An Elder They An Elder They An Elder They

Having survived into my early 50’s [wtf.], I have been called an ‘elder queer’. This feels weird because this time around, I have only been out publicly for some two years. I am still new to queer spaces and queer communities. Someone I greatly respect suggested the term ‘elder they’ for us ‘older’ non-binary folks.

Being non-binary was not something I had language to express or explain as a teenager. The last few years have been a cavalcade of changes that were a long time coming. In the process of learning the language of non-binary self-conception, I watched several Youtubers go through similar transformations. I have changed my name and pronouns to better reflect who I am, and who I am becoming. You can change your name if you don’t like the one you have, although getting some agencies to update their records can be an exercise in patient persistence.

The 1980s were not kind to queer communities. As a teenager in regional South Australia, very few things recommended being queer. Particularly when I was juggling a part-time career as the class nerd with various attempts at fitting in. It was not until 2003 that anyone suggested I might be autistic; 2020 for ADHD. Back in the 80s, social interaction was just one more thing I wasn’t doing right.

I was slow at everything except science and backstage work on school plays. Not acting, mind you – I can’t remember lines on stage. At some point, someone suggested I was gay. That rumor didn’t take off – I was already just a weird nerd. I found girls easier to talk to, and made more sense to me than the boys. I wasn’t into sports or cars.

From at least my early teens, I knew I wasn’t the same as others my age. It wasn’t just not fitting in; I had different things on my mind when I was included. Girls made more sense to me than the boys. They talked about things that mattered, while they were happening. At the time, I was getting a university-level education in endocrinology from doctors who talk to parents about their children as though they’re not in the room. Very much like the way they treated some of the girls I knew. Medical intervention, for me, became unnecessary.

The last little while has been quite something to live through. We are being dragged through a speed-run of early 1900s politics, with the economic ambitions of the 1400s or even 1100s feudalism. We’ve been stuck in an economic experiment for half a century. One that’s driving rapid economic and social inequality, exploited by grifters and political machinery. Anyone isolated from mainstream employment - for any reason - is significantly disadvantaged.

I read widely, and had a crack at legal history in law school. Studying law, if you’re going to be any good at it, involves a lot of thinking about history, context, and consequences. Legal arguments involve understanding how events and decisions flow from each other. Some people have put a lot of time and (other people’s) money into shaping our current political shitfuckery - and they don’t want things to change from their vision of their future. Queer people either fit into the vision, or we’re another opportunity for distraction and cruelty.

Being non-binary is a regular – and unsurprising – attribute of human biology. Gender, sex, sexuality, and physiology. In any viable population, there’s going to be a range of expressions for all of these. The idea of neat binaries in biological populations is simplistic, primary school science. Diversity within a population is what enables it to survive calamitous environmental change, or a virulent disease. Humans have more diversity within populations than between them. So it’s not surprising that gender exhibits diversity.

I am genderfluid: my sense of gender, and how I express it, varies over time. Usually day-today in roughly monthly cycles. Sometimes with more variability. Times of emotional upheaval or deep depression bring additional internal fuckery. Having let myself express myself more openly, I’m finding joy in simple things like wearing thigh-high boots, or a suit jacket, or being an elder they - and perhaps even beginning to like myself. It’s quite a moment to realise you aren’t sure you like yourself.

The COVID-19 lockdowns were hugely stressful for a lot of queer people. For me, pretty much every part of my life collapsed over a matter of weeks. I was burned out from work, withdrawn from all my relationships, and struggling with mental health issues that I had been trying to work through for several years. I’m hardly the first queer person to have trauma to deal with, and maladaptive coping mechanisms to unlearn.

Being 50ish and new to queer communities and cultures is both strange and normal to me. I don’t know as much about queer culture and history as many assume. I find younger queer people easier to relate to, as I become more engaged with the expanding terminology, and the healthcare & social systems that treat me differently all over again. I have glossed over a lot of my personal history here. I have dealt with some shit, and had to go through fuckery I don’t want anyone else to experience. I know the political and religious ‘backlash’ or ‘pushback’ that’s pushing its weight around in our politics is a real threat to Australian communities - to every community that is ‘different’

It took me half a century to reach a point where I am starting to accept who I am, and to let myself just be. To ‘live authentically’ as they say. Noone should live in fear of being themselves. But here we are, still thought of as strange, as exotic, and for some people as aberrant, because they expect others to accede to their expectations of hierarchical and suffering lives. I can’t live like that, and decided a long time ago that I don’t accept that world view.

I have a lot of people to meet, and a lot to learn about queerness and queer communities. As part of doing something about that, I have taken on the role of Gender Officer for the Pride Club. I am an elder queer, an elder they. I have already learned a lot from young(er) queer people (and a few older ones as well). I am here to learn – and to advocate and represent.

This is an invitation to a conversation.

Loki Cassandra an elder they and Gender Officer, Pride Club 2023