On Monday June 6th I, a queer man, met with one of my oldest and best friends for dinner and laughed for hours.
On Tuesday June 7th, I helped create another issue of the amazing queer publication I have the privilege to edit.
On Wednesday June 8th, I met with my two wonderful queer co-members of our queer comedy group to work on our next show.
On Thursday June 9th, my queer colleagues celebrated my birthday early with gifts and drinks in our queer office and queer bars in Soho.
On Friday June 10th, I met with my mother for lunch, where she told me how proud she is of her queer son and asked whether I was seeing any boys. Then I hosted a queer party and met some fantastic new queer people.
On Saturday June 11th I celebrated my birthday, got messages from many of my queer friends and family, before laughing, kissing, hugging, drinking and dancing the night away with some of my closest and dearest in one of my favourite queer venues followed by the home I share with my queer best friend.
On Sunday June 12th in Orlando, FL forty-nine queer people just like me were murdered in cold blood while doing exactly the same things my friends, family and I did that week. Over fifty-three more were injured. Parents, brothers, sisters, children, friends, lovers, strangers, family.
It was a stark reminder that despite some of the amazing advances in LGBT rights over the last few years, here and further afield, we are still not accepted, nor equal, nor completely safe.
Until we can walk down the street at night, hand in hand, past a group of teenagers, and not have to worry that if we appear to be too affectionate we could be shouted at, spat on, beaten or killed, we are not safe.
Until we can step into a Tube carriage and not receive the smirking glances and the knowing looks between those straight people that immediately deem you “other”, we are not accepted.
Until we are protected by the exact same laws and rights that extend to cisgendered, heterosexual people the world over, we are not equal
This year’s Pride theme is #nofilter but that shouldn’t be about how you present your Instagram selfie, it should be about how you present your self, to the world, to everyone you meet.
Because the only way we’ll change things are by making sure we are as visible, outspoken and challenging as possible until people understand us. People seldom understand what they can’t see, so let’s be seen.
Overleaf, you’ll find the names of our fifty dead brothers, sisters and allies in Orlando. But they’re not the only names you need to know.
Michael Causer. Gwen Arujo. Brandon Teena. Matthew Shepard. David Kato. Harvey Milk. Ronnie Antonio Paris. Learn their names, read their stories.
Learn about the unnamed. The blindfolded ones hurled from rooftops in the Middle East; the ones being murdered with machetes in Uganda; the ones being beaten to death in Russia; the ones dying on the streets of London. You need to know about them too.
These people died just because somebody took offence to the fact that they had the ‘nerve’ to live. Well, to be indelicate; fuck that. A fictional hero once said that the hardest thing in this world is to live in it and they were right. For the LGBTQI+ community, simply existing is a daily fight.
But we have to brave, we have to LIVE, for them. Don’t let their deaths mean nothing, don’t let the people that took their lives beat you into submission too. Hiding is of no use to anybody.
This time last year, just before Pride, I asked you to be your own hero. Now I ask you to be theirs. Go out there, be seen and be PROUD, for all of us.
