Class Blog

“Loving you is like living / in the war years” (Moraga, 23).

The first line of Loving in the War Years, a poem featured in Cherrie L. Moraga’s novel under the same title, sets the reader up to understand Moraga’s relationship with her identity as a lesbian. She connects loving a woman to living in a time of turmoil and fear. She goes on to write, “Loving you has this kind of desperation / to it, like do or die” (Moraga, 23). Moraga must either confess and act on her love or die with this secret (the secret of love and the secret of identity) buried in her.

Ironically, this line contrasts with the first line. To love is to “do or die”, but to love is to live in pain and turmoil. It is a painful reflection on the fear many queer people live in; loving means putting yourself in the line of fire, either physically, verbally, or mentally. It means risking your relationships with your friends and family. Loving is akin to war when your love is not accepted.

I was pulled to Eve Sedgwick’s Tendencies, where she writes “I’ve heard of many people who claim they’d as soon their children were dead as gay. What it took me a long time to believe is that these people are saying no more than the truth” (Sedgwick, 2). Parents fear the very nature of their child’s love, because at least death would protect their kid from the hatred queer people face. If you ask people “what is the meaning of life”, you will hear at least one person respond “love”. But when your love is dangerous, it can feel like there is nothing to live for.

 

As I was reading sections from Eli Clare’s book Exile and Pride, I have taken note of his usage of words and how much he can evoke in such few words. After reading a few pages of his works it became painfully clear how much of an expert wordsmith he can be. One section that I will focus upon is the section entitled “II. A Supercrip Story”.

When Clare describes how society views disables people who have overcome struggles, and how the nondisabled world has become saturated with stories of the disabled person overcoming their struggles, and how they “enforce the superiority of the non disabled body and mind”, it paints a vivid picture, especially when he uses words meant to shame people with disabilities while talking about the second a disabled person accomplishes something the nondisabled world deems to be a challenge for them, they become a poster child for how to overcome the hardships in your life. His words become very clear with the repetition of the words “I mean” and “lack” on page 3, where the repetition creates a feeling of struggle and persistence to make ones voice heard, like butting into a conversation multiple times because no one is listening.

This becomes a foremost subject as he opens the last paragraph of this small section with his personal experience being the “supercrip” that the nondisabled population gawks at like an animal in the zoo. The repetitive usage of I in the first half of the paragraph where Clare describes his history with cross country in high school, where he would come in last and occasionally be lapped by the front runners in the race, compared to his repetitive usage of “them” as he describes the reactions that people had to his running, where he would be fawned over and treated as the bravest soul for even daring to step on the track, to even attempt to run. The egregious amount of pity shown to “the supercrip, tragic brave girl with CP, courageous cripple”. who simply wanted people to “PISS ON PITY”.

Clare’s clear craftiness with words is clearly shown in this section, painting so many vivid pictures with his words, that can not total over two thousand words. It clearly shows that in some cases, a picture can be worth significantly less than a thousand words depending on the author.  

“I am used to being an observer.

I am used to not getting what I want.

I am used to imagining what it must be like. “

(Loving in the War Years, page 26)

I believe that these three lines from Cherrie L. Moraga’s book “Loving in the War Years” express the deep frustration of a queer person constantly watching other people’s love and affection for each other but never being able to experience it for themselves due to self-doubts and/or the emotional struggle of living openly queer, as well as the intolerance of society.

I reached that conclusion because the repetition of the words ‘I am used to’ symbolize the hamster wheel the lyrical I is trapped in and experiences the same situations over and over. On one hand, it is referring to the love openly shown by happy couples, on the other hand, the lyrical I is talking about sexual experiences, that they do not have.  Also the word ‘observer’ enhances the argument that the lyrical I is watching and hearing about other people’s love from the distance, but never playing the main character in the interaction.  For me these lines indicate such deep frustration and capitulation and portray the picture of the lyrical I not believing in their own happiness anymore.

Sadly, I assume that these lines express many queer people’s reality. Our society is still not fully inclusive and tolerating of LGBTQ members, leading to queer people often keeping their sexuality and identity to themselves. Therefore, it is really tuff for them to connect with each other and have the opportunity to make the same experiences regarding love and sexuality as heterosexual couples. Moreover, I state that the majority of heterosexual people is not even aware of the fact that they have the privilege to openly express their sexuality due to centuries old heterosexual norms and the emotional struggle it often presents to queer people.

All in all, these lines are a great example of the frustration and unhappiness queer people experience on daily basis because they watch other happy couples from the sideline but do not receive the same chance to make the same romantic experiences due to a society that still comments, raises attention and sadly often still not accepts queer love.

“Why does the money that creates Stonewall 25 and events like it rarely find its way to working-class and poor queers? […] Have we collectively turned our backs on the small towns in Oregon that one by one are passing local anti-gay ordinances?” (Clare 43)

This entire paragraph on p. 43 is much too long to fully type out for this post, but effectively serves as a prime example of how Clare evokes a lot of his own frustration/confusion/complex internal monologue of navigating our heteronormative, ability-normative, elitist world as a trans, queer, impaired writer that grew up in the working class. He gets the reader to question the perceptions of normalcy that show up in our lives as we live them through contextualizing his nuanced perspective by asking questions. As seen in the aforementioned paragraph, as well as many times throughout the text as a whole, Clare poses the questions he has grappled with so as to logically progress us through how he came to seek dismantling conventions of normal.

In the two questions I included from that paragraph, you can see that he poses a more broad question (which translates to: ‘why are we not equally distributing our resources/predominantly funding queer organizations that are already well represented?’) followed by a tangentially specific yet related question (translating to: ‘have we abandoned queer people in local communities because they don’t fit the metropolitan agenda?’). The other questions in this paragraph branch into various other relevant discourses. This not only paints us a clear picture of Clare’s inquisitive nature, but in doing so prompts the reader to recognize just how pervasive and far-reaching class, race, and ability are in the realm of queer issues. We can see that once he began to question the big concept, more niche questions about how our systems impact our daily lives arose. In doing this, Clare doesn’t just argue his conclusion that we need to dismantle the normalization of white, able-bodied queer struggles to include other intersectional factors, but rather leads the reader through how he got there. Clare makes abstract, complex concepts digestible by laying out his own thought processes, which makes what he is trying to say much more tangible to his audience.

This theme of systemic issues having nuanced local impacts for those left out of the majority in Clare’s work directly bolsters our class theme of defining queerness by its multiplicity. It is clear from this excerpt that people advocating for LGBTQ+ issues are finally garnering public attention, but a large portion (if not all) of this advocacy leaves out gender/sexual minorities of color, lower socioeconomic status, impairment, etc. We’ve discussed throughout this course how multidimensional the term ‘queer’ is as a facet of identity. The way Clare points to all of the far-reaching corners of other identities that conflate with queer identity reinforces our argument that queerness encompasses so many things beyond sexuality and gender identity.

“The body as home, but only if it is understood that bodies are never singular, but rather haunted, strengthened, underscored by countless other bodies” (11).

This quote ties in with many other passages in Clare’s writing, working together to build an idea of his view of identity. In particular, it fits with his idea of being unable “to bridge the chasm between my homesickness for a place thousands of miles away in the middle of logging country and [his] urban-created politics” (20). His identity is “complex, complicated, and contradictory,” as he said in his talk.

There is this concept that his body, and by extension his identity, is not singular. It is not made up of simply what is presently there. It is something that has been built by the communities around him and experiences throughout the years. Even as he has grown as a person and become perhaps more authentically himself, it must be acknowledged that who he is now was built on who he has been. His foundation is a child in a rural logging town, and his years spent living as a butch lesbian are a fundamental part of who he is, even though that label does not fit him anymore.

In particular from this quote, the words “haunted, strengthened, underscored” direct my thinking. I am interpreting the “bodies” in this quote to be both other people but also prior versions of himself. With this in mind, the implication is that his relationships with himself and others over the years affect his identity, both positively and negatively. They “haunt” him, giving him trauma to carry with him, but also “strengthen” him, giving him life experience and confidence in himself. Most of all, they “underscore” everything he knows to be true about himself, re-emphasizing that his identity is built on these “bodies.”

Overall, I think that these lines are continuing his idea that he is simultaneously everyone and everywhere he has ever loved and been. Identity is so hard to define because it requires being face to face with parts of yourself you are embarrassed by and communities you would no longer like to claim. This is particularly a shared feeling amongst people with queer identities because, for many people, queerness did not have a place in their lives while they were growing up. The queer identity may feel inherently contradictory, as many other identities directly oppose queerness, but that does not stop them from becoming integral parts of queer people. 

“We ate at a hotel restaurant, where I spent too much money on not enough food, served by men of color who were courteous in spite of our ever-changing party and ever-changing food orders. Jo and her friends were all going to the party after dinner and were dressed accordingly, in black plastic miniskirts and diamond earrings, three-piece suits and golden cufflinks, hair carefully molded and shaved in all the right places. In my blue jeans and faded chamois shirt, I felt conspicuous and embarrassed” (41).

In this passage, Clare draws our attention to the issue of class and race within urban, queer communities. Throughout this entire chapter, Clare draws on the issue of “metronormativity” being a large part of what makes him feel like an outsider as a queer person as he grew up in a largely rural, conservative, and working-class area. Through this detailed description of the national queer writers’ conference, he further lays out the issue of exclusivity in the queer community. 

This passage is filled with a number of binary oppositions. For example, when describing the group of queer writers he is with, he describes them as being “dressed accordingly” (41). With this word “accordingly,” Clare emphasizes that there is a “right way” and “wrong way” to be a queer person in an urban, academic environment. Meanwhile, he describes himself as being “conspicuous.”  By using this word, he emphasizes how he not only fails to fit within these expectations but feels like an outsider in a community of which he is a part. 

Another area where Clare’s writing especially stands out is when he decides to include that his party was “served by men of color.” Including the race of the waiters in the description, further calls attention to the binary of “fitting in” and “not fitting in” that is seen in this passage. This contrasts well with “ever-changing party and ever-changing food order,” implying that there was a sense of entitlement or superiority that was felt by these white, upper-middle-class, queer people in expecting their food to be served even with these high demands. 

In this passage, Clare calls the readers to see how intersectionality in the queer community is often overlooked, whether through accessibility (in this case wealth), appearance, or other identities such as race. This passage relates well to what Dennis expressed about his experience in the queer community as a Chinese-American man in “My Image of Myself: An Interview with Dennis,” stating that “there are a lot of gay images that emphasize whiteness…I’m angry about that” (15-16). Both Dennis and Clare are calling attention to an issue of exclusivity in the queer community in which white and wealthy individuals are seen as the norm while those who are not either of those things struggle to find a place. Clare states that he is often left “feeling queer in the queer community” (42), implying that while attempting to be inclusive of marginalized genders and sexualities, the queer community often fails at fighting for the many overlapping identities that come with queerness. 

On page 38 of Exile and Pride, Clare explains that when he and a long term friend reached the age where one goes to college, he found himself disappointed when he was applying to go to college and she was planning to be married. Clare uses the term “copping out” to describe what he felt his friend was doing. I find this term interesting because it reveals Clare’s preconception of what someone should be doing. In turn, we see more of Clare’s biases and judgements as his younger self. When he uses the term “copping out”, we can understand that he believes college should be an obvious next step for a high school senior. This belief in itself shows the privilege and narrow world view of a young Clare. Unfortunately, college is a luxury and a privilege rather than a right—an idea which is often misconstrued by middle and upper class people who are raised by parents who also pursued higher education. This fact was also true for Clare—though he acknowledges that this was not true for many people who lived in his town. Later, Clare explains that in hindsight he realized his friend had to get married because of financial hardships caused by the loss of her father. He reflects on the situation with understanding and some disdain for his former self’s opinion. In a similar change of heart, Clare acknowledges that he did not know best for himself either. He found himself missing his home town, even though he had spent his former years wishing to escape.

I found Clare’s experience was closely related to the idea of Metronormativity. A younger Clare hoped to move out of his small, neighborly town. But when he actually did, he felt even more out of place and longed to return. I think Clare’s story shows us that it is natural when one idea or decision feels so big that it dictates our life. However, we must be able to empathize with our own needs or those of others when those big choices aren’t exactly right.

In a passage on page 172 from This Bridge Called My Back by Gloria Anzaldúa, the author claims that, through both writing and queerness, one must challenge the heteronormative ideals held by society. 

Anzaldúa first puts her emphasis on writing; “Shock yourself into new ways of perceiving the world, shock your readers into the same” (172). The word “shock” conveys a feeling of urgency and extremity. This makes readers feel motivated to write, while also providing encouragement that they can make an impact. 

Anzaldúa then writes, “If you are going to spit in the eye of the world, make sure your back is to the wind” (172). She utilizes this idiom to illustrate the existence of queer people in society. The act of simply being queer is a disregard of societal norms; therefore, it is to “spit in the eye of the world”. Anzaldúa continues this thought with the claim that the world will retaliate against this queerness. By explaining that the opposition will travel back to you (“… make sure your back is to the wind”), she is explaining how the world believes being queer is an act of violence. 

Overall, I think this passage, and most of Anzaldúa’s essay, are showing how queerness is inherently radical. One cannot be queer without being radical, and therefore, she wants readers to utilize their queerness to create change in the world. She does this through writing, but the concepts are applicable to all forms of activism. Because, standing idly while your community suffers, is a waste of your voice.

“My mother was not the queer one, but my father. Something got beat out of the man… But it is this queer I run from.” ( Moraga 2)

This particular phrase took my breath away when I first read it. Not only because of personal resonance but because it is so ripe for analysis in terms of sexuality and gender.

First starting out with Moraga’s clarification that her mother was not the queer, but rather her father was. I cannot say for certain why Moraga chooses to make this clarification but clarifying this is interesting because it implies that her mother would have been assumed to be more queer than her father for some reason. Whether that be because of cultural perceptions of masculinity and men in heterosexual relationships, or the way that Moraga views her own queer identity as being very related to her being a woman, or both, it’s an interesting choice. It begins to put into conversation gender and sexuality and their relationship which Moraga talks about several times in this particular reading.

Then, the idea that Moraga identifies her father as the “queer”, which one would assume would bring them closer in terms of identity, but then she rejects that preconceived notion by saying that he is the queer she runs from. It is his version of queerness which she rejects, which puts him in a sort of subcategory of queer.

In the context of our class this is relates to the complexity of queer identity and how we recognize queerness in ourselves and others. The idea that one person’s personification of queer can be very different from another’s is complex and hard to comprehend that one kind of queerness can be at odds with another.