The value of writing about our queer experiences lies in diversity

When I think about how to define queerness, which is an utterly undefinable concept, the closest thing I can reach is Eve Sedgwick’s famous passage from Society and the Individual: “queerness is the open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning when the constituent elements of anyone’s gender, of anyone’s sexuality, aren’t made (or can’t be made) to signify monolithically.”

I use this quote in every one of my Women and Gender Studies essays, so it’s only fitting for me to use it here as well. At the risk of turning this into a scholarly article rather than an editorial, I’d like to include some more relevant ideas on queerness and society:

In her article “Punks, Bulldaggers and Welfare Queens,” Kathy Cohen explains that “the hallmarks of queer-ness should be marked by anti-normativity.” Her examples are people who live within the margins, and especially how their sexuality is policed: Latinx single mothers, drag performers, butch lesbians. Their experiences are all vastly different, but they are “queer” because they defy the monolith of heteronormative, cisnormative, and monogamous sexual identity. I think it is important to see the word “queer” not just as an identifier of non-heterosexuality, or even of non-normative gender identity (though these are of course valid descriptions), but also, more broadly, as any way of experiencing sexuality outside of what is generally considered “normal.”
Gayle Rubin puts this into visual terms with her diagram of The Charmed Circle (procreative, married, hetero, vanilla, etc.) vs. The Outer Limits (homosexual, promiscuous, commercial, etc.). In this way she demonstrates how societally acceptable sexual behaviours are set in opposition to what is considered “sexually deviant” behaviour—in other words, what is considered “queer.”
There is queerness in more aspects of our lives than we imagine. It is difficult to encompass what being queer actually is, what it means, and what it feels like, because all our experiences as queer people are fundamentally distinct. The way I experience my own lesbian identity as a white, middle-class, non-binary, feminine-presenting person is obviously very unfamiliar to those with different identities and embodied experiences than me. We can’t all be everything at once. That’s why a diversity of voices is so important. At Vic, we often shy away from topics like love and sex, which I attribute to the “bubble effect” that comes from our relatively small community. It’s hard to open up and talk about your private life, so to speak, when you know your readership is the same people you see on campus every day. We wanted to break that barrier.

So, welcome to The Strand‘s first identity issue. Our reasoning behind putting out a Queer Issue was that we rarely cover much content about LGBTQ+ issues. Beyond that, though, we wanted to open up the floor to new ways of expression. It seemed too contrived to set out with the express intention of filling all our usual sections with “queer content,” whatever that means, so this issue ended up being a fluid, unidentifiable mess. I mean that in the best way possible.

Within these pages we’ve managed to gather poetry, artwork, personal essays, and news articles on topics ranging from RuPaul’s most recent transphobic comments to diversity in theatre at Vic and beyond. I think I speak for everyone at The Strand when I say that we are so incredibly proud of this issue and we can’t thank everyone enough for reaching out and contributing in such a meaningful way.

I told myself I wouldn’t get all emotional and mushy in this editorial, which has become more of an Editor’s Letter, but I feel so strongly about all these works and so lucky to be in a position where I was able to read them and help curate this issue.

I don’t want to come across as deluded, however. I know that not everyone is able to make themselves so visible and vulnerable, and that the agency to write for The Strand, a campus publication, is a privilege in itself. I’d like to dedicate this issue to anyone who felt like they would have something to contribute to the Queer Issue, but for some reason or other weren’t able to submit.

This is for you! I hope you feel at home here.