the seemingly paradoxical nature of the queer predator

Lemme go ahead and throw on a handful of warnings: this is a content/trigger warning for sexual assault, creepy behaviors, violence, trans- and homophobia, biphobia, and — well, if there’s anything I haven’t mentioned that you notice, please call me out and I’ll adjust as needed.

This is something that has been on my mind…a lot. Like, too much. Like…constantly.

I’m a young queer individual. I’m lucky enough to have been born during a time where “my people” are more accepted than ever before. But, of course, we still have a long way to go. With gay marriage still being hotly contested and gay adoption proving even more controversial, we are far from the progress I think a lot of young LGBTQ+ folks have been dreaming about. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface. There’s also the fact that the Trans Panic Defense is still a Thing. And there’s also the whole Trans Bathroom Issue. It’s all awful. Everything is awful, when you really think about it.

But to me, what is perhaps more awful than the way cis-hetero lawmakers treat us, is the way we treat each other. I think there’s a lot that goes unaddressed in queer/trans* circles, and I want to highlight one thing that I’ve been noticing more and more often since I’ve been mostly-out: the fact that some Queer people are Really Creepy.

*(I’m going to lump these in together sometimes because I fit both categories, as do a lot of people I know, but if you’re not educated in these matters: yes, Queer and Trans are different things and don’t always go hand-in-hand.)

A lot of people out there seem to worship Queer people while simultaneously demonizing straight (usually cishet) people. And I get it. I do. The Straights are the ones in power, the ones bringing us down, the ones who refuse to understand us. The Straights are our unaccepting parents, our estranged friends who became distant when we came out to them. The Straights are the ones killing our people (or at least brutally maiming them) just for being who we are. These are all, unfortunately, valid points.

Okay, but that’s not to say that things are any better within the Community. Things are usually better on the acceptance front (except for transphobic gay and lesbian people, biphobic folks, et cetera). Okay, well, at least the likelihood rises significantly that you will be understood. So…that’s something, I guess.

But let’s not pretend that violence doesn’t happen within our communities. Let’s not pretend that we’re perfect, that we deserve to be given the benefit of the doubt just because we’re the Big Q. Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking we’re inherently safer just because we’re hanging out with People Like Us. Because predators come in all shapes, sizes, genders, and orientations, and we need to stay vigilant.

I’m going to be honest: pretty much all the partners (and that’s a broad term) I’ve had who were Really Awful also happened to be some level of not-straight.

Let me briefly mention my bi-identified second boyfriend. We dated in high school. He talked me into some sexual things I wasn’t ready for by guilt-tripping me until I acted on them, and also traumatized me by repeatedly jumping out from behind doors because apparently seeing me terrified was hilarious. The summer after we broke up, I had a hard time sleeping pretty much every night. I also only dated people over the internet for several years following that encounter, because apparently real-life people were Awful.

Let me briefly mention the second trans woman I ever dated, the one who claimed to be All About Consent but ended up violating my straight male best friend at my birthday party. He wasn’t her first or her last victim. I actually got “lucky” that she didn’t do anything awful to me.

Let me briefly mention the third trans woman I ever dated, the one who turned out to be a creepy chaser who fetishized everything, including the very essence of being trans. The one who wanted me to medically transition for their sexual gratification. The one who called me fat (in a derogatory way; being fat isn’t inherently bad, but they said it with disgust and repeatedly told me I should lose some weight and bulk up). The one who used transphobic slurs against me, despite me repeatedly asking her not to. The one who made creepy advances on at least one of my friends, before and after we broke up. The one who didn’t seem to know what the word “no” meant. The one whose text messages give me panic attacks, even now.

Let me briefly mention the queer-identified cis man who took advantage of me when I was too drunk to consent to anything. The one I’d been friends with for a year or two and thought I could trust. The one who bought me breakfast afterwards and tried to date me like nothing had happened. The one I had to entirely cut out of my life. The one I was seeing a therapist about before I lost health insurance.

Let’s not act like being queer automatically makes you worthy of praise. Sure, being out about yourself is important. Being your true self is a radical act. I understand this. But I think a lot of us (myself included: part of what spurred this post was that I was reading old Facebook statuses whose basic message was “I love all Queer people so much”) don’t want to talk about the fact that, even within our community, there are some truly awful people. Some truly problematic people. Some truly toxic people. Some truly predatory people.

I’m not the only one, and I know I’m not. Because other people know the people I have briefly mentioned. People have praised these people for being Queer, for being Trans, for being Themselves. Acceptance! Approval! Solidarity!

Those are all GREAT concepts. And, in theory, we marginalized people should stick together. But we can’t stick together if we believe that our only enemies are “the outsiders”, “the cishets”. Sometimes, unfortunately, we have to protect each other from each other. It’s a hard rope to walk, I know, but we have to find a better way to ensure that the Community is safe from…itself.

It used to be that, whenever I learned that someone was Queer, I immediately took a liking to them. Just because seeing a Queer in the wild is so rare, so beautiful, so validating. But now, unfortunately, due to these experiences…I’m immediately wary of my fellow Queers. I don’t want to be this way. I really don’t. But I’m every bit as afraid of new Queer people as some Queer people are of new straight people, and I think I have every right to be.

We need inter-community accountability, and we need it now. I don’t know what that could look like — I’ve never been particularly good at organizing large groups of people — but what I do know is that, until we can find a system that works for us, the Community at large isn’t safe. We already have enough to worry about, with legislators and Concerned Parents oppressing, repressing, denying, and abusing us. The fact that we have to worry about similar issues within our supposedly-safe community is devastating to me. When I first started the process of coming out in ~2012, I expected straight non-acceptance and cis oppression. What I wasn’t prepared for was the fact that Queer people have equal potential to be dangerous. We need to work on accepting that, pointing it out, condemning it, and protecting each other from it. I wish I could teach this lesson to every single person who’s about to come out:

Just because they’re Queer doesn’t mean they’re Safe.