September 28, 1998
Living out of gay pride
Steven Cohen writes
about being queer and the meaning of the "gay pride parade"
I am an artisit and I am a dog. I am a faggot and I am a Jew.
I am white and I am an ugly girl. I have a cock and I am South African.
I explore my life through art and I am proud of myself.
I don't celebrate my Queer identity on one specific day only.
I use every day of my life to express pride in my deviance.
Often on our localised Gay Pride day, I am ashamed how we have
sold out and bought in. The March has long since become a Parade.
The community is nolonger a collection of protesting activists,
but a consumer group that lays claim to self-worth by shopping and
by lying that gays are just like straights.
The value of Gay Pride Day is that it gives us a chance to define
ourselves in queer terms and not heterosexualised ones. That often
turns into a battle between Yes and No - a confrontation between
moralistic, straight-like "good" gays who place their trust in a
system and a God outside, and queers who find salvation in their
cocks and cunts and a fag-loving God within.
If Gay Pride Day is Gay Christmas, then every other day is Gay
Boxing Day. We are still at war for expression with heterosexual
society which sees itself as our landlord.
Three days before "Pride" I explored this by going to the Zimbabwe
embassy in Pretoria.
It was really strage. After managing to get past the gates and
up some hill to be standing on Zimbabwe soil in 11 inch stilletos,
a snakeskin tight dress and divine blue-bird wig with glamour make-up
and my lover by my side.
In response to a stunned "what are you promoting?" from reception,
we explained that we were there to ask about our rights in Zimbabwe
as we intend to visit there as an opnely gay couple, and I explained
(like I needed to) that I was a kick-arse drag queen and what were
the laws on that.
There was soon a bizarre and quite lovely situation where seven
man, including the deputy high commissioner and three women, all
stood (out of a great respect for the seriousness of the talk) and
went at each other.
And the loveliness of it was that opposing forces with deep conviction
were gentle with each other, We were negotiating hostile conflicting
beliefs under the diplomatic veneer of mutual respect.
In answer to our questions; yes, we were free to apply for a visa
as a gay couple, and yes, we were unlikely to get it. And, yes,
drag is allowed by law (or by lack of law against it), but that
the people would not tolerate it.
"Would the police protect me?" "Yes, but if you appear like this
(a gesture at my gorgeousness) you will find it hard to get the
police to help you."
So there was a lot of no disguised as yes.
And much of the talk was cliched, straight rhetoric "not part
of our culture", "homosexuality and drugs are linked", Bible-bashing
(poor Adam and Eve - always held up as archetypal non-gays), and
"wh>>>>o is the man and who is the woman?" "We are both."
For me , it was incredible to be able to play so meaningfully,
yet so nicely. To be able to challenge hostility in such a stafe
setting.
I know what unsafe is because I have been there - in high heels
and a wig. I have danced uninvited at an Obedience Dog Show with
a dildo up my arse. I have been removed from public space by the
South African Police for indecency. I have been evicted from an
AWB rally for looking beautiful. I have had a butt-plug (lit with
sparklers) pulled out of my arse and been carried off a ramp by
a bouncer at a bridal fashion show in a mall. I gatecrashed that
out of Gay Pride in order to protest our lack of right to marry.
However, once an activist is through the gates of an embassy,
there is a delightful hyperawareness on the parts of the diplomats,
that they are responsible for their actions, which are somehow connected
to the honour of their country.
And, as I was being a gay ambassadress, I also couched my anger
and confrontation in surreal non-nude drag and civilised discourse
... and didn't douche blood on anything.
Finally, it was with some relief that the males turned their attention
from this provocative white man in a dress to a pretty young balck
woman accompanying us with that familiar routine - "are you also
gay, what a waste, do you have children, you are beautiful, give
me your number." Just regular homophobes but trying to be monsters
so tactfully these Zimbabwean diplomats.
And beneath that tact, fear and hatred and on instinct to persecute
- all the prerequisites for violence for war.
So that is why the war must be conducted every day on different
levels - in men's clothes, in make-up, in battledress, nude - alone,
in pairs, in groups, in straight places, in public - our birthright.
GAY PRIDE can't be restricted to once upon a certain day in a
certain place.
I had my Gay Pride at the Zimbabwean Embassy this week ... and
every day this year.
- Steven Cohen is a regular columnist for q online
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