What We've Got

Let me preface this post by admitting that I am still fairly bitter about the fact that Duke, in all it's wisdom, decided to NOT cancel classes today. That's not to say that I can't deal with a little snow, but the problem is that DUKE can't! 11am this morning and still nothing paved and hardly any roads plowed, all of us left to fend for ourselves to get where we need to go. It's times like these when I wonder at the reasoning of the Powers That Be. What exactly is going on up in those lofty heads of theirs?

On that same token though, I suppose I count myself fairly lucky. For while I can't always decipher the logic behind some of Duke's policies and decisions, for the most part I can feel fairly certain that they have the best of intentions (if not a little misguided). I feel as if there is at least some blurred sense of fairness and justice that guides many of these resolutions. This is no more apparent to me than in the manner in which Duke administration has approached LGBT issues. Has it been perfect? Not nearly. Has it always been informed and just? Probably not. And yet, in terms of policy, I would bet that the Duke of today would shock and surprise that Duke built off the grease of nicotined donations.

Unlike some schools with conservative and religious backgrounds, Duke has surpassed these modes of thought to open its policy (if not its atmosphere) to more liberal endeavors. We are recognized here as a community, as a protected minority. Duke's policy is striking in it's commitment to at least maintaining the semblance of acceptance. The same cannot be said for all our American Institutions. The struggles of the students at Notre Dame University to gain even this modicum of recognition reminds me of what Duke could be. As an institution founded upon religious understandings, Duke certainly had the potential to remain mired in conservative religious thought.

Just last week students marched to the President's office to demand that Notre Dame allow a gay/straight allowance on campus AND add sexual orientation to the nondiscrimination policy. It is so relieving to know that if I were to go to Notre Dame (which isn't completely improbable, as I come from a deeply Catholic family and attended nine years of private Catholic school), I wouldn't be granted the basic rights that even our national government is starting to recognize. Not to mention, Notre Dame is amongst the top 20 of our American universities and yet LGBT students and their allies are still not allowed the freedom to gather as a recognized student group.

Regardless of religious doctrine, Notre Dame is first and foremost an educational institution. And when religious doctrines start to impede the safety and the learning of its students, a university is obligated to address this discrepancy. So while at times I am disappointed with the manner in which Duke chooses to respond to our needs, I find that I must continue to remind myself how far we have come. Lack of Snow Day and all.

Can we all be friends?

Hey everybody! So, I'm really sorry that this post is ridiculously late. The past week has been insanely hectic, and to top it off, I completely forgot what I was going to write about this week! So, I'm just going to roll with it and see what happens.

With the addition of more women to the blog staff (!!), I think I'll delve a bit into the oft-lamented gender imbalance represented within our Duke LGBTQ community (although I realize that this topic is not one that can be effectively addressed in one blogpost). Depending on your level of involvement in our little community, you may or may not be familiar with the host of visibility efforts directed specifically at queer women at Duke. Unfortunately, the plight of invisibility at Duke seems to be most effective in silencing the voices of Duke women. It is a struggle to find a balance between the men and women involved in different areas of our community (including this staff), and once we get more women engaged, there tends to be a sense of having tapped out our source of queer women.

What I have begun to question is, through our efforts to reach out to more women, what type of community we are attempting to create for queer women at Duke? Are we trying to expand the number of out, identified LGBTQ women to form a community able to rival the men? Or do we envision one singular LGBTQ community equally representative of both men and women?

This may seem like an obvious, or even silly question, but I ask it in response to some of my own experiences and past conversations with other members of our community. I have heard on various occasions, from different gay male friends of mine, that outside of Duke, they don't know if we would've ever been friends because they don't generally "like" lesbians, or because gay men and women supposedly don't interact outside of our smaller community. Or they will say that they can't STAND lesbians...except for me, because I'm different. Don't get me wrong, it is extremely flattering to hear this, and most of it is (hopefully) in jest. But it makes me wonder, would I have gotten to know my gay male friends as well as I have if I had had other women to interact with at the LGBT Center? If I hadn't met them by proxy of them just being there and being the visible part of our queer Duke community, would I still feel such a relatability towards gay men? And on the same token, would they have had any inclination to get to know me if I associated primarily with a visible, present, gay female community at Duke?

Considering this issue is especially troubling because I LOVE my gay guy friends at Duke. They are such an invaluable part of my support network, and I honestly can't imagine not having them in my life. Sure, we have certain contrasting interests ( ;p ), but other than the obvious differences, I don't see any reason why we should separate ourselves into our respective gendered groups. Then again, maybe I just don't know any better. While queer men at Duke have an opportunity to experience the support of a somewhat established male community, I can't say that I have had the same opportunity with queer women. I'm sure there are some things that can't be addressed as well by my guy friends simply because on some level we are not going through the same experiences, and there are points at which we simply cannot relate.

On the whole though, I hope that the assertion that gay men and lesbians don't get along in the "real world" is a hideous rumor, and that with greater interaction with queer females, more gay men will feel comfortable with the idea that gay men and women don't have to be so different after all, and vice versa. Personally, while I strongly desire a female support network in the LGBTQ community, I would hate for that to come at the cost of my relationships with my gay male friends. As we move towards expanding female visibility in the LGBTQ community, I hope that we will make sure to be careful to not only foster relationships between women, and the creation of a support network there, but also to create bridges across gender lines in order to ensure the development of a wholly inclusive and interactive community.

*Like I said at the beginning, this is hardly the scope of the gender issues in the LGBTQ community at Duke, but this is one aspect that I have been thinking about. If you ever want to talk about it more, definitely hit me up, because I could go on for quite a bit. :)

Identity Crisis: does the Movement require that we check a box?

I recently read an article written by Karla Jay, radical lesbian feminist and current professor of English and Gender Studies at Pace University, in which Jay tackles a subject countless of us have heard bandied about by former and current activists alike: Gen Y apathy.

Jay makes some good points regarding not only the effects of our technologically driven lives on current activist apathy, but also the struggle to empower young leaders to make strides where their predecessors began 40 years ago (to be fair, I think there is a point to be made for the rise of young leaders during last year's presidential elections as well as the work of young leaders in the surging fight for Equality). But, one of the things that stood out to me in Jay's letter was her take on the refusal of some members of the LGBTQ community to identify as LGBTQ. Of the students she has observed, Jay says, "(t)here’s a Stonewall Coalition at the university, but you don’t need that because New York City has so many queer bars and you have the fake I.D. to get in. You’re oh-so-out, though most of you can’t apply the LGBTQ words to yourself in my queer courses." Her take on this movement away from identifying appears to be an accusation of sorts. Slipped within a diatribe on activist apathy, the feeling behind the sentiment is certainly fueled by an amount of distrust of the "label-less."

Jay's reaction to observing a certain reticence among queer students to identify as LGBTQ calls forward an issue that is key to the current Equality movement. Is this movement away from labels destructive to the unity and cohesiveness of the LGBTQ fight for equality? And is accepting a label on your sexuality really necessary for gaining access to your rights?

Murdered LGBTQ activist Harvey Milk epitomized the sentiments of the 1970s LGBTQ equality movement in his speech "That's What America Is!" when he urged LGBTQ Americans to come out to their families, their friends, their neighbors, and their coworkers. His work with other LGBTQ activist leaders under the slogan "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" resulted in the defeat of anti-gay legislation in California and a shifting tide in the fight for LGBTQ equality. Coming out and identifying as LGBTQ was seen as a political tool to win allies and to put a face to the people being affected by anti-LGBTQ sentiments and legislation. They capitalized upon the feminist political thought that "the personal is political" and used it to humanize the LGBTQ community.

For me, I believe that coming out and identifying remains a powerful weapon for LGBTQ equality. It is easy to demonize a faceless enemy that you have been warned against your entire life. It is much harder to hate someone you know, someone you truly love as a person, for being who they are, be it Black, Muslim, gay, or part of a host of other stereotyped and persecuted groups. Coming out is not only beneficial for the LGBTQ persons in question, but it forces the people around them to confront and become aware of their own reactions towards the LGBTQ community, homophobic or otherwise. However, when we don't come out, we allow the people around us to NOT have to confront these issues. We allow them to live in a space wherein they can believe whatever they want about the LGBTQ community without facing any challenge from us, while we avoid being open and secure about our own lives.

How does this tie in, then, to those who are out, but do not identify as LGBTQ? Personally, I can completely understand the desire to not identify or label oneself. Labels carry the burden of carefully cultivated stigma and stereotypes that probably do not apply to the individual, and it is frustrating to know that assumptions are made about you based on what "box" your sexuality most fits into. Not only do labels inherently limit sexual expression and identity, but they can become a means of parceling out our community along faction lines. In a Utopia, no one would need labels, because one's sexuality would not define one's ideals or morals in the eyes of peers. Sexuality would just be, and that would be that.

However, it is important to remember that we do not live in a Utopia. I respect anyone's decision to not allow themselves to be labeled. At the same time though, I believe there is room within this to still work to disseminate an understanding of our community to our peers and to forward LGBTQ equality. The practice Karla Jay described, that of participating in LGBTQ social life without having to represent the LGBTQ community within a broader social context IS, I believe, a loss to our community. At the very least, identifying with the LGBTQ community, even if not under one of its specific labels, is important in that, like coming out, it forces those around us to recognize us as part of a disenfranchised and underrepresented community. It makes each and every one of us social activists in our smaller communities by giving us a broader identity with which we can associate. In this way, even those of us who do not consider ourselves activists, become ambassadors for our queer community.

We are living and existing in a time of change, and I for one think that it is more than alright that we be a little confrontational.

Don't Forget to Remember

In agreeing to post my news feed on the Blue Devils United blog, I have to admit I forgot how insanely depressing it can be. From the hideous murders of Jorge Steven López Mercado and Jason Mattison Jr. to the harassment of mayoral candidate Annise Parker, the messages that we have been receiving have been grim. And not only from within our own borders, as the attempt to make homosexuality punishable by death in Uganda reminded us. These attacks upon our community, nationally and globally, while shocking, aren't new. Until there the LGBT community is understood and accepted worldwide, there will always be more to report on, more information to disseminate. It can be overwhelming and frustrating and disheartening.

However, I would like to give a platform, for a moment, to those other messages, the ones of hope and strength that come to us even as we learn of the crimes being committed against our community. A boy refusing to pledge to a flag that does not live up to all it promises. The British Prime Minister speaking out against transphobia. A local vigil. A march. A win. While these messages may seem a pittance in the face of the losses that we have felt, they are the embodiment of the love and fortitude of our community, and of our ever-growing legion of allies. I continue to take heart in the knowledge that progress, although slow, is inevitable, IF we continue to give our hearts and our minds to the struggle for it.

So as we pause and remember all of those lost before true equality could be won around the world, let us not lose faith in the power and potential of our LGBTA community.

And, because I just have to (and because it gives me chills every time), some words that never fail to give me hope:

The Effectiveness of Having Principles

This Saturday, Equality NC held its third annual Equality Conference at UNC Greensboro, an event which I attended along with a small group of Duke students. Of the sessions that I attended (and taking into account my exhaustion that day...oh lord, the stories...), one of the more interesting panels was a discussion of the Dallas Principles by some of its authors, Pam Spalding, Mandy Carter, and Jimmy Creech. For those of you who are not aware of what the Dallas Principles are, in short they are a list of goals, guiding principles, and a call to action for the LGBT rights movement, drafted by leaders in the movement in May of 2009. The crux of this document was the urgency and impatience of some in the LGBT rights movement, the sense that our rights must be won now, that you are either with us or against us, that our allies in government will only be counted as our allies if they actively work to help us attain our rights, and that the pussyfooting of this administration around working for full equality for the LGBT community will no longer be tolerated.

But what does this actually mean? What difference can the Dallas Principles really make? While these might have been created by the minds of many of this movement's leaders, unless these demands and goals are incorporated into the language of the larger movement, their effects seem to be minimal. And along the lines of embracing these goals, there is certainly still contention as to whether or not these principles really encompass the best path forward for the movement right now. One of the more immediate arguments confronts the demand of the authors of the Dallas Principles that change happen now. For some, this might appear to be a dangerous or reckless approach that would cut off more gradual methods of gaining rights (although the panel addressed this in their response to a similar question, clarifying that the principles were not meant to negate the organic evolution and calculated strategy of the movement). This issue is being grappled with throughout the movement. For example, a couple months ago Equality organizations in California voted on whether or not they would work toward repealing Proposition 8 in 2010 or wait until 2012. While some argued that we cannot wait, that marriage equality must be taken back now, that we need to use the momentum we have instead of running the risk of it fizzling out, others contended that we need more time to educate our neighbors and develop a more concrete foundation for winning this fight against Prop 8 at the ballot.

In addition to questions concerning the validity of the Principles themselves, a debate in which I personally fall on the side of largely agreeing with the goals and principles set forth, one of the greatest challenges for the propagation of these ideas is the ability of its authors and supporters to make these goals an integral part of the movement and how the movement functions. While the panel on the Dallas Principles at the Equality NC 2009 Equality Conference might have been informative for those that chose to go to it, what assurance is there that these participants will be willing to, or even have any interest in, spreading their new-found understanding? For that matter, what assurance is there that participants at any of the panels, or other events like the Conference, will propagate their knowledge to their peers?

There isn't any.

Like any other grassroots idea, the Dallas Principles rely on the willingness of the individual to first be educated and then be the educator. Unlike other movements that might be able to infect the minds of hundreds of thousands of followers with the ideas of a few men (cough* conservative republicans*), the movement for LGBT equality is rife with the opinions and ideas of many individually minded people working toward common goals, with different notions of how these goals might be reached. As such, it is important for us, as individuals, to evaluate each idea, each method proposed, critically and thoroughly in order to determine whether or not the suggestion conforms to our own understanding of the goals of our movement. It is our responsibility to be aware and to educate ourselves and those around us.

Election Round-ups: What We've Lost and What We've Gained

As most of you are aware, last week many states across the U.S. held elections to vote on various propositions and mayoral positions. Included in this election cycle were a few pieces of legislation that have specific impact on LGBT Americans and their families, such as Referendum 71, making domestic partnerships completely equivalent to civil marriages in the state of Washington, the election of openly gay canditate Mark Kleinschmidt as mayor of Chapel Hill, NC, and the passage of Ordinacne 1856 in Kalamazoo, MI (where I grew up!), adding gay and transgender people to the city's pre-existing nondiscrimination ordinance.

But the most widely publicized and watched election last Tuesday was the Proposition 1 vote in Maine. With the opportunity to become the first state to legalize same-sex marriage through legislation as opposed to through the courts, Maine voters approved Prop 1 by a margin of 6%, striking down the law legalizing same-sex marriage in their state. Like California this time last year, Maine fell prey to the twisted lies and pandering of the opponents of marriage equality.

However, despite its similarities to Proposition 8, this loss did not feel the same as the one in California. On election night last year, I remember the feeling of elation as I stood and watched Obama's acceptance speech with a full heart and a heady spirit. And then I remember getting back to my room, receiving a phone call from my friend back home in San Diego letting me know that it was starting to look bad for marriage equality in California, telling me that H8 was pulling ahead. I stayed up that entire evening, obsessively refreshing the poll results. I went to class the next day, drained, burnt out, exhausted, all dregs of my euphoria and excitement from the night before long since crushed by the emotional rollercoaster of election night. Before I could even get angry I felt deflated, betrayed, and incredulous.

This time was different. Proposition 8 taught us to be cautious, to not assume that people will do the right thing if prompted by their leaders (in the courts or otherwise) to do so. Gone is the beguiling concept of a "new era" that clouded our perceptions of the race last year, allowed our loss to blindside us.

Our experience in California taught us that we could lose in Maine; it instructed us in how that loss might feel. More than that though, the passage of Proposition 8 demonstrated that these losses, these set backs, they will not define the success of this movement. They will not choke it, or bury it, or deal the final blow. These losses of equality ultimately will serve only to add fuel to our fire. They remind us that while progress can be won, it will not be handed to us. It must be fought for, and it must be taken. "Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals," (Martin Luther King, Jr). Such was the case in California, and once again in Maine. Far from being reasons to lose hope in our government, in our neighbors, or in ourselves, they should become our motivation, armed with the knowledge that through continued education of our peers and an openness about our lives and our humanity, we will be able repeal these hateful measures. And soon.