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the fire that forged you
Jun. 13th, 2016 06:23 pmInspired by recent events, and recent observed discussion about the use of the word queer. All thoughts my own; not a political manifesto.
Growing up a kid in central NJ in the 70′s and 80′s - being a sexually (in)active teenager when AIDS became a known thing - I heard pretty much every term there was for non-straights. I had friends who were gay, who were lesbian. I had friends who were ace, but didn’t have a term for it yet. I had friends who were bi, and felt brutally tossed around by their own bodies and brains in ways they didn’t have a handle on, didn’t have a baseline for yet.
I heard every slur that could be thrown at them, and saw them, over the decades, reject or own those terms. Find the ground under their feet, even when they could see the end coming closer (I’m still losing friends to AIDS, I am still not resigned).
And in all that time, in all those years, I heard friends call themselves queer.
Queer: unusual, odd, eerie. Peculiar.
“Queer” was a term that, to me, meant “strong.” A refusal to be shoved into a box, be it a closet or a coffin, without a fight. A refusal to sit down and accept someone else’s expectations or assumptions. A beautiful word. An encouraging word.
Personally, I hate the term ally. An alliance is a political construct, a temporary collision of mutual interests. You are my sisters, my brothers, my siblings. That is not temporary, that has nothing to do with me or my interests. You are, and that is enough. And while I hate the word and the world that has forced you to be so strong, I love the fire within you that forged that strength, and the word that was your anvil.
Growing up a kid in central NJ in the 70′s and 80′s - being a sexually (in)active teenager when AIDS became a known thing - I heard pretty much every term there was for non-straights. I had friends who were gay, who were lesbian. I had friends who were ace, but didn’t have a term for it yet. I had friends who were bi, and felt brutally tossed around by their own bodies and brains in ways they didn’t have a handle on, didn’t have a baseline for yet.
I heard every slur that could be thrown at them, and saw them, over the decades, reject or own those terms. Find the ground under their feet, even when they could see the end coming closer (I’m still losing friends to AIDS, I am still not resigned).
And in all that time, in all those years, I heard friends call themselves queer.
Queer: unusual, odd, eerie. Peculiar.
“Queer” was a term that, to me, meant “strong.” A refusal to be shoved into a box, be it a closet or a coffin, without a fight. A refusal to sit down and accept someone else’s expectations or assumptions. A beautiful word. An encouraging word.
Personally, I hate the term ally. An alliance is a political construct, a temporary collision of mutual interests. You are my sisters, my brothers, my siblings. That is not temporary, that has nothing to do with me or my interests. You are, and that is enough. And while I hate the word and the world that has forced you to be so strong, I love the fire within you that forged that strength, and the word that was your anvil.
