
I didn’t fight so that I should be celebrated for an entire month every year just for my sexual orientation.
For those of us who, back in the day, were serious campaigners for gay rights, for the social acceptance of gay people, and for same–sex marriage, the larger objective was always clear: once gay people, after years of debate, disagreement, dissension, and discussion, managed to achieve our goals, we would drop politics, move on, and enjoy the fruits of our victory. In other words, we would happily take up our place as fully equal citizens and go on with our lives. Victory would mean no more need for Gay Pride marches or rainbow flags or for such phenomena as Gay Pride Month, which, as it happens, is now in its first days and which I, for one, am already sick of. (Somehow, it feels to me as if both Gay Pride Month and Ramadan come along every few weeks, not once a year.) The whole point of the gay movement was to reach a point at which we were no longer demonized, no longer subject to arrest just for being who we were, no longer exposed to public name-calling even when we were behaving ourselves in the most civilized manner possible, no longer singled out constantly in a multitude of unfair and unpleasant ways just because of our sexual orientation. The idea was for our identity as members of a despised minority to fall away as much as possible, and to be recognized – and either respected or disliked, based on our own merits – as individuals.