25 Years Of Pride

One of the things that is liable to make a body feel his age is a quarter century anniversary. I've got one this month. In June 1991 I attended my first Pride London march (and in those days it was most definitely a march and not a parade). I was 17, had just finished high school in Scotland and had been out on the gay scene for 2 years. This was sort of doubly illegal as A) the drinking age was 18 and more importantly B) the 'age of consent' for male homosexual sexual activity was 21 in those days. I was mostly out except to my parents and I was most definitely "here and queer".
What it meant to LGBTQ+ in those days felt a hell of a lot different than it does now. Well for a start it was just L & G in those days. We'd not even gotten round to adding B and the other sexual/gender identities in the queer family were definitely off the cards to a lot of people in the community. We could be legally be discriminated in all aspects of our lives due to our sexuality. Lesbian mothers lost the custody of their children just for being lesbian. We lost our jobs, could be turfed out onto the street and he told we weren't worth protection by the law.
Whilst things were far from rosy and I know that it sucked a lot I have to say that I've got a little bit of nostalgia for those days as well. There was a sense of community for me that's missing now. It was backs against the wall fighting to make sure the bastards didn't win.
Those days remind me of listening to Bronski Beat, Erasure and The Communards. Of being a "Smalltown Boy" and knowing what it was like to have the shit kicked out of you by bullies but also believing that your real life and love was just around the corner.
Marching across Westminster Bridge past a drag Margaret Thatcher weepily waving at us up a lamp post. Being surrounded by the biggest gay group of people I'd ever experienced. Knowing I wasn't the only one. To this day that is a magical memory.