We started to use “queer” to describe ourselves because to the people who hated us, any word that meant us meant “bad.” Didn’t matter if they said “queer” or “faggot” or “homosexual,” or “like THAT, you know,”– it was a bad thing to be. There was no room in the language for us to be us and proud of it.
So we said, “the hell with that,” and we took ground that did not belong to us, and we made it our own. They can’t insult you by calling you something if you call yourself that first. We said “queer” out loud and proud, and we stood up and marched under banners with “queer” written on them, and there were too many of us to stop when we came out in the daylight and shouted our names.
And there are still people who hate us, and whatever we call ourselves, they still think that word means “bad.” “Gay” can be an insult– “that shirt’s so gay.” And all you have to do is hear a conservative politician sneer the word “transgender” in talking about bathrooms to know that even our own words can turn to venom in the mouth of someone who hates what we mean by them.
But we worked our asses off to say that what we mean by them isn’t bad, and we could call ourselves those things, and be proud. And it worked. We took “queer.” We took it so well that it’s a technical term in academic institutions which sixty years ago would have fired someone just for the suspicion that they were one of us. We fought, and we won.
And when you tell me, “queer is a slur, don’t use it,” you’re telling me that that victory means nothing. That we did nothing to change what the word means. That we have to give back the ground we took, that our fight isn’t worth remembering.
I won’t call someone “queer” if they don’t like it, if they don’t claim the name for themself, if it makes them uncomfortable or brings back bad memories– that’s just rude. But I resent and bristle at someone telling me I can’t use the word for myself. It means what I mean, as “gay” or “lesbian” or “LGBT” doesn’t. And more than that– it means, we won this word. We fought, and a lot of us died, and we are still fighting, and some of us are still dying, though not nearly as many. We’re fighting for the meaning– that we can live the way that suits us, and love the people we love– much more than the word. But the word is a symbol, and I’m not willing to give it up.
FUCKING THIS OKAY
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