The privilege of the invisible gay

So, it's World Pride in Amsterdam and with that come a lot of activities. Lots of them are parties, but also quite a few have a more political and activist background too. Today I went to the Pride Walk, one of the protest marches that went from Dam Square (with speeches) to Vondelpark (where there was a Pride Market). Because my running schedule also included 18km for today, I had my running gear on, shoes in my bag, ready to run home after.

On the run home, I had the pride flag still on my back, inspired by my friends who are way more activist than I am. Let's be visible, I thought. And so I was, 18km long.

Somewhere next to the Amstel river, about three kilometers outside of De Ring, there was a boat of white males in their 40s who got my attention by shouting "k*nkerhomo" and other words I don't want to put on this blog uncensored. The safety of their boat made them feel like they could get away with this, and granted, I think they are right. There was not a thing I could do about it.

What did I do to these people to deserve these slurs? I was just running there with a rainbow on my back, trying to keep my heart rate under 160 bpm for the full distance. I failed at that for the next kilometer, thank you sir, because I was annoyed with the whole incident, and quite frankly, I still am. And the more I am annoyed at the power they hold over me by shouting a few words – they ruined at least a part of my day – the more I feel I should also not give them that, to just move on.

But that's privilege too, I am realizing. When you see me running, nothing would give me away as being gay. I am just a pretty tall white dude, going for a run. In fact, some might even see me as a threat, given the white-dudeness of it all. I try to keep a friendly face to prevent this, but there is only so much smile you can keep on during running. But it is really only the flag, or any other paraphernalia I attach to my body, that expose my sexuality. I blend in.

It changed my run. Initially I was aiming to enter the Bijlmer area at a much more southern point, but that would have required me to run with this pride flag through a more black neighborhood. I was not going to remove the flag from my back, but also I didn't want to get into more serious trouble about it. As I was already on this more northern road, I noticed what I was doing, and I also felt the silliness of it: these white dudes had activated the racism in me. Fear breads fear. It pushes us all in the system of oppression.

I don't think I'm brave enough to do all my runs in rainbows from now on, but at least it has shown me I have a privilege too: I can choose to hide and to blend in again, and to run without being disturbed. But this would also mean stagnation.

Not all my runs have to be political, just as my sexuality should not be political either. Let us just be who we are, please. But that in itself is political too, because it means I do nothing and accept the bigotry. At least I should not stop running home after a pride thing. We must be seen, we must protest. We must show who we are, to show that we are here, that we belong here.