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.