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Jun. 28th, 2018 01:08 pmMy first time walking in the Pride parade was a generally positive experience. I was concerned about hearing damage and wished that I'd brought earplugs, but other than that I felt happy and, indeed, proud to be there. The most memorable moment was one I shared with a group of attendees holding a large sign saying that pride is not just a party and that, especially in this political climate, it is critical to resist and protest. I looked at them and smiled, and they saw me looking and gestured to indicate my hat and my "Silence = Death" banner and gave me a thumbs up, which I returned. It felt good to see people who are thinking and engaging politically. I felt good, too, about being dressed in a clearly non-genderconforming way with people from my company and a large mass of the public.
Still, my sense of impotence and ineffectiveness, perhaps, dulled the experience. I told my therapist that it reminded me of having heard Naomi Klein speak at Syracuse. Everyone who was excited about the event talked about how inspiring and motivating she is, and how great it would be to hear her in person. What I got from it was a lot of talk about how important it is to unite the disparate movements on the left into something cohesive and to use that power to fight for progressive causes. I agree with that whole-heartedly, but it's not a new thought. She did not have much to say about how that could be accomplished. When I left, I didn't feel any differently from when I'd arrived. (Maybe I should read her books.)
I guess I felt that way about Pride. It's wonderful to see that so many people are together for a cause like this. But is the whole event making any progress? Especially at this point when LGBTQ issues are acceptable enough to be coopted into channels of profit-making; so-called "rainbow capitalism?" And is my presence at that event meaningful? Am I adding anything to it for anyone but myself? A friend wrote that two girls she marched with, a couple, were at their first pride and that it was a "life-changing" experience for them. I'm so happy for those for whom it's such a joyous, affirming event. I wish it was for me. So much of the meaning of marches like this is political for me, and feeling a lot of uncertainty about the political meaning and results of the event make me uncertain about the meaningfulness of my own participation.
We (my therapist and I) talked about a lot of this in depth, and about other political events. Dyke March specifically, protests and demonstrations in general, and what it means for me to feel like I'm part of something important; that I'm finding validation. We talked about the fact that it is important for people to have something like this to be a part of just to see that they are not alone. That must be a deeply affirming experience. Certainly that's important, and I'm glad to be a part of that, to whatever insignificant degree I am. But I already know that I'm not alone. Most of the time, I am around people who accept me as I am. My feelings of loneliness and isolation have to do with things other than my gender and orientation. And going to an event just to find validation for myself feels unimportant compared to finding ways to help other people feel valid. If I'm not accomplishing much of the latter, is it worth being part of a parade in search of the former? (As is so often the case, my standard for myself are different than for other people: for other people, I would respond with a resounding yes. For myself, I'm not so sure.)
But there is more to think on here, and they (my therapist) helped me process something really significant that ties all of this together but was escaping my notice. Everything is political. Our lives, our actions, our presentation-of-self; all of this is political. I know this, intellectually. Even emotionally, which is saying something; my rational thoughts and my feelings are often at odds. But I'd sort of...forgotten about that aspect of things.
Maybe me being at the parade doesn't really matter a lot in a broad sense. But it is significant as a part of me living a more authentic life. Me wearing a knee-length skirt with galaxy-print leggings, my hair in pigtails, and an unapologetic beard and mustache is part of living a more authentic life. Living authentically, they reminded me, can be a political, and even radical, act in itself. Living authentically can validate not just myself, but other people at the same time. I just have to think of Conchita Wurst and how she makes me feel to realize the truth of that.
Being at the parade was living authentically. Quoting George Orwell (erroneously, it turns out; Orwell did not say this), they noted that "in a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act." Abstracting from this, though, I certainly believe that in a time of rampant denial of the legitimacy of queer people and their rights, living truthfully is a revolutionary act. Revolution, overthrow and replacement, of heteronormative genderconformity is a noble goal. Acting to deny that hegemony in my own life is a micrcosm of the struggle as a whole, and being visible and authentic is giving support to my fellow revolutionaries. I am not leading social movements or dismantling whole systems of inequality myself. Perhaps I never will, and I feel disappointed in myself because of that. But in a way that is new to me, I'm accepting that there is meaning that extends beyond myself in wearing skirts or dresses. Maybe I can believe that the things I do are helping make the world better. That I'm not quite such a powerless failure.
Yesterday, as I went out with Danae to N's birthday party, I wore a skirt. And not just one of my black, unassuming skirts that feels somehow less in-your-face, but a white and blue broomstick skirt with lots of floaty fabric that billows out when I turn and that I have worn out of the house on only one anxiety-filled instance before. We stopped for party stuff at Jewel on the way there, and again for groceries on the way home. I didn't look other people in the store in the eye while I was inside, but I did remind myself that living authentically is a political act as a sort of mantra. I felt good about myself. Prouder than I'd felt at Pride. I wondered why I hadn't done this long before. I thought about the future and about what it would mean for my simple existence to promote gender radicalism and revolution.
It's scary. Terrifying, perhaps. I don't think I'll dress feminine on my trip alone, far away, for instance. But it's empowering too. I think it will help me believe that I'm helping other people to be who they want to be, and if I'm unable right now to find greater validation in following my own needs and seeking my own happiness, I can at least combine that with helping to validate others and thereby, myself.
And now I need to keep being good about staying away from Facebook. It's good for me!
Still, my sense of impotence and ineffectiveness, perhaps, dulled the experience. I told my therapist that it reminded me of having heard Naomi Klein speak at Syracuse. Everyone who was excited about the event talked about how inspiring and motivating she is, and how great it would be to hear her in person. What I got from it was a lot of talk about how important it is to unite the disparate movements on the left into something cohesive and to use that power to fight for progressive causes. I agree with that whole-heartedly, but it's not a new thought. She did not have much to say about how that could be accomplished. When I left, I didn't feel any differently from when I'd arrived. (Maybe I should read her books.)
I guess I felt that way about Pride. It's wonderful to see that so many people are together for a cause like this. But is the whole event making any progress? Especially at this point when LGBTQ issues are acceptable enough to be coopted into channels of profit-making; so-called "rainbow capitalism?" And is my presence at that event meaningful? Am I adding anything to it for anyone but myself? A friend wrote that two girls she marched with, a couple, were at their first pride and that it was a "life-changing" experience for them. I'm so happy for those for whom it's such a joyous, affirming event. I wish it was for me. So much of the meaning of marches like this is political for me, and feeling a lot of uncertainty about the political meaning and results of the event make me uncertain about the meaningfulness of my own participation.
We (my therapist and I) talked about a lot of this in depth, and about other political events. Dyke March specifically, protests and demonstrations in general, and what it means for me to feel like I'm part of something important; that I'm finding validation. We talked about the fact that it is important for people to have something like this to be a part of just to see that they are not alone. That must be a deeply affirming experience. Certainly that's important, and I'm glad to be a part of that, to whatever insignificant degree I am. But I already know that I'm not alone. Most of the time, I am around people who accept me as I am. My feelings of loneliness and isolation have to do with things other than my gender and orientation. And going to an event just to find validation for myself feels unimportant compared to finding ways to help other people feel valid. If I'm not accomplishing much of the latter, is it worth being part of a parade in search of the former? (As is so often the case, my standard for myself are different than for other people: for other people, I would respond with a resounding yes. For myself, I'm not so sure.)
But there is more to think on here, and they (my therapist) helped me process something really significant that ties all of this together but was escaping my notice. Everything is political. Our lives, our actions, our presentation-of-self; all of this is political. I know this, intellectually. Even emotionally, which is saying something; my rational thoughts and my feelings are often at odds. But I'd sort of...forgotten about that aspect of things.
Maybe me being at the parade doesn't really matter a lot in a broad sense. But it is significant as a part of me living a more authentic life. Me wearing a knee-length skirt with galaxy-print leggings, my hair in pigtails, and an unapologetic beard and mustache is part of living a more authentic life. Living authentically, they reminded me, can be a political, and even radical, act in itself. Living authentically can validate not just myself, but other people at the same time. I just have to think of Conchita Wurst and how she makes me feel to realize the truth of that.
Being at the parade was living authentically. Quoting George Orwell (erroneously, it turns out; Orwell did not say this), they noted that "in a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act." Abstracting from this, though, I certainly believe that in a time of rampant denial of the legitimacy of queer people and their rights, living truthfully is a revolutionary act. Revolution, overthrow and replacement, of heteronormative genderconformity is a noble goal. Acting to deny that hegemony in my own life is a micrcosm of the struggle as a whole, and being visible and authentic is giving support to my fellow revolutionaries. I am not leading social movements or dismantling whole systems of inequality myself. Perhaps I never will, and I feel disappointed in myself because of that. But in a way that is new to me, I'm accepting that there is meaning that extends beyond myself in wearing skirts or dresses. Maybe I can believe that the things I do are helping make the world better. That I'm not quite such a powerless failure.
Yesterday, as I went out with Danae to N's birthday party, I wore a skirt. And not just one of my black, unassuming skirts that feels somehow less in-your-face, but a white and blue broomstick skirt with lots of floaty fabric that billows out when I turn and that I have worn out of the house on only one anxiety-filled instance before. We stopped for party stuff at Jewel on the way there, and again for groceries on the way home. I didn't look other people in the store in the eye while I was inside, but I did remind myself that living authentically is a political act as a sort of mantra. I felt good about myself. Prouder than I'd felt at Pride. I wondered why I hadn't done this long before. I thought about the future and about what it would mean for my simple existence to promote gender radicalism and revolution.
It's scary. Terrifying, perhaps. I don't think I'll dress feminine on my trip alone, far away, for instance. But it's empowering too. I think it will help me believe that I'm helping other people to be who they want to be, and if I'm unable right now to find greater validation in following my own needs and seeking my own happiness, I can at least combine that with helping to validate others and thereby, myself.
And now I need to keep being good about staying away from Facebook. It's good for me!
