When It Comes To Queer Pride, There’s Grit Behind The Glitter

By Hannah Louise

From chanting, screaming and even kissing in the street as a political protest to achieve gay marriage in Edinburgh to appearing for 30 seconds on television at the Sydney Mardi Gras parade, as an openly bisexual gal with a passion for travel I’ve managed to find the sparkles, rainbows, poppers and eccies wherever I go.

I’ve gotten wasted at a Dublin drag race and told cringey tales of sneaking into glittery karaoke nights as an LGBTIQ+ under-ager. So you could say I’ve done a fair bit of partying on the old “gay scene.”

But although I’ve never missed a pride parade or after party before, this year I just felt like I couldn’t stomach it.

My attendance up until now has always been an act of respect for the volunteers, organisations, (controversially) the politicians and of course all the historical figures who fought for our right to love who we love. It’s never really been about the after party – that was just a fun extra. Don’t get me wrong – I love a party, but my problem with this particular party is that it’s sucking the life and value out of the real reason we still bother to celebrate Pride at all.

I respect your right to do what you want with your Pride day – of course we should party as hard as we like while we’re young. God knows I have done since I was old enough to know how to act old enough to get sold vodka at the dodgy local corner shop. But I also respect our shared history enough to want to shake you and direct you back towards the speeches you barely listened to as you were necking pre-mixed vodka coke from a water bottle.

In the months leading up to this year’s Pride celebrations, I began to wonder at what point does losing your jaw, your balance and your dignity on the D-floor after one too many lines and six too many jagerbombs become a sad representation of how in the Western world LGBTIQ+ young people are still teetering on the edge of self-preservation. Do you know in America you’re between two and three times more likely to abuse drugs than your cisgender, heterosexual peers? Do you know the reason that figure is so vague is because such little research has been done into the whole issue? As such just 0.5% of the healthcare budget is being spent on LGBTIQ+ concerns (most of which is directed towards HIV and AIDS treatment rather than LGBTIQ+ health issues on a broader scale) so you’re also a hell of a lot less likely to find yourself drying out or detoxing in rehab when you stop being young and wild and start being *whispers* an addict.

There are a few reasons for the disproportionate levels of alcohol and drug use among LGBTIQ+ young people the world over. Firstly, the pocket of societal space we inhabit is still one wrought with confusion, confrontation and struggle simply on account of the fact that we are a minority. Even if the conversation with Ma and Pa goes well, there’s still all your mates, their mates, all your future work colleagues and the pervy old man on the bus who can’t stop ogling the two girls holding hands to contend with. There’s still the knowledge that if you had been born even a decade ago, your risk of physical assault, verbal abuse, stigmatisation and alienation would have been even higher. And there’s the inequality that still persists within the LGBTIQ+ community.

Never let it be forgotten how in June 2015 in Sydney’s progressive and sparkly Inner West, a transgender woman was beaten in a Newtown pub simply for being who she was. Being a petite feminine bisexual in a relationship with a petite feminine lesbian, the stigma I tend to face is the gross “can-i-watch” jokes and lecherous eyeballing kind. The stigma a lot of other people in the community face is violent, bloody and completely without (misdirected and inappropriate) humour. It’s not hard to see why people need something more than little bits of paper being chucked about parliament for debate and the occasional sparkly demo in the street to cope.

According to an Australian survey, 34% of LGB participants had used illicit drugs recently compared to 14% of heterosexuals. Transgender people weren’t mentioned in relation to drug use, however the same document claimed 36% of transgender people were experiencing a current major depressive episode compared to 7% of the general population. The structural inequalities that manifest both culturally and politically affect the life choices of young LGBTIQ+ people. But because they’re often propelled by factors beyond our control, is it really our choice at all if we’re feeling depressed, drinking like fish and taking drugs?

External socio-political factors aside, there’s another factor at play here. I’ve read articles that claim most “trendy” new nightclub drugs (and drug combinations) originated in the gay clubs. You hear that guys? We’re at the Cutting Edge of getting Royally Fucked Up. I’m just not sure that’s where I want to be. It might be a cliché but quite often clichés ring true – if all your friends are doing it, chances are you’re going to end up doing it too. So even if it’s not our shoddy mental health, unstable interpersonal relationships or the fact that it’s a bit scary to ask your nice new GP for help on account of how the last one stigmatised the fuck out of you that drives you to drugs, it could also the nature of our scene.

So back to Pride.

Gay Christmas, where we’re all off our tits screaming along to It’s Raining Men. (Seriously guys, I nipped into the only gay bar in the Northern Scottish city of Aberdeen to do a pee and right on cue that fucking song came on. What is with that?) I sometimes worry our big rainbow fiesta is becoming a sad representation of the new and improved ways society has found to treat us unfairly.

I don’t mean to sound cynical without hope – you’ve got to break these things down to build them back up again the right way. So really, what are we going to do about this whole alcoholism and addiction thing? We fought like hell for our right to marry in Scotland, but it still isn’t legal in Australia. America might have it on paper but I still don’t fancy my chances living there as a girl dating a girl. Many of us still have to fight every day for our valid and unique selves to be woven into the fabric of society. So why aren’t we fighting publicly against our own demons?

This might make me a party pooper for a whole one out of 365 days of the year, but I want Pride to be about more than just getting fucked up. I want the speeches to acknowledge that we are struggling with these very difficult issues and that we need more clinics and outreach programmes and safe spaces. And I want other people my age to acknowledge this stuff too. I can go wild any night of the week. So on Pride I chose not to. Not because of the structural violence in our society or because I didn’t feel so good today so not taking drugs was the only way to ensure Pride might live up to my it-only-happens-once-a-year-it-better-be-fabulous expectations.

But because I don’t want to become another grim statistic, and even if I do end up as such, I especially don’t want it to be on the LGBTIQ+ community’s most significant day of the year.