Category: Fall 2022

In Angels in America Tony Kushner argues that when situations arise in which people, who are not already ‘out’ as members of the LGBTQ+ community, must label their sexuality (I.e., Aids) they will struggle with this (47).  

When Roy hears that he has AIDS he is unable to accept it because he does not identify with one of the four H’s (hemophiliac, Haitian, heroin user, homosexuals). Even though Roy regularly has sex with men, he shouts at his doctor “Roy Cohn is not a homosexual. Roy Cohn is a heterosexual man, Henry who fucks around with guys.” He refers to himself in the third person because his self-perception is based on how others view him in society (straight). He believes that “homosexuals are men who know nobody and who nobody knows. Who have zero clout” (46). Roy says this to Henry to ‘prove’ he is not homosexual for he is symbol for hard work and masculinity in this story—he is the one who knows President Reagan after all. Roy believes that being homosexual will prevent him from gaining trust and respect from other successful people which is why he is so sensitive to this information and rather believes he has liver cancer.  

Another example that supports my claim shows up when Harper asks Joe if he is homosexual. Joe does not outright deny her accusation and refers to his gayness as a ‘thing that he’s fought very hard to kill’ (40). He then says, “all I will say is that I am a very good man who has worked very hard to become good and you want to destroy that” (41).  He believes that accepting his identity will prevent him from being a ‘good’ Mormon in the same aspect that Roy believes being homosexual will prevent him from being good at his job. 

Roy and Joe feel like their queer identities contradict other facets of their identities which are more outwardly appearing, like being a successful lawyer and a kind husband and Mormon. Both characters are essentially forced to come out, which explains such emotional reactions from each of them. They don’t feel safe coming out because people have already formed ideas of who they are in their heads. Even though Roy is not married to a woman, like Joe is people have already deemed him straight too because he is successful even though the two characteristics are clearly unrelated. 

In the play Angels in America by Tony Kushner, it is difficult to identify any main characters who can truly be described as happy. Instead, we find characters who are struggling, in one way or another, with legacy. By intertwining his characters with prominent political, religious, historical, and even familial power structures, Kushner questions whether one can truly make their own way, or if destiny is predetermined.

Prior Walter is an openly gay man who suffers from AIDS. Because he is living at a time when political powers refuse to acknowledge the pandemic, he, like the wide population were unable to access experimental drugs that could improve his condition. In act 3 scene 1 of Millennium Approaches Prior Walter (a family name) is visited by prior Walters. The ghosts which have come to visit him have died of the plague in Europe hundreds of years ago, saying “They chose us, I suspect, because of the mortal affinities. In a family as long descended as the Walters there are bound to be a few carried off by plague” (Kushner 91). The implication here is that in a line of people, in history, there are at least a few who are bound to fall victim to their time. It is poignant that the current Prior Walter is visited by plague victims because of the prominence of his own sickness (even despite the furtive nature of political officials). One wonders whether present Prior had any chance at all or if his circumstances have cemented him to his fate.

In contrast, Roy Cohn is a deeply closeted gay man who works as powerful attorney in the same city as Prior Walter. Despite having AIDS, he is, in fact, one of the people denying its existence by keeping silent. We see Cohn do everything in his power, politically and financially to alter his prognosis. In Perestroika Act 2 Scene 6, Cohn calls a political ally from his hospital bed and demands a personal stock of the trial drug AZT “That I control, here in the room with me” (Kushner 156). He threatens to expose and slander the person if he doesn’t agree. Yet, despite his perceived power, perhaps even by himself, Roy Cohn still doesn’t have the ability to dictate his own future. He is, literally, haunted by Ethel Rosenberg a woman he sent to the electric chair for Communist malfeasance. In act 3 scene 5 of Millennium Approaches Cohn insists to Ethel’s ghost that he has forced his way into history, and in that way he will never die. To this Ethel responds “History is about to crack wide open. Millennium Approaches” (118).  It is understood by this that Roy Cohn will not have defined himself in the history books, but history will have defined him, revealing his sexuality and his disease, more than he ever wanted to be known for.

The comparison of Prior Walter’s fate to Roy Cohn’s reveals Kushner’s belief that power isn’t able to define destiny. This is perhaps his ultimate proof of the idea “time will tell” because it is existing at a time within which a historic disease is present that will cause the end of these two people, powerful or not.

In the play Angels in America by Tony Kushner, Prior Walter, a gay man suffering from AIDS, is chosen as a religious prophet, and eventually refutes his position. By making a sick gay man a prophet who stands up to otherworldly figures, Kushner challenges anti-gay sentiments and proves that those infected with AIDS are more than their disease.

Act Five of Perestroika places Prior in heaven, as he attempts to bargain with the angels that have blessed him with their knowledge. Prior speaks to the angels: “I’m leaving Heaven to you now. I’ll take my illness with me, and. And I’ll take my death with me, too. The earth’s my home, and I want to go home” (Kushner 279). The author chooses Prior’s words carefully to demonstrate his self assurance. Prior does not ask permission to leave heaven, but rather, he states that he is leaving the religious duties to the angels. By standing up for himself, Prior begins to show fortitude. Most importantly, Prior explains that his illness, AIDS, will still be with him when he returns to earth. Even though he wishes he could recover from AIDS, he recognizes this disease will be with him for the rest of his life, up until his death. That simple recognition displays Prior’s strength. But AIDS does not define who he is. 

By writing that Prior is actively “taking” AIDS with him, Kushner conveys the idea that the illness is secondary to Prior’s humanity. Throughout the AIDS crisis, sick gay men were often recognized as just their disease and nothing more. Their interests, passions, and hobbies were overlooked because bigots were so focused on villainizing them. Prior’s character combats these ideas, and shows that people living with AIDS are more than their disease, and are strong enough to fight against bias.

I am the activist who has never poured sugar into a cat’s gas tank but knows how. The activist who has never spent a night in the top of a Douglas fir slated for felling the next morning but would…I am the socialist with anarchist leanings who believes the big private timber corporations…are corrupt, and the government agencies…are complicit…I am the writer who wants to make sense (Clare, 21-22).

The above quote from Eli Clare, for me, was one of the most relatable excerpts from his book “Exile and Pride”. It does so much to highlight the nature of people who believe in activism, but are held back in one way or another. His continuous usage of “I am” emphasizes his own personal identities as an activist, a socialist, an adult, and a writer despite not “living up to” the societal and personal expectations of what it means to identify with those groups. It also highlights the impossibility of perfection and the importance of “imperfection”. No one is or can be a perfect activist. No one can be a perfect adult and that is precisely what makes these identities possible. This is one of the overarching themes of “Exile and Pride”, how if everyone tried to live up to the “perfect” expectations, no one would feel truly authentic.

This quote extends far beyond activism into queerness. It made me recall Eve Sedgwick’s definition of queer – “the open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning (Sedgwick, 8)” – and discussions of Christmas Effects and metro-normativity. Clare knows he isn’t perfect because identity doesn’t require perfection. It only requires someone to identify as a member of that group.

I think Clare’s organization of this quote also emphasizes the individual aspect of identity. He starts with big concepts and identities – activism and direct action – and moves to much smaller and more personal groups – an adult living in corn country, a writer trying to make sense. Through this organization, he draws the reader in and confronts them implicitly with questions of their own identity – how do you identify? how do you not fit into those tiny little boxes? He rejects any attempts to be monolithized and encourages the reader to do the same.

Eli Clare’s “Exile and Pride,” delves into Clare’s struggle to leave his home in pursuit of his authentic self. He strives to communicate the way his personhood is still defined by his upbringing despite the pain and exclusion he endured throughout it. He says:

“For years I have wanted to write this story, have tried poems, diatribes, and theories. I’ve failed mostly because I haven’t been able to bridge the chasm between my homesickness for a place thousands of miles away in the middle of logging country and my urban-created politics that have me raging at environmental destruction. I have felt lonely and frustrated. Without the words for this story, I lose part of myself into the chasm.”

Another notable element of this excerpt is Clare’s longing for effective artistic expression. This feeling is all too familiar for me. For introspective individuals like Clare, memories and experiences are crucial to maintaining a sense of identity, and often the complications of the emotions that come with that are difficult to replicate through any art form. It takes us back to the most simplistic questions of “who am I?” and “where do I belong?” How can you articulate your own life experience, your personhood and all of its nuances? Through his explanation of this phenomena, Clare actually achieves the task at hand; he creates art. His words resonate. Clare’s writing style plays a significant role in this task. He is poetic, descriptive, rambling. His words evoke emotion, pull out familiar human experiences like homesickness, loneliness, frustration. Any individual reading this passage can feel a sense of commiseration, even if they do not share the same experiences.

In losing his childhood home, Eli Clare is forced to find a new home. He finds it, not literally, but within himself and those he surrounds himself with– a queer community filled with others who have often experienced the same rejection and ostracism. 

“Only later did I understand what I lost by leaving. Loss of a daily sustaining connection to a landscape that I still carry with me as home. Loss of a rural, white, working-class culture that values neighbors rather than anonymity…” (p.38)

Clare’s loss of his home and complicated upbringing reminded me of a book I read this past year, called “Disobedience.” The novel tells the story of Ronit, an Orthadox Jewish woman returning home for her father’s funeral. Ronit had left her family years prior to pursue a career in New York, though her departure was undoubtedly also related to her romantic relationship with another teenage girl. Years later, both Ronit and her lover, Esti, grapple with the disjointment of their love for one another, and their love for the traditions and community they grew up with. It is unspoken that the two can not coexist.

Both Clare and Ronit express this complicated love and hatred for the worlds they grew up in, knowing they can not exist authentically within homophobic spaces, but also longing for the brighter, familiar semblances of home.

 

“…In the 1960s and 70s, the powers-that-be in the public schools, government, and industry taught us that trees and fish, rather than being endless, were renewable,” (Clare 22), writes Eli Clare in his book Exile and Pride. This perspective on sustainability in not only the 60s but modern politics can provide insight into how we view queerness in society. Social issues such as these often become so baked into our self-organization that the simple passage of time, while removing the ability to directly quote, cannot remove an aura of bias. Everything Clare speaks of will forever remain relevant due to its existence in history. Clare’s “worldview developed, layer upon layer” (23). Time adds without ever subtracting. Society taught him not to question that the salmon runs and clearcut forests might be the problem, instead of a lack of hatcheries and replantings. Queer people growing up in this world of ageless time don’t get to believe in themselves as a silent human essence. We never stand alone; there is always noise. We are permitted only to consider tree farms, replacing what was cut down, unquestionable passive action. While we try to fight it, education is viewed through a lens of permanent conveyed knowledge. Until we view it as an inherently biased and active experience, queer people’s escape from the band-aid lens will be a difficult journey.

“But I didn’t know about thousands of acres of big old trees. Nor did I know about animals, like the northern spotted owl, that live in old growth forests. No one told us, and the logging industry had quite a stake in the silence.” (23, exile & pride) 

The first thing that struck me about the language here was the use of repetition throughout the passage, the phrase “I didn’t know” is used multiple times and the paragraph opens and ends with “no one told us”. I believe this is intentional to retell the evolution of emotion Clare feels, from curiosity to anger about his miseducation, which he learns is due to lobbying from the logging industry. The paragraph ends with the powerful word “silence”, which is then followed by a line break (or a dinkus, which I just learned is the technical term), where I paused and had a few seconds of silence in my head before continuing to read. This linguistic effect creates emphasis on the last sentence and gives it an ominous tone. 

I believe the implications of this passage extend beyond the literal example of the owl and the forrest which are under threat. Clare writes from an intersectional perspective, and he is able to empathize with vulnerable species such as the owl because his own body has been threatened as a genderqueer and disabled person. The intimate relationship he describes with nature exemplifies his sensitivity, which is a great strength to his writing and allows for him to be careful and deliberate with words and description. 

We need more authors like Clare who are able to speak about queerness from an intersectional perspective, who can identify the common oppressor. Clare can empathize with trans folks, disabled folks, and queer folks separately and together, who occupy different spaces and protest in different ways. He can see the weakness in the splintering off of marginalized identities and even the ways that each movement works against others. Clare focuses on how normative culture is harmful and creates different expectations through the paradox of cure, assumption of straightness, and even the harm of metronormativity for the queer community. These cultural norms he suggests are not separate, and work together under common oppressors – capitalism, white supremacy, and a society focused solely on production. 

“In its narrower sense, queer has been home since I became conscious of being a dyke.” (Clare, 31)

In this sentence, Clare constructs queer and the queer identity in relation to his characterization of a home. It’s significant to note that Clare states that “queer has been home.” The usage of “has been” indicates a sense of impermanence associated with the queer identity being home, because while he might currently characterize it as home due to his newfound consciousness of being a “dyke”, this wasn’t always the case and may not continue to be the case. Through the utilization of this language, Clare speaks to the way that being queer and the queer identity is not singular and cannot be defined in one manner, because of its ever-changing nature. The word “home” usually generates feelings of comfort and a sense of belonging, so by associating queer with home, Clare alludes to the fact that he can express and feel more like himself as an identified queer man. However, this idea is contrasted with how Clare, as revealed in other parts of the novel, fails to attain this sense of belonging within the queer community, because of the multiplicity of his identity.

The inclusion of the word “conscious” reflects a state of awareness, and the phrase, “became conscious of being a dyke” highlights the ways in which society attempts to conceal the LGBTQ community through the enforcement of compulsory heterosexuality, which leads to the repression of one’s queer identity. Clare had to discover that he was queer, and by stating that he became “conscious”, suggests that he was unconscious before when it came to understanding what it meant to be queer, which coincides with the themes of queer visibility and invisibility. The fact that he utilizes the word “dyke”, which has a negative connotation and often times used as a form of degradation, shows how Clare is reclaiming the word and demonstrates that being queer is not something he should be ashamed of.

“Stereotypes and lies lodge in our bodies as surely as bullets. They live and fester there, stealing the body.
The body as home, but only if it is understood that the stolen
body can be reclaimed.” (Clare 13)

In this chapter Clare describes the tension between his queer, disabled identity and his rural upbringing in the backwoods of Oregon. The first sentences that I selected conclude a bleak paragraph detailing the ways in which various bodies–queer, disabled, impoverished–are stolen from the people who inhabit them. He highlights “Leonard/Lynn Vines, walking through his Baltimore neighborhood, called a ‘drag queen faggot bitch’ and shot six times. Matt Shepard–gay, white, young–tied to a fence post in Wyoming and beaten to death,” displaying a nationwide trend of violence towards queer people within their own communities (12-13).

Despite this, Clare’s following paragraph attempts to remedy this paradigm and assert the body’s capability for reclamation. He encourages a revolution against biases and lies that have been weaponized against marginalized bodies, and it feels as though these acts of revolution/reclamation are central to the ways in which LGBTQ+ authors write about their experiences. I’m reminded of Sedgwick’s “Queer and Now” where she posits this hypothesis: “there are important senses in which ‘queer’ can signify only when attached to the first person. One possible corollary: that what it takes—all it takes—to make the description ‘queer’ a true one is the impulsion to use it in the first person,” (9). Allowing the body to be a home requires it to be lived through the first person, not through the stereotypes of others; for Clare, it must be lived from a perspective “that comes close and finally true to the bone,” (13).

“Before I left, I was a rural, mixed-class, queer child in a straight, rural, working-class town. Afterward, I was an urban-transplanted, mixed-class, dyke activist in an urban, mostly middle-class, queer community. Occasionally I simply feel as if I’ve traded one displacement for another and lost home to boot.” – (Eli Clare, p46)

The word “traded” here is really revealing. What is the author wants to trade for? He wanted to use family and home to trade for acceptance and a feeling of not being “queer”. However, the list of adjectives that are full of contradictions shows that he failed. “Mixed-class” vs. “working-class” vs. “middle-class”. “Rural” vs. “urban”. This long list of words is like “tags” on him that show how alien he is to the environment he lives in, either before or after, nothing changed. More heartfelt is the word “lost”: he doesn’t get what he wants, but lost something that is really important to him.

Moreover, the word “traded” also reminds us of the cruel fact that for queer people, acceptance is something we need to “trade” for. We can’t be easily accepted by just being ourselves. We must give up something, for most of the time the family, to get what other people are born with. This reminds me of the “Christmas effect” which is also caused by the conflict between family and identity. Without family, we lost the place to “boot”, and most people, like the author, failed to find another place to be home and thus being haunted by loneliness and isolation all the time.