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A great deal of attention has been paid to the decisions of Chicago Dyke March organizers who requested the removal of a handful of LGBTQ Jews from the march. Seemingly most of what's been written has relied either on information that's been thoroughly debunked, or is just the typical conflations of anti-Semitism with criticisms of the Israeli government and its illegal occupation of Palestine. The recent op-ed [Mark My Words: Chicago Dyke March: Full of Shame!] published here in #Boom is such a shining example.

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I’m writing this column on Jason’s and my third wedding anniversary. Since marriage is something new for our community, and us, I thought I’d share what has been a learning process.

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I went to my first Pride Parade in L.A. in 1985 (or was it 1986?) It seems a long time ago, now. But I vividly remember sitting on the curb of Santa Monica Blvd. watching Dykes on Bikes roar by, sharing sips of Wild Turkey from a bottle someone passed through the crowd. (It was my first taste of whiskey, too.)

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Hard headline, so let me make it more clear.


Whoever is in charge of the Chicago Dyke March has their heads up their asses. If you’ve read this column before, you’ve never read language like that from me before, but I’ll let you judge. Here are the facts:

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Pride is very special to me, since I helped in the first Gay Pride march in 1970. At that time it was not a “Gay Pride” march, but rather a march to show — using today’s terms — our resistance to society’s portrayal of us. It was also a celebration of what we created in the year since the Stonewall Riots. But mostly, it was a statement that we no longer would be in the closet. We were out loud and in your face!

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