Where I Don't Exist | Weronika Peek

Behind every great man there is a great woman – and sometimes, another man. Take Alexander the Great and his friend Hephaestion, whom Alexander often described as his “alter ego”. The king mentally collapsed once Hephaestion died and then organized one of the most lavish funerals in ancient history. With extreme loneliness and grief preying on his mind, Alexander died soon after.

Let’s think Frida Kahlo with her astonishing works. And her many rumoured affairs, including Leon Trotsky, Georgia O’Keeffe or Josephine Baker. Let’s think Chopin and his fiery letters to Tytus Woyciechowski, straightforwardly expressing how he longs to kiss him and will always “love him only”. If you’re wondering how come you’ve never heard of any of those relationships, there’s a reason for that, and it’s called LGBT erasure.

Scholars have spent centuries trying to pass ostentatiously romantic, nonheterosexual relationships as “good friends”. Unfortunately, even though LGBT acceptance has come a long way since the 1960s, this kind of erasure still runs deeply in academic circles. Why is it still so unthought-of to state the obvious and call them gay, lesbian, or bisexual? Is the evidence not enough? Or are we indeed seeing something that was never there?

One of the most common arguments for LGBT erasure is the fact that it doesn’t really add anything to the picture. Wittgenstein would’ve still become a prominent language philosopher had he been straight, right? Well… we’ll never know. In some twisted way, Wittgenstein may have become who he was because of being a homosexual, just like perhaps Chopin’s music is so touching due to the fact he was, allegedly, bi.

Another approach is to comfortably overlook the “damning” evidence or hurry to point out the lack of context. “Love” could actually be used when talking about a friend, affairs could simply be rumours, and relationships could, in fact, be nothing but camaraderie. It so happened when Alexander, the 2004 film starring Brad Pitt, first hit the screens, prompting a group of historians to sign a petition against the “inaccuracies” presented in it. As one of them stated: “We are not saying that we are against gays, but we are saying that the production company should make it clear to the audience that this film is pure fiction and not a true depiction of the life of Alexander”. Now, the quest for maximum accuracy is a laudable effort. But let’s ask ourselves why scarce evidence is not treated as evidence at all. Why would it ever bother anyone who “is not against gays”? And how can humanity ever come to terms with the fact that men can love men, women can love women, if any piece of evidence for this is being constantly obliterated?

Of course, if the l-, g-, or b-words still sound too intimidating, we might as well follow the path of separating the author from their work. After all, The Magic Mountain, Swan Lake, or even the Sistine Chapel are just as compelling with and without the knowledge that their creators were gay. But what if, by paying no attention to that fact, we run the risk of blatantly disregarding the meaning that can be hidden in the text?

Zofia Klamka & Karol Mularczyk

I’ll always remember the first time I’ve read Mrs Dalloway. The moment I read the lesbian kiss scene, I felt shivers down my spine. I wasn’t prepared for an authentic rush of emotions. I didn’t expect any book to tell me there might actually be people like me. Instead of brushing it off, I accepted it as my own and incorporated it into my vision of what the book was trying to tell me.

Many, many years after reading that piece, Mrs Dalloway became a faint memory that I keep stored, amongst others, for a rare day of sorrow. I remember that I loved its haze, a mosaic of moments I don’t quite remember, and this powerful feeling that nobody can grasp life in its whole glory – not even its cruelty, not even its pace. Among all that pain Virginia painted us freedom. A kiss. A glance. An evening spent together dining on the river bank and walking in the garden, just as Woolf and Vita Sackville-West used to do. Despite all the quiet mutilated pain Clarissa Dalloway holds in herself, there are good moments. A kiss with Sally remains her happiest memory – a golden glimpse on a grey, mundane evening.

I remember an encounter with someone who “didn’t remember that part at all”. It felt like crashing with a whole different galaxy. Just like my interpretation of the book was a huge black hole with moments of happiness, their version didn’t encompass any such moments at all. According to their reading, life was inevitable suffering, as if the person was Septimus himself, tired of hearing the birds speak Greek. It was sad. I had a feeling their mind overlooked the whole scene out of inadvertence, or maybe discomfort, which made them miss out on the very point of the entire fragment.

Despite the impressive number of gay characters in our history, literature, and culture, things are not looking up. There are certainly more LGBT people in the positions of power but they are just as closeted as before. In fact, many of them meticulously hide their orientation because more power means they need to adapt to stricter standards. This fear of becoming isolated renders them helpless and, consequently, pushes them further inside the closet. Meanwhile, rampant homophobia is still at large.

On a hot August day, the square in front of the Palace of Culture in Warsaw is slowly filling with kids. Some of them have banners. Some have rainbow flags. The speaker, after a mournful reminder of many LGBT suicides this year, starts chanting “Stop killing us”. The crowd joins in, mindful of all the lives lost, and all those that will be lost soon.

Humanity has skeletons in its closets. They don’t have skin colour, gender, orientation. It’s the ridiculous tenacity with which we neglect historical facts that cost us so many of those lives. We can’t wait for the older generation to pass away, as it leaves us with the youth repeating their mistakes and living ashamed of themselves. To them, every representation matters. Bringing back history in rainbow colours needs to happen now, and if it makes somebody uncomfortable – so be it. It will still be better than burying another hounded child.

Weronika Peek

Cover illustration: Zofia Klamka & Karol Mularczyk