But I Don't Wanna Walk 500 Miles

One Gay’s Journey of Acceptance, Visibility, and Pride in The Hague

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program—the best laid plans and all that—to bring you a pride-themed post. I grew up in the most capitalist nation in the world, where JUNE 🌈 IS 🌈 RAINBOW 🌈 MONTH 🌈 MOTHER🌈 F’ERS! Cue the unsubscribes!

In the cinematic masterpiece Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar, one of the titular characters is a ball of nerves, scared to experience life after the death of her husband. While on their Floridian vision quest, Barb Quicksilver breaks down her walls and says yes to everything—including a pierced labia. Near the conclusion of the film, it is the once-timid Barb who slays the house down boots, shouting at the evil Sharon Gordon Fishman that she’s not afraid anymore!

Who says life isn’t like the movies?

My Evolving Pride

One Saturday in 2024, my mother came to my house and observed it was the first time she’d ever seen me in a Pride shirt. It surprised her, even though I came out at 18 and am married to another man. If I’m being honest, it was one from my collection of HRC “house clothes.” In my defense, it is a good cause and they have the softest t-shirts. But it got me wondering: Why is mine a stay-at-home eleganza extravaganza?

It wasn’t until I reached the grounds of my very isolated liberal arts college campus in the middle of Iowa that I was openly gay. Anyone who’s met me is laughing at the notion, of course. I can’t help being the flamboyant person I am; I have the childhood pictures to prove it. But I didn’t wear my rainbow bracelets in public and always tried my best to avoid notice. At some point in my life, I learned the world expected me to be ashamed. And for a long time, I believed it.

I had incredibly supportive parents—a privilege I know far too many in the queer community are not afforded. Even with a loving family, it’s not easy to learn “how” to be gay in a heteronormative world. I knew I was different early on, but I didn’t understand how until I found some queer friends to show me how to werk, serve, and throw shade…although that one came naturally. The only times I’ve really attended Pride celebrations were during my years living in Oklahoma City when I was friends with drag queens. I was young, dumb, and partied until I was numb. For many, many years after that, I skipped the parades and celebrated like an introvert. In fact, in the twelve years we have been married, William and I have never “done anything for Pride” besides watch RuPaul’s Drag Race.

One of the reasons I wanted to leave the United States was because I didn’t feel safe holding my husband’s hand in public. America is a violent country, and the resurgence of homophobia—headlined by vitriolic transphobia—was not something I wanted to spend any more of my life enduring. It’s been tiring enough figuring out what it means to be me; I don’t want to have to fight for the right to exist. And in my forties, I am ready to walk into the room purse first.

Leaving Fear Behind

Around the world, men like me are known as “a bit of a big girl’s blouse” or “light blue.” Growing up, gay was the nicest of the slurs hurled at me by other kids. Movies made after I could legally drink used derogatory language as a “hilarious joke.” In far too many circles, it is still considered funny (if not “true”) to suggest that anything less than cis-gender heterosexuality makes one “less of a man.” Deemed a fitting punishment for the “immoral acts” of “social deviants,” nearly an entire generation of gay men were wiped out by the AIDS epidemic in my youth. The first year I celebrated Coming Out Day was the same week Matthew Shepard was murdered.

Gee, I wonder why on earth would I want to keep that part of myself under wraps?

When we landed in The Netherlands, I immediately noticed permanent rainbow crosswalks and flags hanging year-round, not just in June. In the United States, I understood tolerance to mean that as long as I was apologetic and private with my sexuality, I could exist publicly. But living afraid and ashamed doesn’t engender happiness…and is not freedom. The Dutch society’s notion of tolerance is inherently tied to the values of respect and dignity, something that’s had me gooped and gagged!

I was more than forty years old before a U.S. court decision—not a federal law—declared that I couldn’t be fired from a job for who I loved. Think about that for a moment: How many places have you worked that claim to be “a family?” How safe would you feel sharing your personal life with your colleagues when it could be grounds for termination? You know, like embezzlement or prostitution…which are now qualifications to work in the White House.

Many people don’t make the connection that the reason the U.S. celebrates Pride in June and July is in commemoration of the Stonewall Riots. We take the full two months so the party gays can travel to a different city every weekend for half of the summer. Right now, American public schools are accused of indoctrination for acknowledging that queer people exist. That’s why it is more important than ever for people to understand the history of the LGBTQIA+ community. It just isn’t my job to teach it since you’re literally reading this on a computer. Plus, I hear the internet loves doing its own research.

Walking Proudly

Instead of June, Den Haag celebrated Pride the weekend of May 17 and 18 to coincide with the International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia, and Biphobia. Rather than staying at home, as we might have usually done, I surprised William by asking if he’d like to see what these South Holland gays were up to. We walked over to Koekamp for the speeches that kicked off the weekend’s festivities. We were both pleased to understand more than a few words of the Dutch ones, and grateful when the burgemeester (mayor) came out swinging like a bilingual king. In today’s political climate, I was moved to hear a public official mean it when he said in two languages that everyone deserves to feel safe, seen, and supported in The Hague.

And I do.

We didn’t attend any of the evening concerts because we do like to get into bed with the cats early; however, we did participate in this year’s Pride Walk. More than 1,800 queers and allies, young and old, ambled (Dutch gays don’t speed walk, it seems) through the city streets behind a huge rainbow banner. It was an incredibly liberating experience because, for the first time in my life, I felt safe enough to publicly smile at strangers who could tell that I was gay. I left the house in my purple rainbow unicorn shirt and waved the paper flag they handed out. Those sound like simple acts, but it had been a long time since I felt comfortable enough to be that unguarded in public.

While glad for the camaraderie of the walkers, I was truly touched to see both Haagenaars and Haagenees alike cheering us on, opening windows and waving from balconies as we passed. Initially, William and I thought we might slip away early, but the joy was so palpable that we walked nearly the whole of the 3.5 kilometer route. For any expats who’ve lived in The Hague, the procession went over to Lange Voorhout, up to Noordwal, and down Torenstraat before taking Amsterdamse Veerkade and Spui to reach Turfmarkt…just like being back, right?

Of course, it is important to note that The Netherlands is not a perfect utopia. While the queer community is much more broadly accepted, there are still many protections not explicitly guaranteed under the law. Among the speeches before the Walk, the community organizers called for banning conversion therapy alongside increased recognition for transgender individuals. For any who struggle with the concept of equality, it bears repeating that extending rights to everyone takes nothing away from anyone…no matter how convincing the fear-mongering may be.

No body is free until EVERY body is free.

Radical Love and Resilience

At its root, the Pride movement is about visibility, acceptance, and equality. That’s not something strictly limited to queer people, either. It’s just something we’d had enough of being denied and now choose to celebrate every year. When the world tells you to be ashamed of something essentially true about yourself, choosing to feel proud of it becomes a radical act. Living that belief is something I continue to learn how to do.

Whoever you are and however you express yourself, Pride recognizes that you are lovable. It took my moving to another country to realize I wasn’t being fully myself in my own life, and I have, as Barb Quicksilver would say, “been delivered.” To those of you who have always supported and loved me for who I am (Mom), thank you and shantay, you stay. All-T, I’m sorry it took me this long to get here, but I would never have made it without you. 🌈🦄

To tide y’all over until I get around to writing that piece on learning to speak Dutch (or if you’re new here), enjoy more of my identity journey in these other bits of Immigrant Hagelslag:

Semiotics is a Crock!

Just a Little Off the Top...

You can also check out my Pride-themed playlists, Loud and Proud, on Spotify…and death drop for the gods over that original cover art:

I’ll be back with another episode of The Lost & Foundry next Tuesday…but for now, please get out there and support the queer community wherever you are. We can really use the cheering on these days! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

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