For Whom the Belle Tolls

Each of us holds and wields power, which is inextricably tied to privilege. Not all of us recognize it, often succumbing to apathy or, worse yet, defaulting to socially conditioned behaviors of perpetuating horrid, patently false social narratives and stereotypes about members of marginalized communities— especially people of color, immigrants, people with disabilities, LGBTQIA people, and women.

But even folks who are digging deep—have started enrolling in trainings, are learning more about oppression and its avatars—still default and commit microaggressions. We’re human, and we trip up. And I’m no exception. Still, we have a responsibility to acknowledge when we do trip up, and work to mitigate the effects these microaggressions can have on our relationships.

Before I dive in, let me start by acknowledging the power I carry. I’m a cis, white, able-bodied gay man whose first language is English. In the U.S., five of those six characteristics afford me access to services and a veritable cornucopia of resources, and their primacy is reified through codified legislation—that all too frequently perpetuates and undergirds institutional vehicles of oppression targeting people of color, immigrants, trans* people, people with disabilities, and women.

So, to recap, I have an insane amount of privilege. And whenever possible, I attempt to leverage it in intentional, intersectional ways to help uplift or amplify oppressed voices.

That being said, I want to touch on the other component of my personhood that kicks me out of the proverbial privilege clubhouse. I’m gay, and have been out for about 13 years.

I’m incredibly fortunate to live in one of the most liberal states on the Left Coast, in one of its most liberal cities. Working in the nonprofit sphere, I rub shoulders with a lot of people who think they’re much more progressive than they are; and since I work in King County, the vast majority of these folks are white, middle to upper class—which means something completely different socioeconomically than where I grew up in small-town Alabama—and most were or are affiliated with either Microsoft or Amazon. Because I’m swaddled in this politically blue cocoon, it’s all the more jarring when someone allows their privilege to cloud their judgement, leading them to say or do something wholly offensive.

The other day, I was chatting with some folks, and I concluded a story with some allusion to where I grew up—to which a straight, white, cis man responded by calling me a “southern belle.”

His flippant comment completely blindsided me. And even though I’m a blunt, direct person, all I could do in the moment was sigh, roll my eyes, and say something to dismiss the entire thing. Because, by that point, I was in escape mode; I had to get away.

He walked away, completely clueless of what he’d triggered in me.

It goes without saying that men in this country are steeped in a cauldron of toxic masculinity at an early age—conditioned to believe that becoming a seasoned, successful man requires constant competition, as well as leveraging violent, forceful methods to physically and emotionally dominate women and “submissive” men. It’s why, as a boy, I gradually recognized that it was unacceptable to hug or show affection for my male friends; our play quickly graduated from playful hugs and rolls to jabs, sneers, and competitive strength games.

By calling me a “southern belle,” he tapped into all of that—using two words to perform three actions: first, “southern” throws a geographic wedge between me and him, which is the easiest way for him to convey my “otherness,” that I don’t belong; second, by following with “belle” he sought to undercut my “manhood,” or his perception of my masculinity, by perpetuating an arcane, homophobic trope of gay men not being “real men”—they’re “fairies,” they’re “light in their loafers,” they’re “not us”; and third, by using “belle” he reaffirmed his conditioned misogyny—selecting a moniker that, historically, is tied to a southern woman who follows “traditional” values and performs “as a dutiful wife and woman should” (meaning all that “barefoot and pregnant” horse shit).

While I’m not noodling around in his noggin, I’m fairly certain none of this registered as he walked away. Straight guys often fail to even fathom the extent to which gay men have to grapple with and reframe all of that conditioned behavior to forge meaningful relationships. And he probably had no idea that those two words completely derailed my entire afternoon—and triggered a flood of emotions and painful memories: every single time I’ve been called a “fag”; being nearly run off the road repeatedly because I had pride stickers on my car; being accosted on the street; being discriminated against in a workplace; being told that I should be killed; and being threatened with physical violence because I walked out of a gay club.

But, most importantly, it reminded me of how important it is to educate people.

So, straight folks, here’s a non-exhaustive list of how to check your privilege, at least around gay men.

Let’s start with a few things that I’m not:

• Your accessory. Please don’t broach a friendship or work relationship with the expectation that I’ll be your gay best friend (GBF).
• Your parroting validator. Tied to the above, don’t expect me to constantly comment on how wonderful your outfits are, or how healthy your hair looks. Forcing compliments and expecting them is juvenile, Mean Girls-style bullshit. Adult the fuck up, and take responsibility for your own sense of self.
• Your token gay friend. If I’m your only gay friend, I’m going to be hella skeptical of your intentions, and definitely dodge your repeated brunch requests.
• Your drama coach. I loathe drama. I don’t need yours. That’s why there’re therapists.

Exercise common sense:

• No, I don’t know every other gay person in the world. Not even your friend Stan who “Lives in Georgia, which is near Alabama!”
• No, I don’t speak for all gay people, much less the entire LGBTQIA community.
• No, the LGBTQIA community is not an actual, cohesive, tangible entity based near Palm Springs. Unfortunately, the community is very much fragmented by nested racism, sexism, and internalized transphobia and homophobia. But when we flex our muscles, we can and do effect change.
• Every single gay guy does not enjoy shopping, dancing, clothes, interior design, making cocktails, or going to the gym. You’ve watched way too much cable and/or Queer as Folk. I mean, I can design the shit out of your house, but that’s not because I’m gay. I just have good taste.

If you’re straight, don’t ever:

• Call me hunty, gurl, girlfriend, fabulous, sensitive, delicate, artsy, fruity, flamboyant, or, of course, homo, queer, or fag.
• Bust up in an LGBTQIA-owned/operated club/establishment like you own the place. You can go ANYWHERE ELSE and do that and get away with it because you’re straight. So please stop hosting your bachelorette parties at gay clubs; it’s so annoying and disrespectful and, to be honest, you’re gonna get a lot of side-eye and watered-down drinks. Even if you’re not a drinker (like me!), clubs have always played a very important roll as safe havens for LGBTQIA people— which is why atrocities committed in them strike very significant nerves (e.g., PULSE, and the UpStairs lounge arson). Be respectful of history, and let us have our space.
• Try to imitate me, because even if you’re a fucking linguistics expert, it’ll be completely offensive. Because, without fail, your voice will suddenly rise five octaves and get hella nasally.
• Ask two gay men, “So, who’s the woman?” Not only is that comment crafted through a misogynistic lens that conflates “woman” with “feminine” with “submissive”, but my sex life is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS. I swear, sometimes I think straight men think about gay sex more than gay men.
• Ask me to explain how gay sex works. Jesus, just Google that shit.
• Ask me to explain every single subgroup within gay male subculture. If I offer, sure. But I rarely offer.
• Assume I’m a touchy-feely person. If I know you, I’ll hug you. But if I don’t, I’m a very I WILL MACE YOU IN THE FACE person. Respect my space.

And recognize:

• A LOT of LGBTQIA people don’t feel safe with PDA. So if you’re in A GAYBORHOOD, don’t be dry-humping your boy/girlfriend. Not only is it tacky in general, but it’s incredibly disrespectful. I can count on one hand—and not even a full hand—the number of times I ever held my ex-husband’s hand in public, because almost every situation elicited raised eyebrows, straight ogling, or slurs.
• DOMA was repealed in 2013. 2-0-1-3. Before then, gays couldn’t get married. So try to recognize that many folks uprooted their lives and moved JUST SO THEY COULD GET LEGALLY FUCKING MARRIED. (Not that I’m projecting.)
• And it wasn’t until 2015 with Obergefell v. Hodges that LGBTQs could legally marry nationwide. 2-0-1-5. 

So please, take strides toward recognizing your privilege, and be proactive about learning from your missteps so that you don’t have someone writing a blog post about you.