The following are the posts received after a general call for contributors. The idea was to present critiques and/or reflections of Beirut Pride 2017.

The first post is by Raja Farah:

Now that it’s over, a few words about Pride.

First of all, my heart is glowing from the positivity that took over my Facebook feed this week. I was particularly moved by the fantastic Storytelling night, that was heartwarming, comforting, and hopeful. This city has given rise to so many wonderful young folks who have stood up to the harshest brutalities and realities and have found ways to not only survive, but to shine. It brings me joy to see the community growing stronger every year.

OK, now that that is out of the way, a bit of bitchiness.

This was in no way the first Pride event organized in Lebanon, and to call it that is insulting to the courage that an entire generation of activists have shown. The first pride event post the civil war took place in 2001 or 2002 (I can’t remember the exact date) and it was called I Exist. It was a different time back then, both socially and technologically. We held a film screening, an art exhibition, and a talk, at a time when we could only find one person who agreed to publically say he was gay. There have been several events since. I am not sure if any are documented, but I’m sure the early activists must have some kind of documentation. I have a few pictures and some old emails.

It’s also pretentious for any of us to think that the gay movement in Lebanon started about 15 years ago, with my generation, and it is dismissive to the activism that took place before the civil war. Just because it was before social media doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

Throughout the early years of my involvement in Lebanon’s LGBTIQ movement, we were all guilty of two major things: 1. Of thinking that LGBTIQ only actually meant G. 2. Of thinking our immediate bubble is all of Lebanon.

Almost 20 years later, this has not changed. While I was happy to see a strong lesbian participation in the couple of events that I participated in this year, the BTIQ was completely ignored. And, almost 20 years later, the movement is still predominately middle to upper class Beirutis. No effort has been made to step out of this bubble, not even something as simple as having the program in Arabic, or, for that matter, not calling it Beirut Pride, but something else in Arabic.

The organizer of this year’s Pride (and yes, it is ONE organizer, which is impressive and problematic) has repeatedly said that the event is apolitical. That, of course, is bullshit. No event in Lebanon is apolitical, and a Pride certainly isn’t, and it certainly shouldn’t be. To ignore that our existence is directly linked to social, economic, political, religious, and historical structures that oppress women, refugees, people with disabilities, the poor, the sick, and the rural populations is dangerous and will get us nowhere as LGBTIQ people. That’s another lesson we should have learned from the early activists.

Finally, this week has reminded me how important it is for our history to be written down. While I have had numerous problems with the early leaders of the LGBTIQ movement post-civil war, their work has been nothing short of courageous, necessary, and crucial, and has created the relative safety that has given rise to so many wonderful gays and lesbians that can be confident, productive, and indispensable parts of Lebanon’s identity. This week should not discard their work, and there are many many many people who have literally put their lives at risk in order for us to be where we are today. These people include (last names omitted for obvious reasons, but you know who you are): Mazen, Ralph, George, Rana, Siroun, Khaldoun, Rasha, Raymond, Imad, Rita, Mike, Ghassan, Nadine, and many many many more. These people hold the stories of why we are where we are today, and they should be thanked one by one.

Enough bitchiness. Here’s to many more Prides- bigger, better, more inclusive Prides.

The second post is by Edwin Nasr:

By safeguarding your inherently political movement or campaign under an apolitical umbrella, failing to embrace intersectional reasoning, and adopting tone-deaf slogans, you’d think the worst that could happen to single-issue demands channeled through a manifestation such as Pride would be to have governing bodies postpone/reject the possibility of legislation, but, as past struggles in different countries have proven, the reality is much more sinister.

Lest we forget, Assadist logic equating Syrian refugees to crypto-Islamists is widely espoused in Lebanon, and has been deployed in the past by right-wing politicians and far-left organizations alike. When LGBT activism refuses to install solid discursive barriers between rightful (and necessary) anti-clericalism and aggressive secularism, fools itself into thinking it could operate in a vacuum, deploys statist rhetoric (“terrorism”), seeks the tolerization of individual perceptions instead of the dismantlement of oppressive structures, it also risks throwing the most marginalized social group in Lebanon into the lion’s den.

It is imperative, at a point in time where demonization of refugees in Lebanon has reached its peak, to consecrate the importance of intersectionality in our struggles, and understand the danger of separating gender and sexuality-based activism from anti-racism, often leading to disastrous recuperations by European and North American state apparatuses. The Machiavellian opportunism showcased by said entities vis-à-vis LGBT/feminist struggles and their cooption resulted in, for instance, having more than 40% of young gay men vote for a far right party in France’s recent presidential elections. The Lebanese government will stop at nothing to manufacture a hegemonic consensus around the supposed “danger” posed by Syrian refugees in Lebanon, including – perhaps even especially – towards LGBT individuals.

The third post is by a 44 year old teacher. She preferred to remain anonymous.