I remember standing outside a lesbian bar in Long Beach. Snap-Her had just finished a set and we were talking to one of the band members. We handed her a flyer and asked if she would be interested in joining a discussion about queers and queer rights and our place in the world.
She then told us that she was bisexual and not lesbian. I remember we stared blankly at her. The way she said it was as if she was apologizing for being bisexual. When we didn’t immediately respond she asked if she would still be invited.
We stammered, “Of course you are.” And we explained. Queer wasn’t just for males. It wasn’t just for females It wasn’t just for gay men or lesbians. Queer was all of us. Gay. Lesbian. Bisexual. Transgendered. Transvestites. All the rest of us who weren’t straight. All of us who suffered BECAUSE we weren’t straight. Queer was all of us.
We needed a word for all of us.
I remember the divisiveness in the lgbt community. Maybe their language reflected their thinking. Maybe their thinking reflected their language. But I remember the hostility between the gay community, the lesbian community and the transgendered community.
I remember my first time in a lesbian bar. A lesbian couple had found one of our flyers and was interested to know more. We met at a lesbian bar at their invitation. There were two of us who were male. And the hostility directed toward us was obvious.
At one point my male compatriot said the word “tips.” As in, “Do I have enough money for another round and tips.” A murmur went through the bar that we were talking about their “tits.” It got intense. The females in our group had to shield us as we made our way out.
I remember having a discussion with a gay man about the transgendered community as well as drag queens and everyone else who wasn’t gay or lesbian. I happened to mention the courage that a group of drag queens had to have to march for their rights in the deep south. I remember he said, with all seriousness, that it took LESS courage for drag queens to march. I stared at him open mouthed. How do you respond to that level of stupid?
I don’t mean to be longwinded. But I felt it important to illustrate how I, at least, perceived the gay and lesbian community. Willing to fight each other over crumbs. More interested in dividing and demeaning each other than in uniting and helping each other.
We needed a word. A word that was better than “gay.” A word that was better than “lesbian.” A word. A single word that meant all of us.
I remember being a kid in the 70’s. I remember hearing the word, “queer.” Before I even understood what it was referring to, I understood how bad it was. “Queer” was said with the same venom that people said “faggot.” The same way people said “nigger” and “wetback” and “gook.”
I don’t know who first referred to themselves as queer. But it caught on fast. At least among us. And it was perfect. “As queer as a three dollar bill.” We were the ones who didn’t fit in. Who didn’t have a place where we belonged.
There is a power that you can have. I don’t know if I can properly explain it.
I am known as Dag. In real life since I was 17. If anyone from those days were to read this they would know that yes, I am THAT Dag. I am the Dag from Conspiracy of Silence. I am the Dag from Long Beach. The avatar I use across the internet is a current picture of my own face.
There is a power in that. I am Dag and I am queer. You cannot threaten me with that information. My boss already knows I am queer. I told him. My family knows. My friends know. You cannot threaten me with that.
You cannot hurt me by calling me queer. I say that I am queer with pride. You cannot shame me. I will look you in the eye and tell you how much I enjoy having a cock in my ass.
So we called ourselves queer. The gay community didn’t like it. The straight world didn’t like it. But we wore that word. Like a military uniform. Like a badge of honor.
When I first heard the straight world use the word queer… Shit. How do I say this?
The first time I heard the straight world use the word queer… not as an insult but as a simple description, I felt a huge sense of pride. A sense of accomplishment. We had taken the word out of the hands of the homophobes. We had declawed it of it’s hate. We wore it with pride. And the straight world acknowledged that. It was a victory. A very small victory, but still a victory.
I have heard murmurs that the new generation doesn't like the word “queer.” That they want it suppressed. That makes me sad. We fought for that word. We bled for that word. And I mean exactly that. It wasn’t an easy life. Passion can burn you to the core. Sticking your neck out can leave your throat cut. Too many died, went to jail, disappeared. We bled.
