Thanks Anna Conda for the Inspiration!

 

This post is a comment to Anna Conda's post Yerba Buena Soap Box. Here is a portion of the original post:

The biggest problem for me in Queer culture today is two fold; first is the lack of knowledge of our history and second the fact that we feel that we need to include any gender variance into our numbers to make us have a broader platform. The truth of the matter is that not all gender variance is queer and mainstream society shunning something as abnormal does not make it part of Queer culture either. Most people; both gay and straight; believe that sex and whom we choose to have it with is the only thing that makes us queer identified and they have no idea what a rich and glorious past we have. In the 20th century things move so fast that we often find it hard to keep up with our past and the history that we are sharing today. This leads us to ghettoization and self loathing creating the need for everyone to accept us. This need to fit is and have as many people join our ranks is detrimental to the Queer or Gay agenda and serves only to make us look pathetic and needy. Everybody will not like us no matter what we do or how ever many people join our ranks. Bigotry does not work on a numbers game. It is a fear based reaction of people who are filled with fear and cling to that fear as if it was the very oxoygen that keeps them alive. My parents are born again christians who will never accept me and even after 42 years of knowing me and seeing what a hard working caring individual I am would turn me over to the Nazis if they asked them to. They believe that I am an abomination and nothing I do will ever cure them of that. However that shame is not MINE to take on. It is my duty to believe in my path and move on and work on educating people on my queer history and the fact that we have been around forever, with glorious results in arts, leadership, scholars, and spiritual abundance.

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Dearest Anna Conda:

Thank you for writing this and asking hard questions about our queer community. As someone who came out as gay at 18, fell in love with a woman at 22/23, and ended up marrying a man at 31, I, too, have grappled with the queer identity and what makes it such.

When I first came out, I believed that gay was the only way. However, this conflicted significantly with my actual orientation. I had numerous girlfriends in middle high school and not just the standard "I need to hide something so I'll date a girl" variety. They were women I loved (and still do). From 18 to 22/23, I had sex with and found myself sexually attracted to women, and I still identified as gay because the majority of my relationships and sexual partners were men.

Then, I fell in love with a woman. It wasn't something I was expecting. It was something that happened. We had an open relationship and I continued to have sex (a lot of it) with men (most of the time) and other genders (sometimes). I didn't and don't believe in a binary gender construct, and so I was at a loss for how to capture the totality of my sexual orientation, as identity politics is, and always will be, a huge part of who I am.

I came to embrace queer precisely because it opened the door beyond gay. To me, it wasn't about a watering down of identity. Rather, it was a broadening. It was a term that I could take on and be.

Now, as a man who is married and monogamous to another man, I still call myself queer. Yes, for all intents and purposes, I am gay, too. But gay is not the totality of who I am. It is too narrow and restricting especially when used in the LGBTQQIP moniker. In that instance, gay really only refers to men who have sex with men (almost exclusively).

Queer has become, and is, a HUGE part of me, one that I believe, as you mention in your post, is beyond just who you have sex with. It is about a broadening of identity. And that broadening comes into conflict with more narrow (and necessary) identity politics.

For my day job, I work organizing and training the professionals who work with or for youth (sometimes including youth in and of themselves). In this arena, I use both gay and queer. Initially, I use gay because it is just easier for people to understand. It matches their perception of me. As I get to know them or as the situation calls for it, I start talking about my queer identity. It confuses the hell out of people. They totally don't understand.

Similarly, when I say I am queer among gay men, they look at me funny thinking the two words are interchangeable. And to them, they may be. But to me, they are worlds apart. One speaks to a side (albeit a more predominant side especially since my marriage to John) of me that is narrow, focused, and steeped in oppression (not the same as shame, as I, too, see absolutely NO use in it). The other one speaks to a side of me that is uniting and liberating. And in this world, I need both to survive and thrive.

Thanks again for writing this. It has made me think deeply and intentionally about why I use the word queer. I appreciate the inspiration and challenge.

Much love,
Jason Wyman

Kiki's Pogo Stick: A Consequence of Inaction

This story was inspired by two things. First, a young girl was pogo sticking up our street on Sunday. The noise of the pogo stick was loud and reminded me of fun and childhood. Second, I watched Cornel West on The Colbert Report last night. He said, "Indifference to evil is more evil than evil itself." Here is the interview:

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Cornel West
www.colbertnation.com
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And here is the story...

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Kiki jumped on her pogo stick and hopped up the street behind her mother. everyone in the neighborhood could hear the squeal of the spring as it bounced. Some looked out their windows trying to place the noise. Others sat behind their closed curtains cursing the disruptive boing. One opened his front door and yelled at Kiki and her mother, "Can't you just shut the hell up. That fucking pogo stick is goddamn noisy!"

Kiki kept bouncing. All the other neighbors kept quiet. Kiki's mom replied, "We''ll be around the block in a minute. If you go back inside, you won't notice us at all."

"Go to hell,"said the balding man with hazel eyes, tufts of white hair where sideburns should have been.

"Don't talk to me that way. And stop cussing in front of my daughter. That's more foul than her pogo stick. No one wants to hear it!" Kiki's mom turned her back on the pudgy man and continued walking up the hill. He slammed his door shut and followed.

Kiki paid no attention to the fight quickly escalating around her. She kept a steady one hop, two hop, three hop, four hop as she climbed the hill. Occasionally, gravity grabbed her and on hop three or four she slid backwards losing a little ground. She'd compensate and push really hard and jump further ahead to make up the lost distance. She laughed a little every time this happened followed by a long, deep breath.

"Don't turn your back on me!" Screamed the old man. "I was talking to you and your little prick daughter."

Kiki's mother whipped around her deep black hair flying everywhere; a small piece grazed Kiki's eye. Kiki lost her balance, the pogo stick skipped, and gravity took control. Suddenly, Kiki and her pogo stick were on top of the man's foot.

"OUCH! Get the fuck off me," he howled.

People peeked out of their windows watching the entire scene explode. Their eyes darted from Kiki to her mother to the old man to the pogo stick. Their hushed whispers saying "We should do something." "But it's not my place." "Everything will be fine, just fine." "Should we call the cops?"

Soon, doors were being locked, windows were shutting, curtains were being drawn. The convenience store clerk closed the store's metal gate. The road repair people started jackhammering to drown out the noise. The post woamn put on her earphones and changed her route to avoid the fight.

"Don't you dare talk to my daughter like that." Kiki's mom's eyes widened and her voice boomed, amplified by protectiveness.

Kiki was stunned. She had fallen on her butt and it was sore, slightly throbbing. She let out a little whimper that got overpowered by the jackhammers and screaming.

The old man kicked his left foot trying to get Kiki and her pogo stick off it and his foot caught Kiki right in the place she was hurt. She let out a little cry that reached her mother's ears.

"Do NOT touch my daughter! You WILL be sorry! I don't care how old you are."

"Then get your daughter off my foot!"

More doors locked. More shades were  drawn. More whispers filled homes.

Kiki grabbed her pogo stick and looked it over. Everything seemed to be fine. The pain in her butt, while still there, was subsiding. She grabbed her mother's hand. "Let's go. I'm okay. I won't play on it any more," she said amid the two grown ups who were still screaming at each other, fingers pointing at each others' faces.

Kiki's mom screeched, "That's not the point," as she ripped her hand out of Kiki's. The force of this action threw Kiki off balance again. This time the pogo stick went flying and anded with a large metallic clang down the street. It toppled on top of itself and finally rested at the bottom of the street. Kiki ran after it.

"If you don't back the fuck off, I'm gonna punch you!" Yelled Kiki's mother, her face red.

"Try it, you bitch," he shouted, his wrinkles smoothing from tension.

"You don't think I will! Just cause you're old doesn't mean I won't."

"And just cause I'm old doesn't mean I can't fight!"

All of the neighbors remained in their houses distracting themselves with television or cooking dinner or playing on the computer. No one did anything.

Kiki's mom and the old man finally stopped their fighting. The old man whispered, "This isn't fucking worth it," and turned his back to Kiki's mom.

Kiki's mom sighed, "What just happened," as she looked for Kiki.

Kiki sat at the bottom of the hill next to the stop sign. Her pogo stick, in two distinct and broken parts, cradled in her arms.