Louis-George Tin (right) is interviewed by French media just before Moscow Pride 2010.

“We are born into a world of homophobia, and I am wondering what we can do to change that.”  Louis-George Tin, founder of the International Day Against Homophobia Organization.

That is just one of the many things Louis-George said to me in the small kitchen of the secret Moscow Pride 2010 headquarters.  If you have ever met Louis-George than you would know that his voice and his words will stay with you.   These words have been repeating in my mind since I heard them.  They got me thinking about my own past, how homophobia had been a part of my life, and how I came to be the person that I am today.

Louis-George Tin (center) celebrates with Team Moscow Pride 2010.

When I was say 6 or 7 years old the biggest thing on TV was Eddie Murphy’s “Delirious”.  I wasn’t supposed to watch it, but I was always doing things I wasn’t supposed to do back then.  If you haven’t seen it, Murphy begins the show with a long rant about “faggots”.  I remember how funny I thought it was, and mimicking him with friends over and over again.  Everyone in the audience laughed, my friends laughed, Murphy became a huge star.   It was beautiful, the American Dream in action.   Having watched the skit again on YouTube what was funny back then is utterly disgusting to me now.  The audience sitting there laughing and applauding at some of the most damaging words I’ve ever heard.  I say damaging because yes, they damaged me.  I learned that it was okay to make fun of “faggots,” and that homosexuals were different.  I wonder how many other children watched that show, and thought the same as me.  When I watch the show now, I keep looking at the audience, waiting for someone to get up and walk out.  Nobody does.  Why?

When I was in fifth grade, I am guessing around 10 or 11 years old, we had a Sexual Education class in school.  It’s a big deal for kids.  Boys have class with the boys, and girls have class with the girls.  You have to get permission from your parents to take the class.  This is serious stuff to a kid.  To this day, I remember our teacher’s exact words on homosexuality.  “If it were up to me, all gays would be rounded up and put out on an island.”  The teacher was young, and also taught our gym classes.  We looked up to him.  How could he be wrong?   At ten years old, what student is going to stand up and say. “You are wrong.  There is nothing wrong with being gay.”?   With all of the tragic teenage suicides there have been in the US recently, I can’t help but wonder if there were any gay students in that class.   I wonder how they must have felt.  I wonder how many kids are still going through the same thing today.

Louis-George Tin at the Moscow Pride 2010 Press Conference

It wasn’t that I was a skinhead or religious fanatic that takes their homophobia to extremes. I wasn’t violent or went out of my way to discriminate against the LGBT community.  No, I was just a normal everyday straight guy living in our straight orientated world.  Unfortunately, for homophobia to be damaging individuals don’t have to be extremists.   We can simply sit back quietly and accept the bad humor from Hollywood, the hateful sermons from our churches, the hurtful words of school bullies, the wrong legislation from our governments, and the wrong lessons from our educators.

“We are born into a world of homophobia, and I am wondering what we can do to change that.”  I keep trying to think of an answer to give Louis-George, but honestly, I don’t know.  The road to wiping out homophobia is a difficult one.   I do know that we have to keep up the fight, the world has got to change.

I’d like to thank all the incredible people we met over the year, and I’m thankful to call so many of them my friends.

I’d also like to thank my fiancée Sarah, whose countless hours of hard work behind the scenes made this project possible.

To learn more about Louis-George Tin and IDAHO please click here www.dayagainsthomophobia.org

Sincerely,

Charles Meacham

It was with a bit of sad irony that Sergey Yenin would choose Independence Square to meet me.  The 20 year old LGBT activist who now lives in Warsaw has returned once again to Minsk with the task to help organize and lead this year’s Slavic Pride.  His goal isn’t an easy one.  Officially banned by the Belarusian government, Slavic Pride is illegal, making those that plan to break the government’s ban criminals.  But being arrested isn’t the worse scenario the LGBT community can think of.  Belarus is still rife with homophobia and several death threats have been received in recent days.  Having attended the Prides in Moscow, Sergey knows how bad things can get.

We duck down into the crowded Minsk subway and pop up by a small housing community made up of grey rectangular concrete apartment buildings.  Sergey apologizes in advance for the state of Gay Belarus’ office, but money is scarce and a room in one of the other organizer’s flat is all that is in the budget.  I am immediately offered a cup of tea and we begin to chat about our lives.  It’s hard for me, someone twice his age, to believe the integrity of this young man.  What he has already done, and what he plans to do.  The phone rings, and Sergey receives word that the printer of the first edition of the organization’s magazine has refused to finish the order due to a political sketch of _______________.  I suggest to leave the space blank, but with an explanation of the empty space.  The printer agrees to do the job, and the deadline will be met.

We go back down into the metro to meet two Australians here doing a film documentary on the Pride.  The four of us then catch a cab and head to an apartment where Russian LGBT activist Nikolai Alekseev is staying.  Having organized Moscow’s Prides, which face similar circumstances Nikolai has in his own words “A lot of experience in such matters.”  The atmosphere in the apartment is relaxed but an air of uncertainty looms.  Nikolai gives the Australian film crew an interview, and the room falls silent.  His words are honest and inspirational. We hang on his every word.

The location of the Pride is being kept a secret until an hour before the meet, and the group’s main focus is now on having not only the most effective display, but the safety of everyone involved.  When asked what he would like to achieve from Saturday’s Pride he simply answers “A peaceful demonstration and the right for discussion.”  With Saturday only two days away everyone seems to hold their breath and wait.

I haven’t been blogging that much lately.  Not that I ever really did, but I am doing more and more on the WWP sites.  If you would like to check out what is going on please feel invited to view http://www.walkwithpridenow.com

There is also a new link :  Behind the Photos, which explains what you are seeing.

All my best,

Chad

Hunter S. Thompson Archives

“All my life my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.”

Months later, when I rarely saw the Angels, I still had the legacy of the big machine – four hundred pounds of chrome and deep red noise to take out on the Coast Highway and cut loose at three in the morning, when all the cops were lurking over on 101.  My first crash had wrecked the bike completely and it took several months to have it rebuilt.  After that I decided to ride it differently: I would stop pushing my luck on curves, always wear a helmet and try to keep within range of the nearest speed limit… my insurance had already been canceled and my driver’s license was hanging by a thread.

So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast.  I would start in Golden Gate Park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head … but in a matter of minutes I’d be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the sure booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz … not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all – night diner down around Rockaway Beach.

There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves.  The momentary freedom of the park was like the one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon.  I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out there on the midnight humping strip.

Then into first gear, forgetting the cars and the letting the beast wind out … thirty – five, forty – five …  then into second and wailing through the light at Lincoln Way, not worried about green or red signals, but only some other werewolf loony who might be pulling out, too slowly, to start his own run.  Not many of these … and with three lanes on a wide curve, a bike coming hard has plenty of room to get around almost anything … then into third, the boomer gear, pushing seventy – five and the beginning of a windscream in the ears, a pressure on the eyeballs like diving into water off a high board.

Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering in the wind.  Tail lights far up ahead coming closer, faster, and suddenly –zaaapppp — going past and leaning down for a curve near the zoo, where the road swings out to sea.

The dunes are flatter here, and on windy days sand blows across the highway, piling up in thick drifts as deadly as any oil-slick … instant loss of control, a crashing, cartwheeling slide and maybe one of those two-inch notices in the paper the next day:  ”An unidentified motorcyclist was killed last night when he failed to negotiate a turn on Highway 1.”

Indeed … but no sand this time, so the lever goes up into fourth, and now there’s no sound except wind.  Screw it all the way over, reach through the handlebars to raise the headlight beam, the needle leans down on a hundred, and wind-burned eyeballs strain to see down the centerline, trying to provide a margin for the reflexes.

But with the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes.  It has to be done right … and that’s when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms.  You can barely see at a hundred;  the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before the get to your ears.  The only sounds are wind and a dull roar floating back fro the mufflers.  You turn to the right, then to the left and down the long hill to Pacifica stretch and another few seconds on the edge … The Edge …There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.  The others — the living — are those who pushed their control as far as they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later.

But the edge is still Out there.  Or maybe it’s In.  The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity.  They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.

–Taken from “Hell’s Angels” by Hunter S. Thompson

I arrived back in Taipei from Sydney over two weeks ago, and the daze still hasn’t fully worn off.  I can still see, hear, and feel Mardi Gras.  I close my eyes and find myself back on Oxford Street in the middle of all that sound and color.  For me, the best part of being a photographer is coming up with an idea and then making that idea happen.  The experience of being exactly where you want to be, at the exact time you want to be there is an incredible feeling.  But as any photographer will tell you, most days are not fun, and Sydney was no exception.

I arrived in Oz the day before one of Mardi Gras biggest events, Fair Day.  Over 70,000 people were expected to show up at Sydney’s Victoria Park, and I was looking forward to a day of shooting and getting to meet different members of the community that I had been in contact with via email.  But  that morning getting to Victoria Park was a bit of a hassle.  As I had written before, my hotel, which advertised being a LGBT and Mardi Gras supporter, knew nothing about the event or where it was being held.  Going out onto one of the main streets in Sydney, two taxi drivers swore they had never heard of Victoria Park, and that I must have the name wrong.  Finally, with the help of the police, I made my way there.  There was not a cloud in the sky, and the Aussie sun was out in full force.  Jet lagged and sunburnt, I found it hard to focus my attention and get into any kind of rhythm.  I took pictures, but not anywhere the number I had hoped.

Two days later, I came across a magazine article that talked about a right-wing christian protest held a few days before the main parade during a church service.  I checked some local maps, found the church, and prepared to go there to photograph the service.  However,  I was directed to board the wrong train and ended up an hour or so outside of Sydney.  For me this was 0/2 and you can really start getting down on yourself.  It cost a lot of money to get to OZ, and not to produce would be a pretty big blow to the project, and to my morale.

The next event was the actual parade, and the pressure was on.  Luckily, I had been invited to the ACON BBQ.  Everyone at ACON,  and especially Michael Badorrek were extremely friendly and helpful.  There were people from all over the world at the BBQ, and it was a great experience to just meet and chat  with them.  I was able to take a few portraits.  The one above of a young woman I especially like.  She just has a natural beauty that we evident as soon as I raised the camera.  A big thanks Michael and all the good people at ACON.

Sydney’s Mardi Gras is by far the largest, most organized event that I have yet photographed for the WWP project, and having the opportunity to be a part of it all was a truly unforgettable  life experience.  There were press passes, press meetings, police barricades, lots and lots of other photographers, news channels, etc..etc.  The true enormity of it hits you as you look out at the huge crowds gathered.  Honestly, it is just mind blowing.

I’ve been lucky enough to do some pretty cool things in my lifetime, and being in Sydney’s Mardi Gras is definitely one of them.  I would like to again thank everyone in Sydney.  I had a great time.

Charles Bukowski

“If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery–isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.”
— Charles Bukowski

I’ve personally been pretty busy the last couple of nights working on some new MotoHeart posters, which I hope to have done in the next couple of days.  All of the rain here in Taipei has kept off my bike and in front of my computer, which is great for working on images, but not so great for the soul.

The second site is “Just Out” which can be found at http://blogout.justout.com out of Portland, Oregon the site  is a great resource for information concerning the gay community.

Writer Nick Mattos wrote up a really flattering piece on the WWP project.  ”Need something to put a smile back on your face after a long holiday weekend of rich foods, cheap liquor, and family drama? Take a few minutes to appreciate how far the gay rights movement has come, relive some Pride weekend memories – and see some breathtaking Taiwanese drag queens – with a new project that seeks to capture the global Pride parade phenomena.”  Another huge “thanks” goes out to them.