LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
My Queer Life: Why I Am Queer |
by Michael Thomas Ford |
Recently I received a letter from a reader, a gay man, who said he objects to my using the word "queer" in my books to describe myself and to describe other lesbian and gay people. He said he believes that it sets gay people apart as something strange and out of the norm, and hearing it applied to himself makes him feel alienated. "I love what you have to say," he wrote, "but I wish you would stop using that word." I understand his feelings, but I like "queer." I like it precisely because it means "strange and unusual," and because it implies that the person being referred to in some way causes others to be just the tiniest bit nervous. Things that are queer make people question their perceptions. Because they have to stop and notice that something is creating a disruption in their surroundings, they are forced to reevaluate what their own definitions of things are. Coming across something queer, their world view is altered, if only for a moment, and maybe that tiny pause will be enough for them to start seeing things differently. I spend a fair amount of time in used bookstores. A number of years ago, I started noticing that I was coming across a lot of books with the word "queer" in the title. Mostly they were from the early 1900s. At that time, "queer" meant something delightfully out of the ordinary, and the use of the word in the title of a book was a sure sign that the contents were going to be surprisingly fun. In Dorothy Dales Queer Holidays, for example, the heroine of this popular series for young people has all kinds of adventures that make her friends green with envy. I love that. I love the idea of being queer as being something to be envied, something that not everyone can have or be. One of the nicest things a straight friend ever said to me was, "I wish I could be queer. It seems like such fun." Shes right. It is fun. Its fun to show the world that there are other ways to live. Its fun to escape the boundaries of roles like "straight" and "gay," with all their accompanying baggage. Its fun to define for yourself who and what you are. In this time when many gay activists and public figures are calling on us to be pretty much like everyone else, being queer is a dangerous thing to be. Assimilation and blending in offer comfort to some and protection to others. I can understand this. For many, especially those of us who have experienced discrimination or worse because of our sexuality, the idea of fitting in, or even just being left alone, can be very appealing. But for others, blending in means the death of the spirit. A friend of mine who grew up and still lives in the middle of the Bible Belt said the other day, "Being just like everyone else is a luxury for those who live in big cities. They have the option of fitting in or not. But for those of us in most of America, fitting in is a requirement. We do it because its the only way we can survive. So when someone tells me that the best way for the gay community to get ahead is to be as much like straight people as possible, it makes me furious. I would love to be able to be queer, to be out and visible and outrageous if I want to be. To me, being just like everyone else is to be invisible and imprisoned." Ive never fit in. I dont fit into the straight world, and I dont fit neatly into the gay world. Growing up, I had the word "queer" scrawled on my locker at school, and was spat at by boys in gym class when I screwed up. Their hate made me sad, but the word never did. I knew I wasnt like them, and that I wouldnt ever want to be like them, even if it meant never being hated again. I was queer then, and I still am. I am queer because I love men. I am queer because I refuse to believe that there is any one way to be. I am queer because I choose to be. Ultimately, I think the division over the word "queer" is simply a sign that the community is maturing. Once upon a time, it was fine for us all to be "gay." We needed to band together under a common name that gave us the strength of numbers. But we have never been a homogenous community. We are simply a group of people with a common link. Apart from that link, we are all very different. The fact that we are no longer accepting the lie that one word fits all of us is a tribute to our growing independence. It may make some of us nervous because it threatens to shatter the illusion of oneness weve been perpetuating for far too long, but sooner or later all movements need to outgrow themselves. So be gay. Be queer. Be homosexual. Be a faggot or a pansy or a faerie, a dyke or a bulldagger or a butch. Be anything you want to be. Fit in or stand out or live somewhere in between. But whatever you decide to be, be it with as much joy and strength as you possibly can. Because ultimately it doesnt matter what we put on our banners and signs. What matters is being who we are, and not what someone else wants us to be. Michael Thomas Ford won a Lambda Literary Award for his book Alec Baldwin Doesnt Love Me. His new book, Thats Mr. Faggot to You, is in stores now. He welcomes e-mail at Shopiltee@aol.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 9, No. 9, July 16, 1999 |