Kevin Spacey's Repugnant "Apology" for Alleged Child Abuse

Let me begin by stating that I believe Anthony Rapp and applaud him for his courage. It is never easy to process or speak about sexual assault, and especially not when the accused is someone who wields power in your personal or professional domain.

Before I analyze Kevin Spacey’s statement in response to the allegation that he sexually assaulted Anthony Rapp in 1986, I want to make something clear: Pedophilia has nothing to do with sexual orientation. The gender of the child a pedophile preys on is irrelevant. The ongoing conflation of criminals who molest boys with gayness is a serious problem, and Spacey has participated in perpetuating this damaging myth.

Rapp was 14 years old; Spacey was 26 years old. Since one party was not an adult, this was not a case of a man “making sexual advances,” as this situation is being characterized in the media. Fourteen-year-olds are not fair game for adults to hit on, and touching a minor is a serious crime.

Kevin Spacey’s response was a carefully crafted statement allowing him to avoid accountability and redirect the conversation. In so doing, he does not simply come out as gay but manages to throw the LGBTQIA+ community under the bus. I will explain how he does this later.

First, let us look at Spacey’s response to a Buzzfeed article accusing him of assaulting then 14-year-old Rapp:

Immediately, Spacey distances himself from his accuser, saying he has respect for him as an actor. Neither does he admit to having ever met Rapp in person nor does he indicate any respect for him as a person—just as an actor. So, he dehumanizes his accuser. He goes on to state that he was “beyond horrified” to hear Rapp’s account of what happened, as if it was a story about someone else. This is when he expressly begins to absolve himself from blame by highlighting that it was a long time ago and he has no recollection of it. This sets the stage for what is to be a disingenuous apology.

The actual apology part of this statement begins in a detached manner: “if I did behave then as he describes, I owe him the sincerest apology.” This is worded deliberately to highlight the passage of time since the incident is alleged to have taken place and to cast doubt on Rapp’s story without actually contradicting him. Then comes the direct evasion of responsibility, where Spacey states that if this happened, it would have been “deeply inappropriate drunken behavior.” The paragraph ends with Spacey once again highlighting that this happened a long time ago and refusing to shoulder the responsibility for causing the feelings to which he refers: “I am sorry for the feelings he described having carried with him all these years.”

The manner in which Spacey simultaneously confronts the allegation and avoids blame is disturbing, as is his cold, calculated tone. Undoubtedly, a skilled psychologist would have something to say about this.

First, I want to highlight this usage of time to absolve predators of guilt. Abusers and their apologists often use this tactic to discredit survivors: “This happened years ago; why are you bringing it up now?” It is as if time erases criminality. Further, because the memory is not always reliable, underscoring the passage of time can cast doubt on the survivor’s ability to recall events clearly. This tactic is especially harmful when the victim of the alleged crime is/was a minor. In a situation such as this, where the power imbalance is massive, questioning the credibility of the accuser reinforces their lack of agency and shields the accused from the allegation of the serious crime of child abuse. Essentially, this tactic is used to gaslight the accuser. Gaslighting is a form of abuse itself.

Second, Spacey’s decision to blame alcohol use to absolve himself merits discussion. It is always fascinating to me when people invoke substance use to rationalize wrongdoing, since alcohol is known to lower inhibitions. Therefore, when someone tries to blame drunkenness for their inappropriate behaviour, they are actually admitting that they have a certain predilection in the first place. This is interesting because Spacey never denies preying on 14-year-old Anthony Rapp. Instead, he blames the alcohol. But alcohol does not magically transform a person into a child molester. What Spacey does here is negate the considerable age difference between himself and Rapp, which is where he begins to drag the LGBTQIA+ community down with him by conflating pedophilia and homosexuality.

Now I come to the second paragraph, where Kevin Spacey doubles down on this conflation of pedophilia and homosexuality and decides to throw other queer people under the bus instead of addressing his alleged criminality. The first sentence is dismissive and carries on this conflation. Addressing child molestation should never be a means to segue into a discussion about same-sex attraction. These two things are not related. For instance, many try to blame homosexuality for the crimes of abusive priests when, in fact, it is not the vow of celibacy that causes child abuse but the nature of the job, which grants authority and allows access to children, which would appeal to pedophiles. The gender of the children is not the point; the crime of child abuse is the point. What Spacey does here is play into the damaging stereotype of the repressed gay man who acts out by molesting children.

Next, Spacey references stories that have circulated about him. Whether he is referring to stories about relationships with men or crimes committed against minors is anybody’s guess; in any case, he has already conflated the two issues.

Then he brings up the fact that he has had relationships with both women and men. I was perplexed as to why he felt the need to mention this. What follows this adds to the harm he has chosen to do to the queer community in this statement. After alluding to bisexuality, he erases it and says that he “now choose[s] to live as a gay man.” The idea that one can choose to be gay continues to be used to demonize homosexuals and brand queer people as deviants. The decision to bring up a history of dating women and men in this context is also problematic because it invalidates non-binary sexuality. Bisexual erasure is common and poses an ongoing problem for those who exist anywhere between the two ends of the sexuality spectrum. That Kevin Spacey would both echo the arguments used by queer-antagonistic bigots and feed into the stigma attached to bi+ identities is alarming. It is as if he wants to throw as many people under the bus as possible.

The last sentence once again plays on the aforementioned stereotypes by suggesting that Spacey’s attraction to men would account for him preying on a teenage boy. This cannot be said enough: Gayness cannot be used to rationalize pedophilia. Yet it is as if Spacey is doing just that to address Rapp’s allegation.

Kevin Spacey’s entire statement is a deflection. He first deflects from the accusation of sexual assault against a minor by hiding behind alcohol consumption and then further deflects using homosexuality. This statement is a clever manipulation. The text evinces an awareness that the media would be distracted if Spacey threw them the bone they have long waited for: confirming that he is gay. It is offensive to survivors of child abuse including Anthony Rapp, to survivors of other forms of sexual assault, and to the LGBTQIA+ community, but to queer men in particular, who continue to battle stereotypes that pathologize them and associate them with sexual predation and criminality.

Eminem's Performative Politics

I have some thoughts on Eminem. Truthfully, I’ve long had thoughts on Eminem. This guy has a long history of antagonism towards women and queer people. For this reason, I will always view him with a critical eye. In my opinion, he is also a mediocre rapper. He doesn’t hold a candle to the artist who propped him up in the first place: Dr. Dre.

Eminem owes a great debt to his predecessors in hip-hop—Black people. And his fans—most of whom seem to be white as well—do too. He has an international following as well that one could probably discuss in the context of antiblackness, but that is a larger task I am not taking on right now. For years, I’ve found Eminem’s voice conspicuously absent in the Black Lives Matter movement. I’ve heard he does philanthropic work for his hometown of Detroit and that’s great. But I expect people who’ve become rich and famous owing to the gifts they’ve been bestowed by Black people to engage in anti-racism work.

This anti-Trump rant was not anti-racist. It was strictly anti-Trump. To me, it was as disappointing as every other liberal take on the current president. Time and time again, the most privileged of critics in the United States express disgust and embarrassment over Donald Trump. They seem to believe that things would be better if only he wasn’t the president. Yes, he is embarrassing and worthy of disgust, but more alarmingly, he is the result of a culture that values celebrity, money, whiteness, violence, narcissism, rigid definitions of masculinity and femininity, cis male dominance, and American exceptionalism. The toxic systems that put this character in the White House are what has to change, but instead of standing with activists fighting to change those systems and safeguard their rights and lives and those of their fellow citizens, people like Eminem are choosing simply to distance themselves from this monster—this quintessentially American monster.

He acknowledged that some of his fans probably voted for Trump. I’m sure they did. Hyper-masculinity, misogyny, and LGBTQ-antagonism are things Eminem and Trump have in common that appeal mostly to certain cis males. As he did with Trump, he disavowed those fans. Okay… I guess that’s impressive to some people who covet wealth and think Eminem did a brave thing by potentially kissing off some income. To me, it doesn’t say anything.

The whole thing felt very performative to me. Eminem did not film a video for “The Storm” and launch it online to tell his white supremacist fans to f—— off; he went to the BET Hip-Hop Awards to tell a predominantly Black audience that he wasn’t okay with Trump and his Trump-supporting fans.  

Let’s look closer at the lyrics, shall we.

Got a plan and now I gotta hatch it
Like a damn Apache with a tomahawk
Imma walk inside a mosque on Ramadan

His so-called plan evokes war and uses terms taken from Indigenous people and appropriated for this violent, imperialist American lexicon. And he claims he’s going to enter a mosque during the holiest time in the Muslim calendar just to piss Trump off. As we know, Trump has been hostile to Muslims. So, Eminem is using Muslims here, rather than showing that he cares about what happens to them under this president.

And say a prayer that every time Melania talks
She gets a mou— Ahh, Imma stop

What does Melania have to do with this? I don’t know exactly what “mou—” was supposed to mean, but it wasn’t flattering, obviously.

And here’s some liberal nonsense:

But we better give Obama props
‘Cause what we got in office now’s a kamikaze
That’ll probably cause a nuclear holocaust

Lots of people miss Obama, especially those who aren’t aware of, or are indifferent about, the number of countries he signed off on bombing during his eight years in office. American imperialism is always preferred with a smile. And the possibility of Trump launching a nuclear war is indeed something that should have people terrified out of their wits. But when Americans talk about it, I never hear empathy for the Koreans who are going to meet the same fate the Japanese did when the United States caused the first and only other nuclear holocaust.

Trump, when it comes to giving a s—, you’re stingy as I am
Except when it comes to having the balls to go against me, you hide ’em
‘Cause you don’t got the f—ing nuts, like an empty asylum

And here we have Eminem making it about himself and being all Eminem-like, up in his macho nonsense.

Racism’s the only thing he’s fantastic for
‘Cause that’s how he gets his f—ing rocks off and he’s orange
Yeah, sick tan

As I said, racism is just one of the things Trump is about. The rest is likely lost on Eminem because he is a product of the same culture and he too is a white, heterosexual, macho, cisgender man. And the last part is the same unproductive mockery of Trump that we hear from liberals on a daily basis. *Yawn* Your mockery changes nothing.

The next lines are really a rehash of the election, Trump’s hypocrisy since then, and everything that has been in the news lately about the NFL and Trump’s negligence regarding Puerto Rico. To his retelling of the news, he adds more acknowledgment of racism:

From his endorsement of Bannon
Support for the Klansmen
Tiki torches in hand for the soldier that’s black
And comes home from Iraq
And is still told to go back to Africa
Fork and a dagger in this racist 94-year-old grandpa
Who keeps ignoring our past historical, deplorable factors
Now if you’re a black athlete, you’re a spoiled little brat for
Tryna use your platform or your stature
To try to give those a voice who don’t have one
He says, ‘You’re spittin’ in the face of vets who fought for us, you bastards!’
Unless you’re a POW who’s tortured and battered
‘Cause to him you’re zeros
‘Cause he don’t like his war heroes captured
That’s not disrespecting the military
F— that! This is for Colin, ball up a fist!

And it really is nothing more profound than acknowledgment. There is no call for anything to change in this either. Even his nod to Colin Kaepernick doesn’t include any specific mention of what his protest was about. He alludes to it, but this protest is about more than just giving a voice to marginalized people; it is about the people who continue to be murdered by the state.

And the next line is more of Eminem’s patriarchal rubbish:

And keep that s— balled like Donald the bitch!

Emasculating Trump—and using a term associated with women to do it—isn’t very productive. It’s just the same old toxic crap that leads to violence against cis women, trans and non-binary people, queer cis men, and all other men who don’t conform to some prescribed form of masculinity.

Finally, let’s look at the last few lines:

And any fan of mine who’s a supporter of his
I’m drawing in the sand a line: you’re either for or against
And if you can’t decide who you like more and you’re split
On who you should stand beside, I’ll do it for you with this:
F— you!
The rest of America, stand up
We love our military, and we love our country
But we f—ing hate Trump

As I said already, he used this occasion to tell his Trump-supporting fans that he doesn’t want them. Did you know that Eminem is the top-selling hip-hop artist of all time? He can probably afford to lose some fans. But the last two lines really say it all for me. I repeat, this isn’t anti anything but anti-Trump. Eminem loves the imperialist U.S. military and the same white supremacist nation-state that he would like us to believe he was just critiquing. And he ends by confirming that this is indeed nothing more than an expression of dislike for Trump, the individual.

Hating Trump is not good enough. This was the height of performative politics. And I think it’s relevant that Eminem has an album coming out next month. Given all the accolades for this performance, I think Trump will be good for Eminem’s record sales.

My Support for Jagmeet Singh and My Understanding of Love and Courage

(Photo: Mark Blinch, Reuters)

Confession: I have never been especially excited about provincial politics. I pay enough attention to know whom I want—and don’t want—to vote for, but that is usually it. A few years ago, there was some buzz about this NDP MPP from Bramalea–Gore–Malton. More so than his politics, most of the talk was about his well-tailored suits and colourful turbans. My engagement with Jagmeet Singh’s politics happened at a time when I was quite disillusioned with politics in general. I’d grown up in a liberal-leaning household and had even been a card-carrying Liberal for a while. My gradual realization that I was not, in fact, a liberal, began in 2014, during the party’s leadership race. To my dismay, Justin Trudeau swept it without much of a platform. Nevertheless, I subsequently participated in the process of electing the federal candidate for my local riding. When the victor was the only candidate without a platform, and the only candidate who seemed inaccessible and beholden to wealthy supporters, it became clear to me that these were not my people.

The Liberals won a majority government in 2015, when awareness was being raised in the media and among the public in the GTHA about the ongoing unconstitutional practice of carding. At a time when our leaders should have been on the side of those targeted disproportionately by police, Justin Trudeau was busy propping up former Toronto police chief-turned MP Bill Blair. Most politicians at the various levels of government were mum. But NDP MPP Jagmeet Singh was not. I saw the following from Queen’s Park and thought, “Someone with some power in this place gets it!”

In Jagmeet, I saw hope for the first time in the possibility of change in Canada. I thought, “If this guy were to become Prime Minister one day, we might actually start to dismantle the white supremacist system that controls everything here.” I followed him on Twitter and Facebook to get a better sense of his policy positions. He was talking about social justice in a meaningful, passionate way—something I wasn’t getting from any other politician. The promises of “Real Change” that the Trudeau Liberals had been making seemed like mere spectacle as they carried on the legacy of their Conservative predecessors.

There was talk in Ontario that provincial NDP leader Andrea Horwath wouldn’t run again and that as Deputy Leader, Jagmeet would probably be next in line to lead the NDP in Ontario. But as it became increasingly clear that Horwath would continue in her role, I began to consider that maybe Jagmeet was ready to lead the federal NDP. Accordingly, I began stating on social media that he should replace Thomas Mulcair. Rumours began swirling early this year that he was going to attempt to do just that. So, I declared that if this were to come to fruition, despite my cynicism about politics, I would join the NDP and vote for him.

So, here we are.

All political candidates should be scrutinized and questioned on their positions, even when we like them. However, Jagmeet Singh has faced a different kind of criticism from his fellow candidates in this leadership race. He has been called everything from style-over-substance, to inexperienced, to (neo)liberal, to conservative! But his supporters, who have kept up with his policy statements and attended his JagMeet & Greets, have seen someone who believes in equity, respect, listening to and learning from each other and, of course, facing challenges with love and courage. In the first NDP leadership candidates’ debate in which he participated, he was considerably talked over. It was clear that Jagmeet was not an aggressive person. Indeed, I think anyone who has met him would agree that he exudes humility and sensitivity. In this race, he has struck me as someone who is careful about what he says and values consulting with those who are more knowledgeable on a subject before he puts forward a proposal.

(Photo mine, taken July 17, 2017)

In the current state of affairs in North America, where white supremacy is not challenged in mainstream media, we need a leader like Jagmeet Singh. This is not merely because he is a racialized Canadian—after all, this is not unique in the Canadian government—but because he has given hope to many Canadians who have felt invisibilized by the powers that be. He has shown a commitment to amplifying marginalized voices and fighting systemic racism, which is something that few politicians will even mention, let alone strive to achieve.

I am a new member of the NDP. I am by no means an expert on the party, but it has always seemed to me to be dominated ideologically by white men. However, one cannot honestly use any adjective associated with the left end of the political spectrum to describe oneself if one is not committed to the liberation of all oppressed peoples, and this liberation cannot be separated from a commitment to dismantling white supremacy. Sadly, no matter how nice and ‘progressive’ Canadian politicians are, few of them have convinced me that they are prepared to do this. It stood out to me that in the leadership debate on July 11, Jagmeet Singh and Niki Ashton were the only candidates to mention systemic racism in Canada and its violent, colonial history. Another issue that should be important to the left is that of transgender rights. In addition to the violence and murder of transgender women in particular, the Canadian populace shows significant hostility towards transgender and nonbinary people that a simple ‘X’ gender option on a government document is not going to solve (Please read Jules’ blog). Furthermore, the current government has been criticized for its failures both in upholding its promises for an improved nation-to-nation relationship with Indigenous peoples and in advancing the inquiry into missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. And, of course, there are still those defending and practising carding (or ‘street checks’ as they are often called), despite evidence that this harassment does not produce great benefits for solving crime.

While I remain cynical about politics, as I think all power structures are ultimately oppressive, an NDP under Jagmeet Singh might be our last hope of trying to effect change from within the system. His message of love and courage is one that received some laughter when he entered the leadership race. But love and courage is not a cheesy slogan Jagmeet borrowed from a greeting card or a new age self-help book. The scoffs and eyebrow raises in response to it speak volumes about how we (mis)understand ‘love’.

The concept of love is one about which I have been thinking for quite some time. So, again, I suppose Jagmeet Singh has taken centre stage in my thoughts at the right time in my life. But I will not try to speak for Jagmeet; rather, I want to discuss what ‘love and courage’ means to me.

We often think of romantic love or familial bonds when we hear the word ‘love’. Thus, it may seem out of place to talk of love in politics. Nevertheless, it does come up. The words often repeated from Jack Layton’s final letter, released upon his death in 2011 are as follows:

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.

Jagmeet’s positive message resonates with this.

As part of our understanding of love, we tend to rely on a love–hate binary. But the opposite of love is not hate; it is indifference. You either love me or you don’t care about me. Not loving me does not mean hating me. This false love–hate binary allows racism to thrive, because without expressions of hatred, a lot of people who don’t experience racism themselves don’t see it operating. This creates apathy. This apathy is how some are able to believe that the ideological positions of Black Lives Matter or Antifa are as unappealing as those of the anti-Black and fascist/Nazi forces they are battling. Furthermore, indifference is what the public generally gets from politicians, who seem to use us to get elected so they can start their real jobs of working for corporations. Love, therefore, is a promise not to be apathetic. Jagmeet has made such a promise to Canadians, to listen to them and advocate for them.

This leads me back to the question of love and hate. If not love, then perhaps the opposite of hate is acceptance or tolerance. So, if hatred is not the antithesis of love, can we effectively fight hate with love? This question is relevant in light of Jagmeet’s response when his JagMeet & Greet in Brampton was disrupted. When Jennifer Bush invaded Jagmeet’s personal space and shouted her anti-Islam rant in his face, he had little choice but to handle the situation the way he did. On the one hand, of course remaining calm and talking over someone until they get tired and leave is a positive way to handle such a situation. On the other hand, the onus is always on racialized people to be polite in the face of racism—to turn the other cheek. The global standing ovation in response to how he handled the situation was frustrating for me because I am tired of witnessing this double standard that exists for white people and everyone else. We are currently living in a time when people are advocating that we refrain from punching Nazis, as if their beliefs are no more than a difference of opinion.

The notion of showing love to bigots is one that I have difficulty grasping. Among white people, there seems to be plenty of love for bigots already and not nearly enough for those whom the bigots wish to eradicate. Just look at the nonsensical ‘Hug a Nazi’ arguments making their way into our North American media and contrast that with the indifference shown to Black Canadians murdered by police or Indigenous women and girls murdered by… we still don’t know who. It seems more reasonable to me to battle indifference with love among those who are sympathetic, and hatred with intolerance to the ideas of bigots.

As for courage, Jagmeet is certainly not lacking in this department. What we know of his personal history speaks to this. He often speaks about growing up looking different and his experiences of being carded by police. In addition, he faces significant backlash not only from the most obvious white supremacist and anti-religion camps but from those here and abroad who oppose his social justice work. The character he has shown in standing up to those who have more power than he does is another reason why Jagmeet won me over several years ago.

Now more than ever, we need a full appreciation of what love and courage are to face the threats of climate change, the exploitation of the global capitalist system, systemic inequality, and bigotry. I believe Jagmeet Singh can steer Canada in the right direction, and that is why I voted for him for NDP leader.

Bisexual Invisibility and Erasure

The following essay is part of CRUSH, a zine edited by Kat Pruss and published in September 2017 as part of Toronto’s inaugural Bi Arts Festival.

At least twice this year, a right-wing politician in North America has used the Queen song “We Are the Champions” to celebrate a victory—Donald Trump, when he won the U.S. presidency, and Andrew Scheer, when he was nominated leader of the Conservative Party of Canada. The irony was not lost on many. In both cases, people quickly took to social media to highlight the oddity of a conservative using a Queen song to celebrate his triumph. The faux pas, many argued, was owing to the fact that Queen’s frontman, the late Freddie Mercury, was gay. The problem with this is that Freddie Mercury never professed to be gay. He had relationships with both men and women. In fact, Mercury wrote the song “Love of My Life” about Mary Austin, a woman. For me, these reactions highlighted the problems of bisexual invisibility and bisexual erasure—that is, when bisexuality is ignored or dismissed because it is not seen as a real or valid sexual identity.

The fact that Freddie Mercury is known to have had relationships with men is sufficient for some people to define him as gay. But if Mercury himself never said that he was gay, why would we label him as such? It is important to note that Freddie Mercury was not very political, and he was not interested in discussing his sexual orientation with the press. That was his right, as it is everyone’s right to decide how to self-define and whether to share this information. Although he never came out as bisexual either, he did have romantic relationships with both men and women. Therefore, it is worthwhile reflecting on why so many of us assume that same-sex attraction strictly means homosexuality.

In the book Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution, Shiri Eisner (2013) suggests that among the many assumptions about bisexuality, the most popular one may be that it simply does not exist. Consequently, there is an “impression that bisexuality doesn’t appear in popular culture (or indeed anywhere) because it really doesn’t exist. This also causes people to ignore (erase) bisexuality where it does appear for that very same reason (What you know is what you see)” (p. 37). In other words, we tend to define a person’s sexuality on the basis of what we think we know about them. Not everyone who is bisexual, pansexual, or otherwise non-binary in their attractions (hereinafter bi+) comes out in the same way that people who are gay or lesbian do. And indeed, some simply cannot due to the risks involved. Ask anyone who has tried to tell people that they are bi+ and you will hear stories about being told some of the following:

“You’re just going through a phase.”

“Pick a side!”

“If you haven’t slept with a guy and a girl (or sometimes, if you haven’t had relationships with both guys and girls), how can you know?”

“You’re greedy!”

“I can’t trust you to be faithful to me.”

Just as it is for people who identify as gay and lesbian, coming out as bi+ can be difficult. As the examples above indicate, such a declaration can be met with doubt, denial, or suspicion. And once a bi+ person has relationships out in the open, their sexual orientation will usually be defined according to whom they are with—again, as Eisner (2013) states, “What you know is what you see.”

My observation is that bisexual invisibility and erasure are related to the phallocentrism inherent to patriarchy. In other words, one’s sexuality is defined according to one’s proximity to the penis. Consider the term “gold-star lesbian”—that is, a woman who identifies as a lesbian and has never slept with a man, as if that somehow makes her purer than a woman who has slept with one or multiple men. Accordingly, if a bisexual woman is dating a man, she will be defined as heterosexual. She may, however, be seen as someone who occasionally has sex with women, but probably as a performance she puts on to arouse heterosexual men. Furthermore, if a bisexual man is dating a man, he will be defined as gay, and any attraction he might have to women will be dismissed or ignored because others will look at him and see a gay man.

Besides being erased, bisexuality is sometimes demonized. The perceived threat of bisexuals is due to the fact that bisexuality is commonly equated with promiscuity. A popular assumption is that since bisexuals are attracted to more than one gender, they could never be faithful to one partner. While it is important to acknowledge that everyone has a right to sleep with as many or as few people as they want to, and to embrace or reject the idea of monogamy, it is insulting to be told that your ability to be attracted to people of multiple genders makes you untrustworthy. Yet many of us have heard someone nonchalantly admit, “I would never date a bisexual.”

The messaging in popular culture does not help. Entertainment is replete with examples of not just erasure but also outright bi-antagonism. The TV series The L Word (2004–2009) immediately comes to mind (“Bisexuality is gross”). Most commonly, there are the storylines about people leading double lives, as in the film Brokeback Mountain (2005), or leaving their spouse of many years to be with someone of the same sex, as in the Netflix show Grace and Frankie (2015– ). Such characters are always framed as gay—as if bisexuality does not exist.

Just this past Pride Month, there was an example of bisexual erasure. A popular joke arose on social media that the ‘B’ in LGBTQ+ stands for Babadook (a character from an Australian horror film). The joke started as a way to mock people who forget that bisexuality exists, especially considering that Pride was the culmination of work by bisexual and transgender activists, such as Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera, and Brenda Howard. But this joke morphed as people began sharing memes of the Babadook in front of the rainbow flag. People soon began referring to him as a “gay icon” without making any reference to bisexuality. So, despite starting out as an attempt to promote bisexual visibility, this joke eventually erased bisexuality.

In addition, as part of a larger discussion on the appropriateness of heterosexual allies participating in Pride, there was some debate about the place of bi+ people at Pride if they planned to be accompanied by opposite-sex partners. This discussion was disappointing because it reinforced monosexism and cissexism (prejudice or discrimination against transgender people). Many overlooked trans people who may appear cisgender to others and assumed that bi+ women would necessarily be romantically involved with cisgender, heterosexual men. Notably, I saw no mention of the possibility of a bi+ man dating a woman—but this is pretty standard, since bi+ men are almost always erased and labelled as gay. While I agree with the argument that bringing straight people into LGBTQ+ spaces can cause problems, I was baffled that it seemed incomprehensible to those defending this safe space that that bi+ people of varying genders might be in relationships with each other.

The above examples suggest how pervasive bisexual invisibility and erasure are. No one dominant group should speak on behalf of LGBTQIA+ people. We come from innumerable backgrounds and have a diversity of lived experiences. Therefore, we have a responsibility to listen to each other, learn from each other, and work together to ensure that all marginalized and vulnerable people enjoy their rights. I believe every aspect of identity is political. Thus, my queerness is certainly political. Everyone has the right to define who they are for themselves and should be able to choose if and when to share that information. When it comes to sexuality, the desire to understand what people are is natural. The problem is that our understanding of what people can be is incredibly limited.

Love is love?

In school, an English teacher pointed out that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. This would be reinforced time and again by teachers as the years passed. But this perspective is not one that I hear often anymore. We cling to the love–hate binary without recognizing how problematic it is. While hate is obvious, indifference is subtle, because it simply means not caring about or noticing something. While I do subscribe to the belief that we need more love in the world, is hate really the biggest problem facing those of us inhabiting one or more of the countless “other” categories? Systemic problems are far less in your face than hate and, therefore, are much stronger barriers to liberation and equity.

The message that “love is love” is a very popular one during Pride Month. Allies use it to show that they care about LGBTQ+ people and our rights, and some queer people use it to affirm their humanity in a world that has long told us we are disgusting, abominable, and even criminal. As well-intentioned as it might be, the phrase “love is love” has become something of an annoyance to me as a queer person. I find it reductive and reeking of respectability. My sexuality is not just about whom I love; it is an integral part of who I am that has helped shape my politics, my opinions, my tastes, my philosophies, and of course also whom I physically and romantically desire. It isn’t one part of me and it isn’t about anyone but me. This is why I cannot reconcile boiling down my sexuality to whom I love, and why I don’t appreciate that being done on my behalf.

“Love is love” reminds me of my youth, when I felt the need to argue why others should accept me. This would involve me defying the budding radical in me by trying to persuade heterosexuals that I was just like them, only attracted to girls. I grew out of that rather quickly. And Radical Queer was born. This is a nickname/pseudonym I used in my youth that I think I’ve earned the right to reclaim at this stage of my life. We all wish to be loved and accepted by our family, friends, and whomever we are attracted to, but what about people who yearn for societal acceptance? This is where I see a problem.

As the popular social media user and writer known as Son of Baldwin recently pointed out, ideology is greater than identity; too many people are fighting for power instead of liberation. This is why homonormativity was spawned. This is why so many people believe that same-sex marriage is the benchmark of liberty. This is why the history of Pride is so easily forgotten. This is why Black Lives Matter continues to be demonized in general and specifically for their demands relating to Toronto Pride. This is why so many privileged people—especially white people—are supporting the notion that armed police are entitled to participate in the Pride parade. Obtaining societal acceptance means proving to the powerful that you’re like them, and that includes being indifferent to other people’s liberation.

Given the focus on the issues of the most privileged members of the so-called community, some might be surprised to know that 2016 was a record year for violence against LGBTQ+ people in North America. Beyond the Pulse massacre that took the lives of 49 almost exclusively racialized people (we also don’t know how many of those 49 deaths and 53 reported injuries the 300 police officers who stormed the nightclub had a hand in), racialized LGBTQ+ people were disproportionately victims of homicide last year. And this year is not looking good either. Human Rights Campaign reports that 13 trans people have been murdered so far in the United States, most of whom were racialized trans women. Domestic violence, homelessness, and mental health are just a few other issues that go largely ignored by the mainstream. Where does “love is love” account for the basic struggle to survive?

The subtlety of indifference also manifests in monosexism (the assumption that everyone is attracted to one sex or the belief that bisexuality and pansexuality don’t exist), which is something that I personally deal with regularly. The heterosexual–homosexual binary is constantly reinforced. While we all know what the ‘B’ in that acronym means, bi+ people are often erased from the image of queerness. This is actually happening as I write this. A popular joke arose this Pride Month on social media that the ‘B’ in LGBTQ+ stands for Babadook (a character from an Australian horror film, for those who aren’t horror buffs). The joke started as a way to mock people who forget that bisexuality is a thing, considering that Pride was the culmination of work by bisexual and transgender activists. But now this joke has morphed into yet another example of erasure, as monosexuals share images of Babadook in front of the rainbow flag and refer to him as a “gay icon” without making any reference to bisexuality.

We can also see the erasure in the phrase “love is love” in its exclusion of people who are aromantic. Some people assume the ‘A’ in the longer acronym LGBTQIA stands for ally—because heaven forbid nice straight people not be centred! In fact, it means asexual/aromantic. We tend to overlook these valid identities because North American culture in particular emphasizes romantic love and sex. So, here, if you are not seeking either or both of these things, you are outside the norm. Actually, that is the definition of queerness—all the more reason why ace and aro people should be celebrated in the queer community. In this vein, “love is love” removes the individuality from a person’s identity and connects it to the pursuit of romantic love. This is the same thing that has been done to heterosexuality—reducing that identity to some Disneyfied quest for a happily ever after that will make the person feel complete. So, if it has overtaken the dominant group, it should come as no surprise that this has been put on queer people too, as homosexuality has gained increasing acceptance. I’ve seen the result of this in queer spaces, where love is celebrated instead of identity. It’s a bit like Valentine’s Day in that respect. What about people who aren’t in committed relationships? Are they less valid? And what should queer people’s relationships look like?

As part of the larger discussion on the presence of straight people at Pride, there was a more focused debate recently on Twitter about the place of bi+ people at Pride if they are there with opposite-sex partners. This discussion was very disappointing because it reinforced monosexism and cissexism (prejudice or discrimination against transgender people) by overlooking trans people who may appear cisgender to others and relied on the assumption that bisexual and pansexual women would necessarily be romantically involved with cishet men if they were with someone of a different gender. Notably, I saw no mention of the possibility of a bi+ man dating a cis woman. But this is pretty standard; bi+ men are almost always erased because they are assumed to be actually gay. While I agree with the argument that bringing straight people into LGBTQ+ spaces can cause problems, it seemed incomprehensible to those defending their safe space that queer people would be attracted to other queer people across genders—i.e., that bi+ people of varying genders might be in relationships with each other. I suppose this bothered me so much because attraction to queerness irrespective of gender is the basis of my sexuality.

Coupling should not be the standard for validating or determining a person’s sexual orientation. My journey to self-acceptance and understanding has been long and essential to my well-being. But it has been my journey. This doesn’t mean that the love and acceptance I’ve received in my life haven’t been immensely important to me—even life altering. It’s that they didn’t make me love and accept myself; I had to get there on my own. So, I wonder, if we focus on love and define ourselves according to a partner, what implications does that have for coming to terms with ourselves as queer people? The positivity this Pride Month has been abundant, but the visual representation of queerness has overwhelmingly involved representations of romantic relationships.

The following provides a basic graphic representation of one interpretation of sexuality—emphasis on basic.

If “love” is the benchmark, does that mean that support from allies, and even the dominant gays and lesbians in the community, is conditional on coupling and commitment (the one person of the same sex)? Where does that leave polyamorous people; people who aren’t, or maybe don’t want to be, in a relationship; people who unashamedly enjoy sex, but not love, with multiple partners; people who are genderqueer; people who are intersex; people who are asexual; people who are bisexual and homoromantic? I could go on. The point is that those under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella are highly diverse in all aspects of identity. While “love is love” might sound affirming and inclusive to some, to me, it removes politics from queerness and negates the vast majority of us.

Whiteness is the problem

The debate in response to Hal Niedzviecki’s insulting editorial “Winning the Appropriation Prize” in the recent issue of Write magazine, which was intended to spotlight the work of Indigenous writers, shows that we don’t have a diversity problem in Canadian media but a whiteness problem.

The issue of inclusion/diversity is one that surfaces often in relation to print and TV media. For years, the public has been complaining about the lack of visible minorities on the CBC, for example. An important discussion on the CBC between Jesse Wente and Jonathan Kay on May 13 sheds light on the real problem.

As Jesse Wente points out right away, Canada itself is an example of appropriation. This is something that tends to remain unacknowledged by anyone who isn’t an Indigenous person. Canada is a colonial settler state; we live on stolen land, where the colonial perspective dominates any discussion of history, past or ongoing. Indeed, our government continues to push the idea that we should be celebrating 2017 as the 150^th anniversary of this country’s existence. What? Apart from the obvious fact that this landmass we call “Canada” existed long before 1867, does Confederation generally get the average Canadian excited? I know it’s what Canadians celebrate every July 1^st, but I’m not sure they all know that colonialism is what they’re celebrating. So, why exactly is a government that purports to be committed to truth and reconciliation so eager for us all to participate in insulting Indigenous peoples further by extending the one-day annual celebration to the whole year?

Jonathan Kay, who is no stranger to controversy, reinforces his social location throughout his commentary in the CBC video, as he tends to do. He accuses the Writers’ Union of Canada (TWUC) Equity Task Force of trying to shame Niedzviecki and commends less strident voices for critiquing Niedzviecki in a way that Kay finds more appropriate. Let me clarify what I’m getting that: Kay chooses to use his first minute of airtime (1) to admonish the TWUC Equity Task Force for being mean to the white editor who used his position to undermine the purpose of the issue of the magazine and (2) to tone police, which includes applauding those whom he perceives as the good detractors. Kay then goes on to criticize the TWUC Equity Task Force again for going after Niedzviecki for being racist, as if he had said “something that was akin to neo-Nazi propaganda.” Kay also admits that he did not like the editorial either because it was “flippant about a serious subject and insulting, given that the issue itself was about Indigenous writers.” This highlights a common problem in the discussions surrounding racism in this country. Many seem to be under the impression that racism means only using racial slurs and promoting or committing violence against racialized people. This is why Jonathan Kay could criticize the editorial on Saturday despite having chosen to put himself in the middle of the “Appropriation Prize” controversy on Twitter on Wednesday: he seems to believe that he is one of the good white people.

But nothing about whiteness is good. This is something that has to be acknowledged if we are to truly change how this country operates. By continuing to focus on diversity and inclusion, we continue to uphold whiteness, because demands for representation and inclusion allow white people to continue in their role as gatekeepers. Between minutes 6:40 and 7:48 in the CBC video, Jesse Wente sheds light on this problem.

At this point, Jonathan Kay tries to distance himself from the controversy by clarifying that he wasn’t one of the people who offered to put up money for the “Appropriation Prize.” So, once again, we see the narrative of the good white guy creep in. But as I stated above, Kay actually chose to insert himself in this controversy in the first place by taking to Twitter to criticize those reacting to the offensive editorial. That he did not offer to donate to fund this fictitious prize is not the point—and, in fact, in highlighting this, he chooses to centre himself in the larger debate. It is somewhat ironic, then, that good guy Jonathan Kay did not use his position to tell the other white editors/writers that they were being insulting, if that is what he truly believed at the time. It is easy to apologize for not calling them out after contemplating the reactions to their statements. Yet Kay shows his unwillingness to listen by continuing to use this CBC platform to chide the TWUC Equity Task Force for accusing Niedzviecki of racism.

As Jesse Wente asserts, we need to move past apologies and reach a point where we see real change, and we must “move beyond conflating free speech debate and artistic expression with ongoing colonial appropriation.” After all, the popular accusation is one of political correctness run amok any time whiteness is called out for doing what whiteness is meant to do—centre and uplift itself as if it is innately rational, righteous, and meritorious.

Interestingly, Kay unwittingly underlines the problem of whiteness when he reassures us that the first issue editors discuss at meetings is diversity. In other words, the media has always been controlled by white people and continues to be controlled by white people, who have the privilege of selecting which other voices they will allow to enter their space. This matter was most recently visible in the case of columnist Desmond Cole’s resignation from the Toronto Star, whose gatekeepers seem to have had a problem with his activism.

It is unfortunate that we are still in an environment where Jesse Wente has to participate in such discussions with the likes of Jonathan Kay, and that he must do so with such composure. If Wente were to express himself in a way that the white establishment deems impolite, he would no longer have a voice in mainstream media. And that is the crux of the diversity matter: no matter how many diverse faces and voices are out there, well-off white people continue to make the decisions. We do not need to work harder at diversity and inclusion; we need to replace the system so that whiteness is no longer synonymous with decision-making in this country. And since those who belong to the establishment are so fond of the idea of people coming up based on merit, surely they won’t object to such a change.