Pardon My Rant: We Need To Talk About the Progress Pride Flag

I dislike the new version of the pride flag. The left side of the flag gives off an aggressive vibe, making it seem like the original pride flag, or its second iteration is outdated and regressive. Proponents of this new flag argue that it is more inclusive, but to me, this assertion lacks merit. The older flag version was never exclusionary; it was always intended to promote inclusivity. That was the fundamental principle, and there's no need for modifications. We should revisit the original flag to reconnect with our roots and identity. It feels like the essence of the flag has been misunderstood by some younger members of the community who are drawn to performative actions that may do more harm than good. I don't doubt their good intentions, but I firmly believe that the creator of the original Progress Pride flag had misplaced motivations.

What's the deal with that obnoxious circle? It seems like some performative nonsense that makes me want to scream at the person who designed it. When I heard the explanation, I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly lost consciousness. It's some kind of nonsense about representing the whole spirit of an intersex person. I fully support intersex people, but really? My sapphic sister and I couldn't stop laughing at how ridiculous it is. Who cares about the rest of the flag? Certainly not the intersex designer who added it. Who's going to update it next? I can't wait for the gay leprechaun 7-toed rhythmic gymnasts to chime in.

A few months ago, I came across a discussion on Reddit where some users were suggesting that individuals who don't like the flag are simply acting as gatekeepers and fail to grasp the concept of inclusivity. I personally find this viewpoint quite offensive. In my opinion, the flag actually excludes more groups than it includes because the colors were not initially intended to specifically represent certain groups. Instead, they were meant to symbolize Pink for sex; Red for life; Orange for healing; Yellow for sunlight; Green for nature; Turquoise for magic and art; Indigo for serenity; and Violet for spirit. I don't see who isn't included in that.

The original version holds deep history and meaning. As a former resident of San Francisco, it also signifies our unique position as a sanctuary for LGBTQ+ individuals who faced rejection in their own communities. They sought refuge by coming west and north, turning the city into a haven where they could openly express their love and identity. While New York City and Los Angeles were progressive, nowhere else in America could rival the welcoming and vibrant community of my hometown. It was a place where a young girl's godparents could be an interracial gay couple, one of whom journeyed from Italy seeking acceptance and freedom. Growing up next to The Castro, I was surrounded by gay men who were like loving uncles, lesbians who were like aunties, and drag was simply a part of everyday life. LGBTQ individuals were not just residents, but also business owners, friendly neighbors, proud, flamboyant, and beautiful members of the community. All of this made my hometown a source of immense pride because I knew it was unique and special in my heart. 

I spent my early years in the Unitarian Universalist church, affectionately known to many as "The Gay Church." The nickname wasn't far off, as our congregation was incredibly inclusive of the LGBTIA+ community. It's worth noting that our church didn't discriminate based on sexuality when it came to selecting our pastor, and we held symbolic same-sex marriage ceremonies long before they were legally recognized. Embracing pride was a core tenet of our spiritual education, and our church welcomed everyone who stood for justice, peace, equality, and living in a compassionate world. The original Pride flag was always prominently displayed, symbolizing our values of inclusivity and acceptance.

In the Haight Last Call at Maude's was an 
example of the kind of freedom people
found in San Francisco.

In 1978, Gilbert Baker (pictured with Obama), the creator of the original Pride flag, intentionally chose not to trademark it, ensuring that it would be a symbol accessible to all. Following the tragic assassination of Harvey Milk, the flag was updated by Baker to reflect the loss of this pioneering figure. Throughout the devastation of the AIDS epidemic, the flag stood as a beacon of strength and resilience for the community. Personally, I have experienced the profound impact of this era, having lost friends, relatives, and admired gay individuals to AIDS. The flag came to embody our defiance and eventual triumph, serving as a powerful and unmistakable symbol of our identity. When others encountered it, they knew its significance and what it represented. It did its job wonderfully. 

I am passionate about the copyrighted Progress Flag designed by Daniel Quasar. While Quasar aims to safeguard the flag from corporate influence, I have a different perspective. It is evident that corporations eagerly aligned with the LGBTQ+ community when they recognized its purchasing power. However, they have been noticeably absent in times of genuine need. I nostalgically long for the days when our activism was characterized by spontaneity and lack of structure, allowing us to easily grab a sign, don whimsical outfits and take to the streets in pursuit of our cause. It was pure; there was innocence and an abundance of love.

NYC Pride in the 90s.

I always embrace Pride with enthusiasm. It's a time of vibrant celebration that my kids adore, and it serves as a wonderful reason to host a lively party. The event still holds the remarkable ability to bring our community together. I revel in the sight of the exuberant floats adorned with drag queens dancing, leather daddies strutting along, muscle gays in tiny shorts, flamboyant attire, glimmering sparkles, dazzling fireworks, joyous dancing, warm embraces, contagious laughter, and beaming smiles. The event is an ebullient spectacle that showcases the enduring spirit that lies beneath it all; a spirit that must be cherished amidst the plethora of corporate banners. We must hone in on the true essence of why we gather amidst the challenges our community faces. Real threats are on the horizon, and a new battle looms soon. Perhaps this year, I will dress up elaborately, adorn my support dog with a rainbow kerchief, jazz up the kids' attire, ask my partner to dandify himself, and fully immerse ourselves in the festivities. 

For 30 days, I'll even set aside any disdain I may have for the Progress Flag. Besides, I have 11 other months to fully debate with my tribe and hate it with all my heart. 

Photos: Getty Images; Pete Souza/The White House, Alamy, Thomas Alleman, Paul Fusco, Leslie+Lohman