By: Cora Parago • Sydney • 2024-08-14
Names marked with an * have been changed to protect the identity of contributors who preferred to stay anonymous.
Photo: 2024 Sydney Pride Parade by Hector J MacNeil; click on it to zoom.
I feel the need to precede this by saying that I love Pride, and the way it brings our community together is incredible. The vibrant energy in August (Cape Breton’s Pride month) is palpable, especially at Open Hearth during the post-parade party hosted by the Pride Cape Breton Society. I also want to acknowledge the incredible work done by the Youth Project, and I know it has not been easy for them. They’ve recently fallen victim to an unexpected eviction, and when I visited the space to host a zine creation workshop last year, I had to buzz in, verify my identity, and wait for the door to be unlocked. It was a sobering reminder of how guarded they’re forced to be in order to maintain a safe space.
to love something is to want it to be the best version of itself that it can be
But to love something is to want it to be the best version of itself that it can be. This means offering both help and grace when needed, and even in understanding the struggles that local organizations face, we can also see where they may fall short, whether through their own fault or not. The Youth Project is a great example of this. The age cap to attend most Youth Project events is 30 years old, which is fantastic and keeps resources open to a large group of people. But for social events, this may feel awkward.
Being queer at 18 can be a lot different than being queer at 25, and while it’s important to have these differing perspectives for some things, trying to make lasting friendships where you hang out outside of these organized events is not great. It’s hard to relate to someone at a completely different life stage than you, even if you have other things in common. Plus, the optics! Being in your late 20's and hanging out with teens can definitely not look so good. But where else can we find each other?
Pride only lasts a month, and in Cape Breton, there’s typically only a week of events. Don’t get me wrong, without the Pride Cape Breton Society there would likely just be nothing at all. I can only assume it’s run by people who have full-time jobs and lives outside of the PCBS, and I don’t know what the resources they have to pull from look like, so I truly don’t fault them. They also put on a few other events throughout the year, so, I feel that they’re likely doing what they can.
“I find it’s hard to meet other queer people. The community feels a bit fractured, and all the events seem to be the same, and organized by the same crew. I also didn’t see them at the anti-hate counter-protests last fall. Pride can’t just be a party.” - Julia*
My eye is really on the organizations and businesses who have Pride parade floats, tables at various queer events, and show their allyship when attending these things, but then are pretty silent otherwise.
Where are you? I appreciate that you raise your voices for us during Pride, but I would implore you to reach out to the community to help facilitate more queer events outside of it, especially if you’ve already been hosting things. Do you have game nights? Maybe try a queer-friendly game night! I know the immediate reaction might be to say “well, queer people are welcome to come to any of our events,” and that’s a fair point. But advertising something as specifically queer-friendly could go a long way in ensuring that the folks who show up to your events are allies, and therefore creating an environment that queer people feel safer entering into. It’s not lost on me how much risk there is attached to even just vocalizing your support for 2SLGBTQIA+ people and the issues they face, and it feels like the backlash becomes louder and more dangerous every day, so I understand the hesitation. I just ask that you please don’t pack away your support for us alongside your summer wardrobe - if you’re going to show up to our party now, show up for us later.
“Even just seeing how fast the discourse around queer issues stopped as soon as July hit is terrifying. Even from a lot of queer creators, people complain about rainbow capitalism during June, which is absolutely a huge issue, but then stop being activists the second the month flips, which just allows another 11 months of lobbying against all of our rights without any dissent.” - Emma, 32, Toronto, they/she
“I’m bisexual and non-binary. I love Pride because I feel like I’m surrounded by my people. Afterwards, it’s back to “normal.” I wish there were more types of queer gatherings throughout the year. Queer video gaming, queer crafting, neurotypical queer groups, etc. and without a dating focus! For most of the year, my community is my straight cis husband - who is wonderful! But that’s about it.” - Alex, 29, Ohio, she/they
“My life doesn’t change much after Pride because I’m too anxious to take part in most of the activities anyway! As a neurodivergent queer, finding spaces that are easy for me to occupy is really goddamn hard! I don’t feel like a part of the community because I distance myself from it, though not intentionally. I feel like there is no space for me in it at all, even though I’ve been out for half of my life and am very much proud of who I am, how I identify, and who I love. If there are any Pride book clubs that I could partake in online, that would be more my cup of tea!” - Lena*
It’s also, in no small way, up to us.
I had a really excellent conversation with my friend Emma, whom I previously quoted. We talked about how hard it can be to make connections in the community, especially when you might not feel like you fit in quite yet.
“My partner and I wanted to go to the trans march in Toronto to connect with other trans and queer people and march openly, and it was awesome seeing so many queer people, but it felt impossible to actually talk to anyone. Everyone who went was there in groups already, and because I still don’t read as femme, I felt super out of place. We did march, and it felt good to wear the flag in the open on Yonge Street, but it was also super isolating in a weird way.
No one said anything to make me feel like I wasn’t trans/queer enough, but it’s hard knowing that you’re not seen as part of the community because you’re not “clockable” yet. Like, right now, unless I were to put in the effort to be femme, I know I don’t look it, which absolutely sucks, but it’s a personal battle/perception of yourself as feeling outside even in a space you belong in.”
There is a definite desire to stick with who you already know and recognize, which is completely understandable, given the current political climate. It can be hard to tell who is a safe person. I just wonder if what is keeping us safe is not also keeping us isolated, and when might we be able to give someone the benefit of the doubt that they’re at queer events for the right reasons.
“I think especially for queer people who are a little older, like Millennials, and Gen X, it was a lot harder to find other openly queer people, so groups that found each other kinda stuck together. At a bar, for example, it might be different, but out on the street, even during Pride, it’s safer to just be around people you know are safe and trustworthy. You “trust” everyone marching with you because you’re there for a common reason, but they’re not your group.
With so many external factors already trying to divide us, I also think it’s important to not reject or “other” those who may be just starting to find their footing in their identities
We’re just so spread out that it’s near impossible to find each other, and there’s a weird thing with trans people meeting each other, where you don’t want to acknowledge each other as trans because you know you’re both trying to just live your lives and don’t want to be like, ‘oh! I found you,’ even if it is from a place of joy, so it makes it hard to bridge that gap.”
it’s important to not reject or “other” those who may be just starting to find their footing in their identities
With so many external factors already trying to divide us, I also think it’s important to not reject or “other” those who may be just starting to find their footing in their identities, or who may not be aware of behaviours that could be seen as problematic. Obviously there’s a difference between those who act and speak in potentially harmful ways, know better, and continue to do so, and those who do so unconsciously. Yes, Google is free, it’s not our job to educate, and your emotional labour has value, but we shouldn’t feel the need to simply cut people off and further fracture our fragile communities when all it could take to strengthen and build connection is a simple aside of “hey, just so you know…”
It’s also exceedingly important to keep in mind that while 2SLGBTQIA+ people are an oppressed group, there exists further marginalization within. For example, there are those who are BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and people of color.) As a white person, I’m unable to speak for their experiences, but also as a white person, I have the responsibility to notice when marginalized folks may not feel comfortable at our events, or in our organizations and groups, and to reach out to learn why. It’s vital that when we have any sort of privilege or power, that we use it to ensure that everyone feels welcome in the spaces they have the right to occupy, and that they are represented in our leadership as well.
while 2SLGBTQIA+ people are an oppressed group, there exists further marginalization within
In a 2017 Huffington Post article by Michael Hobbes titled “The Epidemic of Gay Loneliness,” he says, “It’s easy to ignore, roll your eyes and put a middle finger up to straight people who don’t like you because, whatever, you don’t need their approval anyway. Rejection from other gay people, though, feels like losing your only way of making friends and finding love. Being pushed away from your own people hurts more because you need them more.”
I believe that educating each other, and helping to spearhead various activities could be a form of mutual aid for us. We can find out what sorts of things folks would like to participate in, and meet each other where we are - some people prefer to create online relationships, while others crave face-to-face social interaction.
There’s currently a Facebook group called Cape Breton's LGBTQ Community, where people are always trying to coordinate small get-togethers centered around their interests. This could be a great way to organize book clubs, online co-op gaming groups, art socials, casual picnic potlucks… very low-cost, low-effort things we as individuals can facilitate so we can meet each other. Even just going for coffee or boba! While I do feel those who market to us during Pride should be the ones to host larger events throughout the rest of the year, there are small things we can do to unite our community as well. It’s time for us to open ourselves up - both in spite of, and because of, these hostile times we live in.
Cora Parago, also known as Tuffie Slugs, is a prolific zine creator, amateur journalist, and aspiring nonfiction writer for whom DIY is a life-guiding philosophy. They have held numerous zine workshops and talks in the CBRM, and have been interviewed by CBC Radio about their work. You can find their work at @tuffieslugs on Instagram, Tuffie Slugs on Facebook, as well as their fledgling blog, www.tuffieslugs.weebly.com
