The Silence Is Ending

For the first time ever in the United States, the first time ever, some 200 or more active-duty troops and veterans, wearing T-shirts emblazoned with their branch of service, marched in a Gay pride parade.

The times are indeed changing.

Last Saturday, in San Diego's Pride parade, carrying American flags and rainbow banners, many of these active-duty troops said they were moved to come out because it is time to end the military's ban on openly gay troops.

National Guard member Nichole Herrera,\didn't think twice about marching, even though the policy is back on the books. She said she was "choked up" several times as she walked down a main thoroughfare in San Diego, a major Navy port: "This is one of the proudest days in my life. It's time for it (the policy) to be gone. I'm a soldier no matter what, regardless of my sexual orientation."

The crowds roared as the military groups walked by.

Every branch of service was represented Saturday, Air Force, Army, Marines, Navy, National Guard, even the Coast Guard, all carrying their branch's flags over their heads. People stood on the sidelines, but as the troops passed, many stepped into the streets to salute them. One man in a rainbow colored shirt waved his feather boa and yelled "Hooah!" the military battle cry.

The Servicemembers Legal Defense Network--representing gay and lesbian active-duty military personnel--informed organizer Sean Sala that they are warning members that it is still a risk to come out as long as "don't ask, don't tell" is on the books. But Sala, a former Navy operations specialist, said it's time for the gay and lesbian community to stop hiding in fear: "This is not in any way a violation of military policy and it's time for the country to move on - plain and simple."

Rolling slowly behind the 200 service members was a green half-ton military truck with the banner "Taking pride in our LGBT service men and women."

Walking with the group was Miranda LeClair, a former military police officer for the Navy, who carried a sign that read: "Proudly served in silence for nine years." She attended with her girlfriend, also a former member of the military police: "It's been a long time coming. This is really an emotional day for me."

LeClair was investigated under DADT in 2008 but her commanders decided not to pursue discharging her. She was one of the lucky ones.

Navy Petty Officer 1st Class Derek Collins, who has served for 11 years: "I'm so happy I'm here and I'm able to come out and support not only myself but those who can't be here today".

Marine Corporal Will Rodriguez-Kennedy is on active duty and said he looks forward to next year's parade, when he believes it will be possible to march in "dress blues": "One of my friends here has been back from Afghanistan for three days, and when he heard about the parade he said he served in uniform and he should be able to march in uniform."

Hopefully this is a trend that continues, and one day, LGBT servicemembers will march in their uniforms, like everyone else and it won't be such a big deal.
 
Just another day in America.

source 

A Different Kind Of Drive, A Different Kind Of Pride

So, last Friday, Carlos and I drove up to Chapel Hill, to the university there, so Carlos could talk to students about HIV.

T'was an interesting drive, though, from Smallville to Chapel Hill. You can either drive either miles east, then 150 miles north, then 90 miles west, to get there, or you can take the backwoods roads, most of them two-laned and, thankfully, paved.

We took the shortcut, and it was a lovely drive. McBee, South Carolina looks cute and we may head back that way. Cassatt, on the other hand....as we drove through, past the gas station, some kind of store, and the Post Office, Carlos asked why the road didn't go through town, but around it. I told him it did go through. Cassatt. I wouldn't even stop for gas. Now, Pittsboro, North Carolina is another adorable town, and I told Carlos we could live there, in my best, semi-homegrown Southern accent. 

Why we live in Pittsboro, y'all. 

Most of the time, though, we were in farmland, or in the trees, and most of the time we could drive fifty-five, which was a good thing, because I could swear that, through the open car windows, I heard the Deliverance banjos.

That's the drive.

The pride came once we reached the university. The students in question were Advanced Placement students from around the country who had come to Chapel Hill for a week-long session of classes and discussions on the medical field. All these kids--and sheesh, I felt and sounded like such a geezer around them--were thinking of going into medicine, so that's what brought them to North Carolina. They viewed surgeries--ack!--and spent roughly eight hours a day in classes on a variety of subjects.

The day we arrived, the topic was HIV, and Carlos would be speaking to a group of about twenty students. Since I was just the DD--designated driver--because of the backwoods Google map, and because it was a long-assed day, up there, speechifying, and then back again, I thought I'd sit out the lecture as I didn't want to intrude on the classes. But the folks running the whole shebang said it would be fine if I went with Carlos while he spoke, and I must say, I'm very glad I did.

i know about HIV. As a gay man, I believe it's my responsibility to know about it. How it works....how you get it....how you care for yourself if you do become infected. But, sitting in that classroom, listening to Carlos talk to these high school kids about HIV, I learned a great many things I hadn't known before.

Not so much about HIV, but about Carlos.

He is such a great communicator, especially with these young people. There was no 'talking down' to them. There was no cutesy ways of speaking. it was blunt, it was direct, it was educational, and, I believe, it made an impact.

He has a way with telling the story, using a house as the metaphor, and wind and rain as HIV. He taught them how to protect themselves from HIV, he taught them to say No, if there was no condom He taught them to realize that, if you do become infected, it isn't a death sentence; it's a condition. One that you can treat with the right medicines and a good doctor and a positive outlook.

He spoke to them in terms they could understand; the hot guy who wants to have sex with you, but he doesn't have a condom; the hot girl.....Just say No. At one point he even talked about blow jobs, which stunned the class. One girl even turned around to her friend, with her hand over her mouth, in shock. But he simply said, "C'mon, people, we all know what a blow job is....."

When Carlos left the veterinary field, and took a job as an HIV counselor, tester, and outreach worker, I was a little shocked. He didn't care much for homeless people, or high school kids, and suddenly, those were his clients and students. I assumed he would stay at the job for a while, and then move on to something else, but he's been at this for three years now, and he has become quite the advocate for the homeless community, the HIV community, and those in need of an education about HIV.

This, coming during Pride, reminded me that I don't need to be proud of being gay. That's kind of like being proud that i have blue-eyes. I was born with both. But there is a pride at living openly and honestly, and rather in-your-face--especially in a place like South Carolina--that is really lovely.

But, for me, the real Pride is now also about Carlos. Proud of what he's done, what he's doing, and how he's done it; proud of the joy and the passion he has for teaching people--of any age, of any race, of any economic or religious background--that we are all the same.

We can all be HIV+, but we should mostly be positive about life.

Carlos, for me, is my Pride.