The calendar says that we are a little over two weeks into June when I’m writing this. As my third “real” Pride Month since coming out, there’s been something a bit too alarming to really feel like celebrating. Don’t get me wrong. The LGBTQIA+ community remains some of the most encouraging people that I have ever met. To see a random progress or trans flag as I’m driving around Southern California feels like that little sign that, yes, some people do care. I may never knock on the door of that house and give my thanks, but I hope they know that I see you and I love you. One can hope that you’re just as kind to queer people in your own life.
But I think this year stings for the same reason that the past six months have made me feel like recoiling from the internet. Efforts to stay on top of the news have fallen by the wayside as I realize that my mental health is very fragile for many reasons, let alone because there is a believable reason to think that the people saying “transgender genocide” is not that far off. It’s been there for years with the removal of gender affirming care and exiling young individuals from sports. Supreme Court justices have suggested that Gay Marriage should be reconsidered. The idea of basic human rights is fading and I’m scared to witness it all go down.
Everything in this is like a virus. Whereas you could point to Florida or Texas and have clearer examples of homophobia flying through the air, I feel like every state now has some notoriety that they’ll have to atone for somewhere down the line. It’s there in how Targets in the Midwest were initially vandalized by protestors for selling Pride Merch and then just a few days ago were the victims of bomb threats. It puts the whole idea of validation through consumerism into an interesting corner, though not one deserving of this fight. Why do homophobes have all the power? Why do they get to dictate misinformation that a small community is harmful, where drag queens are the boogeyman, or that they’re all a bunch of predators?
It's there in watching people vandalize churches that have rainbow flags out front whether with derogatory slogans or simply cutting it up. Others have stolen and burned the fabric while proudly saying “My pronouns are U.S.A.” Frankly, I’m surprised that I haven’t seen more of a pushback against non-binary actor Alex Newell winning a Tony Award. It feels like they’ll find any excuse to rebel, and not for anything worth a damn. There have even been cases where elderly men have gone to children’s sporting events and accused cisgender girls of being boys without any substantial proof except air quotes.
Even in my home state, it feels like the once liberal beacon that California would get labeled as is at war with itself. In one corner, you have Orange County becoming the latest county to outlaw flying the rainbow flag in front of government buildings. You have people rioting in Glendale because a school decided to recognize June as Pride Month. Elsewhere, there’s a school that’s currently fighting over whether it’s a good idea to have activist Harvey Milk in the supplemental materials removed and cost everyone millions to do so. It was easy to suggest that California was some great counterbalance to everyone else, but it doesn’t feel that way anymore. Even if my city of Long Beach produced the first openly gay Latino in Congress with Robert Lopez, I’m wondering how long until this brushfire hops the freeway and puts our rainbow sidewalks and lifeguard stations at risk.
It's true that queerness isn’t going anywhere. Those who are much stronger and prouder than me are doing an amazing job fighting. However, I am sometimes veering a bit too close to hopeless to feel like June is worth celebrating externally. There’s the risk of safety in public, where people clearly will assault you over a different identity. How soon until the bomb threats make it to our Targets? As much as I’ve been desiring to write something “affirmative” or even “optimistic,” I have trouble summarizing the contrast in less than 1,000 words. Even as an adult, it stings. To hear people at the Anti-Harvey Milk town hall meetings argue about “33-year-olds” specifically as being creeps feel strangely targeted even if it shouldn’t. There’s no effort to hear the other side, to recognize how misinformation has done this to our public discourse, or even how Elon Musk actively encourages that toxic behavior (is he still around? I haven’t been on Twitter in three months). I mean, we have an ex-president who may or may not win the upcoming election in spite of some damning convictions. Where does our justice lay?
But here’s the thing. For as much as the world has been difficult for me, one thing has been a godsend in the past few months. While legislation is going in the wrong direction, the one gift that the internet has given us is larger access to queer media. I accept that it’s not a cure-all and maybe sometimes closer to a band-aid effect, but here’s the thing. When you’re older and have lived through every year so far of the 21st century, you become aware of certain things. Having access to these works is crucial to uniting every last one of us. There is hope when we recognize that LGBTQIA+ art is validated. I’ve lived through the time when faux lesbianism was celebrated solely because of the t.A.T.u. singers kissing in the rain was considered hot. I’ve seen the gay best friend stereotype get ruthlessly mocked in the biggest films of the year. Hell, even Boys Don’t Cry (1999) being the only mainstream transgender FTM representation in film is tragic. Some things still need work, but the good news is, the internet has given those willing to do it more access, more ability to support the queer artists that the radio and MTV would’ve suppressed, that would’ve been considered controversial just because she had a girlfriend.
I think that I feel it this week because I have dual emotions right now. On the one hand, I am saddened by the world around me based on everything (and more) that I’ve just discussed. The efforts to be optimistic sometimes are damn near impossible. Even if Newell’s win is historic, I immediately was full of fear of what the discourse would turn into. They weren’t that way last year when A Strange Loop won Best Musical. Was it because that show is much better than Shucked? Absolutely not. It’s just that the discourse is so toxic now. They probably don’t even support their local theater or know what Summer Stock even is. Still, they’ll pop up on Hairspray’s Facebook page every tour stop and accuse them of erroneous claims.
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| Scene from All the Beauty and the Bloodshed |
To be clear, I am thankful for A Strange Loop, which is my favorite OBCR since Hadestown. I am thankful that they have a community that regularly recognizes diverse talent for what they offer. Even the fact that I’m seeing Six – co-written by a non-binary author – tells me that there are ways to get these stories out there. To read Billy Porter’s autobiography of how growing up Black and queer impacted him in itself inspires me. It reminds me that there have been generations before that have fought oppression and have survived amid hatred. The inspiring Laura Poitras documentary All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (2022) is an essential text that explores how art can preserve those lives even as the community becomes impacted by AIDS. Come to think of it, if you haven’t seen Pose do yourself a favor and do it. Pose really is one of the greatest shows of the modern era.
But to go even more modern, I want to talk about the way that art lately has been giving me hope and making me recognize the beauty of this community. As I wrote earlier, I am the proud owner of Elliot Page’s memoir “Pageboy” which has a fantastic quote on the back about finding the strength inside yourself when life seems difficult. It’s what I needed to hear right now. They had a special run on ABC in tandem with the book launch and the network in general has been very supportive, even highlighting local group centers and transgender choir groups. Even as I’m haunted by the fact that Glendale isn’t that far from Long Beach, I find these stories emerging that give me hope, where someone like Margaret Cho being the grand marshal of Los Angeles’ Pride Parade reminds me again of the elders. The efforts to eradicate won’t stop us. While I wish it would silence bigots who have even attacked asexuals, the reality is that there’s a massive support system, and having the internet means you’re able to access research. They may ban Harvey Milk in schools, and remove queer literature from classrooms, but the internet is ever-expanding. It may have just as much reason to do harm, but because of it, I’m able to discover people who genuinely have their hearts in the right place that are not too dissimilar from me.
It's how I discovered the opinion that Gwen Stacy was transgender in Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023). I say opinion because it’s difficult to put a definitive label on something unspoken. While it’s thrilling to see a “Protect Trans Kids” in her room and have scenes lit up with that beautiful blue-white-pink combination, I think it’s more interpretive at this point. It’s something that makes Spider-Gwen particularly more personal to me and makes me long to buy a figurine of her to have on my shelf. She’s always been cool, but the simple fact that there’s queer coding in a giant blockbuster right now has my heart fluttering. It’s the type of optimistic pandering that I needed. It could be sincere or maybe not, but damn if it didn’t get me there and imagine a world where it was true. Given how expansive Spider-Verse as a concept is, there has to be a trans Spider-Gwen somewhere, and I hope it inspires the young trans girls out there to be themselves. Representation is important. Without it, art like Across the Spider-Verse wouldn’t be possible from all sorts of multi-racial backgrounds. Even on TV, The Last of Us has done a fantastic job of exploring queerness in relation to vulnerability and the search for human connection during a post-apocalyptic setting.
And, of course, there’s the music. It’s maybe the stuff that I’ve turned to the most over these weeks and comforted myself. Alongside artists like 100 Gecs, Boygenius, Blondshell, and Olivia Barton, I have found one record in particular that I hope to write about at more length one day because it quickly connected to my heart. It’s one of those moments where suddenly you feel rejuvenated because the art reminds you of the potential for happiness and expression. Even if it’s a long record that I occasionally have fallen in and out of within listens, the experience of being in that ethereal world is sublime. I love it. There hasn’t been anything this incredible this year.
Christine and the Queens is a band I mostly knew about because of Better Things having this memorable scene with the song “Tilted.” It’s a great little number, but what I found exciting was his latest album “Paranoia, Angels, True Love” to be this 97-minute opera that blends spirituality with queerness in such a way that it feels reminiscent of a prayer. I’ve turned to many individual songs in-between full listens, and I find that they’re all expertly designed to convey as much emotion as possible with the fewest words. It’s a story full of life and death, where sexuality intersects with the quest for self-acceptance. It’s the overly ambitious masterpiece that I’m sure will reveal itself somewhere around the 10th listen when I have memorized the orchestration. For now, I listen and I feel at peace. I recognize the gifts that being queer can give the world and I’m thankful they exist here.
Even the fact that “Paranoia, Angels, True Love” was inspired by Tony Kushner’s groundbreaking play Angels in America has its own roots of inspiration. Kushner’s work was meant as an era-specific commentary on what it meant to be queer in America. It’s a story of the AIDS epidemic, of struggling in a time of discrimination. In some ways, the story is timeless and necessary. I can’t say that Christine and the Queens made a direct sequel of any sort, but it’s easy to be swept up in its atmosphere and feel like you’re transported to another realm where we’re all connected and able to see our true beauty. I love what parallels I can see in the piece but more importantly, it ties to my general belief that it’s important for the LGBTQIA+ to recognize queer art and elders if not so much for their stories (which are very important) then to know that the questions that it’s a fad or something new aren’t true at all. It’s centuries and maybe even millennia old. It’s important to remember where you came from so that you can know where to go.
I suppose that’s the optimism I give to you during Pride Month. It’s a jumbled rant, sure, but to me, there is one thing that these homophobes can’t truly take away from us. It’s the queer expression. Art has only become more accessible and I’m sure there’s much more popular and accessible artists that are connecting with people at this moment. I may not even like their style. But still, the fact that they would stand up for the community and defiantly call for justice and equality is inspiring. I’m willing to accept it all if it makes you want to be part of this community more, to be happy. I’m grateful to live in a time where there’s too many options, where Laura Les is pretty close to indoctrinating me into a cult. It’s a sign that there’s more to us than the controversy, the arbitrary threats people make up. We’re also pretty damn good artists. All you’d have to do is stop long enough to listen to understand that much.
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