Literature & Reflections

Here I aim to dive into the issues faced by many queer people and (hopefully) explain them in a manner that conveys both my own opinions and the opinions of those much smarter than I.

Social Construction

Labels, particularly regarding social identification, are not a new phenomenon. Despite what the Daily Mail or other right-wing adjacent media outlets may try to convince the general public, since the dawn of interpersonal language labels have existed. Sure, there has been a post-modern change to the way labels are assigned to people – switching more towards self-identification than other-identification – but the actual practise of labels itself has been around since the invention of'man' - used simply to denote humankind before even that was separated into 'woman' and 'man' and so on. Labels are simply a means of denoting a person's social, economic, or political category in relation to the surrounding environment – and as such they are, by their very essence, subject to change as time does. In this manner, labels – along with the categories of gender and sexuality that they belong to – are social constructs, particularly relating to the definition coined by sociologists Berger and Luckmann (2011) before being specified towards gender by Butler (2006) and sexuality by Weber (1998). And whilst some may be critical of this depiction and suggest that such fluidity allows for the breakdown in social norms, I believe this view is misguided and ignores the nuance of social constructs and how they are shaped, and themselves shape, social interaction.

How then should we define gender and sexuality in the postmodern age. Let's start with gender (for no particular reason beyond alphabetical order). First things first, gender and sex are not to be conflated. Sex is much more linked with a person's physiology – which is still subject to change and social categorisation – whilst "Gender is what attracts us to other people and how we hope to make ourselves attractive to them" (Nestle, Howell, and Wilchins, 2002); it is a transactional language that allows us to interact with, understand, and experience one another. Whether it be the binary of man/woman or beyond the binary as trans/non-binary, gender is the mode of language that we use to identify each other (including ourselves) and a set of performative guidelines from which we can express ourselves. Pronouns for example, though they can be distinct from a person's gender or sex, allow for an indication as to how a person would like to be identified and how they themselves identify. Likewise for sexuality, the labels of gay/lesbian, bi/pansexual, asexual, and so on, are signifiers of a set of characteristics pertaining to the individual who is identifying with them. Of course, these labels rely heavily on a set of assumed definitions – a point that will become especially prevalent later – but they nonetheless allow for those interpersonal understandings as mentioned earlier, whether they be as romantic, sexual, or platonic.

Focusing particularly on the label of 'queer' or 'queerness', there has been a renaissance in the use of the word and a reclaiming of its original meaning. Historical, being 'queer' was associated with oddness, eccentricity, and eventually – at least in a degrading manner – gayness. It was also often a label used by others to be projected onto someone engaging in such gay behaviours, linking all the way back to the 1890s with John Douglas' homophobic prosecution of Oscar Wilde. Now, being queer takes that original meaning and wears it as if it were a badge of honour, embracing that rejection of conformity. Despite it being often used as an umbrella term for many within the LGBTQ+ community, it is in itself – hence its distinction within the LGBTQ+ banner – a particular identification for those who feel that other common labels (gay/lesbian, man/woman, etc.) do not apply to them. That is my reason for using it at least, both as a personal identifier for myself and as the overarching label in which to focus this blog. Like its reclamation implies, it is a signifier of our marginalisation and oppression (Buchbinder, 1998, p.149) that we mark ourselves by. If an other, a non-queer person, were to identify us under such a label it would likely be deemed a slur in line with its historical meaning.

Though it may seem I have steered into a tangential lane of topic, which in fairness I may have, it is all in providing the context for the importance of self-identification and a general difficulty with the common labels. Though queerness has been reclaimed as a label to be used within the community, there is still the imposing figure that is the assumptions of those beyond us – particularly in reference to the binary assumptions throughout modern society.

The Stacked Deck

These assumptions, whether it be from within the community or beyond it, are known as – drumroll please - cis- and hetero-normativity. If that was on your queer bingo card for this blog, please mark it off now. To clarify that point also before I continue, cis- and hetero-normativity, whilst much more prevalent with actual cisgendered and heterosexual people, is a problem that lingers across all of society – even within non-cisgendered and non-heterosexual peoples, try as we might. With that said, what is cis- and hetero-normativity, and how does it create a need for definitive labels?

If we take 'normativity' to mean a particular set of moral, ethical, and rational assumptions of goodness based on societal norms (Darwall, 2001) – or even vice versa for that matter –, we can then extend that definition to discuss normative assumptions of cisgendered and heterosexual life – that is to say "that the way they experience their physical and subconscious sexes […] applies to everyone else in the world" (Serano, 2007, pp. 164-165). For these types of normativity, the assumptions are that cisgendered and/or heterosexual life are the default or at least it ought to be, whilst any divergence from this – whether it be overtly non-cisgendered or non-heterosexual or not – is something to be "denie[d], denigrate[d], and pathologise[d]" (Lennon and Mistler, 2014). These assumptions are, of course, based on a flawed narrative; whilst statistics may suggest cisgendered and heterosexuals being the norm – that is to say the most prevalent – throughout history, they essentially mirror – get ready with your bingo cards again – the bias history of left-handedness (Ingraham, 2015). Regardless, even if cis-ness and straightness were in fact the norm, the extension of morality, rationality, and ethics is absurd. My aim is not to challenge whether you think being gay or trans is a sin; my aim is to discuss the challenges of labels and the necessity of them within the bounds of a cis- and hetero-normative society. And whilst they are two separate sets of assumptions in and of themselves, I do believe they are quite heavily linked and where you find one you will often find the other – hence why I collate them together.

It seems only natural then that the response to such historical assumptions would be the construction of labels that outwardly challenge them. It would be quite difficult to "come out" to someone as anything other than cis or straight voice if there were no words and no labels to describe such feelings, and so easily understandable labels such as gay, lesbian, bisexual – some still try to erase this one -, asexual – again for this one -, and so on. Consider this then, I – and many academics – would place cis- and hetero-normativity under the banner of 'epistemic injustice' (Fricker, 2009), that being that there is a, likely active, withholding of education, healthcare, and platforms from which to speak on – amongst other things – with the aim of discrediting the social, political, and economic positions – in this instance – of queer people. Labels then are but one part of the rebellion (Buchbinder, 1998, p.154) against this type of injustice, though a part that acts as foundational to other elements. Like in the realms of sports, movies, tv shows, video games, and even politics, the "coming out" of public figures – whilst it is not a must that they do so – has proved a shining example of the challenging of these normative assumptions. As ignorant as people can still be, it is much more difficult to ignore an entire subset of the population when we have names. And it is a matter of recognition after all, for both society as a whole and within the LGBTQ+ community itself. If we can see ourselves in others throughout society, then we know there is a place for us; and if others can see us, then it becomes a lot harder for us to be silenced and demonised – try and bigoted politicians might. 

The Closeted Queer Dilemma

Of course, the pressure with viewing labels this way is that it forces those of us who are not entirely comfortable with "coming out" - for whatever reason that may be – into a rather existential dilemma. If we are not yet sure of ourselves, or if we are but remain silent in our divergence from the cisgendered and heterosexualised assumptions thrust upon us, how are we to engage in this rebellion in a manner that keeps our identities safe whilst also being accepted by our peers. It is only then exacerbated at the intersections of oppression (Crenshaw, 1991) - queer women, queer people of colour, queer people with visible and/or invisible disabilities, etc. Whilst the support systems for queer people are already significantly less than that afforded to cis and straight peoples, it only gets more and more stringent as we factor in other facets of oppression. Even within the LGBTQ+ community there is still a lot infighting, transphobia, ableism, racism, and so on about who should be "allowed in" and so even within the community it feels like an unsafe space for many.

Even accounting for the supposed safety precautions being taken in these gatekeeping tactics, it always seems rather misplaced. However, it does suggest a further challenge in the legitimacy of self-identification and the matter of trusting yourself. Without a clear-cut image of what queerness, or gayness, or transness is, how can we create a safe space for ourselves.

I think that is the problem though. "By defining something you immediately create exclusions" (Starnes, 2024), and the way that many, not most but many, within the LGBTQ+ community prescribe such macro-definitions of identity is evidently exclusionary to newcomers, and even to those already within its reach. Ironically enough, it was my very cis and very straight dad, who also does not know that he has a queer son – assuming he never reads this nor my future dissertation – who said "so, it's not sexuality, all they (the LGBTQ+ community) have in common is that they're oppressed?" and in a surprisingly succinct manner, yes! It is why the change to the Progress Flag to outwardly include queer people of colour is so poignant, and why any future additions to the flag to include other historically ignored peoples will also be just as poignant.

By viewing queerness this way, it does not matter whether a person is out or not, is sure in their identity or not, but that they are oppressed due to the gender or sexual norms of society. The validity of finding your own gender or sexual identity is not something that can come from beyond yourself, it can be aided by it if people are giving you a safe space to explore your identity but having to hide your own self-discovery is oppression in and of itself. I think it is why, entirely unintentionally, I referred to it as an existential dilemma. Discovering who you in within the lens of others, especially if those others already have some conception of who you are, is an entire philosophical school of thought. Expecting to know entirely who you are is a fool's errand, but likewise is trying to figure out who anyone else is. It is a matter of trust, and like how – to evoke existentialist Albert Camus (2005, p.89) – we must imagine, or trust, that Sisyphus is happy, we must trust that we know ourselves, at least enough to judge ourselves. Especially for those at the intersection of oppression as already mentioned, there is enough we have to keep track of in the world to expend more emotional and mental labour doubting your own judgement of identity. So, whether being queer is a momentary fluidity on the path to a gay, bi/pan, ace, or trans discovery of yourself, or if it is in itself a comfortable label that you – like myself – find solace in holding onto, or even if you find you are not queer but that it was a moment of experimentation, know that you are valid in that whatever identity you find yourself with even if others do not know of it, and even if you have to make up your own label.

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