Queerness and Cultural Identity: Sorting Through Shame, Shaping Resilience

The divine, as I’ve experienced it, has consisted of finding words and creating space for notions, dreams, and fragments, once alienated. More often than not, this divinity is embodied in those I love and choose to surround myself with, augmented by the spirit of friendship. This spirit embraces a deep recognition of shared humanity and struggle, one that chooses to stand alongside the mess and contribute neither judgement, nor shame, but rather create joy. This spirit enables the sharing of invaluable lessons. In my life this free exchange of comfort, wisdom, and understanding is an unrelenting source of strength. Naturally, friendships are sites where we learn about love. We discover, often through trial and error, how we want to be in relation to one another, how to respond to each other’s needs, and, ultimately, our own. It is the interplay between these two entities, oneself and one’s community, that is of primary interest to me in this project.

In friendships I seek to create an emotional world I wish I lived in; a world where we are empowered to live our lives completely as ourselves, instead of being pushed to attain what we should be. As queer brown women, we know intimately the art of love and care cannot be separated from politics of race, gender, and sexuality. Collectively and individually, we defy limit, language, and push boundaries to make room in places that were not designed to fit us. We choose our own terms to reclaim ourselves and refuse to cater toxic masculinities as we’ve been trained. We artfully employ storytelling every day as a means to express ourselves. We exchange gossip, poetry, and craft a lot of jokes. We do this to survive; it is method of defense and self-preservation.

Nonetheless, not all of us have the opportunity to survive. Many of us are lost. Not all our siblings, our lovers, our friends… not all of us get to grow personally, or grow up at all. There are a number of factors inhibiting our access to health, safety, economic empowerment, love, and self-actualization. Silence has suffocated some of us. Complacency with a violent status quo inflicts a million small deaths. Sometimes we are our own worst enemy. We get sick; our bodies and minds are not metal, impenetrable machines as capitalism might have it. We are abundantly human in our flaws and failings. I would be remiss to recognize this. We learn and heal from these wounds and shortcomings, and all others, nonetheless.

Sometimes I can only recognize how I’ve wounded myself, I can only heal, when I hear myself dispense — instinctually, and with such tender love — compassion and forgiveness to others. How did I learn to deny myself sustenance as habit? What recourse do I have to break down the biases and barriers that prevent me from embracing myself and others, fully, without shame? Herein I lay my claim: we begin when we recognize the need to address that question, both to ourselves and others that we love and are bound to. We must do this in a way that centers our humanity, our love that binds us. We must do this joyfully and in the spirit of friendship. We must do this to build a critical discourse of resistance.

In this spirit of gossip and critical reflection, I have attempted to capture an ounce of the divine essence of friendship. The express goal of my project was to engage in conversation and facilitate storytelling with a group of acquainted participants around the topic of queerness and cultural identity. In my mind we could parse out the intersections of colonization, machismo, Islamophobia, heterosexism, and ableism in a two hour conversational format. Naturally, I had to adjust my expectations to allow the true unpredictable nature of queer brown folk magic to flow. I had planned to include an edited audio recording of the conversation in this article, however, upon reflection, I have decided that all stories and voices should remain in that sacred space, for the circumstances of their fleeting admission cannot be recreated. There’s no bottling, no distilling, nor filtering this magic.

The next several paragraphs, while they include transcript and analysis from the conversation, pieces and stories that draw out themes and connect to concepts of shame, stigma, and resistance, are but my biased reporting of an indefinable experience.

This collaboration, and its communication to a larger audience, albeit impartial, aim to demonstrate strategies, insights, and skills we, six queer people of color, have developed in order to understand ourselves and navigate our complex worlds. We hope to shed light; eliminate some layers of shame that keep us from engaging in this type of conversation more publicly and frequently. We believe this capacity-building work is critical. We recognize the difficulty of engaging this way: the unquantifiable barriers to vulnerability that exist all around us. We recognize the importance of attempting to delineate these barriers, nonetheless. The quest to define and challenge their borders is a worthwhile one. We recognize it takes hard work to engage; it takes emotional resources that not everyone has. As hard as it is, we recognize we only enable change in our lives through this disciplined practice & hard work. I invite you, jump into the mess with us.

Humor me. Take ten deep breathes, eyes closed, each time taking an extra second to exhale. Grounding exercises such as this help get our bodies in an physical and mindful space where we can receive and reflect on the words of others. In a society that has us chained to devices, constantly plugged in, neurologically addicted to likes, to scrolling, our generation is bewilderingly unplugged from our bodies, increasingly out of touch with the state of our physical and mental wellbeing. As young people poised at making a difference in this world, making a world for ourselves, we must ask each other:

Ø When do you feel most comfortable in your body and sexuality? How has this changed over time, space, and place?

Ø Do you conceive of your sexual health as related to physical health? If so, how?

Ø What have been some challenges in your life to elements of your wellbeing, spiritual, sexual, physical, and otherwise?

Ø How do you reconcile and negotiate your queerness in the context of your family, and larger cultural community?

Ø What does the idea of chosen family mean to you?

Ø How do you use language to reclaim, rename, and connect? How are you cultivating your voice? Where are you still looking for words? What experiences are you still struggling to name?

Ø What habits are you struggling to unlearn?

Ø When is a moment you felt empowered in both your cultural, sexual, and gender identity?

Ø How do you practice self-compassion?

We cannot begin to answer these questions without recognizing our situatedness. What does this mean? Our experiences do not exist in a vacuum, but rather, are specific to the social, political, and historical context we inhabit. In the United States, as queer folk of color, we recognize our socio-political context is characterized by bigotry and oppression. We recognize the immeasurable influence of colonialism, imperialism, and capitalism in constructing our realities and inhibiting our livelihood. We recognize that these -isms, and others (read: racism, Zionism, xenophobia, transmisogyny, sexism, colorism, heterosexism, ableism), intersect to produce unique embodied experiences that are created and recreated by institutions large and small, as well as interpersonally.

Much of the two and a half hour conversation and storytelling session that took place on the rainy evening of April 14th in the basement of Raynor Library focused on the sources and targets of shame in our lives. This allowed for the delicate unpacking of some of our experiences negotiating and navigating internalized and expected stigma, pressures to conceal our identity, and discrimination. Together we easily identified language and familial relations as certain sources of stigma and shame. These sources were most persuasive during our development, we observed. This tracks with the notion that socialization in society is responsible largely for founding our experiences and understandings. As lesbian scholar Gayle Rubin writes in “Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory and the Politics of Sexuality,” we live in a sex negative culture that has continually constructed institutions and laws to respond to sexual panic, defined by her as “periods in which the state, the institutions of medicine, and the popular media have mobilized to attack and oppress all whose sexual tastes differ from those allowed by the currently dominative model of sexual correctiveness” (3).

Rubin’s words and writings uncovering the history of biopolitical control of sexuality and bodies, especially as they relate to children, are useful in this discussion on healing and growth. Yet while they provide avenues for understanding, they generally ignore the dimensions of race and class that are so implicated in the maintenance of dominant sexual ideologies. As we uncover wounds, exposing them to the air so that we might begin to heal from physical, emotional, and sexual trauma from childhood and adolescence, as we try to unlearn and uproot toxic parental and social models of love, affection, and relation we’ve been taught, as we remove whiteness and straightness from the focal point of our lives, as we recollect and reclaim a whole self-image, as we practice self-love, we must be clearly and defiantly intersectional in our analysis and approach. Only then are we able to properly make visible the roots of shame.

One individual named a major component of the concept of success she has been unlearning, stating,

“The chief lie of my adolescence, that was so hard to recover from, was being taught that all of the good things in my life would be about men, mainly the one man that would become my husband. I thought up until I was 16 that all major benchmarks in my life, all major accomplishments would surround my future husband and our life together, which, of course would center his life and goals. When I realized that that wasn’t in the cards for me, that I was gay, I felt like I had to kinda go back to the drawing boards for my life. How could I be happy?”

Along with reconciling the dominant paradigms of heterosexual marriage and its cultural significance with queerness, many individuals also identified the need to uproot ways of physically relating to their bodies. Overcoming the tyranny of white, European beauty standards posed quite a challenge to self-image, we noted. One individual spoke candidly of their childhood.

“Some of my memories from adolescence are so standard, so peaceful and exciting that I take them for granted. experiences in my body used to be carefree, powerful, functional, I embraced pleasure, curiosity, indulgence. Loved that I could sit on someone’s shoulders, or piggy back. I loved getting dirty and being outside. I sought to satiate and be satisfied, sex wasn’t exactly in any of those memories but eroticism, intimacy, and exquisite beauty were abundant

I remember in my dreams, being 9, leading my summer camp cabin to sneak out one summer midnight to go skinny dipping in the moonlight. It was magical, divine.

Other memories are painful to remember because now, as a sort of adult I can recognize the damage to myself, the way I related to others, and my body, was distorted by my premature sexualization. As a Latina my body grew and changed differently, and faster, than the kids around me — I had titties and got my period before anyone else my grade, a lot of girls were mean or bullied me because I was chubby and wore glasses. I had unruly hair that wasn’t like theirs and every night before bed I would count the brush strokes to get to 100 and pray feverishly I would wake up to straight hair, not what I saw as frizzy and ugly. (I now nourish my precious curls.) When I didn’t have a lot of friends, back in the early days of dial up internet, my 7 and 8 year old ass would join online chat groups and talk with strangers. I couldn’t say what percentage, but some of them were men with nefarious intentions, trying to manipulate or groom me. There was that that time my mom walked in because she needed to make a call and caught me looking horrified at a dick pic one of the men has messaged me. It’s been at least 10 months since I received my last unsolicited dick pic, so you could say I’m in recovery, moving onto greener and gayer pastures.”

Sexual shame, heaped generously atop expectations of financial and educational success, punctuated the stories shared on the topic coming out. It appears as though the idea of homosexuality is instinctually tied to invalidism, poverty, and inadequacy for our parents, we gathered.

Putting the work of Mexican scholar Gloria González-López in conversation with these notions, we discussed how the particular tactics employed to maintain and dispense this type of shame are related to fears and concerns that we can trace to assimilationist politics and the making of borderlands, including the ghettoization of inner-city ethnic enclaves and barrios. Regional variations and socioeconomic segregation continue to shape the realities that we rely on our families to navigate, often taking for granted the influence these factors have on the patriarchal system under which machismo operates. For example, González-López’s writing on the culture of sexual fear that colors a father’s understanding of his daughter’s sexuality reveals the importance of grounding social analysis in the individual motivations and relational knowings of a social actor. In other words, González-López masterfully demonstrates the power of breaking down a single narrative, and restoring humanity to the struggle of those groups that might be otherwise be condemned as monolithic — negative, machisto, strict figures, acting as restrictive authoritative agents.

The related concept of virginity was another hot button topic that repeatedly presented itself for interrogation during the conversation. As González-López wisely notes, it is but a high-profile facet of the larger cultural picture and significance of sex and gender. Many participants who spoke of their first sexual experience were cautious to displace that word as a primary descriptor, noting it has little relevancy to our experiences, and is a myth.

Indirectly, monogamy and fidelity in queer relationships emerged as a troublesome theme and point of conflict in the discussion. One participant revealed a story of their experience in the Catholic church, where their priest supported their gay sexual awakening.

“I remember never being nervous to talk to him about that stuff during confession. When I started being attracted to my friends I remember telling him I would picture them naked. I was ashamed, but he told me that I was admiring God’s creation, and that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Later when I lost my virginity, not to my boyfriend of the time, the same padre told me that my cheating wasn’t such a big deal. He said because we’re young — well, I can only really speak for myself, but I know from what my friends have told me that I’m not the only one — but basically he said that because we’re young and not married, its ok to cheat and sleep with others, that its kinda natural. I’ve kept that idea in my head and honestly I don’t know if I’ve ever been monogamous even in my relationships, just because its not serious, and we’re young.”

This somewhat moderate religious view of homosexuality provided opportunity for reflection on sociologist Dawne Moon’s “Breaking the Dichotomy: Six Religious Views of Homosexuality” during the discussion. It also stirred up quite a flurry of emotions.

While the perspective that sleeping with other people (even in an assumed-to-be-monogamous relationship) comes with the queer territory is widespread in the community, especially among gay men, I observed how it triggered a variety of reactions in other participants. In fact, our conversation left me with more questions about the role (or absent role) of honesty in queer relationships. Of course this is related to sexual agency, and Kelly Brown Douglas’ concept of a critical sexual discourse mentioned earlier.

This conversation has brought to my awareness the certain limitations of an open-mind mentality — even when explicitly attempting to maintain an awareness and tolerance for the fact that we are all at different points in our journeys towards self-awareness and love. We are prone to stumbling over our own biases, assumptions, and casting blame. But how can this be a point of connection for us, rather than a point of contention? We must recognize we are all dealing with cognitive dissonance and impossible compromise.

For example, while this particular individual felt comfortable growing up queer and out in their church and in confession, at the same time, presently they are struggling to reconcile the “love the sinner, hate the sin” perception of same sex attraction with their spirituality. Following Moon’s breakdown of religious views, this participant’s experiences reveal a challenge to Christian LGBTQ inclusion: the moderate and homopositive views of some in the church do not necessarily secure equal opportunity for religious connection and participation for queer folk. In fact, the cultural relevance of Catholic and Christian religion for black and brown community are such fundamental forces is normalizing sexual ideologies that erase and displace queerness.

In her foundational text, Sexuality and the Black Church; a Womanist Perspective, Episcopal priest and theologian Kelly Brown Douglas outlines the reasons we need a critical discourse of sexuality that reconnects us to spirituality, defined loosely by her as the human capacity to be self-transcending, relational, and freely committed, encompassing all humanity, including sexuality. When facing a dehumanizing white-supremacist status quo, we must build capacity for discourse, for debate and discussion.

If one has no language or ability to assess and articulate their sexual needs, habits, and expectations, then how could we expect a more forthcoming and open discussion of the multi-partner lifestyle, or of consent, drug use, and sexual safety?

While I feel this conversation and subsequent reflection constitute invaluable progress towards such an enabling discourse, reflecting on the broader goal of healing has me perplexed. On one hand, I suspect the state of healed does not exist. There is no there to arrive at, no destination, no utopia, no perfected self-image, but rather different derivatives of the same mess. At the same time, my heart and mind cannot help but favor the dichotomy. Secretly my mind wishes to resort to the comfort and familiarity of the binary thinking I’ve been instilled my entire life. It seeks to avoid and cast away the ambiguity, ambivalence, grey area of the world we inhabit. It wants to believe in real solutions, and the fixing of problems, and people. Lessons from this conversation keep me grounded in the murkiness, married to the trouble and anxiety, committed to making space for figuring it out. I’m grateful for this.

Bibliography

Dawne Moon, “Beyond the Dichotomy: Six Religious Views of Homosexuality,” Journal of Homosexuality 61 (9): 1215–1241. (2014)

Gayle Rubin, “Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality,” pp. 3–41 in The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader, ed. by Henry Abelove, Michèle Aina Barale, & David M. Halperin; New York: Routledge. (1984)

Bishop Yvette Flunder,“Healing Oppression Sickness,” pp. 115–124 in Queer Christianities: Lived Religion in Transgressive Forms, ed. by Kathleen T. Talvacchia, Michael F. Pettinger, and Mark Larrimore, New York: NYU Press. (2015)

bell hooks, All About Love (2000)

Gloria Anzaldúa, Borderlands / La Frontera, Cultural Tyranny (p. 37) & Homophobia (p. 41) (1987)

Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, The Bridge Called My Back (1981)

Kelly Brown Douglas, “Sexuality and the Black Church: A Womanist Perspective” (1999)

Gloria González-López, “Fathering Latina Sexualities: Mexican Men and the Virginity of Their Daughters” (2004)

“Overcoming Sacramental Shame,” Dawne Moon and Theresa Tobin (forthcoming, Hypatia, 2018).

Inspired and fueled by music by Princess Nokia, Nitty Scott, Kimya Dawson, TLC, SWV, and Lauryn Hill

Inspired by poetry by Rupi Kaur (milk and honey, 2016) and Audre Lorde (Sister Outsider, 1984)