My Gay Shoes Scare me
By: Sean Bennett
Tags: LGBTQ, Identity, Pride, Homophobia, Civil Rights

My Gay Shoes Scare Me

But I still wear them

Image from author

Recently I bought these shoes. Despite being a writer in the early days of my career, and therefore generally unable to afford frivolous expenditure, this was a purchase that I simply could not deny myself. I saw them while engaging in some fairly stressful Christmas shopping and was immediately smitten by their beautiful and wonderfully queer design.

Though I often dress and act in ways that may be construed as ‘queer’, I have never bought or worn an item bearing the rainbow flag before. To do so always felt just a little bit too ‘out there’, as if being so public was tempting fate.

Basically, the prospect of showing my pride scared me, and it still does.

Touched by the rainbow

The symbol of the LGBTQ+ rainbow flag has a long and complicated history, one which many people have recorded far better than I ever could. It is a banner of hope and defiance, and one that continues to be held close to the hearts of many in this community, including my own.

In fact, the ever-growing culture of using flags, colours, and symbols to identify various groups within the queer community has been a joy to watch unfold (flag pun intended). Icons such as these serve as talismans for our identities, shining out into the world like beacons of belonging. Some of us use these symbols to show our pride, others use them to make themselves visible to others in the community, and a few outside our community may even bear our icons to show their support for our cause.

Needless to say, symbols like the rainbow flag have become the coat of arms for our community and, like any good insignia, they have become widely recognisable. While this is fantastic in terms of increasing visibility, it is also a problem… because it increases our visibility.

Back to the shoes.

I am proud of my identity, and of the ways in which I contribute to our community and our continuous battle against bigotry and oppression. I have no problem telling people who I am and what I believe. The problem is that by wearing an LGBTQ+ symbol, not least one as widely recognised as the rainbow flag, I’m not directly telling anyone anything. I don't have control over the interaction. I cannot decide how to broach the subject, what tone to use, or how much caution to exercise. Instead, I am just walking by and information about me, about my life, is freely available to all who see me, open to interpretation and devoid of the safeguards of person to person conversation.

This can be dangerous. If someone who wishes ill upon our community sees me wearing my new favourite shoes, they will assume a number of things about me. In turn, based on those assumptions, they may choose to take action against me. My character has been assessed and my punishment decided upon without a single word being shared. There is no humanity in that, no opportunity to develop a perception of me that goes beyond my sexuality.

Oh, the humanity…

There is a reason why people suffer homophobic abuse despite not being queer. It’s because many abusers act on assumptions rather than evidence. They have no interest in conversation. They care only for the vicious application of their personal ideology. Not to mention the fact that it is much easier to beat the living hell out of a stranger than a person with whom you have had an actual conversation. Instant assumption and swift punishment allow abusers to think of their targets as mere animals rather than thinking, feeling human beings.

This is not always the case, of course. Some bigoted attacks are premeditated well in advance, and many are perpetrated by people the victim knows, sometimes even members of their own family. But many attacks are also spontaneous. Toxic hearts beat faster when twisted minds see an opportunity to strike. Some people are just on the lookout for targets.

The sad truth is that wearing your pride openly, in any form, makes you one of those targets. Your beacon of pride, emblazoned on your person for all to see, can also serve as a magnet for bigotry and abuse.

Pride, as a queer person, is a dangerous thing to have.

That's why my new shoes, unreservedly fabulous though they are, scare me every time I put them on. Stepping out of the house wearing my identity so openly fills me with pride, but the echo of apprehension is never far behind; a maelstrom of anxious ‘what ifs’ that are not nearly as far fetched as they should be.

Yet it seems than many people beyond the realms of our community are unaware of this interplay between pride and risk. Often I hear people bemoan that ‘queer culture’ is shoved down their throats by pin badges and flags, or they simply argue that such open announcement of sexuality and gender is not necessary.

But it is. It really is.

Long live our pride

Visibility is a cornerstone of progress. The ignorant will never learn to tolerate that which they cannot see. For progress to be made, we must be there on their streets and in their shops, living side by side with them, working with them, befriending them if we can. Finding common ground is the best way to catalyse peaceful progress.

The benefits of wearing our identities openly go beyond the personal excitement of being true to one’s self. Walking the streets bearing symbols of defiance is the best way to normalise a cause for change. Over time, those symbols become commonplace in the public realm and slowly, inch by inch, the movements they represent become integrated. Demonstrations and marches have their place, no doubt, but just as much progress is made through quiet defiance and day to day pride.

There is a risk involved. There’s no getting away from that fact. Every time we enter the public sphere wearing our identity for all to see, our pride may spell our downfall at the hands of the depraved and inhumane monsters of this world.

But then, it might not. Instead, your pride might deliver inspiration and comfort to those around you, providing reassurance to those struggling with their identities and showing the next generation that living openly and with pride is ok. Thre is risk in pride, to be sure, but there is also the potential to change the world, one mind at a time.

My gay shoes still scare me. They still represent the possibility of hatred and abuse. But they also remind me every day to be proud of who I am and that I have a part to play in building the future of our community by living as openly and truthfully as I can.

We suffer the injustices of the present so that we might look to a better future. Our future is in progress, but there is still work to be done. So, if you are able and willing, wear your queer insignia with pride.

Piece by piece, the world will change.

And we will be the ones to change it.