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eumeliaIsrael's Interntional Day Against Homophobia Day website is up - IDAHO Israel (It's all in Hebrew, but it looks pretty). The nice thing about the acronym of IDAHO in Hebrew, which is הבנה - Havanah, is that it spells out the word "Understanding".
I like that.
Getting the launch notice in my email box also got me thinking about a topic I'd been meaning to write about for a while now.
I know that throughout the past year my "queeriosity" tag pretty much exploded. I feel guilty about that.
Not for talking about the queer thing, or for info dumping my perspective on queer issues, but the fact that it took a trauma for me to realise how sheltered and privileged I was (I still am).
When I came out the first time at 15 it was because I was fighting with my mother, god knows about what and I blurted it out. It shut her up, which was the desired effect. She told me not to tell my dad and that I should try the "hetero way before [I] decide something rash" (I will never forget her words).
Five years later I came out again; I was out of the army, I was starting my life after two years of stagnation and I thought it was as good a time as any.
I told my dad as we drove home from work and it was a classic cliché thing, "Daddy, I have something to tell you".
And I did.
His response, after a few moments of quiet (which I thought would last forever, my dad is one those laconic quiet types) said: "Are you seeing a woman at the moment?"
I was single at the time, which is my default state any way, so: "No", I replied.
"Why are you telling me now?"
It stung.
A lot.
Still, at the time I thought that as far as responses go, it could have been worse.
As time went by and I became more vocal about being a queer person, I could see that my parents did their best to ignore this, my sibs didn't seem to really get why I was getting riled up - especially when no one was actually being, you know, intolerant towards me.
Why wasn't I happy with this tolerance? It could have been so much worse. I could have been thrown out on my ear, I could have been told to never mention such horrible things again. I live with my parents, am supported financially by them and will probably not move out until I have finished my studies.
I am not about to confront them about the fact that I feel that their treatment of me and [Southern!Girl] during the year that we were together was severely under par. That I wasn't treated as though our relationship was equal to any of the guys I dated for a couple of months before I met [Southern!Girl].
During the year that were together I was asked time and time again not to introduce [Sothern!Girl] as my girlfriend, but just by name. When I complained I was accused of "not understanding" their point of view.
I read Sarah Schulman's book, the one I mention when I wrote about meeting her, Ties That Bind, in which she coins the term "familial homophobia" and discusses the phenomenon from a very personal and (obviously) political place.
I have so many passages underlined.
I scribbled a lot in that book.
In the book she lays out how familial homophobia operates and how by being a part of the nuclear family structure heterosexual children and relationships are privileged is various and sundry ways.
It is radical in it's assessment.
What does it say about the society that we live in when a 25 year old Israeli bisexual-queer Grrl recognises the experiences of a 51 year old New-Yorker lesbian?
Far too much.
Unlike Ms. Schulman, I was not ostracised out of my family and I am a (hopefully positive) influence on my niece and nephews and hope to be able to teach them and be there for them in ways their parents aren't.
But the feeling of difference is there. Deeply and it's disturbing and it's masked as "not so bad".
That we are tolerated is something to be appreciated.
I'm not a tolerant person, I know this of myself. I'm judgemental and elitist and will argue my point until your ears bleed. I may not let you get a word in edgewise.
Some things, are not an opinion.
Asking us to be "understanding" of how we impose ourselves is so insulting I don't even know how to articulate the hurt I feel when it's asked of me.
I get upset when I mention the marriage of a friend and am asked "Have I found a suitable boy yet?" and when I say "no", am then asked jokingly "I suppose I should ask about a girl" as though my most serious relationship ever was, ya know, a passing fluke.
It may not be as earth shattering as being expelled from the family, being mourned and sat Shivah on as though I had died, but theselittle daily instances are diminishing, softly dehumanising... plainly and simply wrong.
To get straight people - family and friends - to see it that way can be even more upsetting, because you're forcing the people you love to confront the fact that their behaviour hurts you - and be rebutted by a line that basically says "we love you too, but your existence is difficult for us".
There's more to say. Not now, though.
Happy May Day.
I like that.
Getting the launch notice in my email box also got me thinking about a topic I'd been meaning to write about for a while now.
I know that throughout the past year my "queeriosity" tag pretty much exploded. I feel guilty about that.
Not for talking about the queer thing, or for info dumping my perspective on queer issues, but the fact that it took a trauma for me to realise how sheltered and privileged I was (I still am).
When I came out the first time at 15 it was because I was fighting with my mother, god knows about what and I blurted it out. It shut her up, which was the desired effect. She told me not to tell my dad and that I should try the "hetero way before [I] decide something rash" (I will never forget her words).
Five years later I came out again; I was out of the army, I was starting my life after two years of stagnation and I thought it was as good a time as any.
I told my dad as we drove home from work and it was a classic cliché thing, "Daddy, I have something to tell you".
And I did.
His response, after a few moments of quiet (which I thought would last forever, my dad is one those laconic quiet types) said: "Are you seeing a woman at the moment?"
I was single at the time, which is my default state any way, so: "No", I replied.
"Why are you telling me now?"
It stung.
A lot.
Still, at the time I thought that as far as responses go, it could have been worse.
As time went by and I became more vocal about being a queer person, I could see that my parents did their best to ignore this, my sibs didn't seem to really get why I was getting riled up - especially when no one was actually being, you know, intolerant towards me.
Why wasn't I happy with this tolerance? It could have been so much worse. I could have been thrown out on my ear, I could have been told to never mention such horrible things again. I live with my parents, am supported financially by them and will probably not move out until I have finished my studies.
I am not about to confront them about the fact that I feel that their treatment of me and [Southern!Girl] during the year that we were together was severely under par. That I wasn't treated as though our relationship was equal to any of the guys I dated for a couple of months before I met [Southern!Girl].
During the year that were together I was asked time and time again not to introduce [Sothern!Girl] as my girlfriend, but just by name. When I complained I was accused of "not understanding" their point of view.
I read Sarah Schulman's book, the one I mention when I wrote about meeting her, Ties That Bind, in which she coins the term "familial homophobia" and discusses the phenomenon from a very personal and (obviously) political place.
I have so many passages underlined.
I scribbled a lot in that book.
In the book she lays out how familial homophobia operates and how by being a part of the nuclear family structure heterosexual children and relationships are privileged is various and sundry ways.
It is radical in it's assessment.
What does it say about the society that we live in when a 25 year old Israeli bisexual-queer Grrl recognises the experiences of a 51 year old New-Yorker lesbian?
Far too much.
Unlike Ms. Schulman, I was not ostracised out of my family and I am a (hopefully positive) influence on my niece and nephews and hope to be able to teach them and be there for them in ways their parents aren't.
But the feeling of difference is there. Deeply and it's disturbing and it's masked as "not so bad".
That we are tolerated is something to be appreciated.
I'm not a tolerant person, I know this of myself. I'm judgemental and elitist and will argue my point until your ears bleed. I may not let you get a word in edgewise.
Some things, are not an opinion.
Asking us to be "understanding" of how we impose ourselves is so insulting I don't even know how to articulate the hurt I feel when it's asked of me.
I get upset when I mention the marriage of a friend and am asked "Have I found a suitable boy yet?" and when I say "no", am then asked jokingly "I suppose I should ask about a girl" as though my most serious relationship ever was, ya know, a passing fluke.
It may not be as earth shattering as being expelled from the family, being mourned and sat Shivah on as though I had died, but these
To get straight people - family and friends - to see it that way can be even more upsetting, because you're forcing the people you love to confront the fact that their behaviour hurts you - and be rebutted by a line that basically says "we love you too, but your existence is difficult for us".
There's more to say. Not now, though.
Happy May Day.
