rayneisnotwet

[rayneisnotwet]

As if every queer person doesn’t look and act like the human version of the denizens of the island of misfit toys from the rudolph the red nosed reindeer claymation

“we need more weird queers!” you guys can barely handle a hairy woman

[rayneisnotwet]

While “graceful endurance” is definitely bullshit, the idea that a collective of all of us working towards a common goal can help all of us survive and reduce suffering individually, thats honest.

I need people to be honest that saying "we can survive this" & then invoking stuff like LGBT+ folks under Reagan isn't as hopeful as you think it is.

Like collectively we'll survive but we should be honest that on a individual level some people are going to suffer. Doomerism isn't a productive answer but selling this idea of "graceful endurance" isn't honest.

[rayneisnotwet]

Amy motherfucking Dunne. 100%.

Amy Dunne vs Patrick Bateman!!!! Place your bets!!!!

[rayneisnotwet]

Well that isn’t what we expected is it? Trump winning the white house. In the salient words of Miss Juicy, ”What the hell we gon’ do now?”. Everyone has a different idea. “We need to engage in our communities!” , “I’m moving to Canada!”, “I’m doing c*ke in the bathroom!” some cry out. Others are disengaging from the zeitgeist, and with it, apparently, social media. But when people announce these reactionary ideas of theirs, it feels more like a child yelling that they hate their parents because they got their Xbox taken away than a serious strategy to avoid oppression. I get it though, everyone just wants a change now. The hottest new accessory is going to be a poorly thought out style choice. Short haircuts with clumsy dye jobs and a trashcan full of “I’m with her!” memorabilia is how everyone dealt with this last time. But what is really the answer to this feeling?

Well, you’re all in luck. Because as a Trans drag queen in the midwest with an enhanced ID, I have the insight into all these coping methods. I write this while smoking a skinny cig. sitting on a picnic table in my childhood backyard, on property that’s interest rates doubled so fiercely it convinced both my parents to vote Trump and pushed me farther left than I thought was possible before I just detransitioned into Mao Zedong. I doubt that social media breaks announced via Instagram story or a vote for a failed businessman turned reality star or a jar of Manic Panic Amazon Primed to your door is going to make any of us feel any better, or bring the dollar menu at the drive thru back.

The Canadian immigration website crashed in 2016 after Trump won the first time, and to be fair I can see why. Everytime I visit, a feeling of relaxation washes over me. Not just because it's where my boyfriend lives, but because it's a genuinely very easy place. People stroll instead of scurrying through the streets. Even in Toronto, the largest city. The food is fantastic as well. The cosmopolitan-and just like that, I started ordering them-attitudes lead to a huge mix of cultures that seem to coexist in a much more mixed fashion than the notoriously segregated US. Sure, there’s the french-speaking Quebecois, but every country has annoying people. The friendliness is no joke either (as long as it’s not a service worker), people ask you how you are as a question, rather than a greeting.

Canada isn’t a liberal wonderland though, despite what Justin Trudeau might lead you to believe. During my Toronto visit, I checked out Dundas Square, the canuck equivalent of Times Square (there was no one in knockoff Elmo costumes). As soon as we stepped out of the subway station it was awash with the sounds of protest. A First Nations demonstration played out, with people chanting “LET HIM GO!” while drum beats punctuated the cries. A woman sat on a speaker holding a microphone, telling the heart-wrenching story of her son who had been shot during a wellness check by police in the midst of a mental health crisis. I wanted to support and join in the chanting, but my boyfriend advised not to, warning me the TPS were just as brutal as any American police department, especially to Trans women. Moments later a man, middle aged, bald, and white, started hitting on me aggressively. My boyfriend immediately shielded me from him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer and made a scene. Another man chimed in, “That's not a ‘She’ bro!”

We got out of there fast.

So while Canada may have a more charismatic leader on the world stage, and policies that protect its vulnerable communities slightly better than the US, it’s not a utopia for Queers. Least of all Trans women or Two Spirit people. The truth is there is no such thing as safe spaces. As long as tribalism is baked into our monkey brains, we will find something to point at and feel superior about over someone else. I’ve actually felt more disrespected in some majority white gay male bars than I have in dives in my hometown of bumfuck Jackson playing the UofM game on their tv. A word of advice to The Dolls, don’t underestimate the cruelty of men. 🚬 or not. That isn’t to say I hadn't found community in a lot of Queer parties.

I had started my post-election-pity-party at Necto in Ann Arbor for the finale of the UofM-student-powered drag competition reality show Runway Rumble. Michigan’s best and brightest new talent (and others) battling it out for the belt. Those of us that had been eliminated were doing a group number with the finalists and accepting awards. The energy was electric, people were excited to see each other and drinks were flowing. I can't speak for coke in the bathroom because I was in an outfit that didn't allow for bathroom visits, and frankly a bank account that didn't allow for coke.

With all the excitement and nerves in the air about who would clinch the win, it felt like our community’s political turmoil was dead and gone. Although, some people were drinking so much I thought they might go the same way.

Spoiler alert, Belladonna won the competition, and for me that was such a relief. To see a Trans woman win a competition like this and receive the recognition she so rightly deserved as a fixture in the Detroit scene was vindicating as a Doll Supremacist. Shoutout to you diva, you did that shit. Big shoutout also to one of the judges, Pineapple Honeydew, for finger-waving my look that night. I hugged Bella and joined in on the rest of the cast and crew who were inundating her with congratulations, and that's when I realized something. In this bar, on this stage, in THIS moment, Trump wasn’t president. He’ll never be president of Necto, or president of drag. This place, these people, were presidentless. This country may have elected him with the popular vote, but that didn’t matter here. His political success couldn’t take away Belladonna’s Drag excellence. Or Portia’s for creating the show. Or mine for leaving my mark on the show as Drama Diva and holder of the Golden Boot. No. Our community, its survival and ability to thrive, was entirely dependent on US, not THEM.

So yes, things will be much more difficult now. This will be a tough time for Trans kids, for immigrants, especially mexicans. A tough time for the elderly on social security, a battle for young mothers and young women trying NOT to become mothers. For blue collar workers in unions, for their families. Entire classes of people, communities, towns, families, they’ll be ripped apart. We’ve already seen how populism injected into right-wing politics can create the perfect siren’s song to attract members of our family, turning them into strangers. But at the end of the day, the days gotta end. Will we all take this lying down? Or with a smile on our faces, a tequila sunrise in one hand and our loved ones hand in the other? Our community, no, we protest and sing and dance and drink and dress up and be gay! Openly! Loudly! Until they realize we really aren’t going anywhere.