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KardynylSynysTyr -> We Tend to Forget Our Martyrs ... (9/5/2008 6:29:50 PM)
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Recently, I took someone to task over their idea that an SM-focused "Pride Parade" would be a "good idea". Naturally, Your Humble Narrator took the position that this notion was, indeed, a poor one ...
... but I give credit to the original gentleman who posted the thought. He has made me think ... and remember ... and I commend him for having the kohonees to suggest it in the first place ...
I have been fortunate enough to have been blessed with sixteen, mostly-wonderful years serving one of our world's preeminent dominant-female icons. If it wasn't for the woman I devoted the better part of my younger years to, and her efforts championing the rights and the very legalities of gays and lesbians (especially the transgendered) to open expression and without fear of recrimination and prosecution, the very debate about whether to even HOLD parades in the first place would be moot.
Most men don't get sixteen continuous HOURS of being fortunate enough to serve a Dominant Lady, let alone sixteen YEARS. I have always regarded myself as exceptionally fortunate in that regard ...
... even though the icon I devoted my life to hasn't walked this Earth since 1991. If I never have the chance to kneel before another true woman of power (and at this stage that simply isn't likely), at the very least I have those wonderful years to remember. There are so very many memories that come from that time ...
I had a lovely lunch with a friend today, a woman that I respect and truly adore with (almost) as much devotion as my late Mistress. We were discussing the "Old World", which I fiercely champion and fervently defend at every turn, and the natural evolution to the "New World" insofar as SM is concerned ... the discussion started around my open contempt for this "pride parade" idea, and she managed to give me pause with a single, stern look and a well-placed word:
Why, she asked me, don't you let people KNOW, then, about the "Old World" and just why I'm so passionate about preserving the memory of Fetishists Past ...
Like everything else we tend to hold so dear, there is a degree of exclusive protectionism I think we all tend to exhibit when it comes to personal experience - especially when being related to a larger, more "general", population of practitioners ...
I can start, perhaps, by sharing a part of our collective past by telling people about a man whose demise literally changed the way I felt about an entire community of people.
San Francisco City Supervisor Harvey Milk was the first openly gay figure ever - and I mean EVER - elected to so high a public office. What I remember about Harvey Milk, sadly, isn't really too detailed or too colourful. I recall that his biggest contribution to San Francisco City ordinance was the passing of a law (which other major metropolitan centres have all picked up on and imposed, I might add) which made it mandatory for dog owners to have to scoop up their doggie-droppings from public property when taking Good Old Fluffy for their daily walk. I won't get into a detailed biography of Harvey Milk's life: there are online resources that extol his efforts to raise awareness for not only the gay and lesbian communities in San Francisco, but for the entire "alternative" collective that called the Bay Area home in the 1970's and 1980's.
What I wish to call attention to ... is the aftermath following his assassination by a coward named Dan White.
I freely admit that during my formative, teenage years living with my Lady, that I was homophobic. My Mistress was one of the very first public figures to openly not only embrace, but counsel the transgendered. A world-famous author, for instance, (prior to her becoming universally famous) was a frequent guest in our home - and having been born a hermaphrodite, this author was the subject of discrimination and discomfort amongst her fellow classmates at the University of California-Berkeley. The gender dysphoric always had a welcome sanctuary at the Chateau - and I openly admit I was deeply uncomfortable with their presence ... My Lady always tried to get me to accept all of them when they came for a visit: gays, lesbians, transgendered, whoever - but I simply wasn't tolerant (let alone willing to be understanding) of their very existence ...
... Until the night of November 27th, 1978. Earlier that day, Harvey Milk and San Francisco Mayor George Moscone were gunned down by a homophobic, somewhat paranoid recently-resigned fellow Supervisor named Dan White (it was the murder trial of Dan White that led to the infamous "Twinkie Defense" strategy, where a dependence on junk food was cited as a contributing factor to a defendant's mental state in the commission of a crime). I don't remember where I was, or what I was doing when I heard the news that my Lady's friend, Harvey Milk, was dead.
I do remember, with complete clarity, the masses of people that piled into the street that night, though, armed only with candles, tears and a collective voice. That night changed my life - and the way I felt about anyone who was "different".
Gay men ... lesbian women ... leather folk ... transgendered men and women ... and yes, even the vanilla ... marched in an outpouring of grief the likes of which I have never seen since. I still believe Harvey's death - as a martyr, no less - and the events immediately following are the biggest reasons why communities throughout North America can march in peace and with a united purpose, and a still-collective voice. That night was the first time I ever realized that we are a united front, those of us who choose to live by a different code and a different countenance. I realized for the first time that I was simply no better - or worse - than anyone else who chose to live life in a different capacity. We were all in this "struggle" together: Harvey called it the "LGBT Community" and that night I felt truly a part of it for the first time.
I have cried many times in Harvey's memory remembering that night (including at lunch today), and I doubt any future event will have such a shaping influence on my perception and opinion of any other identifiable group, or culture, of people ... I cry because I wish I'd have appreciated his untiring fight to bring equality and fairness to all alternative people, his efforts on all our behalf, during the time he was alive. I cry because it's only his death that woke me up to the reality that we're all in this "struggle" together ...
The other defining memory took place a few months later, in May 1979, when Dan White was sentenced to a mere seven years "plus time served" WITH PAROLE for the premeditated murder of Harvey Milk and Mayor Moscone (thanks in large part to the judge's controversial acceptance of the Diminished Capacity "Twinkie Defense" argument). I remember the at-first peaceful demonstrations that took place that day, and I remember the building, burning anger that permeated the city throughout the day that, sadly, culminated in clashes with the police force and ultimately in violence. The White Night Riots are burned in my memory because it wasn't just the people who committed the various acts of violence: the police themselves, hours after the initial crowds had been dispersed, marched en mass into several "alternative owned" businesses, restaurants and bars and proceeded to systematically destroy everything in their path. I was shocked into the realization that the "struggle" cannot ever end: we cannot let Harvey's voice fall forever silent if we all desire such freedom of expression in the years to come.
I am not gay. I am not transgendered. Being born as a charter member of the "Why?" Chromosome, I certainly can't claim to be a lesbian - even though we share the common practice of kissing women for pleasure. What I am, though, is someone who will defend the gay, lesbian and transgendered communities and their right to live and right to freedom of expression to my last, dying breath. Not because Harvey Milk managed to pass a pooper-scooper law in San Francisco, but because of what I saw in an outpouring of pure love for his fight to bring equality to all alternative-minded people following his untimely death. I've yet to see a more convincing display of true "community" since that candlelit vigil, nearly thirty years ago ...
The Pride Parades that gather so very, very many people all owe their very existence to that march. Our right to express ourselves so openly can be traced back directly to that cold, anguished night in San Francisco when a million people crowded Castro Street and collectively said, "no more" to ignorance, recrimination and discrimination.
If we don't pay homage to where we came from, our past, it is impossible to fully appreciate our future. Harvey Milk's death changed my life. We owe our current freedoms, our current right to express ourselves so openly, to all those who marched in his memory on the night of November 27th, 1978. I hope he never fades into the simple pages of history, and I hope the fight he undertook is never considered to be in vain. Let's try and remember Harvey Milk - and others, for that matter - who took a bullet standing up for the freedoms of countless millions the next time we march in "pride."
Kardynyl SynysTyr
"... You gotta give'm hope ...!" ~ Harvey Milk
"... If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door ..." ~ Harvey Milk
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