south
africa
expressions
of pride
Commentary by Daniel Somerville
September
29, 2003: One can almost write a report on Pride before
it takes place. South African Gay and Lesbian Pride (formerly
Lesbian and Gay Pride - a more inclusive and less marginalizing
title) is now firmly following the model set by Prides worldwide
- have fun, fun, fun, look glamorous, drink, dance and forget
all your woes. There is a stage and some tents - the beer
and dance tent at the gathering point are most important
- lots of rainbows and pink, drag artists, some boring speeches
to ignore and then the parade and after party - which strangely
always has more people in attendance than the march - so
what are they partying after, you may ask?
It is
a far cry from the foundation of the Pride phenomenon in
South Africa, now in its 14th year. There was a time - and
Yusoof Abdullah, co-organiser of the Pride event this year
is keen to remind people of his connection to those initial
Pride marches - when Pride meant something. It was illegal
to march and great risks were taken by participants - but
then they had something to fight for. And, as history tells
us, they got it - they got our freedom, they helped in the
political movement that put sexual orientation into the
constitution - a ground on which discrimination was forever
banned. So why not party-on and celebrate now, nearly ten
years after that freedom was won?
Well
there is a good reason why some political sentiments need
to be injected back into the Pride event - our most public
expression of pride in ourselves and our community. Just
because it says so in the constitution doesn't mean that
people don't discriminate against lesbian and gay people
and that homophobia is not still rife in South Africa. Hans
Pienaar reported in the Star today that: "Several people
walked out of a modern-dance show at the Aardklop National
Arts Festival at the weekend because two male dancers kissed
each other on stage. On the same weekend as Johannesburg's
raucous Pride festival, festival-goers in Potchefstroom
displayed their lack of tolerance for homosexuality - yet
did not bat an eyelid at depictions of bestiality and graphic
nudity [in other productions in the festival]."
This
is just a small example of the intolerance that exists,
not just in Potchefstroom but in many small towns, rural
areas and township communities - even in our major cities
that boast gay bars and lucrative gay tourist attractions.
Homophobia exists and it is not just a matter of people
being called names - real discrimination happens all the
time. Whether it is regarding legislation and rights, such
as those much talked about marriage rights, or whether it
is in terms of violent hate crimes that target lesbian and
gay people.
Scores
of women are raped and beaten throughout the year in South
Africa. Predominantly from township communities, lesbian
women are targeted by members of their communities and find
little protection from local police and other services that
are supposed to help them. Some health workers, social workers,
counsellors and local officials share the homophobic sentiments
of the perpetrators of these crimes and do little or nothing
to help.
Few
lesbian or gay people in the world have not heard of Matthew
Shepard; a victim of a violent and brutal homophobic attack
that led to his death hanging from a fence in the USA. But
we have our own Matthew Shepards - we are just less willing
to learn their names and honour their suffering with action.
We remember the same fallen heroes every year - Simon Nkoli,
Leonesse von Cleefe and others - and why not, they meant
something to us and worked hard for their community - but
what about those who suffer now? We shouldn't let our former
fallen heroes eclipse the people who should be being remembered
or assisted today.
My experience
and expression of Pride this year took the form of wearing
my "No excuse for abuse" T-shirt replete with
diagram of two women holding hands. I stood in front of
the stage to hear the speeches and had a very clear view
as dozens ignored the messages of support as if we don't
need them. Then there were the messages of conscience -
and even less willingness to listen. Evert Knoesen of the
Equality Project had the courage to stand in front of a
predominantly white audience and make an appeal for members
of the community to address inequalities in the community
and to break down barriers - this, a responsibility that
has usually been given to organisations, he now passed back
to individuals in the community. He asked that we re-politicise
Pride; that we reach out to the marginalized and absent.
But as he spoke and the crowd thinned - both black and white
making a getaway from the kill-joy of conscience - it became
clear that the divide in the community may not be about
race entirely, but is actually about political awareness.
By the end of his speech most of the crowd he was addressing
were black - he had achieved his aim but was now preaching
to the converted.
When
I had arrived at the march a rather tatty-looking disco
bunny subjected me to his scrutiny and then remarked with
exaggerated sarcasm (looking at my bicycle) "Baie car
eh!?" To English ears it sounds like "Buy a car,
eh!" Either way his message was clear - you don't fit
the mould of the moneyed, attractive, young, carefree spirit
of the day - or of the community as I see it. Now, if he
struggles with my perceived lowly economic status, what
hope for his being the least bit accepting of the poor and
marginalized and, God forbid, black people who dared to
spoil his day with their issues? What hope is there that
he would listen to the messages being touted from the stage
for so small a part of the day?
Following
the messages of conscience came the judges and party people
brought in for the day to judge how spectacular the gays
are. And their segment on the stage began with: "Have
the drugs kicked in yet?" Followed by "We are
here, we are queer, and we are not going shopping!"
Now
there I was in my T-shirt, alone, wondering why no one at
Pride seemed interested in their community; in a sense of
community or in anything other than themselves and their
pursuit of pleasure. If, given the opportunity to make a
statement to each other and to those straight people who
may see the parade, the most interesting thing we have to
say is Guess or Billabong, then why are we marching? What
are we celebrating? What is there to be proud of? If Pride
is just another party for superficial drug bunnies - then
give it another name and let those remaining few who have
some sense of the politics behind the freedoms we enjoy
and still pursue, have an event of sincerity called Pride,
a political movement that highlights the continuing struggles,
be they legislative or societal. Don't take Pride and turn
it into something that I am ashamed of - not in my name.
I have
been marching in Pride marches in UK and South Africa since
1985. I have never missed a year. I even helped to organise
one in South Africa in 2001. My commitment to the need for
Pride and its meaning is total - so why was this the first
year of my adult life that I couldn't march? Am I getting
old? And why should that be such a sin in the gay world?
No, none of this, I just could not find anything there to
be proud of. Pride in myself and in my beliefs; pride in
my place in society and the various communities with whom
I interact means that I march everyday - never covering
my sexual orientation. I have pride in the achievements
of the organisations that continue to work for our rights
in South Africa. I am proud that I wore that T-shirt that
seemed to baffle so many. But I am not proud of Pride, of
what it has become, of what it now represents and attracts
- my expression of pride this year was to have the conviction
to stop marching for an event that has become politically
meaningless.
