Cost of being seen

Written By: Vedant Gunda

Edited By: Saptarchi Biswas

Graphic Designer: Vedant Gunda

Imagine yourself stepping inside the largest library of the world. Endless shelves go on forever into the darkness. Here is every civilization, empire, revolution, love story which mankind deemed worthy enough of keeping.

Now imagine that somehow someone has been ripping out pages from those shelves. No, not whole books. This would be too obvious. Just one paragraph. A name. Changing a pronoun. Referring two lovers as "friends." Editing a photo. Hiding a diary. Re-writing a law. Erasing a life.

Would you notice?

Chances are slim.

This is what makes erasure such a great trick. You don't have to believe anything – it's enough to remain unaware of something being gone.

This has been the story of queer experience throughout centuries.

Many ask themselves: "When did LGBTQIA+ identities become so visible?"

But perhaps the better question is: "Who has been working for centuries on making sure they were not?"

Pride didn't start as celebration.

Pride started as evidence.

Evidence that although censored, persecuted, mocked, deleted from history textbooks, films, religions, families, even legislation - queers still existed.

But modern world managed to master a stunning contradiction.

Visibility and incomprehensibility are attainable at once.

In June each year, the rainbows appear almost instantly everywhere from windows of businesses. Corporations learn about the existence of LGBTQ+ inclusivity when it is almost time for profits to be declared. The streaming services suddenly find themselves owning films which have queer representation. Facebook is swarming with graphic images and messages of acceptance, love, and discount sales that come only for limited periods of time. Come July, the rainbows are once again packed away.

Representation has become seasonal.

Presencing cannot be afforded to do so.

The truth of the matter is that presence of queer individuals on screen is not about how many characters are shown on screen, but rather whether or not they can actually be human beings. They become beautiful sufferers, educators, symbols, and nothing more, having been squeezed into a stereotype and made marketable in the process.

But actual people will not conform into the convenient narrative.

They fall in love. They fight with their parents. They forget about anniversaries. They tell terrible jokes. They pay taxes. They burn the toast.

Even before the advent of hashtags and Pride marches, even before constitutions talked about equality, there was a wealth of understanding regarding gender and sexuality amongst humanity. The information was always abundant. The editors just would not stop.

Empires spread their legal codes along with their railways and other infrastructure; colonial regimes made criminal identities that did not fit into neat little boxes; traditions of religions which had many nuances for centuries suddenly became very certain; historians found themselves translating ambivalence into convenience; and suddenly, cultures who had been accepting of diversity throughout history found themselves taught otherwise.

History did not get changed all at once.

History got edited.

Step by step.

Deliberately.

Until the silence started passing itself off as the truth.

And then came the law.

Law is strange.

It is very powerful and incredibly limited simultaneously.

A court can rule that loving another person is not illegal anymore but cannot force anyone to stop being repulsed by their own family members. A constitution can guarantee equality but classrooms will go on preaching nonexistence. Governments can recognise everyone's identity on paper but hospitals, workplaces, and homes will keep doubting it.

Paper evolves faster than people do.

Rights can be created through legislation.

Dignity cannot be legislated.

That is why Pride is important even there where the fight for the right has been already won.

Because making it through the court does not mean making it through the family dinner.

Because discrimination will not end just because a hammer falls.

That is where pride lies.

Pride is the space between recognition and acceptance.

Legality and belonging.

Being acknowledged and being recognized.

This might explain why pride is so noisy.

Not because queers love making a racket.

Because silence does not get written down.

Historically, the loud ones were the winners since history has always belonged to those that made themselves loud enough for archival purposes. Every pride parade becomes the picture of tomorrow. Every protest becomes the headline of tomorrow. Every life that is lived without secrecy is another piece of documentation that cannot be conveniently edited away by future generations.

Presence is history.

It is impossible to erase a story when its author is still alive.

ECHO's theme this month is Pride as Presence, but perhaps presence is a too small word.

Presence is proof.

Proof that identities withstands censorship.

Proof that memory endures prejudices.

Proof that not even an empire, an organization, ideology, nor an algorithm has succeeded in erasing the people who refused to stop existing.

Perhaps history's worst crime is not oppression.

But convincing people that millions of lives did not exist.

Presence is the evidence left behind at the scene.

And evidence, inconveniently, has a habit of outliving those who tried to destroy i

And evidence, inconveniently, has a habit of outliving those who tried to destroy it.And evidence, inconveniently, has a habit of outliving those who tried to destroy it

And evidence, inconveniently, has a habit of outliving those who tried to destroy it.

Pride is the evidence left behind at the scene.

And evidence, inconveniently, has a habit of outliving those who tried to destroy it