‘Out’ and about
Panel discussion looks at 25 years of Pride on P.E.I.
When George Clark-Dunning came out to his family in the mid-1980s, his father left the room and his mother cried.
“It wasn’t spoken of,” said Clark-Dunning.
Several years later and living in Toronto, he was chatting to his mother in one of their weekly phone calls. He was upset after his first serious breakup.
“Well, you father and I always said that your choice was going to be difficult,” said his mother. Clark-Dunnning hung up. “It’s still a process with my parents,” he said.
During Pride Week, close to 100 people gathered at the Delta Prince Edward to hear four panelists – Clark-Dunning, Deb Berrigan, Nola Etkin and Wade MacLauchlan – discuss the history of Pride in P.E.I.
Their individual journeys began long before the first Pride Parade 25 years ago. Berrigan’s Irish-Catholic family disapproved of her career choice more than her sexuality. Even so, Berrigan continues to steel herself for cutting comments whenever she's home.
“I had a wall around me when I walked out of my safe place. I didn’t take that cloak off when I visited family — I knew better.”
Etkin arrived on P.E.I. in 1997. Her identity had been forged in activism in Edmonton.
She was proud to be called “lesbian fem-bo” in the ultraconservative news magazine Alberta Report, but when the university’s Gays and Lesbians on Campus organization received a phone message that said, “All gays and lesbians should burn in the ovens at Auschwitz”, she was shaken.
“Imagine me, a young woman of Jewish origin, whose greatgrandparents had been killed in the concentration camps,” said Etkin.
MacLauchlan said his coming out happened in stages.
“The people that are closest to us, in my case at least, family and friends and loved ones, were sort of there ahead of me.”
But the ultimate coming-out for MacLauchlan was putting his name on the ballot for Liberal party leader in 2015.
“That was more like a plunge than a coming out.”
Clark-Dunning is used to hearing stories of the brothers, sisters, friends and acquaintances who packed a bag and left for a larger town, often the day after graduating from high school.
As “the only gay in the village”, Clark-Dunning has given advice to a new cohort of youth. He is able to be a role model of the kind he never had.
These days, fewer people feel forced to leave the Island because of their sexual orientation. He likens the road to progress to one paved with small gestures, spread out over the years.
By 1997, Berrigan and her friends were still fighting for basic human rights. Etkin joined in their efforts when the province opened the Human Rights Act for review.
“They (the province) were really interested in addressing political patronage. But that gave us an opening to lobby for the inclusion of sexual orientation,” said Etkin. “That is when I saw the attitudes towards our community. What I saw was an interesting mix of naïveté, bewildered ignorance and venomous hatred.”
These days, it is less acceptable to be openly homophobic, but Etkin had only to point to the comments under recent queer news stories to see how the old attitudes persist.
“We’ve come a long way, but not nearly far enough, P.E.I.,” she said.
MacLauchlan, too, reminded Islanders not to be complacent.
“History is not a one-way path. It’s not something we can take for granted, or where we can forgo every opportunity to a) support each other, and b) recognize that wherever we stand, we stand on tall shoulders,” he said.
Berrigan agrees, and turns the call to action into her own community.
“I find the seniors are falling through the cracks,” she said. “We need outreach within the gay community generally … frankly the seniors who have volunteered for years are too freakin’ tired. We need young people to remember those that did pave the way for them and now pay back a little bit with maybe a telephone call.”
None of the panelists were under 50. Only Etkin had children, a ground-breaking act in itself as she and her partner were the first two women to have their names on a P.E.I. birth certificate together.
Clark-Dunning has already organized his final plans.
He pictures a death at home in bed, with his cats and teddy bear, snuggled for his final sleep on 1,800 thread-count sheets.
“I have a niece and four nephews. They’re all listed by age and the funeral directors are told, ‘Phone one until somebody says yes, I’ll come pick up the ashes.’ And then sprinkle me.” He was only partly joking. Berrigan and Clark-Dunning have both seen compassionless care of their peers. He’s not ready to face the thought of seniors’ home.
“So many of us have had people – organizations, church, interest groups, whatever – try to rip our dignity away. I dare you to do it. I dare you. I have fought too hard and too long to maintain the little bits and pieces of old George. By god, you will treat me with dignity and respect.”
“History is not a one-way path. It’s not something we can take for granted, or where we can forgo every opportunity to a) support each other, and b) recognize that wherever we stand, we stand on tall shoulders.”
George Clark-Dunning