A little over a month ago, I
started a campaign to get Atlanta to commit to permanent rainbow and/or
transgender pride–colored crosswalks at the intersection of 10th and Piedmont,
a location many consider to be the epicenter of the city’s LGBTQ community.
My petition,
which was hosted on Care2, received over 20,000 signatures, including that of
Atlanta City Council President Ceasar Mitchell, who signed it publicly. It
culminated in a huge success: Mayor Kasim Reed announced his commitment to make
the rainbow crosswalks permanent June 12, the anniversary of the Pulse
nightclub massacre.
But many have
questioned why colors painted on asphalt are so important, and if this is
really an expedient use of our city’s time, effort, and resources.
To determine
the answer, we need only listen to the vast array of LGBTQ stories around us,
past and present.
Recently,
former New England Patriots and Kansas City Chiefs offensive lineman Ryan O’Callaghan came out as gay. He told reporters that
prior to coming out, he had planned to commit suicide.
Then
there’s Leelah Alcorn, a transgender girl from Ohio. Her 2014 death
gained international attention after her suicide note revealed her parents had
pulled her out of school, revoked her access to social media, and sent her to
Christian-based conversion therapy instead of allowing her to transition.
Then there are
the stories you may not have heard about: Laura Vermont, an 18-year-old trans
woman savagely beaten and killed by Brazilian military police in 2015. Chay
Reed, a 28-year-old trans woman shot to death in Miami this year. Jaquarrius
Holland (Brown), an 18-year-old trans woman shot in the head in Monroe, La.,
February 19. Mesha Caldwell, 41, a makeup artist and trans woman found shot
multiple times on a road in Mississippi January 4.
Do I really
need to go on?
I want to live
to see the day when stories like this are no longer part of the LGBTQ
experience. But LGBTQ people still suffer under our society’s taboos, the
voices that hush them, the hands that push them away from being who they truly
are.
It’s not just
about some colors on a street. Pride crosswalks are a simple, but affirming
recognition of the existence of the LGBTQ community — a community that throughout
American history has been largely ignored, disenfranchised, or regarded as
taboo.
In some states,
it is still illegal to educate young people on the history of LGBTQ civil
rights. Most Americans do not fully grasp the history of culturally significant
events like the Stonewall riots.
Will
rainbow-colored crosswalks fix this? No. But recently the tide has begun to
turn. In Washington, D.C., last week, a separate Care2 petition was successful
in securing the very first transgender pride crosswalk in the country, albeit
temporary.
Gestures like
this normalize the LGBTQ community, reaffirming that we are not to be ignored,
but we are to be celebrated, seen, heard, and loved.
I hope rainbow
crosswalks will open the door to broader conversations about issues facing the
LGBTQ community at home in Atlanta and elsewhere.
About a year
ago, shortly after the Pulse shootings, I went down to 10th and Piedmont for a
candlelight vigil. It is a night I don’t think I will ever forget. Among myself
and my friends were our peers, our allies; uniting to show their sympathy for
people they had never even met.
That event
solidifies why these crosswalks are so important to me. LGBTQ pride is about
the similarities we all share. We all want to be recognized, accepted, and loved.
These crosswalks are a way to help us remember that our society is only as
strong as what we choose to honor.
SARAH ROSE is
an Atlanta-based musician and is the LGBTQ issues aAdvocate at Care2,
the world’s largest social network for good. Care2 boasts over 40 million
members standing toether, starting petitions, and sharing stories that inspire
action.
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