#to make the queer family feel safe and the queerphobic family feel unsafe

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Why the fight for queer rights isn't over (it should be obvious, but to some people it isn't)

TW: transphobia and homophobia

Hi, Tumblr, this is Asmi. If you know me, it's probably as the Good Omens Mascot, which is flattering. I've found so much love and queer positivity in the good omens fandom, and the beautiful thing is how it's canon. Many people outside the queer community don't realise how crucial media and communities like this are. Right now since I'm on break from education, I'm on tumblr for most of the time I'm awake (which is not a lot, I nap more than Crowley). It's wild how different it is from the real world, that I live in at least.

I'm sure a lot of you might have had a similar experience to this: Basically, two people in my life, my bio father and my ex, both told me to my face that queer people needed to stop calling themselves oppressed and how now it's queer people who hold all the power and are oppressing other people. With all due respect, what the fuck.

I live in India, and being a trans guy who is bi and aspec, it's a cesspit. While I'm gendered correctly on Tumblr, and people are so loving and supportive, in real life even my friends who say they support me misgender me 90% of the time. Same with my family. In my previous college which I had to leave because of bullying by both the students and admin, even the queer students would misgender me (I told them I used they/them pronouns, because he/him would have been too unsafe, but even that they didn't manage). In the college I'll join next, it won't be safe for me to be out at all, at risk of losing opportunities and safety. Gay marriage is still illegal. Homophobia and transphobia is the norm. This doesn't even cover all the daily indignities like queerphobic jokes, casual discourse on whether or not we deserve rights, etc. Discrimination against aroace-spec people is rampant even within the queer community, worldwide.

And I live in an urban area, one of the largest cities in India known for its progressiveness and for being relatively safe for queer people. I am privileged compared to other queer people here. The story in other cities, in rural areas which make up most of the country, is far more horrifying. I'm unqualified to speak about anything other than my own experience, but if you can (if you are in a stable and calm enough mental state to handle the information, please put your mental health first) I'm sure there are first person accounts on the many forums.

The fight for equality is not over. It doesn't end with laws riddled with loopholes, it doesn't end even with laws that genuinely help the queer community. Aside from the huge problems of living safely and with access to equal opportunities and resources for people, we deserve dignity, peace, and the right to feel accepted and that we're not an abnormality. And so much more.

I haven't said anything that hasn't been said before, but it can't be said enough. To the queer people reading this, take all my love. We need to stand together, eliminate discourse over who is queer enough to be queer, and be the safe space that the world will not provide for us.

It's not over, and it hasn't been won by a long shot, but what matters is that we're fighting. Even existing as ourselves in a world that tells us it is a crime, is defiance and a step towards making this right.

[yharnamsnewslug]

"I'd rather support them, at least they don't pelt queer people with rocks and throw them off buildings." ... and attitude like this is why I feel incredibly unsafe and isolated from most queer spaces as a middle eastern raised muslim who lives in the west. The homophobia and transphobia within our communities is treated as a gotcha, a joke, a proof that Muslims and middle easterners are backwards barbaric regressive beasts. Queer and trans Muslims and middle easterners suffering isn't your gotcha. The islamophobia, and by extension racism + orientalism within western communities goes SO UNCHECKED that they think it's a win for us whenever they make fun of us for the bigotry we suffer.

I will probably lose the support of most of my family (immediate and extended) if I ever come out and start medical transition, I'll never be able to come back to my home country. There's no denial that regressive and cruel tendencies within our communities, but trying to find saftey in queer spaces when we have it nowhere else to go only to be met with the beliefes that we're barberic monsters on a fundimental level, and the abuse that WE EXPERIENCE as queer Muslims/queer middle eastern people is proof that we're monsters is so fucking cruel and so fucking disgusting. I have seen other people in this community, even non-white and non culturally christan people, joke about terrible bigoted middle eastern muslim dad's throwing their children off of roofs if they ever came out (this comment specifically came from an East Asian Buddhist trans women). It's so demoralizing and it feels like we have no where else to go because nobody fucking accepts us, we're hypothetical concepts only to be used as bigoted buludgeons against own culture and history, we are never included by other queer/trans people nor are our unique experiences with intersectional oppression considered, we only exist to many to be mocked and demonized.

-a closeted trans MENA/secular Muslim

People love to talk shit about Islam as if every single fucking point they've said couldn't be found in a high school classroom or the fucking congress of any Western country.

"But it's sexist!!!!" Roe V Wade

"But it's queerphobic!!!!" English trans people are suffering

"But but but -"

People who shit on Islam have never sat down with a Muslim person in their fucking lives. They don't know that they're the most welcoming of people. That I've sat down at a table and apologized for not being able to bring much and yet they told me it was more than enough. They don't understand, they don't want to, ever, because they've swallowed the propaganda spread by the West in the early 2000s - and ever since.

I'm holding all of you so close to my heart. My home is your home, we're so intrinsically entwined. Al-Andalus runs in my veins and I promise that you're always in my mind and my heart.

There's an "al" in all the things I love in my hometown. And the poetry made by Muslim hands, its impact, can never be erased by Western governments, try as they might.

I love you, my siblings. And anon, you stay safe.

[defilerwyrm]

Queer Exandria: Pride vs Prejudice

You know what I think about sometimes? The hypothetical state of a queer community in Exandria.

Pop off all the pithy platitudes about oppression not defining queerness that you want, but the queer communities of Earth do, as a matter of fact, stem from our oppression. We travel in packs for safety. We made spaces and symbols for ourselves because we were not welcome in most places and we needed to be able to identify each other—for companionship, for love, for sex, for someone who understood—without being overt enough to be, you know, murdered and/or experimented on by our respective countries. We formed whisper networks. We built safe havens, because the world at large was not safe—and it’s not now, but in many countries it’s just about the safest it’s ever been since certain religions infested the planet. The privilege of being openly queer, of being out and proud, without being arrested for it is very recent.

So we’ve banded together for centuries, first in little groups, then in larger communities, and for most of that time it was all underground. When a group is forced to build communities under duress, under threat of violence from the state and the public alike, that builds strong bonds. It forms a sense of cohesive identity. Just look at Black culture in America, or Ashkenazi Jewish culture around the world: when everyone else is against you, and they have the power and bloody-minded vicious hatred to pick off anyone they can, the group by and large sticks together, close enough that culture forms. A shoal beset by sharks schools closest. And make no mistake, I love the queer community, and I’m boundlessly, depthlessly thankful to live in a time when I can exist as a queer person openly without losing my job, my home, my family, my freedom, my life, and that so many others like me can do the same; I am glad that we’ve come to a point where we can afford to be quarrelsome. These are merely the facts of how we came to be.

I don’t think a queer community wouldn’t exist without oppression, either. People will always seek out those like us, especially when it comes to matters of sex and romance, or even lack thereof. In a more perfect world, one without all the various stripes of queerphobia that make it unsafe for us to congregate among those we don’t know are either like us or supportive of us, I imagine we would be something more akin to book clubs or fandoms: a purely optional community, or set of communities, united by a likeness of “interest” rather than sheltering from a storm.

So enter Exandria, a setting that canonically does not have queerphobic power structures; where a fluidity of sex and gender factors heavily into at least one entire culture; where another culture is shaped and ruled by people who can remember being a variety of sexes, genders, orientations, and even species; where homophobes are distasteful outliers, not the status quo. What does the queer community look like there? Are there gay bars, or are there just bars? Is it common for queer Exandrians to congregate in friends groups among themselves? They certainly don’t need to, but I can still imagine some might want to, and besides, it’s common enough for people to have multiple circles of friends—at least those with the privilege of reaching a large number of people. Is there such a thing as gay fashion, or is clothing loosely-gendered enough that cross-dressing is just dressing? Are there drag queens & kings? How do non-binary Exandrians signal their gender? I can’t imagine there’s an equivalent of a hanky code, because that was constructed as a way for queer men to find and hook up with each other in a way that gave them plausible deniability because sex between men was a crime. What use would they have for Pride and all its symbols when no one has ever tried to make them feel ashamed?

I think about these things a normal amount

[tellywoodtrash]

Hi TT.

I recently came to terms with the fact that I am queer. I use that word because I haven't exactly figured out what label I fit into. All I know for sure is that I'm not straight. And I'm terrified. Being desi and queer doesn't even seem like something that's possible. I mean openly. I can't tell my family. I tried telling my friends but before I could actually get there it became pretty evident that they were uncomfortable with the topic altogether. I don't have anyone to confide in and even now as I'm writing to you anonymously I'm still terrified someone will somehow trace this back to me and I'll get in trouble. I feel suffocated and I feel terrified that I can never be myself because everyone will just hate me. Do you have any advice for me or any comforting words? And even if you don't I just really really needed to share my truth with someone and your blog seems like a very accepting space.

Dearest anon,

First of all, I am so honoured that you chose to share this part of yourself with me. Thank you so much for trusting me, and you can be assured this is a safe space for you. I am giving you the biggest and tightesttttttttttt hug you've ever had!!!!!

There's lots of noise and conversation on "coming out", but please know that it's in no way a mandatory thing. You don't need to reveal this side of yourself to anyone if you don't want to, until you are ready. Anyway in desi society, talking about one's sex life is taboo; so game the system back: your preferences are none of anyone's business. Your safety is paramount. Only come out if and when you feel utterly comfortable and safe with a person. My biggest advice for you would probably be that you should make sure that you are working towards being financially independent from your family. Even if they are unsupportive (or in worst case scenario, the situation becomes unsafe) you should have the freedom to leave and make your own way in the world. Emotional freedom is more tricky, and that will take more time and effort, but that's for a professional therapist to guide you with.

I am sorry that your friends seemed unsupportive and uncomfortable with the topic. It's saddening and frankly, absurd; because you're still the very same person, you just learnt something new about yourself. Discovering new sides to yourself is all a vital part of growing up, and your friends should embrace this part of you just like they do any other growth you go through! It's possible that perhaps some of them are actually supportive but reluctant to speak in a larger group setting? So maybe you could try talking to those who you think might be open to the idea on a one-on-one basis. If someone is openly queerphobic though, it's time to reconsider your friendship with them. You don't need that kind of energy in your life. Either way, you don't need anyone's approval or permission on this matter any more than you do on your favourite colour or taste in music. And sometimes, you grow out of your friend circles. This doesn't mean you/they did anything wrong; it's just a relationship that has run its course and isn't adding value to your life anymore. You can still have goodwill for them as you part, but you deserve friends who accept and embrace this part of you. So be open to expanding your circle and making new friends!!!!

And oh, please remember to love and accept yourself! As I always say, the longest relationship you will have in your life is with YOURSELF, and you need to make sure that is a happy one. Read more on the subject(s), educate yourself, and surround yourself with media that shows you the joyful side of being queer, rather than just the challenges. (Again, please remember to be safe, use incognito mode and VPNS and alternative accounts rather than the main ones you have all your friends and family on.)

All in all, please know, if no one else got you, you have me (and my friends who follow this blog) in this little corner of the internet, super duper proud of you and always wishing you all the love and happiness and success! 🤗🤗🤗🥹🥹🥹 I hope you live your best authentic life!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤️♥️❣️💖💗🌺🌷🪷🌸💮🏵️🌻🌼☀️⚡🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈

[disasterdemi]

I've never been worried about telling people I am Demiromantic. In the community where I grew up, if you want to stay single, you stay single. My paternal aunt never married and my older cousin has no interest in getting married and my family's perfectly fine with that.

However, being bisexual is a completely different story, especially since I'm a part of a community that isn't necessarily open to LGBTQ. Like it's safe for me to be out at school and stuff, but I can't be open to my community. And I'm terrified of losing their support. And being the only one (That I know of) is incredibly isolating. Yes, I have friends that are queer, but none quite understand

All to say, I had suspicions about people in the community being LGBTQ, but I don't have much faith in my suspicions. I think they're mostly fruitless wishes. The key word there is mostly. Because a few days ago at school, an acquaintance made a joke in these exact words. "That line is as straight as you wish [Redacted] would be." The line was very straight. And now, I'm wondering if I'm not as alone as I think I am. (I'm pretty sure it's a joke, but a girl can hope)

~Love Advice Anon

I think it's so interesting how we can feel safe and unsafe about different aspects of our queer identity in different situations. Like, a sport community that I'm part of has a very large proportion of queer people, so I'd feel fine saying I'm bi, but it's so hard to tell what lgbt+ people know/think about aromanticism so I'd be much more hesitant to provide that info unprompted.

And on the other hand, similar to your situation, my mum has been single basically my whole life and there's been a lot of divorce in the family, so while I know that I would be unintentionally made to feel uncomfortable if I were nonpartnering (thanks amatonormativity), it's not something I'd be persecuted for. Being aro as an action (though maybe not as a label) wouldn't be so much of an issue. But yeah branches of my family I don't know??? how they'd react to me being bi?? (Not to mention polyam 😅) Like... my dad I have no idea either way, but some of my older family members are queerphobic in that sort of... cultural-climate-they-grew-up-in way so it's hard to tell if it'd make a difference if it were someone they knew.

idk man. For me, because I'm lucky that I feel totally backed up by my mum, I've always sort of been like... they don't need to know unless it's relevant. Like "hey can I bring my girlfriend to christmas" or something? But in the meantime I don't feel the need to tell them. You know?

I hope you find some people who support you (and maybe some other queer people) in your community, though I imagine it is hard if none of you feel entirely safe to approach others about it. I'm sure it's no replacement, but you always have me and the rest of the online queer community to lean on xx

[abandoned-never-finished]

An Investi(gay)tion Into Existing as Queer

Societies operate off a culturally and historically entrenched set of norms, or rules and standards by which that particular society functions and organizes itself. These norms can be informal (e.g. walking on the right side of a sidewalk) or formal (e.g. laws). Individuals who comply with these norms are described as normative, whereas those who fail to follow norms in some respect are labeled as deviants. Deviating from social norms can result in sanctions, or consequences for not heeding an established rule. Again, these can range from informal (e.g. people giving you a dirty look for bumping into them) to formal (e.g. prison time for committing a crime). In order to function in a society, individuals learn these rules through a process called socialization. Family, peer groups, school, work, and larger institutions are all agents of socialization. They teach people the social norms and expectations, as well as how to comply with them. It is important to note that there are certain norms that individuals break simply by existing. This is most clearly seen among minority groups; disabled people, for example, deviate from the norm that prizes and acknowledges able-bodied people.

In this experiment, I breached the heteronormative norms surrounding romantic relationships by appearing with my partner in public. Essentially, I went about my normal life with my partner and recorded what it’s like to be publicly viewed as a queer couple. In American society, heterosexual relationships are assumed to be the norm. Couples that present as anything other than heterosexual (e.g. male-male, female-female, androgynous, etc.) are seen as deviant. This norm stems from homophobic (or perhaps more accurately, queerphobic) attitudes and beliefs that are historically rooted. Events including Hitler’s murder of homosexuals, the AIDS epidemic initially attributed as a “gay disease,” and the belief that homosexuality was a diagnosable psychological disorder have contributed to these attitudes. One may argue that as a society, the United States has come far since the days of brutal stories like those of Matthew Shepard and the Stonewall Riots. However, I hope to point out how many openly discriminatory behaviors have been replaced by microaggressions. Though these acts may seem inconsequential, the additive stress of experiencing them repeatedly has been demonstrated to be damaging across minority groups. I believe it’s important to note that I am speaking from limited experience: I only came to terms with my queerness and have been in a queer relationship for roughly a year and a half. I have never experienced acts of violence or explicit threats as a result of my sexuality, but I do know other queer people who have. Thus, I can only speak for what I have encountered, but I’m sure that other queer people can relate to some of these experiences.

When I am out in public with my partner, we make an effort to not read as a queer couple, largely for fear of repercussion or negative reactions. We rarely hold hands in public. We hardly ever display affection without first checking that nobody is watching or present. To members of their extended family, I am always introduced simply as a friend. These precautions seem minor, but when one considers how they permeate so many daily interactions, it becomes apparent just how draining they can be.

A small café in our hometown in Connecticut is one of the few places we generally feel safe. Still, we’re conscious of who’s in the room when we want to be affectionate. If there are people belonging to particular groups (e.g. older white people, people meeting for bible studies or other religious gatherings, etc.), we usually revert to acting as if we are just friends. One such instance occurred fairly early in our relationship. We were sitting next to each other in a booth-style table in the back corner of the empty café. While we were sitting close to each other, there was no other obvious affection being displayed. A white woman (maybe in her 30s) walked in with her young daughter who appeared to be about 6 years old. They ordered drinks and sat down at a table near us. About 10 minutes into their stay and after glancing over at us repeatedly, the mother physically moved her daughter to sit so that her back was towards us. They stayed seated that way until they left some time later. As someone who was just coming into my queerness, this incident stuck with me. I was hurt not only by how blatant the action had seemed, but also by the fact that it had involved this woman’s young daughter. Children learn from their parent(s)’ actions and beliefs, and this little girl was implicitly being taught intolerance. She may continue to perform small actions such as these without realizing how they affect the intended recipients. I remember pointing this out to my partner (who has been out for several years) and they shrugged, remarking that this was nothing new to them. Although I had known beforehand that queerphobia was alive and well, I didn’t exactly realize just how much it would impact my own reality.

Several weeks ago, my partner and I went out for an early dinner at an Olive Garden restaurant. Considering the time (around 4:30-5:00), the majority of the clientele were elderly.  We did receive a few sideways glances, but nothing too terribly out of the ordinary. Our waitress, a young woman in her 20s or 30s, seated us at a four-person table, placing our menus next to each other instead of across from each other. I didn’t think much of it; neither of us was exactly dressed in “date-like” attire, nor were we necessarily acting explicitly as a couple. After we had finished eating, the waitress brought us the (digital) check and slid the machine over to my partner, rather than placing it in front of me or at the center of the table, despite the fact that I was the one paying. I’m sure she meant no harm and likely didn’t realize she had done that, but it made me wonder how she might have perceived us. Could she have assumed my partner is the more dominant or “male” member in the relationship, considering they are older than I am and present as more masculine? Could this be a reflection of implicit biases? Or maybe it meant nothing at all, that there was no intent unconscious or otherwise behind the action. But therein lies the reality of existing as queer people (or as members of other minority groups): you learn to read into things and assume that there is always the potential for a threat to be present. You learn to censor your existence out of fear of people’s reactions.

Recently, my partner and I were again at the local café, seated at a table and working on our respective assignments. Two heterosexual couples came in, apparently stopping for coffee before traveling together to a show. All four individuals were white and 65+ years old, which is unsurprisingly a group neither my partner nor I expect much acceptance from. We continued doing our work, not touching and hardly talking to each other during the time they were there. At one point, my partner got up to use the restroom. One of the men (I’ll call him George for clarity’s sake) had to use the restroom while my partner was still inside. Realizing the door was locked, he sat back down with the group.  A few minutes later, the other man asked, “Are you sure there’s someone in there?” to which George responded, “Yeah, her partner went in there, I saw her.” Putting aside the misgendering, George’s use of the word “partner” caught me completely off guard as we hadn’t been affectionate (and frankly had interacted very little) since the group had arrived. I then wondered if we read as queer. The use of “partner” doesn’t bother me, because that word should be normalized, but the context and realization that we read as a couple when we make a conscious effort not to “act gay” in front of people left me uncomfortable and honestly a little freaked out. It reinforced the realization that there is always the potential for us to be unsafe if people perceive us as different.

As a result of this fear of being seen as different, deciding whether to present as queer or to pass as straight is something that I’ve struggled with thus far in my experience with queerness. It’s a large part of the reason it took me so long to cut my hair short again. It’s the reason that, while I’m very comfortable in “masculine” clothing (e.g. button downs, oxfords, bowties/ties), I worry that when wearing them I’ll be perceived as queer. This experience is a double-edged sword, however. While there is the concern surrounding presenting as queer, I don’t want to hide my identity and dislike being perceived as heterosexual because I’m not heterosexual.  This seems to be a balancing act a lot of queer people struggle with. They want to feel safe, but they don’t want to grapple with the invalidation of being assumed to be heterosexual and/or cisgender (especially if this has happened many times before).

This balancing act between presenting as queer or not is often met with an outside perspective that asks questions like, “Why does it matter if people think you’re straight?” On the one hand, it’s true that my sexuality is not all that there is to my identity, and in theory, being assumed straight seems a minor issue (especially when compared to the dangers faced by many queer people who cannot be out as a result of both legal and societal repercussions). But it does matter, because heteronormative perspectives are so pervasive, and hearing them constantly results in a never-ending string of (usually unintentional) microinvalidations. My doctor doesn’t ask me if I’m sexually active or having safe sex, she asks if I have a boyfriend. Relatives want to know if I’ve met any cute boys at school. My parents hint (sometimes not so subtly) at things that I should do, like wearing makeup, removing body hair, letting my hair grow out, dressing “femininely”, or using perfume, because men won’t find the alternative attractive. These small acts that imply that some part of my existence should serve to impress men simply because I am a woman are draining, nevermind incredibly invalidating. These are not “big” instances of discrimination. I have never been harmed or threatened for my queerness. But hearing those remarks and putting in the energy to always check my queerness at the door can get exhausting. Many minority groups experience something similar to this, and for those who cannot present as the majority group (e.g. people of color), it’s even more impactful.

Now of course, this is not all to say that I haven’t had positive experiences with being public in my queerness. Just this week, my partner and I went apple picking together and held hands and kissed throughout, regardless of who else might have been in the field or the orchard’s market. We received no staring, glares, or commentary. But there are also dozens of instances in other settings where we noticed people staring at us or glancing over far too many times to be accidental that I don’t remember in enough detail to recount here. There are the countless times I’ve struggled to find a label to describe my partner to friends on campus if I didn’t know their feelings towards queer people and nonbinary terms. I’ve used the term boyfriend instead of partner to avoid the dreaded “oh” that really means, “I didn’t know you were gay,” or to deter boys who wouldn’t take “girlfriend” to be an indicator that they should stop flirting. There are all the times where I’ve debated if outing myself to someone was worth the possibility of losing the friendship. Navigating queerness often feels like a very calculated existence of shifting between scripts depending on their recipients.

More positively though, there is something to be said for the type of people my partner and I are among and how that impacts feelings of difference. If we go out on a double date with another queer couple for example, or spend time with friends who are also queer, we are more likely to be comfortable acting publicly queer. Being around other queer people provides a sense of ingroup, a certainty that we aren’t the only “deviants” in the room, so to speak. It takes some of the pressure off of us to behave in a way that will make heterosexuals the least uncomfortable. This safety-net provided by being around other queer people is more obvious in settings like gay bars and pride parades. There is an understanding that you are occupying a space that is both safe and intended for you. Being out with a friend group that also identifies as queer offers some of this same feeling, just on a smaller scale.

So, what does all this mean for queer people who deviate simply by existing and going about their lives? How does one grapple with that concept? In truth, I’m not really sure. It seems the only available option is to become aware of this reality (not doing so isn’t exactly a choice available to queer people), exist in it, and whenever possible, fight against it. For those who are not queer, awareness is critical. It is all too easy to exist in a bubble without understanding how social norms affect people’s everyday lives. Even I did not realize how subtle and pervasive queerphobia was, and I would have considered myself a fairly aware and accepting person. People often say they would be afraid to travel back in time because any small action could cause a butterfly effect, rippling out and changing the course of history. Yet, they rarely seem to think that small actions now will have any larger impact in the future.  Taking the time to understand people’s experiences as members of “naturally” deviant groups and using that knowledge to guide small actions is the first step towards effecting change that cannot come soon enough.