The Tragedy of Homophobia

Homophobia hurts. That’s undeniable. But do we always see all the ways in which it damages people? Bigoted morons who hold up ridiculous signs in the name of hate, verbal and physical assaults on queer-presenting individuals, institutionalized hatred of queer people, these are some of the way that we conceptualize the over homophobia we face. But homophobia has a much more sinister side. Like all hate, it is poison. The miasma of homophobia colours the very environs that we try to live in, it poisons the air we breathe, its oppression is so much more than we give it credit for. Hate doesn’t just attack and outrightly maim and kill, it has a quiet face, another side that traps all people in its gravity.

Due to my job (pshh, who needs one of those?), I only had the pleasure of viewing the later films last night at the Fairy Tales Queer Film Fest, but they both made a significant impression on me. The short, “My Name Is Love” (dir. David Fardmar), featured two young men with a secret. The eponymous Love, and Sebastian. Love knows he is gay, but has never had an encounter with another man. Walking around the streets, he comes across Sebastian who offers to take him home. When he finds out Love is a virgin, he tells him to leave, but Love tells him that he was joking (he wasn’t). Sebastian then starts having sex with him, but Love protests, telling him it hurts, and it quickly turns into a harrowing rape, Sebastian violently thrusting, Love crying into a pillow. As a viewer, you can see the moment when Sebastian realizes what he has done, and later when in the shower he curses Love and his homosexual desires, while his girlfriend calls him in voice-over. Love is left to wander the streets, damaged physically and mentally, until the film closes with him openly crying in front of a police station. We are never told what happens, but we are told this is based on a true story. We often conceptualize rape as a woman assaulted by a masked man in an alleyway, but that misconception is harmful in countless ways. This film was difficult to watch, horrifying and uncomfortable, but it illustrates a type of rape we don’t think about as often. Although I don’t condone the disgusting behaviour, Sebastian’s actions are the extension of his inability to accept his desires, and Love, closeted and finds himself (faultlessly) in a dangerous situation while seeking his unspoken desires. This film is tragic for so many reasons, and the complex rape that leaves two broken people, I think, is the tragic outcome of a world that tells us not to be.

The feature film, Children of God (dir. Kareem J. Mortimer), illustrates the intersection of several Bahamian characters’ narratives revolving around homosexuality. The young white artist finds love in the arms of a young Caribbean man who hides his sexuality from his family, and the wife of a priest faces the secret homosexual affairs of her gay-hating reverend husband. The film examines the homophobia of Bahamian and Christian culture, ones that disingenuously hate gay people. The reverend is, himself, secretly gay, and his vitriol creates hatred in the name of unifying the community. The two young men are unable to reconcile the artist’s openness with the other man’s closeted sexuality. The worlds collide as secrets are forced into the open, and then again into the closet, as misunderstandings and lies that stem from an inability to accept one’s self create pain for everyone. The film’s realism comes from its ending where there is no happy resolution. The characters never realize the truth of their identities, and instead remain trapped in the oppressive environment in which they live, and its final scenes express a heartrending quiet desperation.

Homophobia is hate, but hate is so much more than an outright attack against queer people. By its nature, it creates an oppressive environment that would force us into closets and secrecy. The hostility that manifests each and every day lends itself not only to the violent vitriol queer people face, but also creates this air of desperation. The truly horrifying face of homophobia is not its angry, vitriolic mask. No, it is that oppressive heaviness with which it fills the very air around us. It denies us our right to live our lives freely and true to ourselves. It tells us not to be, and forces us into closets. The greatest tragedy is in people forced to live a lie. There is no changing a person’s identity. There is only telling people to be disingenuous to themselves, and there is no harder thing to watch or live.

At one time or another, we have all experienced the closet. Whether that’s for sexuality or any other aspect of a person’s identity, these closets tell us to compartmentalize ourselves. In the case of sexuality, homophobia kills, yes, it causes those who cannot accept themselves, or other people to spew out lies, hate, and anger, and goes so far as physical death. But homophobia kills in more ways than one, and the other seems more tragic. Homophobia kills from the inside. It’s not easy to live a lie, and when the world forces you to, you’re already dead on the inside. Death from homophobia is not always as swift as a knife to the abdomen, a rock to the head, an execution, a suicide; for many death is the slow, daily half-life where each day is living death. Won’t you live?

Fight for your right to party; party to fight for your rights

I feel sorry for anyone who didn’t make it to last night’s screenings at the Fairy Tales Queer Film Fest. It was an experience thus far unrivalled in the festival, and something I will remember for a long time. Playing to a sold-out theatre, and sponsored by Pride Calgary, the “bring a straight” (2 for 1) night was a smashing success. Although each of the films was uniquely brilliant and thoughtful, I can’t help but focus on one film in particular: Beyond Gay: The Politics of Pride (dir. Bob Christie), a moving film that nearly set me to tears, and reduced my friend (and member of the Pride Calgary board) to a blubbering mess.

Beyond Gay followed members of the Vancouver Pride Society as they travelled around the world in an exploration of Pride as an event, social movement, and symbol. Pride is an important part of the queer community. Oftentimes it’s the only exposure people have to our community, and it fundamentally serves as celebration and social action. Whether it’s a parade/march, festival, party, what-have-you, Pride has many forms. What they all have in common is statement to society, and to ourselves.  Pride is the act of standing up as a united community and engaging in a visible demand for our rights. Not all Prides are equal, not all Prides are fighting for the same thing, but Pride as a movement and symbol carries the same spirit no matter where it’s held (or even if it’s legitimately held).

I think that we, as a queer community in Calgary, live a pretty priviledged life. Yes, even in so-called redneck Alberta, home of limited trans rights, Bill 44, and a generally social-conservative population. It’s not to say that we don’t have rights and acceptance for which to fight, but as I watched this film, the struggles in other locations clearly put into perspective how lucky we are. A Pride delegate from Sri Lanka (where homosexual acts remain criminalized) shed tears at Vancouver Pride at the unimaginable sight of such freedom. Moscow faced illegal and illegitimate operations that seemed more like a Cold War spy movie than Pride organizing. Filled with clandestine meetings, red herrings, and covert operatives, the organizers risked their very lives to have a small demonstration, and couple-minute walk. All around the world, the film showed footage of people being beaten, assaulted, and vehemently protested (even by police), all in the name of eking out a small space to exist. All around the world, queer individuals face death, injury, arrest, and utter rejection. The film’s exploration of these locales provide a harrowing reminder that the fight for the basic human right to exist isn’t a guarantee, and that our meagre rights are a scratch on the surface of what we face in the world at large.

So that brings us back home. Just having Pride is a lot more than many people get. Our colourfully celebratory parades and festivals seem a far cry from the struggle for human rights. We face a lot of criticism about our flippant attitude toward Pride, and rightly so. The parties, the obnoxious sexuality, the drinking (and drugs on the part of a few), that’s our conception of Pride. If your most vocal complaint is not enough alcohol, or a too-small beer garden, when set against the backdrop of the oppressive violence others face every day, then I have little sympathy, and quite a bit of contempt. Pride in our country has dissolved into a corporate-sponsored party that forgets the suffering of the past, and, worse, of the present, but I’m going to double-back and wonder if that’s not so bad (in a way).

Yes, it might seem a pretty vapid celebration of scantily-clad bodies, colourful costumes, and outrageous behaviour, but I’d argue that in some sense, celebration is a social action in and of itself. We party at Pride to celebrate the freedoms we’ve won, and we party as an act of defiance and freedom. We live in a society afraid of sexuality (both hetero- and queer), and although we have basic human rights here at home, I can’t walk down the street hand-in-hand with a boy, or kiss him in public without wondering about negative reprecussions. We are free, but we’re not. Celebrating Pride gives us an avenue to declare our existence, and declare to the world the freedom to sexual self-determination. The parade is an act of solidarity and defiance against those who would may grudgingly consent to not killing us, but would still force us into closets—“why can’t those filthy homos just be quiet about it?” and the like. Yes, Pride might be a little outrageous and sexually-charge, and I think it apropos. Metaphorically speaking. I do agree with one of my friends with whom I was discussing our Prideful expressions, and it might not be in our best interest to so alienate our heterosexual allies and counterparts. It does a disservice to ourselves, when we engage in such behaviour with no concept outside of having a good time. Partying might be social action. Fun is fun! Celebration is power! But Pride is action, Pride is standing up for social and human rights for all. Pride is the willful declaration of our rights, our space, and our existence. Party hard, but don’t let partying be your Pride; I expect more.

The fight for human rights in a long and arduous road. We’re not even close here, and it’s non-existent in other places. Pride is our community at its most unified, and its most powerful. In the film, New York Pride organizers made note that the parade will be a called a march until equal rights are available to all. The fights around the world are different depending on circumstance, but the spirit of Pride unites our front. We demonstrate, march, celebrate, and party all the harder for those who cannot, and we draw inspiration from those seemingly lone voices fighting all the harder against more powerful forces. Pride is politics, politics is Pride. We’d do well to remember the examples of those who came before us, and those who struggle now. Watching the struggles I wonder what I, a lone jackass spewing out words into the void of the internet, am doing that could be comparable. And I am inspired to work and think harder than ever before to continue our struggle. Pride is many things, but Pride is our spirit that refuses to be turned away or corrupted by forced within and without. We’d do well to remember that.

Let's hear it for the boy, girl, and everyone in between

Last night, the Fairy Tales Queer Film Festival featured a series of films dedicated to trans issues separated by an informative and interesting panel hosted by Calgary Police Service Diversity Unit Resource Office, Lynn MacDonald. Although I consider myself quasi-master of the world of queer identity, I can’t claim to have the complete knowledge my narcissistic egomania would have me believe. In fact, although I regularly learn about trans issues in blogs, articles, essays, and talks, I am woefully underprepared to speak knowledgeably about trans issues. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to learn. And learn I did. So while I spent part of the evening drooling over a couple of particularly attractive trans guys in one documentary (shut up, they were hot, and I’m not totally objectifying them… okay, I am, but in my defence: hot. Enough said.), my head was simultaneously being filled with knowledge as it did with dirty things.

As gays, lesbians, and bisexual people face increased acceptance and increased visibility in our society, transgendered individuals trail behind in rights, acceptance, and understanding. That is not to say that there has not been progress, no, but rather that in terms of voice, the T in LGBT is one that often goes unheard, or is lost amongst the din.

I was able to attend the first half of the evening (a short, a feature, and the panel), and was entertained and educated. The first short, “Dear Dad, Love Maria” (dir. Vince Mascoli), previously shown as part of the youth shorts programme, was a beautifully animated film describing a letter from a young trans woman addressing her father. It really jerks on the heartstrings, and the music provided by Evelyn Evelyn (co-created by Amanda Palmer of Dresden Dolls fame) developed a beautiful and thoughtful atmosphere.

The documentary, Boy I Am (dir. Sam Feder & Julie Hollard) followed three young trans men (FTM) as they went through and discussed their transitions. This was superimposed over a discussion of trans issues in the lesbian feminist sphere and asked some significant questions about the way in which we view trans individuals and transgender as an identity. In particular, I enjoyed that the film followed some trans men, as I’ve never actually seen or heard that much information regarding their transition. Both trans women and trans men face a lack of voice in the world and community, but I, personally, have found comparatively few resources regarding trans men and their struggles. 

Trans individuals have a long and contentious history with certain types of feminist thought, and I liked that the documentary examined the relatively underrepresented issues of trans men set against those feminist ideals. That’s not to say that all feminism is anti-trans, or transphobic, but there is a unique set of vocal feminist philosophies that illustrate a problematic and confusing rejection of trans people. Those of us that poke around the gender and sexuality theory world (particularly on the internet) may be familiar with this tension, and I find no better survey of the issue than on one of my favourite blog’s,Questioning Transphobia’s, trans-exclusive radical feminism archive. I will warn you, that some of the issues are rather upsetting and the points of view of some of these misguided feminists make me want to set fire to their efforts. That’s not that I do not applaud feminist thought and work, but we don’t need the kind of feminism that oppresses and represses whole communities based, ironically, on gender presentation and identity. That, to me, is both counter-intuitive and disappointingly un-feminist. Still, the idea persists, and while this documentary made some arguably stumbling points, it did attempt to reconcile the two worlds together and explain this phenomenon.

The panel that followed the film was exciting, informative, and just a pleasure to listen to and participate in. Lead by Calgary Police Service Diversity Unit Resource Office, Lynn MacDonald (who is, honestly, a gem of a person, and such a treasure for our local community), it featured Dr. Cathy Pittman (an enjoyably knowledgeable specialist in gender identity and sexual orientation), and James Demers (a young trans man, whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and listening to on a few occasions, and who possesses a fluency of speech and presence of mind that my bumbling self can only aspire towards). After some very brief introductions, the panel was asked a slew of questions by the audience, which was rather full, and made up of curious people whose questions made me, and the panel, really think. It highlighted the work of the Calgary Police Service to develop trans-centred policies (a project they’re currently in the process of), and issues facing trans people individually, in our community, and in society as a whole. The result was a dialogue that really gave me some valuable information and opinions to hear, and was a really enjoyable experience.

Still, I come back to the fact that many trans individuals face and feel marginalization even in the queer community. In my work with Queers on Campus, I have heard on numerous occasions that we fail to give as much focus to trans issues as we have on others, and although we’ve made a real push, we’re still working on it. In, fact we’re all working on it. Let me be succinct and clear: Trans issues ARE queer issues. Their struggles and issues are really not all that different from those of the gay, lesbian, bisexual aspects of our community, and they want what we all want: respect, and the freedom to engage with life, our gender, and sexuality as we see fit. As a gay, lesbian, or bisexual person, how many times have you heard arguments like, “it’s a choice”, “it’s wrong, and/or not natural”, “why can’t you just live normally?”, and the like? Our struggles for equal rights and against discrimination are inextricably linked, and we often fight the same battles. Freedom from discrimination against gender, gender-identity, and sexuality, is a goal we all work towards, because they are all the same issue. Variant language and nuances aside, we all fight for the same things. I can’t claim to be an expert on trans issues, but I want to learn, listen, and support, and I encourage everyone to do the same. We’re all in the same community family, and I want to support our trans brothers and sisters the same as they support us. I want to hear their voices, and make our voice one; after all, freedoms for one are freedoms for all. As the queer community, we are comprised of the many acronyms under LGBT(etc.), let’s make sure we live up to that name.

-Kris Schmidt

In Defence of Queer Arts

In my quest to become the gayest gay to ever gay a gay, I’ve immersed myself in queer cultural arts, mainly literature (as an English student) and film. I have a never-ending fascination with queer theory and can wax poetic with the best of them about dichotomous constructions of normative sexuality (what does that mean? Hell if I know, but it sounds great, doesn’t it?). All kidding aside, I recognize that my academic-y brain and passion for theorizing queerness through textual analysis isn’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea (oh, what a world it would be if it were…), but I do believe in queer arts’ ability to serve as  expression of identity, unification of community, starter of conversation, and social action.

When someone says to me that they’re not interested in queer arts or don’t like gay culture (as in cultural products), I feel a tad bit frustrated at their unwillingness to give it a try, and see what sorts of ideas these artistic endeavours inspire.  That’s not to say that I believe everyone should love every piece of queer art, or even like it, but I think that it serves a purpose in our community and to the world as a whole that we produce and consume cultural products to develop a more thoughtful and questioning community at large. But the blame isn’t entirely on individuals’ unwillingness to explore the arts. There is the large question of accessibility, and I think that as avid consumers of queer arts and culture, we sometimes get wrapped up in our own insular and esoteric world, which doesn’t always have the room for the uninitiated.

Last night at the Fairy Tales Queer Film Festival I had the extreme pleasure of viewing two films that not only bridged the gap between accessible art and social action, but were inspirational calls to action on the part of the viewer. The first short film, “Undressing Vanessa” (dir. Matthew Pond) documented the antics of Australian drag figure Vanessa. Her drag character is sort of the antithesis of what we largely consider drag, described in the film by a friend of hers as “lip-synching female impersonators”. Instead, Vanessa’s unshaven, gender-bendingly fabulous female persona is not only gorgeous, but brings energy and light to Australian politics and social issues facing Australian queers. However, under the surface, Vanessa faces an HIV-positive diagnosis, though she ultimately channels these feelings into social action: bringing laughter and entertainment to AIDS hospices, and using her drag flamboyance as a means by which to entertain and make poignant commentary.

The feature film, Darling! The Pieter-Dirk Uys Story introduced me to its eponymous South African political satirist. I can’t believe that I had never heard of Pieter-Dirk Uys before this film introduced me, and honestly I fell in love. A staunch critic of apartheid, Pieter-Dirk Uys created his fictional drag character who became known as “the most famous white woman in all of South Africa”. If that doesn’t say something, what does? His political satire is based in a long history of the jester figure. As a sort of comedic clown, he is able to say things that others would never get away with, although he miraculously escaped death threats from so any oppressive officials. After apartheid, he turned his razor sharp wit to cut at the country’s administration’s denial of HIV/AIDS and resistance to helping everyone. He created a comedic educational show and travels to schools self-funded and free of charge to educate and entertain about HIV/AIDS and sexual health. This is what struck me most. His show is primarily entertainment and broaches a difficult topic by disarming the kids with humour. He carefully changes to show for each appearance by first asking local health officials what the culture is like. Ultimately, Pieter-Dirk Uys represents the sort of figure that I wish I could become: infinitely entertaining and equally poignant.

Queer arts function as this same sort of expression, and the act of art itself is, arguably, a form of social action, but as I listened to the panel, “social action and the queer aesthetic” earlier in the evening (which was cut short because of time concerns—a sad lack of time for questions and interaction), I became aware of a problem that I perhaps didn’t fully understand when other people expressed their objections to attending parts of the festival. As someone who academically studies queerness, I am highly familiar with the language in which we speak, and it is a complicated language. Sometimes, I think that, in our endeavours, we lose sight of the language of accessibility. To meld social action with queer arts, we hope to galvanize a large portion of our community: we want to get people thinking and asking questions, as many as possible. However, if we continue an essentially self-servingly esoteric world, are we really being as effective as possible? I don’t mean that we should sacrifice our artistic integrity or make things less complex, no, but what I mean is a shift in the language and considerations we make.

Because the panel was so short, I never did get to ask the main question that was floating around in my mind, so I ask you now, internet world, the following:

As a queer community, we, by our very nature, must fight for our relevant existence, and I think that as queer culture, we must engage in a similar fight. It’s not enough to sit back and create art for art’s sake (although there’s nothing wrong with that), but queer arts have a unique link to social action that is undeniable: queer art is social action itself. So, then, looking to the examples of Vanessa and Pieter-Dirk Uys, how do we cross the gap between forging this queer aesthetic space, and space for our identity? How do we create accessible, meaningful, powerful art and culture without backsliding into self-serving and self-congratulatory narcissism?

-Kris Schmidt

Tedd Kerr on AIDS as CATALYST

Last Sunday, squeezed into a tight knit oval - filmmakers, artists, activists, administrators –and of course many others - gathered for the Fairytales Festival (FT) Teach a Queer to Fish Film Actionist Summit. Part of AIDS As Catalyst- a 2 day event that looked at Art, AIDS, Action and film – the community discussion was at the Fiasco Art installation space.  

Open to all and widely advertised, the format of the summit was simple- attract and gather a bunch of interested, involved, concerned, awesome people in a room, get the conversation going with experienced, generous minds like media maven Sharon Stevens, rockstar / filmmaker Trevor Anderson, and pediment filmmaker and activist John Greyson  - and from there engage in a community discussion around art, activism and beyond!  

The major themes as I saw them that emerged from the community conversation - moderated deftly by AMAAS’s Kevin Allen –were centered around:

• Identity and how we locate ourselves within the various circles (or ovals) we find ourselves in – including the festival itself:
  • Who is queer? What does queer mean? (the 4^th annual FT had the word queer in it, this year FT got an angry letter with the reintroduction of queer in the title)
  • Is Fairytales mainstream? Should it be?
  • Being an artist is perfect for being an activist, suggested Anderson, both require you to look and act on the world differently, critically.
  • Loving a place is needed if you are going to fight for it.
• What is the role or responsibility of artists within social movements:
  • We should be involved in issues as voluntary Citizens suggests Greyson
  • The moment we should do anything there is a problem.
  • What about consent? Just because I am gay or an artist or open minded does not mean that my thoughts and feelings on issues can be assumed. We need to check in with each other.
  • As John put it ‘Queer moments help complicate activism’ and this is a good thing – keeps it from falling into an unhelpful script.
• Need and desire for community, coalition and collaboration:
  • Stevens, who considers herself an artivist (activist + artist) feels like now is the time when she can blend all the different parts of herself, this in turn is not only about internal collaboration but affects coalition building in community.
  • Both Stevens and Greyson suggest having a filming partner with you to watch your back, switch tapes if need be and help you get out of sticky situations.
  • Anaganism- the opposite of antagonism – being together making space for others

For me one of the most interesting comments to come out of the day was from a young woman who says that when she is in the theatre watching film, she is thinking about the audience, how they are relating to what is being seen, what is being activated and understood by them- and where does that lead them. This is interesting when we remember that someone else’s art can never fully capture our own lived experiences. So with film festivals we need to have these discussions – localize the films, get different opinions and gather to make the films come alive outside of our minds.  

As the community discussion wrapped up I realized that while I may have had goals in helping set up the day – they are nothing compared to whatever people took away from the experience. Calgary is fertile ground for great things to happen. With resources, influences and community anything can be tackled. Below are links that were shared during the talk. It is like a puzzle to figure out how they all relate!  

Thanks.

-Ted Kerr 
AIDS as Catalyst Co-conspirator 

Links:

Arusha http://www.arusha.org/web/ 

Sharon Stevens work http://vimeo.com/user2619553 

The Yes Men http://theyesmen.org/ 

Trevor Anderson (Dirt City Films) http://dirtcityfilms.com/ 

G8 / G20 Resistance http://g20.torontomobilize.org/node/35 

John Greyson work http://vimeo.com/greyzone 

EMMEDIA http://emmedia.ca/ 

AMAAS http://www.amaas.ca/ 

Calgary Society of Independent Filmmakers http://csif.org/csif/ 

Who Was that Man? – by Neil Bartlett http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/b/neil-bartlett/who-was-that-man.htm 

Fierce Light (film) http://www.fiercelight.org/ 

Montreal Massacre http://jezebel.com/5420086/survivors-reflect-on-the-montreal-massacre-20-years-later 

Exposure: Edmonton’s Queer Arts and Culture Festival  http://www.exposurefestival.ca/blog/ 

Camp fYrefly http://www.fyrefly.ualberta.ca/ 

Roberts Street Social Center http://www.robertsstreet.org/n/ 

Alberta Ballet http://www.albertaballet.com/ 

Mike Hudema Greenpeace http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTn_c-aR2vQ 

Karl Bissinger http://www.warresisters.org/node/636