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?