Being a pride virgin, I was filled with conflicting emotions weeks before the Pride march.
It was a hot Saturday afternoon, on the 24th of June, when the members of the LGBTQ+ community and our allies gathered in Marikina City for a celebration of love and unity. On its 23rd year, the Pride march saw more than 7,000 individuals marching in solidarity for the rights we have long fought for—and are still fighting for.
There was a prepared program by the organizers, and while all of these was happening and having a short attention span, I was busy roaming around the venue, observing people. And then I saw them.
From what I heard, there were minimal of them last year; however, this year, they came in flocks—with their placards, judging stares and voices screaming “God will judge you!”
It shouldn’t surprise me, but somehow it still did. Because why would people judge other people just because of who they love?
Whenever I am asked about my favorite story about my first Pride, I always answer them with this.
There was this man holding a big tarpaulin containing a list— which included: bar owners, horoscope devils, rock and rollers, dirty talkers, homosexuals— of all those that God will judge. He was just there at first, standing, silently making his statement, until he started shouting the Ten Commandments to anyone who will spare him their time.
The calmness and cool-headedness of the people watching him while he rants about us being condemned by God because of our sexuality makes me smile until now. They were just there, listening, humoring him, sometimes taking a picture in front of him—but never hitting back—until they lose their interest and just simply walk away.
Then came this girl, in her one-piece swimsuit and her brown wig, carrying her bag as she struts outside the venue to buy herself a drink. His screaming became louder then, and was suddenly directed to her. “Magsisi kayo! Magsisi kayo,” he shouted. But this girl continued walking to the nearest sari-sari store, bought a bottle of soda and then went back in front of the man.
She taunted him with actions rather than words and when his screaming didn’t let up, she asked him: What is wrong with me? To which he answered with “In Jesus’ name! In Jesus’ name!” repeatedly. She listened to his harsh, incessant shouting, until she, too, got bored of it, flipped her hair then sashayed back to the event. The 10-minute show was over, and the people started to disperse—I along with them.
It is the one that impacted me the most. Because this might look trivial compared to the other events that happened that day but this, this is what we are fighting for. This is what the raised rainbow-colored flags are for. This is what we march for—acceptance.
And in a country where religion is dominant, this is the first step. Because acceptance as a first step doesn’t necessarily have to be in a grand scale immediately. Everyone can start from something small: a father accepting his daughter who happens to like both genders, a mother embracing his son’s asexuality, and ultimately, the whole family celebrating the union of two people in love, regardless of their gender.
This is what the Pride is aiming for. Because more than just a gathering, Pride is our protest, our way of affirming our safe space and our freedom to love who we love. And we will march for all those who can’t, until they can, until we don’t need to.
Happy Pride Month, mahal.
