Archives for category: Gender and Sexuality

We live in a world where everyone wants to label everything. Far from it for us to admit to shades of grey, things all have to be black or white. A thing is either this, or it is that. At best we can concede that this has a bit of that tendencies, but for the most part, when we define something, we have a pretty good notion that the words in the English language do a suitable enough job of defining what it is we’re looking at, and we stick to them.

To define, from the Latin, literally means to limit something. When you start to assign attributes to things, you’re saying that this can’t be that, it can only be this. When you say grass is green, you’re saying that grass cannot be blue, or red, or black, etc. But some grass is yellow, and if you spill paint on it, that grass could have a tasteful, subtle off-white colouring. So you could say some grass is green, some grass is yellow, and some grass is soft eggshell white. There are few enough strains of grass and paint colours that to define the colour of grass isn’t that strenuous.

However, when you get to people, to define becomes impossible. There are far too many of us, with all of our own individual quirks that make each and every one of us unique. And that’s just those of us alive now. Think of the billions that have already died, and the trillions yet to be born.

Even to bring it down to one person is impossible. Jean-Paul Sartre describes the human condition as two fold: one part set and finite (the sum of our experiences) and the infinite potential we have in front of us. As a free creature capable of doing pretty close to anything humanly possible, to set a limit on our infinite freedom is (as Sartre would call it) living in bad faith. If you claim to be, say, a good waiter, and then live your life as a good waiter, serving people their water before even they themselves know they want it, sure you’re a good waiter, but you’re denying yourself your freedom of being anything beyond a good waiter. You’re not a good waiter; you’re not any label, because you can be anything.

This would apply to every aspect of yourself you might be defined as: happy person, sad person, funny person, handsome, ugly, straight, gay…

So why do we label people when it is impossible to do so accurately?

Because we have to. Our brain works by understanding labels. We think in definable concepts, not impossible to nail down abstract ones. If someone asks you about yourself, and you say, “oh, I don’t believe in labels” what you are telling this person is that the grass isn’t green, nor is it yellow or blue; the grass is a colour that doesn’t exist. In your mind, try to imagine a colour that doesn’t exist. You may give up after you get to the sort of murky brown one.

So pick something. Anything. If you want the grass to be fuchsia, that’s perfectly fine. If you can find a way to explain the history of how that grass became fuchsia, and what that means to the world around it, then you can be relatable instead of alienating. If you’re trying to explain to someone about something they have never heard of before, remember that it’s not their fault that it’s difficult, they’re just trying to imagine a colour they’ve never come across.

It’s considered fairly common knowledge the ideals that make up masculinity. Manhood. Being a man. To name a few you’ve got strong, independent, assertive, chivalrous, rugged, etc. Put all these things together and you’ve got your James Deans, your Robert Redfords, your John Waynes, your… who the hell is relevant these days? Jude Law? Whatever. Unimportant. Anyway, a lot of people look to the past for examples of manliness because they don’t agree with the aggression and violence that is associated with masculinity today. Yes, being a man also apparently means being tough, crude, and a womanizer. There are loads of definitions. But those bad ones can’t be right, because we’re all sensible individuals here. That list with the nice adjectives has to be the proper definition.

What about if a woman exudes those qualities? They’re fine qualities, we’ve already established that. But we’ve limited them to half the population. If a woman wants to be those things, does she have to give up her gender in order to do so? If you’re male and want to “Be A Man” and have it mean something, ask yourself to define what it means to “Be A Woman.” Is it meekness? Daintiness? A penchant for getting a case of the vapours? No, like I said, we’re sensible individuals here. We look to the past for manliness, but we look to the future for qualities that define women. So let’s make a new list: strong, independent, assertive… It’s starting to look exactly like that first list of what it means to be a man. Basically get rid of ruggedness and you’ve got what most parents are trying to teach their daughters.

Maybe being a man isn’t as traditional as I’ve made it out to be. Maybe Real Men are actually compassionate, stylish, generous, and love to cuddle after sex. It’s a brand new day, and people are coming up with lists upon lists of new ways to define what it means to have a penis. Here are a couple of examples:

http://jamesmsama.wordpress.com/2013/11/06/10-ways-to-know-youre-dating-a-real-man/
http://fiercegentleman.com/10-qualities-fierce-gentleman/

Again, very nice qualities. Leaning a bit on the traditionally feminine side, which is a nice touch. But the answer isn’t to feminize masculine attributes and to masculinize feminine attributes. For one thing, it is too easy for someone to dismiss these softer attributes as being “for fags” and go back to their rough and tumble definitions of beating up those smaller and lording it over them. When the definitions of “what makes a man” are so overbearingly numerous, people can pick and choose what they like and find plenty of evidence to back up their assertions, and then dismiss the ones they don’t like.

So why is this a problem? It’s mostly just an argument over semantics, and those are the funnest arguments to have. And it’s not that hard to adapt society to believe that girls doing boyish things and boys doing girly things is okay. That’s relatively close to where we’re at right now. However, what about the little boy that wants so badly to Be A Man? He’s got his heroes that he looks up to, but for the life of him, he can’t be strong, he can’t be assertive, he lives at home with mom and dad, he’s overweight… He’s teased by the other kids at school, and he feels less than. He knows that he should be able to be all those things, because the evidence is there each time he takes a piss. That kid has so much telling him what it means to have that penis, and that it’s a “good” thing to Be A Man, but this boy can’t measure up. He feels as though he’s betraying himself, that he’s incompetent because he can’t do the things his penis is supposed to allow him to do. This child’s problems are exacerbated, simply because he has a dink and that is apparently supposed to mean something.

So what makes a man? Let’s ask the Dude:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oq1i8O9dgPU

A pair of testicles. That’s what makes a man, and even that is debatable. So if you like an attribute, just say that it’s a good attribute. There’s no need to attach it to your junk.

While I was in India, one of the first people I met was a big, gay Kiwi named John. John was born and raised Catholic, and was actually on his way to becoming a priest before he became fed up with the Catholic Church and quit. His reasons were that he disliked the preaching of poverty and charity, while the Church wallowed in obscene amounts of wealth. Him being gay didn’t even enter into it, which struck me as surprising.

So we talked a whole bunch about religion and what it means to us, and our sexuality and what it means to us. I asked him about how he maintained his faith in God, considering he was gay and disillusioned with religion. He answered my question with a question of his own. How would I feel if he railed me in the bum right now? I told him that I probably wouldn’t appreciate it. He asked me if I would still be straight after the amazingly homoerotic time that he would surely show me, and I said yes, I was confident that I would still be straight, if a little shaken up. He said to me, same thing with faith. Anything can happen to you, but your faith never leaves you. It is simply a part of you.

This struck me as a very interesting idea despite its… unorthodox delivery, and I thought about it over the rest of the day, long after John and I had parted ways. I decided I didn’t actually agree with him. You can lose faith, and you can also gain it. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to do, but it does happen every now and then (Saul becoming Paul, for one biblical example). However, your sexuality never changes. No matter how many times big, gay John might swab the inside of my rectum, I would always remain straight. This led me to conclude that our sexuality is a stronger part of our identity than our spirituality.

This seemed significant to me, and I thought about it some more and realized something else. Despite the magnitude of importance that your sexuality represents towards your identity, you can repress it. You can fake not being the one, impermeable thing about yourself. Gay people will hide who they are, even marry heterosexually, out of fear of exposure. You can’t do that with faith. Faith needs to be expressed. If you think that maybe this has something to do with the lingering stigma that remains with homosexuality compared to the acceptance of most religions (the extent of that stigma being dependent on your location, obviously), think of the Jews who continued to practice even when facing the horrors of the concentration camps.

This might have something to do with individual versus communal identity; for example, your sexuality is yours and yours alone, whereas your faith is typically part of a larger group. Under duress, groups tend to bond together to face the storm under a unified front. One person alone standing against an oncoming tide is much more likely to find some way to avoid it.

Would a stronger LGBT community help? It’s hard to say. Sexuality isn’t really as communally bonding as faith. If a group got together every week to celebrate their sexuality, there’s really only one genuine way to do that. As an alternative, they might discuss worldly affairs or how to solve the crises that affect them, but that’s closer to activism than it is to community. Another reason I don’t believe that sexuality is as communal as spirituality is because the ultimate goal of the LGBT movement isn’t a gay community, it’s normalcy. Heterosexuals don’t have a community, we just are. Maybe I’m wrong since I am not privy to the meetings, but that is the goal of the LGBT rights movement, not forming a group.

Even if I am wrong, in its current state, the LGBT community does not extend to schools, sports teams, churches, etc. where it would need to in order for those suffering to feel as though they are part of a group, rather than desperately facing off against the world, alone.

Post-script: Obviously in a world where there is no oppression of sexuality or religion, then there would be no need to repress either one. My observation is that in a world where oppression of both exists, it is easier to repress sexuality than it is to repress religion.