Mark My Words: Royalty, Out Loud and Proud?

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve been on a speaking tour of Europe. Strangely enough, it all came about through Gov. Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania and Gov. Maura Healey of Massachusetts — but that’s another story. Thanks to them, I was introduced to the President of the Parliament of the German State of Hesse — the equivalent of one of our governors. Hesse’s major city is Frankfurt, but its capital is Wiesbaden, a historic and charming city filled with palaces and cultural treasures.

President Astrid Wallmann, whom I first met at a reception for Gov. Healey, was struck by my story. Since Hesse was about to hold its official LGBTQ+ Parliament celebration, she invited me to speak. They took care of all the arrangements. My plan was simple: make the speech, then head home. But one invitation led to another, and suddenly I found myself on a full European speaking tour. I’ve given hundreds of talks over the years, but nothing quite like what awaited me in Wiesbaden.

The VIP treatment was extraordinary. They weren’t treating me like a celebrity; they were honoring the history I represent. To them, I stood for Stonewall and Pride. It wasn’t personal — it was their appreciation for our history.

On my first day, President Wallmann and I visited the Queer Center, where she gave remarks and we met with staff. Later, she even joined me for a historic LGBTQ+ walking tour of the city. That evening, I was treated to a private preview of a new Pride-themed light show projected on the walls of the City Palace — not yet unveiled to the public.

The next day was focused on preparing my speech — and working with a translator. I hadn’t used one since 1991 in St. Petersburg, Russia, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the memory. This time, I made sure to prepare carefully.

Before my talk, there was a champagne reception in the Palace’s ornate Music Room. When the time came, I was escorted into that same room, where members of parliament, LGBT leaders, diplomats and — to my delight — several LGBTQ+ asylum seekers had gathered.

As President Wallmann introduced me, it struck me: I — that 18-year-old kid standing outside Stonewall — was now about to speak in a palace. I’ll admit, I was nervous — especially about the translation. But I began:

“President Wallmann, members of Parliament, distinguished guests. Tonight, we are all simply community and visible. We will be out loud and proud.”

The audience roared. The applause didn’t stop. That one simple statement needed no translation.

I shared the story of Stonewall, and how in 56 years, I’ve been fortunate to witness history — from those nights in 1969 to my marriage to Jason. The audience grew emotional, and so did I. I closed with, “To community and visibility.” The applause was deafening. President Wallmann presented me with several gifts, but the greatest gift came afterwards.

One of her staff had learned of my deep concern for LGBTQ+ asylum seekers and arranged for several to attend. I listened to their stories. Tears came as a 23-year-old Iranian, now calling himself Liem, told me it took two years of perilous travel to reach Europe after being beaten and cast out by his family. I shared with him a memory from a talk in London, when a Middle Eastern prince confided that he rarely returned home, exiling himself for safety. 

Liem nodded sadly and said, “Yes. All over the Middle East.”

Soon, staff interrupted to call me back for toasts, hors d’oeuvres and photos. Exhausted from flights, tours and receptions, I asked to slip out quietly. A staffer guided me through the back of the palace. I laughed and said, “I’m actually leaving a palace through the back door?” 

He replied, “Feels a bit like Cinderella, doesn’t it?”

Walking back to my hotel, I couldn’t stop thinking about it: I, a boy from South Philly, had just spoken in a palace. I smiled again, remembering the crowd’s reaction to “Out loud and proud.” Some words, I realized, don’t need translation.