On June 24, 2023, I went to my first Pride event in Santa Ana, Ca. The whole event could have tested my boundaries and put me in a position of making some big personal choices.
But it turned out to be an easy choice. I chose love.
I have always been in favor of LGBTQIA causes, especially at the ballot box. But I've never been one to assume I knew the hearts and minds of others, so it's confusing to me that the religious right seems to know what members of the "queer" community are experiencing. On Saturday, a few alleged Christians let us know they had answers for the "gay problem."
About eight men with the answers stood near the entrance of the Pride Festival holding signs posted on poles. They were calling out to those entering, yelling about sin and hell. Each wore a scowl. My hubby and my son were with me, as was my friend who is transitioning.
Security held people back. An attempt to talk to these Christians resulted in a few screaming matches and an admonition from security to move along. I was mesmerized by the sight of the men. I found myself staring. It was as if a dark cloud hung around them. It felt warmer near them as if the sun burned hotter there. None of the air around them seemed to move.
I grabbed my teenaged son who seemed unconcerned with the men's presence, and I pointed to one man who was screaming at a gay man, "You are a c*ck sucker! That's what you are!" yelled the fine Christian. My son looked at me confused when I had grabbed his arm.
"You see that man?" I asked L.L. He nodded. "That is the face of hate. I want you to remember that face. I want you to remember those words. You will find them everywhere you go."
L.L. nodded and we walked on, into an area filled with the half-dressed partygoers, men and women with long beards and even longer gowns, facial makeup that would qualify as works of art, pastries in the shape of genitals, dancing and singing. It was also a place of love.
And I chose love.
What these men could not have known is what these people, who they hold as freaks, mean to many of us. My friend, who is in the middle of transitioning, has been witness to some of the best moments of my life. She has also witnessed some of the darkest moments. I do not connect to people easily, though people think I do. I do not have ease of conservation with most people. I have to work at it.
I hold close those who I connect with. Some of these people have not only offered support, they have walked with me during the darkest times in my life. Not that these men at a street intersection, screaming at us sinners could understand. They screamed that those of us celebrating should turn to Christ. But they are fools. In my times of crisis, God didn't wait for me (a lost Catholic lamb) to turn to him. He sent me these friends. He put this "queer" friend in my life. God saved my life.
What they also need to know is that no matter what they say or how dark their message, Christ will never stop populating the earth with "these people."
As I tried to make sense of the dark hatred, I suggested to my husband that these men may be fighting their own sexual battles. My hubby agreed that some are possibly suffering from self-imposed isolation and have become INCELs. A gay, friend who died long ago, battled his own inner demons. The son of a tough single mom with three sons, two of whom wouldn't be caught dead hanging around f*gs, he knew being gay was out of the question. He told me more than once how he loathed the gays almost until the day he finally accepted who he was. Once out, he found his peace. He found love.
But for all this, members of the LGBTQIA community have to give up things. Some give up very little, others give up almost everything. Pretty much all give up their sense of security and must learn to live as targets, in constant fear of attack.
On Saturday, as we wandered around the festival area, I saw booths for several churches, a Jewish Rabbi, and medical groups, manning booths and handing out materials addressing the specific needs of the community. K rails protected festival goers from cars. But lurking on the edges was the hate.
One of my most vivid memories of the day is the anti-LGBTQIA protester who stood alone with a sign that read "Leave Our Children Alone." At that point I had spent hours sheltered from the hate and misogyny just outside the festival boundaries. The sign conjured up images of the countless children sent to conversion therapy and of the laws banning gender affirming care that kept many of the most vulnerable LGBTQIA members alive. But as I stared at the sign holder, I saw that familiar dark cloud around him, and I realized he was there to accuse the community of being groomers. Like the others celebrants, I looked away and kept walking.
We left late, packed down with rainbow stickers in the shape of hearts and Mickey Mouse. Yes, the Mouse was in the house! I had a little bit of a buzz going after one drink server was a bit too generous with the vodka. We saw no more protesters, much to my relief, as we headed to dinner. But the fear of that hate is never too far from the minds of the "queer" community and those of us who love them. At dinner, a server spotted our rainbow mouse stickers, gave a pleasant smile and asked, "Did you guys come from Disneyland?"
We froze. "Uh, no," I said. What do we say? Where does she stand? Who else was listening? She dropped it when we all just stared blankly. Fortunately, she was still nice to us after that.
