The Difference Between Celebrating Pride, And Just Selling It

By Ernest Owens


Every June, I’m reminded that I don’t have enough cash to celebrate Pride the way several people do: by, well, spending cash. From Memorial Day weekend up until July 4, my social media eats are filled with gay boys traveling from city to city, partying it up without a care in the world. Most of these boys are white and cisgender, an identity made more visible by their speedos and miles of washboard abs. Some days, feeling left out can leave me bitter, yet I remember the purpose of this celebration: Joy can be an act of resistance — even for a community that’s often been terrorized for simply existing.


And while my companions and I have opted out of extravagant trips, including a Pride-themed cruise (yes, really), what we agreed upon was this: We do deserve our own assigned spaces to dance, love, and be ourselves without surveillance. This is what Pride month is supposed to be — a time for queer people to be as visible and outspoken as we pick, without fear or retribution. That is what day-to-day should be.


Nevertheless that’s not what Pride month has become. As a substitute, it has devolved into a capitalistic display of commercial marketing and overhyped branding, and several people have rightly called out the groups who co-opt the rainbow while doing little to uplift the LGBTQ+ community — and especially those who aren’t gay, white men — the other eleven months of the year. And while some community groups promote free events for the most marginalized, these charitable acts are with little effort dwarfed in comparison to the massive marketing campaigns that do more to sell than to include us.


Today, we have marriage equality, a gay presidential candidate, and more media representation than ever. Congress just recently pushed to pass the Equality Act that would extend civil rights and protections to all LGBTQ+ Residents of the United States. Yet most of them of this progress has continued to benefit the least diverse populations within our community: those who are white, cisgender, gay, and male. Black and brown LGBTQ+ people still aren't obtaining any economic advantages from their culture's contributions to, and influence on the mainstream.


Pick any crisis report on LGBTQ+ people, and Black and brown members of the community are often hit the hardest in regards to poverty, healthcare, education, and unemployment. Even within our own LGBTQ+ community, Black and brown people continue to be underrepresented in LGBTQ+ leadership, media, and visibility. Couple that with the reports that the wage gap also penalizes LGBTQ+ people furthermore to people — and especially girls — of color, and it’s easy to understand the hypocrisy permeating the commercialization and commodification of Pride.


But it’s also easy for those outside, and even within our community to falter, given how LGBTQ+ history is rarely taught in schools, and much of the true legacy of why we celebrate June has often been erased and sanitized. Where is the diversity and rebellion that has gotten us the freedoms we right now have today? Where are the Black and brown transgender girls who paved the way? Transgender activists Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera were integral to the June 28, 1969, riot at Stonewall Inn that marked the beggining of a deliberate stand against state-sanctioned violence. The two fierce Black and brown rebels had enough, and made their voices and actions heard against the ongoing police brutality and harassment that targeted the historic gay bar. Stonewall was a vengeful revolution that inspired numerous cities across America to fight back in the name of LGBTQ+ equality. These LGBTQ+ freedom fighters fought for equity, access, and inclusion — not free markets to grossly sell to their community.


Hollow campaigns that only speak to our buying power are myopic in scope and harmful in the long run, and Pride month is still one that lacks understanding and purpose in the public eye. At a time once LGBTQ+ liberties are under attack, this financial capital and corporate muscle should be shifted toward advancing policy and dismantling institutions that continue to infringe upon our rights rather than posturing with limited-edition packaging or merchandise while speaking broadly about how “love is love.” Corporations that cater to us throughout June should re-prioritize what Pride means: It’s a party and it’s a protest. And partying, in this case, can itself be an act of resistance — so we should all act accordingly.


there really are a number of notable community groups who are fighting back against this growing trend of a corporate Pride takeover. In New York, the Queer Liberation March movement has been actively centering diverse voices to combat police injustice, transphobia, and classism. In Philadelphia, a QTPOC Take Pride Back movement focused on racial equity and anti-capitalism ways to celebrate the LGBTQ+ community. Across the world, activists have disavowed police presence at Pride, and increasingly agencies are being contained accountable to commit the proceeds from their merch towards activist groups. It’s efforts like these that can actually help to create our visibility more inclusive and reflective of the spirit of Stonewall.


Corporate sponsors need to do more than just use this month to sell to us, and as a substitute make equitable contributions to the stability of our queer-led spaces and the policy that sustains us. I don’t know what the perfect option would look like — and I’m well aware of the fact that promising cash away from a company’s bottom line is much less a corporate corporation model than a socialist best-case-scenario — but I do know that the current model of only caring about LGBTQ+ visibility for 30 out of 365 days is unsustainable. Hire us as a substitute, whether it’s in back of the scenes or in front of the camera: We’re still here, queer, and have costs to pay come Christimas or Valentine’s day or some random Tuesday in September. We still have cash to spend then, too; imagine how radical a pro-LGBTQ+ campaign could be at a time once other corporate sponsors have seemingly abandoned it and us, just because of what the calendar says.


Up until then, my Black queer cash, time, and energy will no longer fuel a commercial enterprise that exploits the legacy and activism of my ancestors for profit.