To Be or To Do - A Brief Response to Queer Quandries: Erin

I find that when I say that I study queer theory, most (women) squirm at the mention of the term “queer.” As they agonize over their “right” to identify with the term, they typically share stories of people (men) asking if they are, or referring to them, as queer.

Others express anger and annoyance at “queer,” dissatisfied with the reclamation of a slur or what they see as attempts by others to distance themselves from the straightforwardness of “gay” or “lesbian.” Yet, for the wide range of responses that the term “queer” elicits, it is more popular than ever. “Queer” is now a sexual orientation on dating apps, a thinkpiece topic, and a tote bag slogan.

As a student of queer theory, my response to the proponents of using “queer” as an identity, to those who fear the lingering effects of reclamation, appropriation of, and/or the loss of the LGBTQ community, and to the tote bag makers is this: I implore all sides to let go of “queer” as a site of identification.

When I suggest that we release “queer” from the quagmire of identity, I do not mean that we permanently discard the term. Rather, I mean that we must rethink queer as identity, as something that one can be. If we return to the original texts that influenced early queer activists and vice versa, we see that as opposed to a mode of identification, queer was and is a form of politics - a type of action, a lens through which to understand the world, and a tool to construct the self outside of dominant normativities.

Of course, there is much to expound on now that I have made such a bold statement, but for the sake of brevity here is one point to consider: identity is a fiction often constructed by apparatuses of power. Categorizations of the body, whether predicated on sexuality, gender, or race, enable the regulation of the body. At a state level, this regulation takes the form of policing, schooling, and providing healthcare, among other methods. While we may try to reinterpret or adapt the identity labels at our disposal, the fact remains that such categorizations are still the tools of the master’s house. They are the walls, the doors, and the locks. To be clear, “queer” as an identity holds resonance for many, and I do not write to diminish those who have found meaning and belonging through this term. I write this as a queer entreaty to think differently and creatively about something that has become increasingly commonplace and therefore subject to co-option, dilutement, and mischaracterization.

Theorist José Muñoz explains that “queer” “...is not simply a being but a doing toward and for the future…[it is] an insistence on...concrete possibility for another world.” So despite its definitional openness and fluidity, if queer is used as an identity, it becomes another categorization that regulates the body and the mind. To see past and disrupt such borders then, queer must be used as an action that disrupts norms. Only in this way can we begin to forge new possibilities and new horizons of liberation not yet conceptualized.

In 2020, there is much to be worried about, so perhaps our energies should be pointed towards the next year and the next and the next. With queer as a horizon line to follow, a map towards the future, I ask that we use queer as a guide to dismantling walls and crossing borders, to recasting worry as hope, and putting it into action in service of this other world.