QUESTIONING THE QUESTIONING in LGBTQIA+: why it is a revolutionary act.
Emily Oliver
21 April 2021
I find it hard to be a good ally to the questioning. I was fortunate enough that as soon as I knew what sex was I knew wanted to have it with women. I remember crying in the bathroom when I first fully comprehended what my queer identity meant for my life. I was already exhausted by the years stretching out before me. At the tender age of thirteen, I already knew love was hard. In my self-absorbed young mind, I cried over how for me it would always be harder. Those years looked like a constant, unending fight. A fight for understanding. A fight for representation. A fight for acceptance. My queer identity is a fundamental part of the life I lead. Some of the most important women in my life have died before I was able to share it with them. It is a part of my identity that sets me diametrically opposed to people who have never met me and will never know me, it makes them want to deny me rights and freedoms and take away my safety. It is part of my identity that will never truly be reconciled with my outward appearance; heteronormativity will ensure the assumption is consistently wrong. It is a reality that some of the closest people to me will never understand. It is not something to be tried on at will and discarded when the wine wears off. It is not something to be fetishized. It is not something that should be used to draw attention to yourself or to perpetrate and satisfy the male gaze. Queer identity is not just something to perform. It is something to be lived.
As a white cisgender woman my privilege surpasses the vast majority of the queer community. My day to day existence is not as inherently political and inevitably dangerous as most. I’ve come a long way from the thirteen year old who cried in her bathroom after realizing her path would not be easy. I’ve learnt that no one’s is. And mine has been far easier than most. I have always found it hard to be an ally to the questioning whilst reconciling myself with the fact my own queer identity isn’t something to be questioned. The knowledge that this wasn’t a phase I was going to grow out of or a trend I was suddenly going to tire of has made me closed off to those who are willing to examine their own sexuality as something changing and evolving late into their lives. To dismiss this questioning negates the weight of societal expectation leading to repression as something often necessary for survival. It doesn’t acknowledge the different paths people can take to self discovery. It is my privilege that my sexuality is something I am certain about, and who I am to disregard and gaslight the experiences of those on a far harder path than me? I find it hard to be an ally to the questioning, their questioning of their sexual identities invariably feels like an attack on the validity of mine. But that is insecurity talking. That is me not knowing when to fight the fight in asserting my identity as valid and when someone is an ally in that fight. Recent self reflection and casting an eye to the wider cultural shift in gender identity has led me to believe being an ally to the questioning is one of the most important things a queer person can do.
In contemporary society, the questioning and scrutiny of gender identities, performativity, sexuality and preconceived notions of gender roles is continually gaining greater cultural prevalence. Drag culture becomes ever more mainstream. Androgyny is celebrated by the fashion industry and championed by some of the most influential celebrities (and by influential I mean white, male and palatable - Prince and Bowie walked so Harry Styles could run.) Not negating the historical fight of figures such as Marsha P. Johnson who created the pride movement and is truly a champion of the LGBTQIA+ community, queer identity has been allowed into the conversation to an unprecedented extent. This is a result of the increased cultural weight given to the act of questioning. Isolation during the lockdowns has seen the removal of the need to perform gender roles without a societal audience to witness them, leading to many becoming self reflective. People have been able to accept aspects of their selves which previously went unnoticed under the cacophony of the everyday. They have been able to question what they once took to be certain.
A generation is emerging that implicitly knows the difference between sex and gender and the seperation of sexuality from the two. A generation that respects pronouns without question. A generation that is willing to fight for the minorities less privileged than the positions that they themselves occupy. A generation that will be far less likely to force their children into conventional gender roles from birth, a generation that will let their boys wear dresses, their girls play with cars and foster an understanding and acceptance for all those in between or neither. A generation that will dismantle the binary. This generation is born out of questioning. This questioning generation is very different from the straight girls who used to break my heart when I was sixteen. The ‘Q’ has become the most important letter in LQBTQIA+; it is what allows the community to become all-encompassing and truly inclusive, defying definition and subjugation through negation. ‘Q’ resists letting queer be quantified as ‘not-straight.’ It calls for a dismantling of preconceived and antiquated notions of sexuality and gender. It relinquishes the hold of the polarizing gender binary. The ability to understand the fluidity of one’s both sexual and gender identity allows empathy and acceptance in relation to others whose gender and sexual identities have historically been stigmatized due to lack of understanding and fear. The sexual politics of contemporary society mean we should all be questioning. The act of questioning honours the queer legacy of the past while allowing it to adapt and evolve for today’s society.
The act of questioning is revolutionary.
21 April 2021
I find it hard to be a good ally to the questioning. I was fortunate enough that as soon as I knew what sex was I knew wanted to have it with women. I remember crying in the bathroom when I first fully comprehended what my queer identity meant for my life. I was already exhausted by the years stretching out before me. At the tender age of thirteen, I already knew love was hard. In my self-absorbed young mind, I cried over how for me it would always be harder. Those years looked like a constant, unending fight. A fight for understanding. A fight for representation. A fight for acceptance. My queer identity is a fundamental part of the life I lead. Some of the most important women in my life have died before I was able to share it with them. It is a part of my identity that sets me diametrically opposed to people who have never met me and will never know me, it makes them want to deny me rights and freedoms and take away my safety. It is part of my identity that will never truly be reconciled with my outward appearance; heteronormativity will ensure the assumption is consistently wrong. It is a reality that some of the closest people to me will never understand. It is not something to be tried on at will and discarded when the wine wears off. It is not something to be fetishized. It is not something that should be used to draw attention to yourself or to perpetrate and satisfy the male gaze. Queer identity is not just something to perform. It is something to be lived.
As a white cisgender woman my privilege surpasses the vast majority of the queer community. My day to day existence is not as inherently political and inevitably dangerous as most. I’ve come a long way from the thirteen year old who cried in her bathroom after realizing her path would not be easy. I’ve learnt that no one’s is. And mine has been far easier than most. I have always found it hard to be an ally to the questioning whilst reconciling myself with the fact my own queer identity isn’t something to be questioned. The knowledge that this wasn’t a phase I was going to grow out of or a trend I was suddenly going to tire of has made me closed off to those who are willing to examine their own sexuality as something changing and evolving late into their lives. To dismiss this questioning negates the weight of societal expectation leading to repression as something often necessary for survival. It doesn’t acknowledge the different paths people can take to self discovery. It is my privilege that my sexuality is something I am certain about, and who I am to disregard and gaslight the experiences of those on a far harder path than me? I find it hard to be an ally to the questioning, their questioning of their sexual identities invariably feels like an attack on the validity of mine. But that is insecurity talking. That is me not knowing when to fight the fight in asserting my identity as valid and when someone is an ally in that fight. Recent self reflection and casting an eye to the wider cultural shift in gender identity has led me to believe being an ally to the questioning is one of the most important things a queer person can do.
In contemporary society, the questioning and scrutiny of gender identities, performativity, sexuality and preconceived notions of gender roles is continually gaining greater cultural prevalence. Drag culture becomes ever more mainstream. Androgyny is celebrated by the fashion industry and championed by some of the most influential celebrities (and by influential I mean white, male and palatable - Prince and Bowie walked so Harry Styles could run.) Not negating the historical fight of figures such as Marsha P. Johnson who created the pride movement and is truly a champion of the LGBTQIA+ community, queer identity has been allowed into the conversation to an unprecedented extent. This is a result of the increased cultural weight given to the act of questioning. Isolation during the lockdowns has seen the removal of the need to perform gender roles without a societal audience to witness them, leading to many becoming self reflective. People have been able to accept aspects of their selves which previously went unnoticed under the cacophony of the everyday. They have been able to question what they once took to be certain.
A generation is emerging that implicitly knows the difference between sex and gender and the seperation of sexuality from the two. A generation that respects pronouns without question. A generation that is willing to fight for the minorities less privileged than the positions that they themselves occupy. A generation that will be far less likely to force their children into conventional gender roles from birth, a generation that will let their boys wear dresses, their girls play with cars and foster an understanding and acceptance for all those in between or neither. A generation that will dismantle the binary. This generation is born out of questioning. This questioning generation is very different from the straight girls who used to break my heart when I was sixteen. The ‘Q’ has become the most important letter in LQBTQIA+; it is what allows the community to become all-encompassing and truly inclusive, defying definition and subjugation through negation. ‘Q’ resists letting queer be quantified as ‘not-straight.’ It calls for a dismantling of preconceived and antiquated notions of sexuality and gender. It relinquishes the hold of the polarizing gender binary. The ability to understand the fluidity of one’s both sexual and gender identity allows empathy and acceptance in relation to others whose gender and sexual identities have historically been stigmatized due to lack of understanding and fear. The sexual politics of contemporary society mean we should all be questioning. The act of questioning honours the queer legacy of the past while allowing it to adapt and evolve for today’s society.
The act of questioning is revolutionary.