Just a little something to add the My World post…

A thought struck me the other day as I was re-reading it: I’m the only one I know from my high school/college days, who’s ever actually been to a street protest.  At least…that I know.  It flabbergasted me for a moment to think that, because my circle of friends back then was very politically aware.  Remember, those were the Nixon/Viet Nam years.  My friends and I were angry, livid even, about what was happening.  Everyone could cite you chapter and verse the Nixon gang’s various crimes against America and democracy.  We talked about it a lot.  We ranted and raved and bitched royal.  But I was the only one I could recall, who ever marched or became politically active, even just a little.

Never mind the national gay rights marches.  Never mind all the Pride day marches I’ve been too, let alone the ones I’ve actually marched in and not watched from the sidelines.  In the 70s I went to an assortment of anti-war protests too, and various women’s rights and civil rights marches, merrily taking photos along the way.  I lived in the suburbs of Washington D.C., and it was easy to get downtown to the Mall whenever something was happening.  Sometimes I went purely as a photographer.  But more often I went as I often do, as both participant and observer, camera in hand, marching along with the others, chanting the chants, helping out here and there when I could, and with my camera documenting the times I lived in.

And I’ve never, never considered myself all that much of a radical or an activist.  Never.  I’m not an organizer.  Shy as I am, it took every shred of nerve I could muster to go out when I had to and get petitions signed, because I just hate walking up to total strangers and starting up a conversation.  It’s nerve wracking.  And I’m not preoccupied with politics all day long, not even gay politics.  I’ve always considered it to be a part of my life, a part of the times we all live in, but not all there is to life.  And sometimes I feel guilty that I’m not doing more politically, especially now.

And yet…I marched.  Nobody else did.  Not even on their issues.  That…really surprises me to recall.  I have no idea why I never noticed it before.

I always tried to get a button from the marches I went to, for some small token that says that, yes, I was there.  I suppose you can pick them up at flea markets and hip retro ’70s boutique shops now too, along with lava lamps, peace necklaces and tie-dyed t-shirts.  Alas my hair there is covering one of my favorite march buttons, the one from the first gay rights march on Washington in 1979.  The others are from the rest of the national gay rights marches to date.  The little Capital dome with the rainbow below it is from the HRC Millennium March in 2000, which got the biggest crowds ever, but was dismissed as being more of a big block party then a political protest march.  The little green square next to it is my GLIB button…the Gay and Lesbian Information Bureau BBS which I did volunteer work for many years on, and which gave me my first real access to the larger gay community beyond the confines of the D.C. suburbs.