By Ammi Midstokke
Reader Contributor
Most residents of the area seem eager participants in anything with a proximity to crepes, beer or live music, so I was recently surprised when someone asked me, “But why do they have to have a festival about being gay?”
It’s a fair question (then again, I think all questions are fair), but perhaps one rooted in a misunderstanding about what Pride festivals are.
There is a history to Pride events that precedes our small town’s volunteer-run festival — one that celebrates civil rights, freedom, privacy, equality and all the things we hold dear in our Constitution. Granted, there’s a lot more glitter and eyeshadow in this particular party than our Independence Day parade, but in many ways, we’re celebrating the same founding principle of this country: freedom.
Freedom to pursue happiness. Freedom from unjust persecution. Freedom of speech. Freedom from fear.
Ammi Midstokke. Courtesy photo
The first Pride events began in 1970, the year after the Stonewall Riots in New York. These protests were the result of government-sanctioned raids on establishments known to cater to gay patrons, as well as systemic persecution through legislation, isolation and denigration of sexual minorities. Fueled by a nationwide civil rights movement, Pride events began appearing in cities across America, with June officially being declared Pride Month in 1999.
Webster’s Dictionary defines pride as consciousness of one’s own dignity. Dignity means being worthy of respect. In other words, a basic human right that is often challenged or denied to members of the LGBTQ+ community (to name just one minority).
One of the wonders of North Idaho is the diverse set of values coexisting within it. We have at least 73 of the 14 million branches of Christianity (these are rough estimates) living in a cohesive social agreement whereby we accept the Mennonites as the superior bakers and the Hutterites as the best chicken farmers. We’re open to all lengths of skirts.
We have diesel V8s rolling coal next to Teslas and a few relic Priuses. We have people fishing on the lake, sailing on the lake, wakeboarding on the lake, paddling on the lake. Ending a decades-long unspoken cold war, the mountain bikers and dirt bikers even collaborated on trail projects this year.
We celebrate our farmers and crafters at the market each Wednesday and Saturday, along with local musicians. We invite artists to take over the town for our annual Art Walk. Our Fourth of July parade welcomes all voices, including the darlingly-dressed Daughters of the American Revolution and our two registered Democrats to hold the Bonner County Dems’ banner.
We have people defending public lands and property rights, and organizations restoring ownership to Indigenous peoples and championing conservation. We have people of differing races and ethnicities and cultural backgrounds, and finally, good Indian food. We even have vegans. Some of their friends are hunters, and the former makes a better lentil-loaf.
And we have gay people and trans people and everything-in-between-people. They buy our jams and pies at the county fair. Some are wicked-good quilters. Some are our children or parents, nieces and nephews, or were nieces but are now nephews.
In this town, we celebrate old cars downtown in May and microbrews at Schweitzer in the fall. We celebrate each others’ hobbies, ideals, 4-H hog-raising skills and livelihoods. And in July at Sandpoint Pride, this town celebrates inclusion and dignity for all.
LGBTQ+ people have always been within our community, contributing to our vitality and prosperity (though seemingly unimpactful to our stubborn clog fashion, leaving us to be ridiculed any time we travel to real cities). They run businesses, volunteer on boards, practice medicine, own homes, raise families. They pay taxes, go to church, buy our services, support our causes, fork out cash every time our kids have a soccer raffle (which is to say often).
And they throw a hell of a party, for free, for everyone, every year.
Pride festivals aren’t just some public parade of the queer folk. They are about our fundamental right to live freely and equally as diverse people contributing to a thriving community. And that is, indeed, something to be celebrated.
Ammi Midstokke is a writer, ally and mother. She serves on several nonprofit boards, including the Sandpoint Alliance for Equality.
