We marginalize queer people of color when we write “no Asians, no black people” on our Grindr bios, and when the only queer representation in media is white. Even when we marginalize people of color in non-queer-specific ways, such as casual microaggressions, that still contributes to the marginalization of queer people of color. People do not live in vacuums of individual identities; they exist as all of their identities.
We marginalize trans people when we view marriage equality as the ultimate success for the LGBTQ community, ignoring the fight for bathroom access and healthcare for trans people.
We marginalize every other queer identity when we center gay people as the most important and visible members of our community, and when we continue to view gender, sexual orientation, and romantic attraction as binaries rather than spectrums.
I’ve been privileged to grow up in an era when pride mostly presents itself as a joyous parade, colorfully celebrating the beauty of love and how far we’ve come in our struggle for equality. But we can’t let rainbow-themed festivities erase the long history of protest that paved the way, or the intersectional identities of the iconic activists who led those protests.
A few weeks ago, I marched in Boston Pride for the first time. With a rainbow flag in my hair and colored rhinestones adorning my face, I thought I’d captured the spirit of pride. But while marching amidst the rainbow floats and “Love is love” posters, a sign caught my eye. The quote on it was, “The Stonewall Riots were started by trans women of color. So why is Pride all about cis gay white men?”
That poster made me and my glittered-out face do a double take, and it got me thinking. How have I used my experiences as a queer person of color to speak out against racism in the LGBTQ community? How have I misused my privilege as a cis person to marginalize and erase trans identities, thus contributing to structural violence against trans people?
If we’re going to celebrate as a community, we need to make sure that everyone in our community is included, protected, and heard. May our upbeat music and cheering at pride never drown out the voices of those we have marginalized.
Becina J. Ganther ’20 is a Crimson editorial editor in Leverett House. Her column appears on alternate Thursdays.