Creating Queer Art in Trump’s America
By Anne Gregg
On the morning of Wednesday November 6th, I woke up to the news that Donald Trump would be the next president of the United States. In my despair I called my mom. Only then did I start to process what this actually might mean for my future in The United States.
I took the moment on the phone with my mother to be self-centered. And I asked, “Will I still be able to make my art?” Will this blog have a life? Will there still be people who are interested and willing to produce queer stories and support queer artists? Should I stop writing the way I am now? Should I apply to graduate programs in different countries — can I afford to do that? Should I take up the lessons of the Hays Code Era of Hollywood and switch to coding queerness in my stories so it’s not criminalized and labeled pornography? Are these fears even founded or am I spiraling?
My moms responded, “We have to fight this. You have to keep being you. You have to keep creating. We can’t go back.”
And she’s right, we can’t.
Already, I’ve seen queer people online talking about stepping back in the closet, turning their identity into something that will not exist outside of the comfort of their own homes. I don’t want to fearmonger, or presume that any of these actions will be enforced by a dystopian regime–even if that’s what all the above may sound like. As I understand it, this re-closeting and self-censorship is a fear response to a post-election world that has been emboldened by the election of a racist, misogynist and queerphobic bigot. We want to cocoon ourselves to avoid violence and vitriol. But this is not possible for every queer person, especially queer people of color who may be able to hide their queerness but cannot hide the color of their skin.
Queerness is a political identity. In a perfect world it should not be, but identifying yourself as queer, living as queer is political because it breaks the white cis-hetero patriarchal norms enforced by our society. If you are queer you break the binary, your existence is defiant of how people are taught things ought to be. Queerness is disruptive; it’s powerful.
If we preemptively hide, if we preemptively censor ourselves, we lose the progress we have made towards a more accepting, compassionate, and liberated world. We have to be immovable. We can’t disappear. Queer people fought for the rights we have now, for the world we live in now. We cannot go back, and we will not go back. We have to show that we are here; we have to make art.
Art is what fuels movements. Art has the power to inspire change, to create community, to build empathy, to challenge the system, to represent us, and to to imagine the world we would like to live in. This year I realized the only substantial lesbian representation I had as a kid was Santana from Glee. Glee, despite its flaws, is one of my favorite shows because of Santana. Because she was outspoken, funny, charming, beloved, and gay. Now, I’m amazed by how many different queer characters young people have to identify with in media made for them. How wonderful is it that young people can see queer identity celebrated and normalized? That they can see themselves represented on screen? We have made so much progress. I spend a lot of my time on Matthew’s Place writing about media firsts and the progress we still haven’t made. I want to move forward.
Queer art is queer joy. Write poems, write novels, write essays and memories, music and songs. Sing and dance and play instruments. Make clothes, do your make up, knit, crochet, embroider, wood carve, paint, draw, build. Create. Art isn’t just about making a statement or challenging a system, it is about fun, play, and expression. It is about seeing what your own two hands are capable of. Art is the joy of creation. It is a cathartic release of emotion.
Create art because you will not be silenced. Create because it brings you joy. Create and carve your name into the stone, because you are not going anywhere.
About the Author
Anne Gregg is a poet and writer from Northwest Indiana. She is an English Writing major at DePauw University and is the editor-in-chief of her campus’s literary magazine, A Midwestern Review. She is a Media Fellow at her university and loves dissecting how LGBTQ+ people are portrayed in film and tv.
