Spain’s third-largest Pride parade in Torremolinos shows Czechs what Pride parades are really all about – and that perhaps we shouldn’t take life so seriously
A sort of older European Stonewall
Torremolinos’s historical LGBT+ identity predates the famous Stonewall Inn riots. The La Nogalera district – today the lively epicentre of the gay scene, with bars, restaurants and shops – has been visibly “gay” since the late 1950s. Tony’s Bar, opened in 1962, is considered the first gay bar in the whole of Spain. The paradox of the time is that, in a country where Franco’s dictatorship criminalised homosexuality and organised round-ups in the 1970s, Torremolinos became an oasis – a town where, under the guise of tourism, one could breathe more freely than anywhere else. International tourists flocked here, bringing with them a degree of anonymity and tolerance that otherwise did not exist in Franco’s closed society.
Today, the situation is diametrically different. Spain legalised same-sex marriage in 2005, becoming the third country in the world to do so, following the Netherlands and Belgium. Since 2007, people here have been able to legally change their gender even before undergoing surgery. A 2013 Pew Research Center survey showed that 88 per cent of Spaniards accept homosexuality, which at the time was the highest rate in the world. And Spain continues to feature at the top of international rankings assessing the state of human rights. This is no coincidence – it is rather the result of a conscious political choice and a gradual but uncompromising social transformation. And, let’s be honest – quite possibly also the influence of the large number of sunny days in the year.
A Catholic kingdom that serves as an example to the Czech Republic
On paper, however, Spain is a country from which one might not automatically expect such developments. The Catholic tradition has deep roots here; the country is a monarchy, and as recently as the 1970s, Generalísimo Franco ruled here. Conservatism was historically embedded in the very fabric of the state. And yet – or perhaps precisely because of this – such a sweeping democratic and social liberalisation took place after 1975.
The Spanish people broke free from the tight grip of dictatorship with a vigour that seemed to know no compromise. The culture of freedom that came with la Movida (the creative explosion of free expression in the 1980s) sowed the seeds of tolerance, which we are now reaping in the form of one of the most inclusive environments in Europe.
Let us compare this with the Czech Republic. According to various surveys, it is one of the least religious countries in the world. Faith plays virtually no role in the daily lives of most of its inhabitants. Nevertheless, the Czech Republic still lags behind in the European comparison of LGBT+ rights: same-sex marriage does not yet exist, adoption by LGBT+ couples is effectively unavailable, and we rank around 37th in international rankings. Atheism and liberalism simply do not go hand in hand as automatically as one might think. The Spanish example shows us that the key is not an attempt to suppress people’s faith, but rather political will and a conscious choice by society.
Rainbows everywhere you look
This year’s Torremolinos Pride celebrated its eleventh anniversary, and the town made sure to mark the occasion in style. Rainbow flags fluttered from the windows of flats, hotels and office buildings, as well as from shop windows, with both local shops and global chains joining in the festivities. It wasn’t quite the visual spectacle seen in Madrid or Barcelona, however – their Pride events are larger for logistical and historical reasons, but Torremolinos holds its own firmly in their wake. This year, more than 40,000 visitors took part, and the numbers are growing year on year. A figure that speaks for itself, especially when we consider that this is a relatively small coastal town.
LGBT+ people as an asset, not a problem
The programme also included a human rights conference, at which local politicians and city officials spoke of LGBT+ travellers with genuine respect, rather than as a marginalised group that needs to be mentioned merely because the times demand it. LGBT+ travellers were discussed here as a significant economic force that brings noticeable economic development to the city. It was noted that whilst this community has specific needs and interests, once treated with respect, it repays this with extraordinary loyalty and generosity.
The ‘gaycation’ economy (i.e. tourism based on a welcoming attitude towards LGBT+ travellers) is vital for Torremolinos. It is, therefore, a kind of pragmatic face of tolerance, which, of course, does not diminish it in any way. On the contrary – acceptance rooted in economic interest is stable and long-lasting, as we can see from the example of many other destinations that have chosen to follow the same path.
Rainbow dogs and a high-heel race
The Pride Week programme certainly isn’t just about the Saturday parade, although that is undoubtedly the highlight, just as it is with any other Pride event anywhere in the world. Personally, two events really struck a chord with me, as they have the power to show what Pride is really about – not just a political manifesto, but also the joy of being. The parade of dogs decked out in Pride costumes was nothing more than pure fun and joy for joy’s sake. Onlookers laughed, took photos and clapped. No one took offence at some supposed decline in values and morals.
This was followed by a high-heel race – a discipline requiring not only courage but also coordination, which even many people without heels lack. And once again, this was nothing more than a reason to laugh, have fun and cheer on those who had plucked up the courage to run through the city centre in 30-degree heat in shoes with heels that were often far too high, causing even the women present to roll their eyes.
A reception that needed no comment
At both events, I spotted the same woman. She was accompanying a boy wearing a girl’s dress (most likely her son). He might have been about six, perhaps eight years old. His mother walked beside him calmly, confidently, without a single nervous glance at her surroundings. At the pet show, the boy laughed along with the others. At the high-heeled race, he clapped enthusiastically for those who crossed the finish line.
It is a trivial image, and yet it struck me more than any banner. The mother didn’t have to explain anything; she didn’t apologise; she didn’t watch to see if anyone was looking, or if anyone was judging her or her son. She didn’t care. She simply came to a place where her son is welcomed just as he is, or as he wants to be. And this, in my view, is the most sincere form of freedom: not the legislative kind, not the kind found in opinion polls, but the kind that happens quietly, amongst the palm trees, without dramatic gestures.
Torremolinos Pride is synonymous with a celebration of lifePhoto: Torremolinos pride / se svolením
Pride parade: a carnival, not a protest
The parade itself was an unusual experience for (especially Czech) eyes. Unlike Prague Pride, which is still very much a protest event where the vast majority of people wear relatively ordinary clothes so as not to be judged by those who have never been to Pride, the parade in Torremolinos was a carnival in the fullest sense of the word. Those who turned up in street clothes were in the minority. Costumes, masks, all manner of animal suits, sailor’s uniforms, ancient robes, glitter from head to toe – all this was part of the parade, where individuality is accepted as the norm, not the exception.
The floats were a real treat. Floats for lesbians, floats for bears (a gay subculture of larger, hairy men), sailor floats, ancient floats with people in togas, corporate floats, and so on. Prague doesn’t have floats like that, and honestly, I rather miss them here. They add a theatrical quality to the parade, a spectacle, a sense that it is a celebration of life, and not just a march from point A to point B, where there is still a lingering aftertaste of misunderstanding, rejection and constant political efforts to dehumanise the fundamental human right to self-expression.
Banners of a human rights nature were not very visible, which says a lot in this context. Spain simply doesn’t need to remind itself so much of what it is fighting for, because many of these battles have already been won. One banner caught my eye, however: Democrats Abroad – a group of American Democratic expatriates who vocally disagree with Donald Trump’s policies and are not afraid to express their opposition even beyond their borders. Or, the globalisation of protest in action…
Prague versus Torremolinos: a different vibe, a different era?
Prague Pride is a remarkable event. In terms of the number of supporting programmes and the total number of participants, Torremolinos certainly outshines it, and so credit must be given to the organisers of our Pride. Nevertheless, the character of the two events is different. Prague is still a city where Pride takes place against a backdrop of ongoing struggles: without marriage equality, without the right to adopt, with a sense that there is still a need to prove, explain and persuade. This leaves its mark on the atmosphere of the event.
Torremolinos Pride is different in this respect. And not just because it takes place under palm trees with a view of the sea. It is different because it takes place in a society that has left these struggles behind. Spanish Pride can be a celebration because the battles won allow for it. It therefore has more room for individuality, extravagance, self-deprecating humour and the simple joy of life. For two men dressed as seahorses. Because, quite simply, why not – it’s fun, after all, and a tribute to life, which perhaps shouldn’t be taken so seriously…
Pride under the palm trees and by the sea just has a different vibePhoto: JS
Conclusion: let go of the reins
As Czechs, we can be proud of Prague Pride. It is authentic, it is ours, it has its own story and its own meaning. But Torremolinos shows us what Pride can look like in a country that has come a fair bit further – not just in terms of legislation, but socially and culturally.
It shows us that an individual’s self-expression, which harms no one – a costume, a mask, a carnival, a boy in a girl’s dress in the arms of a proud mother – can be accepted with calm and joy, without protest from one side and without excessive pressure from the other. Simply as part of the broad spectrum of what life is.
And Pride under the palm trees, a stone’s throw from the sea, where bears in sailor’s uniforms sunbathe alongside mothers with sons in skirts – that is, at least for me, the jewel in the crown of European Pride festivals. I recommend it to anyone who hasn’t been yet. Spain knows how to do it, and warmly invites you all to next year’s event.
We would like to extend our sincere thanks to the Spanish organisation Turespaña for inviting us to TorremolinosPhoto: Turespaña / se svolením
