Copyright The London Free Press, July 28th Sat edition;
By Donald D’Haene A little more then a decade after the Stonewall riots in New York began the modern gay rights movement, I came this close to participating in London’s first gay pride event, a picnic on a Sunday afternoon in Gibbons Park. That first year, I still hadn’t met a “real, live homosexual” – or so I had thought.
Other than being raised on their eternal damnation, my only introduction was when my public school’s years-ahead-of-her-time librarian held up for us eighth graders a “special book on homosexuality.”
I swear she winked in my direction as she matter-of-factly suggested, “If you receive your parents’ permission, you may sit in my office and read it.” Of course, she held it up to a class that viewed it, not like the holy grail, but the bubonic plague.
With that background, you can imagine my trepidation when I picked up the phone that same year and called The Homophile Association of London Ontario (HALO) for the first time.
“HELL-O.”
The sharp tone and brusque level of the voice through the phone painted an unwelcoming picture.
“Hi,” I squeaked. “I wonder if you could help me. I think I might be gay and want to talk to someone about it.”
“We’re closed. Call back later.”
“But, I just want – ”
Click.
So much for that. Staying confused seemed a lot easier than getting help. Now, I know that first picnic in ’82 consisted of a handful of family-oriented lesbians and a few good men worried about people finding out they were eating hot dogs and potato salad together in a public place.
(It was still legal to harass someone, fire an employee, evict a tenant or refuse public or commercial services to someone suspected of being gay or lesbian.)
It was the one thing we had in common back then. Fear. Too bad mine kept me from a free meal in good company.
For the next decade, while gay pride events limped along just under the radar in London, so did I.
It would take five years before I called HALO again, but this time, a kind, soft-spoken voice answered. It was Richard Hudler, the club’s president. When he assured me I wouldn’t find wild orgies and God knows what else, I inched my way there. Imagine my surprise to recognize several “real, live homosexuals” from my youth!
Meanwhile, gay pride events in London stayed low key, even after the Ontario legislature passed the amendment to include sexual orientation in the Ontario Human Rights Code in December 1986. It was not until HALO member Stan MacKenzie co-ordinated the first publicized event in 1991 that Pride finally “came out”: HALO held an open house.
MacKenzie called it, “baby steps towards a more visible celebration.” Hudler acknowledges, “What held us back for so long [was] our invisibility. A more aggressive approach was necessary.”
Even though I chose not to attend Pride events, I supported them in spirit. In fact, a column I wrote for this newspaper in July, ’95 on that very subject was considered my “coming out” by the religious faith of my youth (Jehovah’s Witnesses) and led to an announcement of my excommunication for my apparent admission of committing the “serious sin” of homosexuality.
My spot on the fringes of gay pride took on new meaning for me, for clearly, if one could be punished for only writing honestly about one’s orientation, I could truly appreciate the choice to remain in the closet. If you don’t make waves, you won’t risk retribution.
Interesting timing considering on the Pride front, events that same year energized, politicized, and united London’s gay and lesbian community like nothing before or since. A parade was decided on and city hall was asked for a proclamation.
Who can forget our ‘Queen’ who wouldn’t bow to any of hers? I’ve always thought we should send former Mayor Dianne Haskett a thank you card for refusing, for when a complaint was filed against mayor and council at the Ontario Human Rights Commission, the conflict placed Pride London on the national map.
Indeed, the seeds of Pride London’s current success can be traced to its members’ resilience in the face of that adversity.
Granted, their version of a Stonewall protest was marchers passing Haskett’s house and spreading fairy dust on her hedges, but it was a victory nonetheless – that year’s celebration was the biggest yet with the first march turned into a protest.
As the human rights complaint raged on, I happened to be in a Port Stanley restaurant accompanied by the other Queen of London, Kattow Azzya (female illusionist and a future Pride parade grand marshal) when Haskett came over to our table and was most gracious.
The very next day, I was in a London restaurant when I overheard a woman behind me condemning our “vicious, homophobic mayor.” I couldn’t rationalize the contradiction, so I wrote about our two queens in The Free Press in August 1997.
I’m sure that column led to her agreeing to my request for an interview the following month. Just two weeks later, the rights commission ordered Haskett and the city to pay $10,000 plus interest to Hudler, the complainant.
Haskett stunned Londoners as she withdrew from the election campaign and mayoral duties to protest the finding and council’s choice not to appeal it. She also asked the city to use the $5,000 saved by her unpaid leave-of-absence to offset the money owed Hudler.
I had her last interview before her landslide Nov. 10 victory. In hindsight, I don’t know what Haskett was worried about. Even now, we have a mayor contributing a letter to the pride guide that safely doesn’t even mention the festival she is supporting.
And what of the controversial parade itself? Sometimes the straight parade protesters receive more coverage – protesters grasping for a moment in the spotlight versus voicing legitimate gripes.
The media needs something to latch onto, doesn’t it? How many different ways can you describe five queens, maybe a pair of leather chaps or two and a crowd of mostly indistinguishable participants? Just where is the controversy?
The few who celebrated the first Pride celebration could not have imagined the world that has opened up for them a quarter of a century later.
London is home to a world-class Pride library at the University of Western Ontario, ground-breaking gay programming on Rogers Television, and the AIDS Committee of London, who for 22 of Pride’s 25 years have fought homophobia as well as HIV and AIDS on behalf of their community. Pride London is even included in the city’s tourism promotion. A Pride flag flying at city hall seems like icing on a pink 25th anniversary cake.
Thanks to a vocal few, and after much effort, expense, joy and pain, Pride London has caught up with its brothers and sisters worldwide . But what of Pride’s future? London educator Alan Heatherington suggests a four-point plan:
1) Encourage media to stop presenting issues in a controversial way. Our biggest obstacle is the idea something's wrong with being "queer."
2) Stop religious dogma used to justify discrimination.
3) Those still closeted need to accept themselves.
4) Stand up, be fierce, proud and unabashedly fabulous whenever, wherever possible.
I might add, analyze our history. Debate. Tell our stories well to open a window on our lives that broadens and deepens understanding of who we are.
Donald D'Haene is the author of Father's Touch. He can be emailed through his web site fatherstouch.com