feeling like a part of a community, not feeling you are alone, but it was also a bit like going to a queer pub or club because you felt safer being yourself there than other places. I still wasn’t out to everybody the way I am now. Actually being out in the wider world online was a risk, but a risk I felt I eventually had to take for my sanity. I was already out to my family and friends for ages, so it wouldn’t be a shock to them, and I was already seeing the person who is now my husband, so it made sense to be open about it.

I think the first online place I was queer in public was probably Flickr, where I made some connections with gay photographers. Then I opened out on Myspace, which was still a thing back then. I put ‘Bi’ on my profile, and linked to some prominent gays, including Lady Munter, who was to be an important connection later. Then I did similar on Bebo. (Remember that?) Then I found someone I knew from Thingbox was on Flickr and kept a journal on LiveJournal.

LJ at the time was a lively place, with lots of people detailing their personal lives whilst connecting with others. I’d never seen so many people being open about themselves in public before, and it felt like the right place for me to just be myself.

And so, I started in 2006, and went queer with my very first post. Although it seems quite small now, it was a big step for me. Just giving myself the permission to be open in some small way was a revelation, and gave me the courage to further open myself up. The sort of person I am now would probably be unrecognisable to the person I was in 2006, but I remember being that person in 2006, and how all those seemingly small (but huge for me) steps helped me become the person I am now.

Conditions were worse for people like me in 2006, but they were much worse before then. I’m reminded of this by an article in today’s Guardian about the Stonewall Riots- which kicked off the modern LGBT+ movement. It’s hard to describe how oppressive society was before Stonewall, and how the riots were not only fighting against a specific act of oppression, but also acted as the catalyst for an internal revolution, in which one had the permission to be oneself without apology. As Jim Fouratt says in the article:

There was an exhilaration. Suddenly we were able to look at other gay men not in a sexual context, not in a mafia bar, we were able to see people integrated, feeling good about themselves in the street with other people, not afraid. That is the critical thing. Not afraid to be visible.

This is something I can relate to in that once I took the initial steps be more out as a queer person, it was just so liberating. I also think it’s no coincidence one of the first actions in the days after the Stonewall Riots was what we would recognise today as the world’s first Pride march. When I went on my first Pride March, the numbers might not have been as high as they are nowadays, but it amazing to see so many people like me. With the power of safety in numbers, we showed visibility to both the public and to each other, as well as being able to be ourselves in public without fear of harrassment or violence.

Now this may sound airy-fairy to anyone who isn’t queer themselves, so let me give a specific example. Today, in 2019, the only place that I can be comfortable with holding the hand of my husband, who I’ve been with for 17 years, is on a Pride march. Anywhere else, it’s a risk, a potential challenge to other people’s prejudices. And we’re talking about just holding hands, something that any cis straight couple can do any time. It’s not really a radical concept, except when it’s me and my husband doing it. But when we’re on a Pride march, we don’t have to worry about it.

This is something that those who jokingly ask “Oh, why isn’t there a straight pride?” just don’t get. (I shall be charitable and assume they are arguing in good faith.) So much of the activities involved in being cis straight is a risk for queer people if they attempted the exact same things. The gender of who’s holding who’s hands is just one example, and I’m sure you can think of many more.

Oh yes, there is much better legal equality now, and that should not be undersold, but it is important to notice that these laws are intended to combat already existing prejudice and discrimination, and that doesn’t go away just because a law has been enacted. Being queer even in Scotland in 2019 still means taking risks, and changing attitudes takes patience. And of course, all this progress could go backwards, laws could be repealed, etc.

This to me is why Pride marches are still needed. They create a visibility to the general public, a visibility to each other in the LGBT+ community, and keep up the pressure to remind people that it’s not all done, and in fact, could be easily undone. Sure we can complain about corporations latching onto the larger city Prides, and pinkwashing their warez, and generally turning Pride more towards a party than a protest. I think we can have a bit of both, but for me the protest still wins.

And I definitely favour marches where anyone can join (As long as they don’t disrupt it of course.) and you don’t need to be in a walking group. As someone who still fondly remembers the thrill of their first Pride march- the pangs of anxiety going there, the anticipation as the speakers talk, and then the release and joy during the march- I can vouch that taking part is an important part of the Pride experience. Even those individuals who treat it as a party have their place. Sure, you might not shout any slogans, do anything poltical, and go off to the pub after the march, but you’ve still done something useful because you’ve been there and helped increase LGBT+ visibilty.

Moreover, the visibility and pride generated is contagious. When I first went on a Pride march, there was only one march in Scotland, which alternated between Glasgow and Edinburgh. There are now 19 Pride events in Scotland this year. I’ve been lucky to have already been to a few as a member of the OPI. (Which I’ll write about later) One thing I have noticed is that the smaller Prides (eg Oban, East Kilbride) are not even attempting to emulate the bigger city Prides, and generally much more community focussed. I think this will be a good counterbalance to the more corporate Prides elsewhere. Also, the more the message of Pride multiplies outwards to the more remote communities, the better- and this is another reason why Pride is still needed.

Happy Pride Month!