| Community Lessons as We Say Farewell |
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| Written by Maria Miranda |
| Wednesday, 17 August 2011 00:37 |
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My path changed just a bit, and I realized I wanted to be part of Cleveland’s robust nonprofit sector. After graduation, I came back to Cleveland and started working and volunteering in town. I have never lived or worked or volunteered outside the boundaries of the city. I say all this to emphasize the fact that I AM CLEVELAND. If anybody has earned the right to a CLE tattoo, it’s me. I find the scenesters, poseurs and hipsters who debase the drone suburbanites who frequent West Sixth to be just as devoid of real culture and authenticity. These same people who call themselves urban pioneers are from Westlake, Parma and Bay Village, the very bastions of suburban mediocrity. I fit the profile of the Brain Drain Solution: I am the young professional who decided to make Cleveland her home. I have been other places and I’m unimpressed. I can honestly say that I love this town because I have managed to eke out contentment and a career in one of the most backward, segregated, hierarchal places in this country and yet, I don’t see myself anywhere else. Because I love Cleveland, I can say that it sucks sometimes. Yet, I listen to civic “champions” deliver line after line about how Cleveland is like no other place while they recite travel and tourism talking points about restaurants, sports teams and the Cleveland Clinic. The reality is you can find good — better — hospitals, universities, eateries, sports teams and theaters in just about every midsize-to-large metropolis in this country and around the world. We don’t need tour guides in this town, we need neighbors.  What makes Cleveland the “plum” of my eye are the people. I will never find another community like the one I have here. I remember the woman who took me to Bounce for the first time. I remember the first time I walked down the stairs in the LGBT Center. I remember my first Pride. It was here that I met the first and only woman I ever loved, and it was here where she broke my heart. I remember going to work somber and broken after Issue 1 passed in 2004. I remember my first big gay fundraiser, the Garden Party. I pondered Hillary’s run with lesbians at the Womyn’s Variety Show, and I cried with joy among gay men at Bounce when Barack Obama accepted his victory. It was here where I have met some amazing queer people, and some of those people have become my very closest friends. Cleveland people are real people, and gay Clevelanders know struggle like few other queer people in this country. We have to work hard to earn not just a living, but also status as full citizens. At some point in each of our lives, we’ve all struggled because of who we are — whether it was coming to terms with ourselves or coming to terms with others who didn’t love our selves. When we gather in bars, at rallies, in bathhouses, supermarkets, gallery openings and everywhere in between, this shared history is manifest. There is a sense of ownership and obligation in our community. There is an inexplicable alchemy of humility, resilience and pride at the core of Cleveland’s LGBTQ community. It’s in the couples who open their home for fundraisers. It’s in the young gay kids who take numerous cross-city buses just for a safe place to connect. It’s the couple who give so much to the cause and are still left to wonder if they will be able to pay bills and afford life-saving medication. It’s the transwoman who tells her story of survival at a Transgender Day of Remembrance event. It’s the lesbian couple who use their own love as a model for equality. It’s the man who starts an online magazine to celebrate Cleveland and queer culture. No world-class hospital for the elite, corporate-sponsored arena or symphony orchestra would save Cleveland if there were an exodus of every person who has ever struggled, triumphed and cultivated a life here. Every trendy neighborhood and every cultural attraction started as an idea and was built with the hands of many people. We cannot leave the dirt of our beginnings for the lofty branches that now exist in overpriced restaurants and exclusive condominiums. As our city evolves, our sense of humanity should remain constant. It is imperative for us to honor our community and keep it strong by remembering what is truly important: each other. Being part of Spangle has deepened my roots and nourished me. I will miss being part of something that told our stories, asked tough questions and celebrated our achievements. Thank you for being part of this experience. This isn’t goodbye; it’s just bye for now.
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  written by crookedrain , August 18, 2011 That was a truly wonderful and heartfelt piece. Your talent will surely be missed at Spangle. I trust you have a brighter future ahead. report abuse
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 written by G Fulham , August 20, 2011 Maria, this is another brilliant piece! Love it and love you! G report abuse
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| Last Updated on Tuesday, 16 August 2011 23:01 |
Apparently it’s super cool to like your city these days. Especially if you’re white, educated and live in a city whose economy was once rooted in steel, automobiles or manufacturing. 
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