Just a couple disclaimers/ warnings. This piece covers topics that some readers may find alarming, and is based off true events. I also was obvisously not around at the time of the Mardi Gras march but it is mentioned and I wanted to let you know that it may be very upsetting.
Also this is written in 3 different fonts origianly however tapas doesnt allow me to use different font. Though the voice should be easy enough to distinguish.
We are marching, we are free, we are proud. Everyone has heard of the Mardi Gras march of 78 right? Well I was there, I was there before the police attack, and I was there after. We are more than the slurs that we so often get called, we are Pride. This is our story.
As we march down Kings Cross with people all alike in nature and voice, I know that the government can no longer silence us. They can no longer make us hide who we are. We have started a revolution, a rainbow revolution. They now have no choice but to acknowledge who we are and what we stand for because we ARE Pride. We march on down the road blocking traffic and celebrating who we are. The atmosphere is more of celebration than protest. Everyone is marching and chanting, I can help but feel alive. I join in, we sing proud of who we are, not a care in the world. We chant ‘Love not Hate’. Each one of us supporting another just by being in each other's presence, stating that we are not alone. That it IS okay to be who we are. We show the world that we are here and we aren't going anywhere. Soon enough people from the sidewalk join us, then people from bars and clubs, intrigued by the fun and festive environment. Soon enough our numbers are doubled, then tripled. Not everyone is marching for the same reasons we are but rather to show their support. We are not alone and we are not afraid. The colourful confetti and loud music are a sight to behold, we are truly alive. That is until the attack came.
The attack, everyone heard about it, it was the news of an era. People couldn't stop talking about how cops bashed gay protestors. I was there but I was there for the wrong reasons. I was there for the government, the oppressors and I couldn't do anything. This is that story.
The attack was just starting and I couldn't help but think that this is wrong, this is all so wrong. Who are we to judge others for their flaws and identity when we are so flawed and confused. I watch as other police officers take violent action and I know that they are wrong. ‘What are their grievances?’ I call. Except that nothing comes out, it never does, that is the problem. The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people. But how can I when I know that I will have to face the same repercussions as the people around me? I am not brave, not as brave as the people marching. In our society, the sound of men's footsteps bears a message of death, the scream of a child means future torment, and the bright sunshine portends only the storm that will soon break out in the form of bullets and blood.
How can I truly be myself when I work under a rat, a boss who, for centuries, has controlled and oppressed who we are and who we are meant to be. Who has oppressed our natural human rights. We are not defective, we are not broken, we are us, we are who we are meant to be. The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall. So I sit on the side lines wanting to help in protest but know that this is not my fight to fight. This badge prevents me from doing what I know is right. I hope desperately that all this pain and evident loss that will occur will not be in vain, and that a peaceful and loving world will come of it, a world where I feel safe to be myself and say ‘I am GAY!’ Because If you keep hiding your true self, your life becomes like a slow death. Once you become free from the lies and the hiding of yourself, then life becomes vibrant again.
Violence, unrest, and resistance, words I am so well acquainted with, though perhaps not in the same context that you might use them, yet still something similar. These words are something that makes me feel that I have to hide my true self, that if I reveal who I am, my people will leave and I will be alone. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. This is my story, the future generations story, the present and past story.
The unrest is a factor that I face everyday, it is like a game of chess, and it is winning, we are the pieces. Some moves may be easy, but others may be a sacrifice. The resistance that I feel at allowing myself to be me is so overpowering. How can I be me if I don't feel safe, if I don't have equal opportunity. If I live in a world of unjust. To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. It is an internal struggle.
The Mardi Gras is a protest I know so well. I may not have been born then but I was there, I was there in spirit. I was there when the ‘T’ was marching and protesting equal rights. I was there when they faced the brutal police and survived the onslaught and injustice that they were marching for. I am there today when all those brave people come out and face the cruel unjust world we live in. I was not there, yet I was. Because we are a collective, a movement that will last forever. Whenever someone marches and chants, whenever someone comes to realise who they are, whenever someone is brave enough to be themselves. Community is not just about being together, but being there for each other. Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.
Comments (0)
See all