Our day again started a little late since we had been up late for the fireworks. John surprised me by wanting to go the the service at Christ Church Cathedral. They have a fine choir here, but they were off for the summer and this week’s musicians were a country-folk group. So the introit was a blues-tinted version of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” not the usual fare for the spiritual offspring of the Church of England.
Today is Pride Day in Vancouver. The first lesbian and gay pride celebrations were not about pride or celebration. These commemorations of the Stonewall Riots were called “Liberation Day” or “Freedom Day” and were strongly political protests against legal discrimination. The first Freedom Day I remember in San Francisco came just after Governor George Deukmejian had vetoed AB 1, a measure which only sought to end legal discrimination in employment. The pink triangle, the emblem that the Nazis made gay prisoners wear in the death camps, was the most common symbol to be seen. Today the political environment is different – though not quite as different as most of us in places like California or the northeast think it is. The strident political rhetoric has faded somewhat, and the pink triangle has been replaced by the rainbow flag.
Here in Vancouver, the date has no connection with the Stonewall Riots. Instead, it comes right before the BC Day celebration, a provincial holiday which also lacks connection to any historical event. The themes of struggling for rights and solidarity with other struggling for freedom which dominated the first parades in New York and San Francisco are almost completely absent. Instead, Pride here is a community celebration of tolerance and inclusion. Now I am completely in favor of tolerance and inclusion. I am glad that the movement has made so much progress in places like Vancouver. But there is a smugness, a sense of superiority and self-congratulation which is also a little annoying. It is the most irritating characteristic of Canadians.
Pride Day gives many community groups who have no particular connection with the LGBT community a chance to march. These colorfully-clad marchers are Filipinos who celebrate the Ati-Atihan festival. In the Philippines, this is held in January. I am not sure if they march around in this regalia in the cold wet weather of January here. But I somehow doubt it.
The parade also gives banks and other companies an opportunity for some inexpensive advertising. There was nothing worth photographing about people in yellow tee-shirts holding signs declaring that “Bank of Montreal supports diversity.” On the other hand, the Trojan people – and not the ones from USC – did made for some good photographs.
The closest to political rhetoric came from a few anti-circumcision and animal rights groups. I am sure that Ellen’s chickens would have supported this group.
The provincial government had the most elaborate float, one I suspect that they recycle for many events. I suppose I am harping on this theme of a nanny state, but I found the exhortation to “Work Safe” a little irritating. Most industrial accidents are the result of bad management practices, not workers deciding that it would be amusing to risk life-long disability. Still, had it been made of flowers, I suppose thing one might have won a lesser prize at the Tournament of Roses.
Amid all this high-mindedness, it was refreshing to see something vaguely suggestive.
The parade ended at Sunset Beach on English Bay. Here there were lots of booths from various companies and community groups. There was also a stage where different musical acts performed. Unlike Los Angeles, where tickets are required to enter the festival area, this was free. Consumption of alcohol, however, was strictly controlled in a separate beer garden area.
Although the morning had been overcast, the afternoon was sunny and warm. So warm that John decided that it was time for the dogs to get cool.
The dogs found lots of fans as they walked through the festival grounds. Edie, in particular, had lots of guys willing to pose with her.
Even the Trojans could not resist her charms.
In the evening, we left the dogs at the apartment while we went to see a movie. John had never seen the Jean Cocteau Orpheus in a theater. He had tried to watch it on television, but it never made much sense to him. So when we discovered it was playing at the new home of the Vancouver International Film Festival, we decided to go see it.
It didn’t make anymore sense on a big screen with a good sound system. Bosley Crowther, the crotchety film critic for the New York Times in the post-war years, observed that the movie was more “Morpheus than Orpheus.” John and I both nodded off at points during the film so I guess we would have to agree.
