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.