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.
do u think any of the kids (especially jane) were ever sleeping in the new universe and then their eyes just shoot open like “…we fought and killed popular webcomic characters the midnight crew”
side question: do u think any of the humans recognized hussie in the dreambubbles as the author of Problem Sleuth and the Midnight Crew? obviously they didnt really know what his deal was or why he was there but do u think any recognized him and just went “…anyway” because thats just kinda what you do after the 15th bizarre twist paradox space has thrown at you
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Sometimes I feel like I have ruined comics for myself forever. Sometimes I will look at a normal comic, and think to myself, what the fuck are all these fucking panels doing on the same fucking page? SPREAD EM OUT DUDE! True story.
It is my fond hope that I have ruined, or will ruin, comics for everyone else too. Scott McCloud wrote what I am sure is a pretty good book called Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. One day I hope to write a book called Ruining Comics: Forever. It will be a 1000 page book, and every page will simply be a photograph of my face.
my sister-in-law, who has no kids and does not spend time around children ever, decided she wanted to take my kids on an “outing” yesterday. (she sees them like 4 times a year usually). she took them to some weird historical u.s. military fort museum thing, it’s like a big compound with like 15 buildings enclosed by a fence. anyway my 5-yr-old saw one of those red metal fire alarm boxes on the wall and asked his aunt “what does that say?”
now the correct answer to this question, in my opinion, would be “that is a fire alarm. we only touch fire alarms if there is a fire. if there is a fire, you would pull the handle and it would make a very loud noise so that other people know to get out of the building.”
according to several reliable sources, my sister-in-law’s answer to the question was, “it says ‘pull.’”
so anyway that’s how they managed to evacuate all 15 buildings at the museum and why this is probably their last “outing” for a while.
I am prone to that kind of failure, and have used this story as an example of why it is crucial to be careful what questions you ask me.
