As an activist, I’m all too familiar with politicians who don’t show up when needed and who do when unwanted. With regard to the former, MPP Norm Miller has been disappointingly absent from the actions raising awareness of the crises caused by the cuts from Doug Ford’s slash-happy government. My favourite example of this deliberate distancing of politicians from their dissenting populace was the response from Norm Miller’s office, regarding Muskoka Power of Many’s invitation to Justice Fest: after the event had concluded, the office emailed the organizer to say he had not been able to make it.
This had been, of course, conspicuously obvious and par for the course when it comes to our MPP addressing the needs of the many here in Muskoka.
Alas, I am all too disillusioned by this particular manner of politicking. Rub elbows with those in agreement, shift your support for the Premier from ‘no comment’ to saying you’re “feeling great about the Premier now” and collect your paycheque. Now, I know there are many in Muskoka who feel Miller represents them appropriately and that’s wonderful. There are also many who can only imagine that reality. My issue is when we have community members losing services, pleading for an ear, and they are being told, ‘yeah, I didn’t make it’. We know.
But let’s examine the second half of the dynamic I’ve introduced. It’s the politician (former, would-be, wannabe) who shows up where he’s absolutely not wanted. It’s Tony Clement at Pride Muskoka on July 28, 2019.
Only 30 minutes after Moose News released their reporting of Muskoka Pride’s second annual Pride March, I received two private messages from members of our local LGBT community drawing my attention to the chosen header photo: Tony Clement’s grin, flanked by several police officers in full uniform.
You would be right in assuming I have a couple opinions about this.
First of all, Tony Clement’s absurd and un-self-aware fall from what I’ll cautiously describe as grace still rankles me. As someone who works in the Violence Against Women sector, there are few lessons as concrete as ‘it’s never just once’. The cycle of abuse, fueled by male privilege, is described as a cycle for a reason—they go around and around and around. Abuse of power is not an anomaly—it’s built into the system, it’s rewarded, and it’s rarely sufficiently disciplined. I don’t think the dick pic to which Clement confessed was the first sent, nor do I believe the recipient of said pic was the first ‘woman’ to have received it.
The young women who found their social media activity pages inundated with ‘likes’ and comments from Clement would suggest to me that he appreciated an age discrepancy rife with power dynamics. As Jenny Holzer says, “Abuse of power comes as no surprise.”
On a completely unrelated note, young women and, to use modern LGBT lingo, non-binary AFABs/IFABs (assigned/identified as female at birth, a phrasing with roots in the intersex activist movement), are the most vulnerable to predatory behaviour in our community. Pride is supposed to be a space where these young women can be ‘out’ with others who feel the same way they do. As a lesbian who has worked hard to feel celebratory about her sexuality, I feel protective toward LGBT youth, and resentful toward any straight man with accusations of sexual impropriety. Young women learn quickly who has the power in our community and who remains silent. I, too, learned this unfortunate truth at a very young age, and it’s because I’ve been gifted with a platform as an adult that I feel these inequities cannot go unaddressed.
As I mentioned, two women who should have been at Muskoka Pride reached out to me to vent their disquiet over Clement’s attendance as well as the presence of uniformed police officers at our local pride event. I would come up short if I tried to describe how deeply their absence was felt. And that was just two women who know me well enough to share their concerns. I don’t have numbers of how many members of our community remained home because of uniformed police presence or that of known abusers, the names of whom circulate like reusable grocery bags among us.
Lest we forget our herstory, Pride began not as a celebration of our diversity, but as a protest against police brutality. On a summer night in 1969, decades of violence enacted by police against members of the gay community culminated in the Stonewall uprising, with Stormé DeLarverie, a butch lesbian, attributed with its incitation after being assaulted by police and then arrested. Her rallying cry: “Why don’t you do something?”
In case we falsely rest hope in the idea that liberation precedes us and that the past is past, consider the lack of police motivation to resolve the cases of gay men routinely slaughtered by Bruce McArthur. Our community raised the alarm from the first days of missing men, ignored until the most recent two murders in 2017 were too obvious to dismiss—there are possible cold case victims dating backing to the 1970s.
These realities live at the forefront of my mind when I invoke Stormé’s call to action in considering the needs of my community. Marginalized because of sexuality, gender expression or lack thereof, vulnerable due to an only recently abated history of oppression, and often experiencing individual traumas, many members of the LGBT community are oppressed on a variety of axes, a theory known as intersectionality. For example, a lesbian woman of colour is oppressed because of her sex, her sexuality, her racialized status, possibly her class status, and possibly her non-conformity to gender roles.
When I balance her needs against the needs of an upper-class straight male, it’s time that she came out on top.
Am I saying that straight men shouldn’t be welcome at Pride? No—because I think there is a place for allies to use their power and privilege to uplift the voices of those lacking said unearned gifts. But do I believe that straight men and other heterosexual people or indeed those with privilege like myself as a white person have a responsibility to, as Stormé reproached, Do Something?
Yes.
So here’s me, using one of the avenues I’ve been granted, to ask that those accused of any type of sexual abuse or misconduct refrain from attending Pride. For want of a true ‘safe space’, Pride is so very close to what we need to heal as a community from relentless othering in a society that’s enforced a hierarchy we cannot ascend by virtue of being the amazing people we are. Here’s the thing, though—it may be too much to ask that these people stay home. Pride is playful, loving, welcoming, and a fabulous photo op—it must be hard to resist.
My secondary plea, then, is to the rest of you. Do something. Educate yourselves on LGBT issues. Understand why straight people don’t get a march (here’s a hint—you march down the street hand-in-hand with your partner every day without clenching their hand when someone looks at you a little off and having to silently decide between being safe and being Proud). Understand why uniformed police are, to put it politely, problematic at Pride events. Understand why brandishing rainbow colours does not alone make you an ally unless you wear that rainbow every single day to every single call—otherwise, understand it’s just marketing. No different than vodka brands or banks.
Not every member of my community agrees with me, by the way. I welcome differing opinions because I’m not about silencing anyone. However, those with more privilege simply speak louder. That’s the nature of the beast—privilege is a microphone. So I cup my hands around my mouth and shout—because I remember Stormé, and I remember my friends who remained at home, and I know what I have to do.
Note: I use the acronym LGBT because it’s what I came out into—there are countless ways of describing the “pride community” and this is mine.
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Kathleen May is a writer, speaker, and activist. Her work in our community includes co-founding the long-running Huntsville Women’s Group, being a Survivor Mentor in the pilot survivor-to-survivor program through MPSSAS, co-facilitating instinct-unlocking workshops for women through I Got This, working as a host and community producer of Herstories on YourTV, volunteering with Women’s March Muskoka, and her role as a front-line counsellor at a women’s shelter. Kathleen is a 2018 Woman of Distinction for Social Activism and Community Development and also received the Best Author award for her 2018 submission at the Muskoka Novel Marathon, a fundraiser for literacy services. Her dream is a sustainable women’s land co-operative in Muskoka.
Beth Grixti says
Beautifully written, and filled with immense courage to speak on this matter that most have brushed aside. I was at this event, and honored to be a part of it. As Kathleen explained so well, it really isn’t appropriate to attend an event designed to allow this community to feel safe as themselves. This is the one time in the year that is supposed to be anxiety free and they are forced to watch it turn into a photo op for a known predator and the police.
The history of this event is incredibly important! There are members of the community that lived through that time still around today, and it’s an event meant for them as well! I can’t imagine being targeted by police, then expected to feel comfortable in their presence. I know I wouldn’t want to attend a celebration with any of my abusers.
If police want to support and protect the people there, why not spread out and watch the perimeter for anyone looking to harm? Making it about them is kind of the issue.
I am so grateful to Kathleen for expressing these points of view because I am privileged in this society to not need to be concerned with my sexuality or gender. I can never know what it’s like to have to live with fear in this capacity. My job is to listen and support however I’m needed. Thank you for writing about how our community can do this. And why it’s imperative to do so.
Kai Rannik says
Excellent points well stated.
I know there is some debate even within the community regarding police presence at Pride, and to be honest there was a time when I couldn’t understand people’s objections myself. A friend walked me through an exercise that made it clear to me. Here’s hoping that others who really want to understand find it helpful, too:
Imagine you’re in an exceptionally volatile situation. You’re terrified for your life, and the lives of those you love. In this moment, you don’t know what you can do to stay safe. Suddenly, a uniformed cop bursts in the door, gun drawn. Did things just get better for you, or worse?
Your instinctive response to this question depends heavily on a number of factors: your personal and familial history with police, your financial status, your level of education, the neighbourhood you grew up in, your generation, your sexual orientation and gender presentation are just a few. Your personal history of criminal activity, incidentally, has been proven to be surprisingly low on this list.
Once we recognize that the appearance of uniformed police, despite their promoted promise “to serve and protect”, is justifiably scary for some members of our community, why would we still insist that their participation is vital? Why would the police themselves insist on attending in uniform with guns if they know this to be true?
Angela Dunnett says
Did anyone ask each officer why they came? Are they in support of LGBTQ rights? Do they have family or friends that they wish to support, or wish to show pride in their own freedoms hopefully growing? Maybe the officer was hoping to close the gap and mend the hurt. Just some food for thought.
Kai Rannik says
I hear you, and I love the idea of people from all walks of life and all career paths genuinely supporting the LGBTQ+ community. Doing so while wearing the uniform and the weapons of those who’ve oppressed (both historically and recently) is arguably problematic. I get that individuals might not initially understand this connection, but why insist even after members of the community you wish to support speak out?
BJ Walker says
What happened to self-respect and dignity? Please explain how did walking mostly naked down the street and involving underage children in these parades come to represent the gay community or the gay lifestyle? Is that really how the average gay person wants to be perceived? How about a heterosexual spectacle parade also funded by taxpayers?
John Langille says
There are always a few individuals who are caught up in the party mode, which although sadly is one of the most enduring images, should be viewed in perspective. Pride is for everyone, in particular if we wish to educate the intolerant.
It is important not to judge a book by itsms’ cover, and read the pages inside full of stories of striving for equality, a voice, an equal place in society. However, and with all due respect, these controversial articles must be written in a language accessible to all. Heady terminology and credentials, coupled with alternative philosophy which few understand, will do little to bring the clock to the present day.
I was once told when you address important issues it is akin to performing music in a church; you play as much to the musical genius as those who have limited musical exposure.
I feel Kathleen’s articles are very well written, but fear the messages are being drowned in high end, academic like philosophy. Help everyone to be tolerant and accepting. You do have the brilliance to do so.
BJWalker says
Attacks on Premier Ford are dead wrong as are attacks on our MPP Norm Miller. Mr. Miller is supporting our premier in doing what is necessary to give Ontario a future again. Reckless, criminal spending has a consequence. It would be so worthwhile to focus on Canada’s real threat, Justin Trudeau, our prime minister, who is following the same agenda as the Ontario Liberals did, only far worse. His irresponsible actions are putting the future of our entire country in huge jeopardy.
Rob Millman says
Purely as a contrast, I attended the annual Lovefest in Dorset yesterday. It is hosted by Cait and Tara Love, who are married, and carry out their myriad responsibilities with seamless charm. There are usually a few token “security” personnel (with no training or experience); e.g. I served in the capacity one year.
.
The vibe is consistently good, and families with or without children, and people of all sexual orientations show up. There is no tension, great music/food, and yoga/reiki. And although beer and liquor are available, they’ve never presented a problem.
.
That being said, I totally understand the problem, Kathleen. A parade is a display: An event is a gathering. Maybe Tony feels that this is part of his penance; but it’s totally inappropriate. Penance, in this instance, should be private (to his family). It was merely exacerbated by the police presence: They could as easily have been there for protection; as for support. In any event, it’s akin to Trump showing up in Ohio and Texas (where he was seriously unwanted).