Pride is a poodle that refuses to die
Death claims on Pride, levied by corporations and "public opinion," were premature - how to internalize that and push forward
Without treatment, two months to live. With treatment, four, maybe six.
That’s how long Casey, this bepouffed, black, six-year-old standard poodle, was supposed to live upon his diagnosis of stomach cancer last May, 2024.
This dog had drawn the short-straw in terms of ailments. Before this diagnosis, he had torn TWO ACLs in a matter of six months. That happens when you’re 60 pounds and built like a battering ram, constantly running around on legs that are a bit too weak to manage the heft of an active, energetic force of nature.
We had prepared to say goodbye to him multiple times. Every instance of visiting him, I’ve whispered in his ear, “I’ll see you again,” mostly believing it, but also…not. Stomach cancer in dogs is a death sentence - 95% of diagnoses end with deaths within the first six months, and there are not many published cases in the literature of dogs living beyond a year.
And yet…Casey still breathes. He went into remission in May and the doctor is stunned. It’s now a year since his diagnosis and he can run again, smile again, eat again.
There’s a chance the doctor was just managing our expectations, which is the oncologist’s right. The cancer was focused on one region of Casey’s stomach, after all, and even early reports had said it hadn’t spread. My uneducated intuition was focusing treatment on the cancer, given it was contained in a specific spot, would lead to its elimination - at least for the time being, this hypothesis has been borne out.
One thing they said in the year-later checkup stuck with me though - while they had never seen a dog live this long with this specific type of stomach cancer, cats were a whole other story.
This dumb, goofy dog, somehow, had cat-scratched his way to good health.
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It feels like, outside of the more progressive circles I frequent, the prevailing wisdom is that Pride, and gains made for the LGBTQ+ movement, are going to be receding into the background because of fear of presidential and societal bullying. Corporate pride visibility is down (not for all companies, mind you, but for many.) So much celebration was considered Dead on Arrival this year because of hypothetical societal headwinds.
As we head in July…I’m not so sure. To me, Pride is stronger than ever, and the sheen from corporations that we’ve lost has actually reinforced those bonds. It’s forced people to consider their membership or allyship in material ways. It’s attached stakes to actually taking a stand.
The incredible writer JP Brammer wrote an essay I highly recommend reading - its his version of the Pride piece he’d want to write, his own autobiographical story. He was not paid by any outlets this year (the rainbow thinkpiece well has dried up, which may not be as syptomatic of the death of rainbow capitalism as it is journalism’s demise.) Reading his story, which jumped from urbane Brooklyn dalliances to the squint-and-you-can-see-it queer Mexican restaurant in Oklahoma City, it got me thinking about how, beneath it all, the paint, the glitter, Pride Month is really just…sweaty.
It’s glistening marchers lining up under the sun, some bright-eyed (generally the rainbow-clad moms), some bleary (the circuiters who haven’t slept), chugging water to ensure hydration for the path ahead. It’s sweaty parties where the leather and polyester soaked reek don’t wash off your skin, even after two hours of scrubbing in the shower. It’s the harried exhilaration of a gaggle of gays sashaying into a bar, eyes darting, optimism pervasive.
It’s tiring! And as a grey(ing)-haired veteran (and perhaps someone who’s still ensconced in a ferocious game of chess with the grim reaper as I try to avoid slipping into the stereotypical gay death abyss), it’s inspiring.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about social queerness vs. acting on queer sexuality, and while this is a subject that definitely merits a deeper litigation, right now, the support is standing strong regardless of Bud Light or Target spending money to be visible at pride parades. At every Pride Parade I knew people attended, they said there were more people than ever before. It’s hard, to me, to argue that this isn’t a great accomplishment, for one main reason: the people showed up regardless of perceived political reactions. I don’t think the anti-LGBTQ people, those who rail against “activist teachers” and “groomers,” understand that the old definitions don’t work anymore. Queerness is not something you can sell to Karen F., Gen X mom from Indiana as merely sexual anymore. She grew up watching Ellen. Her favorite cousin is gay. She doesn’t believe sexuality is a choice, or that queer people are all deviants. She has moral clarity on this issue. Bigoted, tired arguments don’t work anymore on people like her.
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I remember where I was a decade ago, when Obergefell was decided and gay marriage was made law of the land. It was Pride in New York City, and a Friday afternoon. We sprinted to Stonewall, then Pieces, drinking vodka red bulls and making out with random tank-topped visitors from Vermont. It was a glorious, incredible day.
The Pride I attended a decade later was just as wonderful, but it was also more inclusive, objectively. I saw more straight families, families with young kids, show up than ever before. The energy was crackling. It was incredible.
Pride has evolved, and it has persevered. It cannot, and will not, be killed. Like a dog that adopted feline healing properties, its death was prematurely called. Let’s move forward with confidence and continue to ensure that next year, and every year thereafter, we can continue to celebrate Pride and support marginalized people.