Perhaps one of the most important parts about being a social worker/someone who works with youth, is the creation and maintenance of good 'boundaries.' The concept is so important that the term itself has become something of a farce, used so often it becomes almost meaningless or, at least, a huge fuckin' inside joke. But boundaries are no joke, my friend. They are complex, messy, confusing things that are, nevertheless, crucial to ones own sanity and the creation of healthy communities.
Lucky for me, I had some familiarity with 'boundaries' before I had to start implementing them professionally. In my prior punk-esque days, 'boundaries' were code for communicating to people to quit being fucked up, or, alternately, the ways in which you maintained the tenuous balance of screwing the system and still being in love. Basically, we used boundaries to police ourselves into living into the politics we so loudly proclaimed. And they were complicated and hard then, too; they brought up similar issues about when boundaries were used to hurt people and when they kept us healthy and whole, about how hard they became when one person's boundaries intersected with another's, in less than positive ways.
See what I mean about the word becoming a joke?
But these boundaries, the ones I live in now, they're a little funnier. For one thing, they come from the top down in a lot of cases, and they exist primarily to create distinctions in the community for its health and well being. And, in many ways, they safeguard safety - mine, and that of the youth I work with. For the most part, I've had an easy time with these 'boundaries' - they provide some good intellectual fodder for me, but they usually don't push my buttons.
or, they didn't anyway . . .
And then this youth showed up who made the boundaries get all kinds of messy.
Before you go assuming the complexity is something lurid, let me clarify that I do no involve issues of sex or drugs in the conversation about boundaries (rock'n'roll, however, is a totally different story . . .) So please rest assured that my boundaries were not complicated by any sort of sexual desire, crush, or relationship. And now that I have the caveats out of the way . . .
No, my boundaries got blurred with Haley (a pseudonym, of course) because I looked at her and saw myself, just shy of 10 years younger, with perhaps some more self assurance and better style. Seeing someone who reminds you of your younger self can have two effects: it can make you hate someone irrationally, or it can make you adore them beyond reason. Lucky for both of us, I found myself facing option #2.
But that doesn't mean that things have been easy. Even at a somewhat self aware 29 years of age, I still find myself getting weirdly attached to the decisions that Haley makes about her life, feeling personally offended or enthralled by them, which aside from being unrealistic and occasionally kind of creepy, makes me a somewhat less than ideal friend/mentor/social worker.
There can be something healing to be able to both relate to and distance yourself from someone who very closely resembles yourself, and yet remains a distinct person. It has been incredible to watch Haley develop a political consciousness, at 19, which it would take me many more years to find. It has been truly remarkable to watch her exist in a relationship as an independent component, to struggle with concepts of love, and justice, friendship and her role in the world.
Haley herself sees our similarity, and is fond of joking about how she is my 'mini-me.' It is taken for granted now, in the circles we exist in, that we are counterparts of a kind. Other people occasionally remark on our similarity as well, and it fills me with the kind of pride and tenderness I imagine older sisters and mothers feel.
But I wonder what this relationship is like on her end. I never really had someone older who I felt I resembled. I had older mentors, especially older Queer women, who were around for me to study and learn cultural subtleties from, but never someone I felt so deeply similar to. I wonder if I disappoint Haley ever, if she looks at what I am doing, saying, wearing, dating . . .and thinks - I will do THAT differently. This shouldn't bother me - in fact, I should be happy that she might watch me, respect me, and still strive to make decisions that are different, healthier, more life giving. And yet, its almost impossible not to feel a little judged when your younger self isn't 100% enthralled with the adult like decisions you are making.
Having models of the lives we aspire to, or relate with, is crucial though. It is absolutely one of my top priorities at the drop in center. I remember being terrified of 'getting older' because I assumed it would mean signing up for a middle-of-the-road existence in some suburb, replete with boring children, boring job, boring marriage and boring house. I didn't know that you could be 30 and still live in the city, have an incredible love affair that was rukous and rollicking and fantastic, that you could still dance your ass off or know about cool music . . .I didn't know because in my (limited) experience, people fizzled out after college and became, well . . .my parents (who I love and adore, but don't really want to mimic) It wasn't until I got out and started meeting people outside of my immediate age group who were living the kind of lives I wanted to live - my incredible 40 year old friend with a husband she adores, two hilarious and brilliant children, a house in city park, full sleeves of tattoos and a cynical, whip smart political sensibility. I realized that life didn't have to be about becoming something you feared, that it could mean becoming something you loved.
But I needed to see that it was possible. We all do. And some people have their preferred models all around them. I would bet money that my brother didn't struggle with this - he knew what his plan was, because his plan was the big, platinum PLAN A that we all get exposed to. But other folks don't have models so readily in front of them. And the problem is, we don't always know what kind of models we *need*, until we see them in front of us. And, we don't always realize the damage that can be done if we get too committed to inappropriate models until its too late.
This isn't just about defying the status quo - although, lets be honest, I LOVE defying the status quo- its also about looking at the ways in which alternatives to the status quo get appropriated and eaten up by the status quo so that they aren't actually providing a viable difference. I'm thinking now of the scant images available of queer people (wait, wait . . .gay and lesbian and sometimes transgender people) available in the media - Will and Grace, The L Word, Ellen Degeneres, Queer as Folk, Curve magazine. There's nothing wrong with any of these, per se (hmm . . .I might have to reconsider that momentarily), but when they are the ONLY images people see, they become problematic. What is you don't pull in 6 figures doing next to nothing and live in a lavish LA home with a pool? What if you don't even aspire to that? What if you aren't thin, or fashionable, or inclined to petty drama? If you are none of that, are you really a lesbian? Or, maybe you're a lesbian, but you're not a member of the upper eschalons of lesbianism. (Yes, I really do know of women who refer to themselves as "L Word lesbians" with a sense of pride.)
It has been shocking to me in a way I never thought it could be, how the young queer community has shifted with the influx of LGBTQ media models. I have seen an ebbing away from politicization, a more marketable aesthetic, a greater committment to policing identity, a veering away from community politics. Of course this isn't universally true, but I look at the local lesbo coffee shop and I see not a warm and fuzzy collection of womyn, but a frat boy-esque space that feels more meat-market than safe space. And, of course, I could just be getting older. And of course, the queerness of my youth will not be the queerness of the youth to come.
But I feel obligated to continue to offer myself up as a model - and to seek out other folks who will do the same - for the youth I work with, even if this means subjecting our lives to intense judgement and a little bit of well intentioned ridicule. I'd rather have Haley see where my radical politics have failed me and choose a different path then feel sewed into LesBiGay-Capitalism and not have any other options. Not that those are the only two available choices, and not to say I am haley (or anyone else's) savior . . .but rather, that we have a duty, living in a disjointed and chosen community, to provide the young people in our lives with accessible, open and accountable relationships - from these, they can pick and choose what makes the most sense to them and, with any luck, throw out the shit that is harmful and take the good ideas to the next level. And, of course, it is important for any person to understand where they have come from, and what holds them up from behind - whether that is genetic history or the history of a movement.
This sounds like martyrdom - its not. I am continually grateful for the people in my life who do a little bit of trailblazing so that I can still chose the wilderness, instead of always having to opt for the dusty road well worn.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Hot for Teacher
My attempts to blog from Creating Change were waylaid by the very expected and understandable demands of conference life. By which I mean, of course, tightly scheduled workshops, forays into unknown neighborhoods to find lunch sans hotel prices, and the glorious mid day nap (in the cleanest, whitest, coolest sheets ever.) Well, all of that and the hard reality that the more expensive the hotel, the fewer included perks (i.e.: no free wireless in the hotel room, only in the lobby.) So, no dice. Sorry bros.
But, I have a few hours before I have to catch my super shuttle to the airport, and I am still technically *in* the hotel, surrounded by other nametag bedecked conference going queers - so this will have to qualify as blogging from the conference.
Lets get real: I am not a fan of the LGBT machine. I will concede that the gains in the 'movement' becoming mainstream has been good insofar as it has gotten us (limited, one dimensional) images of queer people on TV, and made it possible for white, middle class, straight looking gays and lesbians to live the suburban american dream. My parents would say my inability to be satisfied with this is indicative of my general brattyness. I think its just an inability to forget about everyone who isn't included in those categories (even when I, arguably, am.) So, coming to Creating Change is sort of an experiment in testing my patience. Admittedly, NGLTF is strides ahead of other big LGBT organizations (see: HRC) in terms of inclusion and radical challenge of the status quo, but its clear that the values are a it different, if only because they are still willing to charge upwards of $200 for registration to a conference that is held in a hotel that charges $200 a night for the luxury of sleeping.
But, here I am.
I collaborated on a workshop proposal with some other folks, on a safe (but ultimately very important) topic - what happens when LGBTQ youth 'age out' of organizations? Where do they go? What kind of community and infrastructure exists for them to be young adults (especially if they aren't immediately shuffled into the pseudo-utopia of college activism)? Bars, clubs, or something healthier and more sustainable? And because my workshop proposal was accepted, I decided to prioritize coming to this conference (a week before my own big event goes down, with 0 financial help from the organization I work for) - maybe because I'm a glutton for punishment.
I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit, then, that I have had an exceptional time here - and I have found 'my people' and connected with agendas that reflect my own. This happened primarily due to the Sexual Liberation track of the conference, the goal of which was to link sexual desire, behavior and identity to social justice.
I have become increasingly disturbed by the extent to which the LGBT movement has sanitized itself of sex, desire, and the 'messier' pieces of LGBT identity. As was so beautifully articulated at my day long institute, the fight for marriage is really a fight for the privitization of relationships and the erasure of open and overt sexual desire - something which has gotten American culture into this mess of over sexualization in simultanaeity with a damaging shame about sex. There is good anecdotal evidence to suggest that the U.S.'s problems with sexual assault, abuse, and objectification are deeply linked to the ways in which sex has been commodified as well as divorced from personal experiences of pleasure.
I understand the fine line this rhetoric walks, please believe me. Its not just that I (like most, if not all, queers) have been subjected to the questions about how I have sex, or the insinuations from straight men that my sexuality and relationships only exist so that they might get turned on; its not just that my family seems to swim along in the tide of progressiveness, like good liberal fish, until they realize that the 'friends' I bring home also share my bed at night; I also struggle deeply with the placement of sex in this movement because of my role as a person who works with youth.
I first recognized my own internalized homophobia when I started working as the youth program coordinator at a church 6 years ago. Despite the fact that I knew - for a fact - that I was not attracted to young children, nor would I have ever considered this idea without the accompanying cringe of horror and disgust - I often found myself driving home from work wondering if I was wrong, if I was working with youth because I had bad intentions. I'm not talking about wondering if someone else would think I was a pedophile - I was worried that I WAS one.
Conquering that particularity did not overcome the difficulties of being a queer adult working with youth. There is a learned aversion to seeing sexuality in young people, and an expectation that 'adults' in youth spaces will police sexuality. Growing up in youth empowered communities, my view about sex in youth spaces was significantly more liberated that this. I had learned that sex in public spaces wasn't appropriate only because it was exclusive and ran thew risk of making other people feel unsafe and unwelcome. Despite having come of age in such a free, healthy and sex positive space, I have found myself a decidedly prudish and nervous adult.
I don't want to be. I don't want to be in general, and, specifically in the context of the youth I work with. No one should feel shamed for their sexuality, but LGBTQ people, women, people of color and poor people (i.e.: the folks I work with) are even more likely to feel shamed for their sexuality. I feel like its important for me to combat that and create spaces where people feel able to be sexual beings. And when I talk about sex in the space, when I limit the physical interactions with you, I try and do so with the same perspective I grew up with - that sex is a healthy and remarkable part of being a human being, but it needs to be limited in public spaces for reasons of consent and safety for all people.
But the question still remains: where does my own sexuality fit into this equation? In attending workshops over the last few days, I have become more clear that being fully embodied sexually aware human beings is crucial to not only our own health and well being, but also the health and well being of our communities. In being able to articulate who we are as sexual people, talk about desire and bodies, we move these things away from their commodification in a capitalist system and allow them to take their rightful place as ways of being human and existing in community.
How do I do this, though, in an ethical way? How do I exist as an openly queer, decidedly sexual pseudo-slutty (in prudish ways) person in such a way that I will not cross boundaries, make youth uncomfortable, put myself in a dangerous or awkward position . . . .What sexual behaviors do I limit in the space? Whose clothing do I call out as too revealing? Do I look for certain acts, facts, features . . .or do I do my best to ascertain intent and context, and go from there?
Walking the line is usually a delicious exercise, but it feels fearful, fretful and dangerous now. . .I am reclaiming my sexiness, sexuality, and the intentionality and overtness of those things. How can I reclaim them in such a way that my work is enhanced, not deadened, either by the results of the reclamation or by the fear that accompanies it?
But, I have a few hours before I have to catch my super shuttle to the airport, and I am still technically *in* the hotel, surrounded by other nametag bedecked conference going queers - so this will have to qualify as blogging from the conference.
Lets get real: I am not a fan of the LGBT machine. I will concede that the gains in the 'movement' becoming mainstream has been good insofar as it has gotten us (limited, one dimensional) images of queer people on TV, and made it possible for white, middle class, straight looking gays and lesbians to live the suburban american dream. My parents would say my inability to be satisfied with this is indicative of my general brattyness. I think its just an inability to forget about everyone who isn't included in those categories (even when I, arguably, am.) So, coming to Creating Change is sort of an experiment in testing my patience. Admittedly, NGLTF is strides ahead of other big LGBT organizations (see: HRC) in terms of inclusion and radical challenge of the status quo, but its clear that the values are a it different, if only because they are still willing to charge upwards of $200 for registration to a conference that is held in a hotel that charges $200 a night for the luxury of sleeping.
But, here I am.
I collaborated on a workshop proposal with some other folks, on a safe (but ultimately very important) topic - what happens when LGBTQ youth 'age out' of organizations? Where do they go? What kind of community and infrastructure exists for them to be young adults (especially if they aren't immediately shuffled into the pseudo-utopia of college activism)? Bars, clubs, or something healthier and more sustainable? And because my workshop proposal was accepted, I decided to prioritize coming to this conference (a week before my own big event goes down, with 0 financial help from the organization I work for) - maybe because I'm a glutton for punishment.
I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit, then, that I have had an exceptional time here - and I have found 'my people' and connected with agendas that reflect my own. This happened primarily due to the Sexual Liberation track of the conference, the goal of which was to link sexual desire, behavior and identity to social justice.
I have become increasingly disturbed by the extent to which the LGBT movement has sanitized itself of sex, desire, and the 'messier' pieces of LGBT identity. As was so beautifully articulated at my day long institute, the fight for marriage is really a fight for the privitization of relationships and the erasure of open and overt sexual desire - something which has gotten American culture into this mess of over sexualization in simultanaeity with a damaging shame about sex. There is good anecdotal evidence to suggest that the U.S.'s problems with sexual assault, abuse, and objectification are deeply linked to the ways in which sex has been commodified as well as divorced from personal experiences of pleasure.
I understand the fine line this rhetoric walks, please believe me. Its not just that I (like most, if not all, queers) have been subjected to the questions about how I have sex, or the insinuations from straight men that my sexuality and relationships only exist so that they might get turned on; its not just that my family seems to swim along in the tide of progressiveness, like good liberal fish, until they realize that the 'friends' I bring home also share my bed at night; I also struggle deeply with the placement of sex in this movement because of my role as a person who works with youth.
I first recognized my own internalized homophobia when I started working as the youth program coordinator at a church 6 years ago. Despite the fact that I knew - for a fact - that I was not attracted to young children, nor would I have ever considered this idea without the accompanying cringe of horror and disgust - I often found myself driving home from work wondering if I was wrong, if I was working with youth because I had bad intentions. I'm not talking about wondering if someone else would think I was a pedophile - I was worried that I WAS one.
Conquering that particularity did not overcome the difficulties of being a queer adult working with youth. There is a learned aversion to seeing sexuality in young people, and an expectation that 'adults' in youth spaces will police sexuality. Growing up in youth empowered communities, my view about sex in youth spaces was significantly more liberated that this. I had learned that sex in public spaces wasn't appropriate only because it was exclusive and ran thew risk of making other people feel unsafe and unwelcome. Despite having come of age in such a free, healthy and sex positive space, I have found myself a decidedly prudish and nervous adult.
I don't want to be. I don't want to be in general, and, specifically in the context of the youth I work with. No one should feel shamed for their sexuality, but LGBTQ people, women, people of color and poor people (i.e.: the folks I work with) are even more likely to feel shamed for their sexuality. I feel like its important for me to combat that and create spaces where people feel able to be sexual beings. And when I talk about sex in the space, when I limit the physical interactions with you, I try and do so with the same perspective I grew up with - that sex is a healthy and remarkable part of being a human being, but it needs to be limited in public spaces for reasons of consent and safety for all people.
But the question still remains: where does my own sexuality fit into this equation? In attending workshops over the last few days, I have become more clear that being fully embodied sexually aware human beings is crucial to not only our own health and well being, but also the health and well being of our communities. In being able to articulate who we are as sexual people, talk about desire and bodies, we move these things away from their commodification in a capitalist system and allow them to take their rightful place as ways of being human and existing in community.
How do I do this, though, in an ethical way? How do I exist as an openly queer, decidedly sexual pseudo-slutty (in prudish ways) person in such a way that I will not cross boundaries, make youth uncomfortable, put myself in a dangerous or awkward position . . . .What sexual behaviors do I limit in the space? Whose clothing do I call out as too revealing? Do I look for certain acts, facts, features . . .or do I do my best to ascertain intent and context, and go from there?
Walking the line is usually a delicious exercise, but it feels fearful, fretful and dangerous now. . .I am reclaiming my sexiness, sexuality, and the intentionality and overtness of those things. How can I reclaim them in such a way that my work is enhanced, not deadened, either by the results of the reclamation or by the fear that accompanies it?
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Heteronormativity vs. Queer Theory; or, Butler applied
Let's start out here:
A month ago I went and saw a psychic who told me I was going to write a book in three years. I'm not a total sucker, but I figure that psychics and astrology are as good a tool as any to get you out of a rut, and that's what I was trying to do. So, do I feel like my success as a published author is imminent? Shit no. But I sure do like writing, and I might as well start somewhere.
Mostly, my writing is about my own emotions (I have a lot of feelings, in general) or really obtuse sociological theory. The 'general public' doesn't want to read either of these genres, unfortunately. But I am venturing, in this blog and (maybe) in the aforementioned book, to do a little bit of blending of those two, in hopes that I might come out with something a little more palatable. Worth a shot anyway.
So, here it goes. For context:
I do my professional work at a GLBTQ youth drop-in center. Like a boys and girls club (except way cooler), we are open about 30 hours a week, and youth (12-24) can come in, hang out, use the resources we have here, make friends, etc. We have activities - dances, drag shows, workshops, political education - and support groups, STI/HIV testing, food, short term crisis counseling, and a variety of other stuff depending on the month. I've been doing this job for a little over two years, and (just FYI) I don't have a formal education in this field - which absolutely impacts my perspective of my job.
I'm hoping this blog will be part an account of the sometimes really crazy adventures each of my days bring, part an unraveling of the complex and nuanced ways in which this community functions, and part a learning (for myself and whoever else ends up reading this) about how things can change, how they stay the same, and what agency we have in both.
I want to maintain as much confidentiality as possible for the youth I work with (and, to be frank, for myself) so I'll use pseudonyms generally, unless I have the explicit permission of particular youth. Same goes for my co-workers. Pictures will also be limited to people I have direct consent from. Just so you know, I take that sh*t seriously.
And with that out of the way . . .
I should say right up front that I read Judith Butler's "Gender Trouble" for the third time this past Monday. I'm taking a Queer Theology class and in order to get everyone up to speed, we spent a little time with some seminal Queer Theory texts. I'm warning you because, yes, I totally do get sucked into Butler's crazy (if somewhat conceited) rhetorical mind-fuck.
Gender here is complicated, and in general, much queerer than most LGBTQ communities. Youth is frequently the place where boundaries are pushed, crossed and dismantled. Its not so much that identity is fluid here (it is, sometimes, but not as much as other adults like to say) its that the lines are fuzzy, jagged, constantly shifting. Youth change pronouns by the moment, don't concern themselves with passing, identify as one gender and present as another . . .but identity is irrationally important. Words matter.
Monthly there is a drag show, and in approximately one hour January's show will be upon us. There is a lot of tension about performances. Sometimes this is about people's positionality in the social network, but it is also frequently about the legitimacy of a certain gendered performance. There are traditional drag queens and kings, there are trans identified youth who are doing drag (of varied stripes and variety) but the most populated genre of performance is what has been termed "faux drag" by the youth community.
Before I even get into the particulars of what "faux drag" is here, I think the language itself is worth some interrogation. "Drag" according to the all powerful Wikipedia (in some other post I will discuss why that is almost the only 'reference' I will ever use in this blog - intentionally - and for definitive political reasons) is "any sort of costume, but particularly one which does not match one's gender identity." And while I generally think that explanation doesnt carry with it the cultural weight that drag is endowed with and should therefore be mired in (even at play), I do think its a departure point. A costume is not our usual wear - it is something different, something distinctly marked as performative, something that we ourselves do not identify with, something used to tell a story, elicit reactions, establish difference.
"Faux" of course, means "fake." Fake as in "not real" or fake as in "incorrect" - false. Judged. Faux is another destabalizing word.
So what to make of "faux drag?" Is this an instance (my mother's english teacher voice is rumbling around in my head) of the dangerous "double negative?" That doesn't seem entirely rightt. Because while drag somehow indicates something that is not usual (for us), something that is intentionally constructed, something that points towards the lunacy of "authenticity" - it does not mean unreal or fake or false. As associated as it may be, for many people both within and outside the LGBTQ community, with "unreal" men or women, in the most PoMo Butlarian sense, Drag is not synonomous with false or fake. And yet, there is something unusual - if not redundant- about indicating that the drag being done is "faux."
In our particular circumstance, "Faux Drag" means a youth who is performing to a song sung by a performer of the same gender as the youth while wearing clothing that is commonly associated with people of the youth's same gender. So, you may wonder, where exactly is the "drag" in this faux drag? and is calling it "faux drag" just a way of justifying non-gendered performance at the "Drag" show?
There certainly are a lot of youth who do traditional drag who feel this way, and often feel particularly offended when these faux drag-ers seem to be the primary performers during the evening. And, to be fair, I see their point. It ain't easy to bind your boobs or tuck your package - for starters. And its not easy (even in the queerest of communities) to show up in high femme drag or put on a mustache when you're railing against your reality in every other facet of your life. And its easy, from that vantage, to see faux drag as an easy way out.
On the other hand, there is something too simplistic in the idea that drag must always mean taking on the opposite. This reifies the traditional narratives that the LGBTQ community has built its (unfair, problematic, irrational) borders on, and beyond being simply exclusive, it also fails to interrogate gender in any significant way. I don't want to sound like a snobbish post modernist (but I will) - that's so been done.
And the performances are often (if not always) about investigating some element of gender presentation, subcultural affiliation, or simply personality in a distinctly performative way. There are female identified folks looking sexualization head on, playing with the idea of sluttiness, promiscuity, objectification in ways that would otherwise be dangerous. There are male folks who take some sensitive rocker ballad to its logical conclusion, and in so doing look more closely at the limited "sensitivity" we allow in masculinity.
Listen, I'm not saying that these kids have some sort of corner on the advanced and complex fucking of gender, or that they would even call what they are doing "interrogating masculinity" (indeed, I am far more sure that they would laugh heartily at me saying that about them) but I am saying that as convoluted, ethereal and confusing as Judith Butler is, she might have gotten a few things right, and if you'd like to see what she got right in action, you should come to a drag show.
************************************************************************************
I'm going to make a wholehearted attempt to blog from Creating Change - the nation's biggest LGBTQ conference. I already have a lot to say, but seeing as how it took me nigh on a week to get this post up, no promises on the promptness.
A month ago I went and saw a psychic who told me I was going to write a book in three years. I'm not a total sucker, but I figure that psychics and astrology are as good a tool as any to get you out of a rut, and that's what I was trying to do. So, do I feel like my success as a published author is imminent? Shit no. But I sure do like writing, and I might as well start somewhere.
Mostly, my writing is about my own emotions (I have a lot of feelings, in general) or really obtuse sociological theory. The 'general public' doesn't want to read either of these genres, unfortunately. But I am venturing, in this blog and (maybe) in the aforementioned book, to do a little bit of blending of those two, in hopes that I might come out with something a little more palatable. Worth a shot anyway.
So, here it goes. For context:
I do my professional work at a GLBTQ youth drop-in center. Like a boys and girls club (except way cooler), we are open about 30 hours a week, and youth (12-24) can come in, hang out, use the resources we have here, make friends, etc. We have activities - dances, drag shows, workshops, political education - and support groups, STI/HIV testing, food, short term crisis counseling, and a variety of other stuff depending on the month. I've been doing this job for a little over two years, and (just FYI) I don't have a formal education in this field - which absolutely impacts my perspective of my job.
I'm hoping this blog will be part an account of the sometimes really crazy adventures each of my days bring, part an unraveling of the complex and nuanced ways in which this community functions, and part a learning (for myself and whoever else ends up reading this) about how things can change, how they stay the same, and what agency we have in both.
I want to maintain as much confidentiality as possible for the youth I work with (and, to be frank, for myself) so I'll use pseudonyms generally, unless I have the explicit permission of particular youth. Same goes for my co-workers. Pictures will also be limited to people I have direct consent from. Just so you know, I take that sh*t seriously.
And with that out of the way . . .
I should say right up front that I read Judith Butler's "Gender Trouble" for the third time this past Monday. I'm taking a Queer Theology class and in order to get everyone up to speed, we spent a little time with some seminal Queer Theory texts. I'm warning you because, yes, I totally do get sucked into Butler's crazy (if somewhat conceited) rhetorical mind-fuck.
Gender here is complicated, and in general, much queerer than most LGBTQ communities. Youth is frequently the place where boundaries are pushed, crossed and dismantled. Its not so much that identity is fluid here (it is, sometimes, but not as much as other adults like to say) its that the lines are fuzzy, jagged, constantly shifting. Youth change pronouns by the moment, don't concern themselves with passing, identify as one gender and present as another . . .but identity is irrationally important. Words matter.
Monthly there is a drag show, and in approximately one hour January's show will be upon us. There is a lot of tension about performances. Sometimes this is about people's positionality in the social network, but it is also frequently about the legitimacy of a certain gendered performance. There are traditional drag queens and kings, there are trans identified youth who are doing drag (of varied stripes and variety) but the most populated genre of performance is what has been termed "faux drag" by the youth community.
Before I even get into the particulars of what "faux drag" is here, I think the language itself is worth some interrogation. "Drag" according to the all powerful Wikipedia (in some other post I will discuss why that is almost the only 'reference' I will ever use in this blog - intentionally - and for definitive political reasons) is "any sort of costume, but particularly one which does not match one's gender identity." And while I generally think that explanation doesnt carry with it the cultural weight that drag is endowed with and should therefore be mired in (even at play), I do think its a departure point. A costume is not our usual wear - it is something different, something distinctly marked as performative, something that we ourselves do not identify with, something used to tell a story, elicit reactions, establish difference.
"Faux" of course, means "fake." Fake as in "not real" or fake as in "incorrect" - false. Judged. Faux is another destabalizing word.
So what to make of "faux drag?" Is this an instance (my mother's english teacher voice is rumbling around in my head) of the dangerous "double negative?" That doesn't seem entirely rightt. Because while drag somehow indicates something that is not usual (for us), something that is intentionally constructed, something that points towards the lunacy of "authenticity" - it does not mean unreal or fake or false. As associated as it may be, for many people both within and outside the LGBTQ community, with "unreal" men or women, in the most PoMo Butlarian sense, Drag is not synonomous with false or fake. And yet, there is something unusual - if not redundant- about indicating that the drag being done is "faux."
In our particular circumstance, "Faux Drag" means a youth who is performing to a song sung by a performer of the same gender as the youth while wearing clothing that is commonly associated with people of the youth's same gender. So, you may wonder, where exactly is the "drag" in this faux drag? and is calling it "faux drag" just a way of justifying non-gendered performance at the "Drag" show?
There certainly are a lot of youth who do traditional drag who feel this way, and often feel particularly offended when these faux drag-ers seem to be the primary performers during the evening. And, to be fair, I see their point. It ain't easy to bind your boobs or tuck your package - for starters. And its not easy (even in the queerest of communities) to show up in high femme drag or put on a mustache when you're railing against your reality in every other facet of your life. And its easy, from that vantage, to see faux drag as an easy way out.
On the other hand, there is something too simplistic in the idea that drag must always mean taking on the opposite. This reifies the traditional narratives that the LGBTQ community has built its (unfair, problematic, irrational) borders on, and beyond being simply exclusive, it also fails to interrogate gender in any significant way. I don't want to sound like a snobbish post modernist (but I will) - that's so been done.
And the performances are often (if not always) about investigating some element of gender presentation, subcultural affiliation, or simply personality in a distinctly performative way. There are female identified folks looking sexualization head on, playing with the idea of sluttiness, promiscuity, objectification in ways that would otherwise be dangerous. There are male folks who take some sensitive rocker ballad to its logical conclusion, and in so doing look more closely at the limited "sensitivity" we allow in masculinity.
Listen, I'm not saying that these kids have some sort of corner on the advanced and complex fucking of gender, or that they would even call what they are doing "interrogating masculinity" (indeed, I am far more sure that they would laugh heartily at me saying that about them) but I am saying that as convoluted, ethereal and confusing as Judith Butler is, she might have gotten a few things right, and if you'd like to see what she got right in action, you should come to a drag show.
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I'm going to make a wholehearted attempt to blog from Creating Change - the nation's biggest LGBTQ conference. I already have a lot to say, but seeing as how it took me nigh on a week to get this post up, no promises on the promptness.
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