Monthly Archives: June 2013

Banks, Churches, and Politicians

It seems to me that these are the people who march at Pride Parades now. In New York, DC, and the Twin Cities, the crowds were large, brightly colored, and covered in glitter. But the floats passing by, more often than not, did not contain members of our community. They were filled with allies–corporations who understand that they will gain more business than they will lose by supporting us, religious groups attempting to reach out where there compatriots have not, and the occasional politician, pandering to a crowd of voters.

I don’t know that the presence of allies at Pride is necessarily a bad thing. Their support is valuable and important, without a doubt. As anti-capitalist as my politics are, money is important if you have any sort of agenda. We need the money of corporations, and the voices of these organizations. But why is some (not identified as LGBTQ) woman from Wells Fargo speaking at Pride, instead of someone from their supposed wealth of LGBTQ employees? Why is a cis-woman speaking about all the awesome things the ACLU is doing for trans* people, and then handing the mic over briefly to trans* activists? Why do we need a cishet politician to tell us about how our community needs to speak louder about our rights? And why, when a gay woman is finally standing at the mic, does she spend her whole speech talking about what an awesome ally her brother is?

Pride is about finally being able to come out of the closet. It’s about celebrating LGBTQ-identified people and how far we have come in terms of visibility, legislative “equality”, and fighting the hetero/bi/transphobic agenda. For me in Boise, it was about seeing that I was not the only one: I was not the only queer person who has somehow ended up in this bizarre, conservative, religious, seemingly-homogenous state. And yes, some of that was achieved at Pride. I saw countless couples holding hands, hairless thin gay men in speedos, drag queens, teenagers in rainbow, plaid, and glitter, and dykes on bikes. It was exhilarating. But we were not getting up on stage. We were standing in the crowd, literally below the podium, looking up. I couldn’t help but feel like there was something horribly wrong with this image. This is, after all, our movement. Our fight. And yes, we need your help, you banks and churches and politicians. We need your money, and we need your word of mouth. But we do not need you speaking for us. We do not need you to tell us how much more we have to fight for. We already know. We’ve already been fighting, years and years and years longer than you have been (and yes, Wells Fargo, I heard you when you told us about how you have been at 20 years of Pride Parades).

Sometimes it’s about the big things. But sometimes, also, it’s about the little ones. I didn’t know anyone at Pride, so I took to introducing myself to people who looked cool or interesting or approachable. At one point, before the speeches and the parade, this meant two young girls (probably 16 and 14) and their mother. The mother immediately tells me that they are there for the first time this year, in order to celebrate her daughter, who shyly looked away. At some point it came up that I was a college student.

Mother: Oh, do you hear that? You could go to college.

Me: Yeah, college is great!

Girl: I’m not going back to school.

The words on the page don’t read the way she said them. There was bitterness, and hurt. I didn’t know what to tell her. Immediately I thought of the Harvey Milk School in New York–a school for LGBTQ teenagers who have not been able to who need a different academic setting. Namely, it’s for kids who were bullied too much in high school to succeed. I want to tell her about it, I want to tell her that there’s hope, and that education is important and okay and can be safe.

But the Harvey Milk School is in New York, thousands of miles away. At the Pride rally, there are the Boy Scouts and the ACLU and the Mormons. There is no GLSEN or GLAAD, there are no youth resource centers here for her. No high school GSAs. She does not have unsupportive parents, she does not need to run away. And yet still, all I can offer her is the hope that is offered by Somewhere Else. By waiting until you can leave. And maybe she doesn’t want that. She shouldn’t have to want that.

I don’t know the details of her story. I don’t know if what I’ve elaborated is accurate. I don’t even remember her name. But I’m not forgetting the look in her eyes or the sound of her voice anytime soon. I don’t know what to do for these kids, but there has to be something. There may not be many of them, but they are here, and we can’t just keep telling them that it will get better once they are able to leave their homes and find a big city. There has to be something better that we can offer them. Something better than a Pride Parade, more than Let’s Get Better Together.

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Never Have I Ever…

…lived in a red state. Or, I suppose, a conservative state is more accurate. I don’t think that Edinburgh, Scotland identifies as ‘red’ or ‘blue’.

But now here I am in Boise, ID. Bigger than Claremont, smaller than New York. The mountains are brown and I suppose it’s hillier than I anticipated, and hotter, too, perhaps more humid. It didn’t seem beautiful to me. Not enough green grass, or not enough interesting architecture, or not enough colorful flowers. But the sky is bigger than I’ve ever seen it; it stretches miles beyond the next building and I think I know what they mean when they say ‘as far as the eye can see’. The sky is overwhelming in the same way that the skyscrapers are overwhelming. Both make me feel small.

What is beautiful about Boise is the river at sunset. The gnats distract a bit from the surroundings, but on the narrow walking bridge surrounded by dark green trees and stones and water . . . it’s insulated, more comfortable. For me, anyway.


A friend of mine once asked why Obama’s statements regarding the importance of LGBT equality weren’t good enough to consider him an ally of the LGBT community; I pointed out that believing in equality wasn’t the same as acting for equality. But Obama’s made progress, my friend said, he supports same-sex marriage and everything! And at this point, it’s only a matter of time before same-sex marriage is legal everywhere, so what are we even stressing about?

I am stressing about the fact that I am a queer woman in a place where I do not know whether my safety will be at risk if I try to be anything but celibate while I’m here. Or if I want to talk about my previous relationships. Or if I want to celebrate Pride, as I have the last two/three years. Or, honestly, if I just want to exist as I have been able to exist in New York and DC and Claremont and Edinburgh. 

Walking down the street at night, I am nervous every time a person-I-read-as-male talks to me. It isn’t often, and I’m with other people who seem friendly and ally enough. But what if it comes up? What if he is hitting on me? Every interaction feels as though it could turn from okay to horrible in a matter of seconds. A girl who has lived here her whole life tells me that the only trouble one can get into in Boise is a bar fight, and even then the police tend to be sitting outside in case something goes wrong.

I don’t know how to ask her if she thinks the police will protect someone being beaten because they’re queer. Or because they look different. I didn’t bring any dresses with me to Idaho.

I don’t know if these are all stereotypes that have been ingrained in me by the narrative of queer youth in conservative areas. And young people, I know, tend to be more liberal than their parents and grandparents. Boise Pride will happen on Saturday.  There is a website, albeit a poor one, with limited information. But I am guessing that there will be something more authentic about this pride parade, in a state where same sex marriage is illegal and there are no clear rights for people on the basis of sexual orientation. 

Is New York Pride even political anymore? It is a celebration, certainly, but who marches in the parade? Churches and banks, my mom noticed. Churches and banks. The religious trying to open their arms when their comrades have brutally shut their doors, and the capitalists, monetizing our attempts to overcome our oppression.  

They could fire me for being gay. They could take away my housing. Violence against me would not be considered a hate crime. In New York, I am lucky enough to not have to worry about these things. Even now, I am working on a college campus; it is more likely than not that the people I work with will be accepting and open. But I can’t get rid of this feeling like I’m in danger, like every step I can take without someone figuring me out is a success.

To be honest, it’s quite a change from Feminist Camp.

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My name is Ren, and I am a feminist.

I’m a lot of other things, too. A social media connoisseur.  A poet. A student. A mathematician. A queer. A bowler. I have a ton of interests, and I love interacting with the things that I read about. And as a rising senior in college, this is the year of Figuring Out What I Want To Do With My Life. Honestly? I have no idea. I have a thousand interests that could go into a thousand different directions and I don’t know which of them I want more than which other ones, and what will be practical, etc. etc.

So I went to Feminist Boot Camp.  Organized by Soapbox, Inc. (read more about it here), I went with about 15 other young feminists to different people and organizations in New York City to learn about how to enact feminism in practice. It was enlightening, to say the least. Everyone we spoke to was doing something awesome with their lives, though they all had insanely different ways of getting there. That was valuable information: whatever I end up doing in life, I’m certainly not going to get there on purpose.

And now that FBC is over, I want to do something. I want to write about the things that I see in the world, and I want to engage with people outside of my college bubble. It’s time to exist in the world more fully, I think. So that’s what I’m trying to do with this blog. I welcome feedback, comments, and questions, for always. Let the employment games begin, or something like that. Also yay feminism.

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