Family Of Infinites
“War does not determine who is right — only who is left”
I don’t spend an extensive amount of time keeping up with identity politics here in the US. Nevertheless, the battle still manages to worm its continuing divisiveness into my wee skull. So much so that on the rare occasions I venture beyond the walls of my apartment, I’m surprised not to see rainbow-painted armored personnel carriers duking it out with… well, whatever colors cisheteronomative tanks would be adorned with, battling in the streets over which side deserves to have the most “rights.”
This bothers me on many levels, and I’m not just talking about the question of why my imagination would go in this particularly odd direction. Disturbing imagery aside, I seriously don’t understand the conflict. Why does the idea of LGBT rights make “straights” feel threatened — or vice versa? After all, isn’t the right to love and live however we want something that every consenting adult should be able to do? If anything, we all have this in common. Whether a person is attracted to the same sex, the opposite, both, or neither, we all want the same thing: to be treated with understanding and respect, and to live free of fear.
Even as someone most would label as a straight, cisgendered individual, I unequivocally know that my life and how I live have benefited from the LGBT community’s fight for recognition and acceptance. I just have to look at my ongoing search for a relationship where I can feel safe, seen, and loved for who I am to find an example.
Beginning with my earliest memories, I’ve never felt like I fit in. Whether it was discovering what atheism was, and how it perfectly fits my view of the universe or swearing there had to be something better than traditional marriage, I was always an outsider. True, the last example was in reaction to my parents’ dysfunctional relationship; due to their blatant hatred of one another, combined with their lack of genuine affection for my brother and me. Growing up, every family interaction felt like dancing through an emotional minefield. But life, being as bonkers as it is, eventually had me doing what I swore I’d never do: standing with my girlfriend and doing the whole ridiculous “swear-before-God” thing — complete with the rings, the flowers, the honeymoon, and all the other trappings of a standard wedding. However, any “traditional” aspect of our marriage flew out the church window pretty much immediately after the ceremony. We dabbled and then leapt feet-first into the delightfully wild and raucous (and touching and beautiful) San Francisco early 90s BDSM scene: polyamory, black leather faery-ness, swinging, skyclad pagan bacchanalias, cybersex, you name it. We even had matching t-shirts.
Years later, the early, once barely noticeable cracks in our relationship became yawning chasms of jealousy, insecurity, dissatisfaction, and overall relationship yuckiness. Right after my messy divorce, I redoubled my efforts to find an alternative to marriage. I soon learned that my hunger for physical contact would doom any long-distance relationship before it could start. I also realized that my survival-trained empathic skills make it impossible to be with multiple partners at the same time and that casual hookups are off the table due to my newly awakened demisexuality.
But don’t cry for me, Argentina, or anywhere else. I’m not giving up on my search for the relationship Holy Grail anytime soon. If anything, each step forward, back, or sideways has granted me a heaping portion of self-knowledge and helped to steer me ever closer toward finding what I’ve been searching for.
But whatever twists and turns have or will come, there’s a single, underlying consistency: I’ve never felt alone in my outsiderness. Even while I hid under the covers when my parents screamed at one another, I remember watching early news reports about gay protests, my terrified younger self aching in sympathy. They, too, wanted to feel safe and welcomed. They, too, wanted to be loved.
Back in San Francisco — with its dungeons, nude pagan festivities, cyberdelic interactions, Pride and Folsom parades, and gender explorations; my wife and I puppy-piled with our queer friends on a lazy Sunday afternoon, resting my head on someone’s tummy as they stroked my scalp — I wept in gratitude for their strength, passion, and openness. There in the past and here in the present, I have benefitted from the LGBT community’s fight for everyone’s right to happiness, to be free from intolerance, bigotry, shame, or the tisk-tisking of anti-sex prudes.
And I’m not alone. Even if we straight folks aren’t directly conscious of it, we owe a tremendous debt to the LGBT community. They prove that all of us can forge our path, not at the expense of others but by celebrating our innate universality. Regardless of any misguided war between straight and LGBT rights, many of my heroes will always be queer. Their monumental courage in fighting for the rights of everyone to live and love as we choose continues to be an inspiration for me. Although many may not accept the inescapable truth of it, the community has been inspirational for everyone else as well.
Published Jan 5, 2022
Updated Apr 18, 2024
Published in Issue X: Clash of Ideologies
