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Aug. 24th, 2022 03:54 pm
A retrospective on exclusionism
Content warning: discussion of acephobic rhetoric, mentions of panphobia, mentions of anti-xenogender rhetoric
Before I get into the rest of this entry, I should make it abundantly clear that I am not an exclusionist, though I used to be one. When I was an exclusionist, I did not harass inclusionists nor did I engage in debate or argument. I strictly kept to myself and lurked. I don't engage in inclus/exclus discourse at all anymore, but I align myself with radical inclusionist values. I firmly believe that it's inappropriate for me to dictate which words someone uses to describe their experiences and whether or not their experiences are real, and I am supportive of good-faith identities. That being said:
Based on anecdotal evidence, I have reason to believe that young queer folk are vulnerable to exclusionist ideology. I see it all the time online, and I was even an exclusionist until I was 18. I think I first started internalizing exclusionist values when I was 14 or 15, when I was first exposed to it. My exclusionist talking points mainly centred around whether or not asexuality was an inherently queer identity, the "problematic" history of pansexuality, discriminatory rhetoric against xenogender folk and neopronoun users, and opposition to "contradictory" labels (e.g. bi lesbians, he/him lesbians, etc). I would spend hours scrolling through exclusionist tags on Tumblr, reading what other people had to say about it, and looking for in-depth explanations supporting exclusionist beliefs. I would never engage in debate with inclusionists, nor did I believe in harassing people (I was a shithead self-righteous kid, not malicious), but there was one instance when I expressed my exclusionist takes on Twitter and somebody picked a fight with me in my replies. I was also even in a Facebook group that was dedicated to the mockery and harassment of Lucien Frost, which is. Such a horrifically awful part of my history, good lord.
I'm really grateful to have escaped the exclusionist 'community' (is it really a community if it's built on hateful ideals?). It was really, really toxic and it made me feel so deeply angry all the time. I was angry at other people who were simply trying to live authentically, and I wanted to stop them somehow because I was convinced they were 'wrong'. There is no wrong way to exist when you aren't harming others. Queer people's identities are not wrong by virtue of being confusing, obscure, or new. I'm glad I realize this now, and I'm ashamed for believing otherwise for so long and for the damage I caused by upholding exclusionist beliefs.
I know that the popular rhetoric for why young people fall into exclusionist thought is because of their own insecurity with their marginalized identity. They feel vulnerable in a society that is fundamentally opposed to their existence, and they thus target a sub-group within their own community to blame for their oppression. They feel so vilified that they curate this narrative that other queer people are the enemy, as a way to placate the majority group. I think this was at least partially true for myself. I was an ace exclusionist because I didn't believe that asexual experiences were inherently aligned with the queer experience, nor did I believe that asexuals are systemically oppressed. I think I, as a young white trans man, was so desperate to feel... something. I don't know what I was seeking. I think I wanted a 'pure' queer community, comprised of exclusively queer people who deal with 'real' issues, and I took this out on the ace community (which is profoundly fucked up). But I don't think that my experiences fit the common narrative for why young people are exclusionists, because it didn't stem from any insecurity that I can identify several years later.
If you know someone who is currently an exclusionist, it can be frustrating. I've been there, I've been the stubborn and hateful exclusionist. I think my advice to anyone who loves an exclusionist but hates their exclusionist opinions is to be patient with them. I think a major issue with exclusionists is not wanting to actually listen to opinions that contradict their beliefs (I've seen it, a lot), but if your loved exclus is willing to actually sit down and listen to you, that's huge. The main idea that made me come to my senses and abandon exclusionism is the fact that you don't have a say in how another person identifies, nor are you even capable of judging whether or not their experiences are real. If your loved exclus is causing you distress on a regular basis, it's okay to take space from them. Exclusionist energy can be draining as fuck, it was draining for me to just harbour exclusionist beliefs, but you come first. And you may not be able to change their mind; that isn't your responsibility.
This is getting preachy, so it's time to hop off my soap box. I didn't write this post to participate in inclus/exclus discourse, I just wanted to talk about my own experiences and why I think I held those beliefs. I'm just glad that I changed; I'm more at peace now.
Before I get into the rest of this entry, I should make it abundantly clear that I am not an exclusionist, though I used to be one. When I was an exclusionist, I did not harass inclusionists nor did I engage in debate or argument. I strictly kept to myself and lurked. I don't engage in inclus/exclus discourse at all anymore, but I align myself with radical inclusionist values. I firmly believe that it's inappropriate for me to dictate which words someone uses to describe their experiences and whether or not their experiences are real, and I am supportive of good-faith identities. That being said:
Based on anecdotal evidence, I have reason to believe that young queer folk are vulnerable to exclusionist ideology. I see it all the time online, and I was even an exclusionist until I was 18. I think I first started internalizing exclusionist values when I was 14 or 15, when I was first exposed to it. My exclusionist talking points mainly centred around whether or not asexuality was an inherently queer identity, the "problematic" history of pansexuality, discriminatory rhetoric against xenogender folk and neopronoun users, and opposition to "contradictory" labels (e.g. bi lesbians, he/him lesbians, etc). I would spend hours scrolling through exclusionist tags on Tumblr, reading what other people had to say about it, and looking for in-depth explanations supporting exclusionist beliefs. I would never engage in debate with inclusionists, nor did I believe in harassing people (I was a shithead self-righteous kid, not malicious), but there was one instance when I expressed my exclusionist takes on Twitter and somebody picked a fight with me in my replies. I was also even in a Facebook group that was dedicated to the mockery and harassment of Lucien Frost, which is. Such a horrifically awful part of my history, good lord.
I'm really grateful to have escaped the exclusionist 'community' (is it really a community if it's built on hateful ideals?). It was really, really toxic and it made me feel so deeply angry all the time. I was angry at other people who were simply trying to live authentically, and I wanted to stop them somehow because I was convinced they were 'wrong'. There is no wrong way to exist when you aren't harming others. Queer people's identities are not wrong by virtue of being confusing, obscure, or new. I'm glad I realize this now, and I'm ashamed for believing otherwise for so long and for the damage I caused by upholding exclusionist beliefs.
I know that the popular rhetoric for why young people fall into exclusionist thought is because of their own insecurity with their marginalized identity. They feel vulnerable in a society that is fundamentally opposed to their existence, and they thus target a sub-group within their own community to blame for their oppression. They feel so vilified that they curate this narrative that other queer people are the enemy, as a way to placate the majority group. I think this was at least partially true for myself. I was an ace exclusionist because I didn't believe that asexual experiences were inherently aligned with the queer experience, nor did I believe that asexuals are systemically oppressed. I think I, as a young white trans man, was so desperate to feel... something. I don't know what I was seeking. I think I wanted a 'pure' queer community, comprised of exclusively queer people who deal with 'real' issues, and I took this out on the ace community (which is profoundly fucked up). But I don't think that my experiences fit the common narrative for why young people are exclusionists, because it didn't stem from any insecurity that I can identify several years later.
If you know someone who is currently an exclusionist, it can be frustrating. I've been there, I've been the stubborn and hateful exclusionist. I think my advice to anyone who loves an exclusionist but hates their exclusionist opinions is to be patient with them. I think a major issue with exclusionists is not wanting to actually listen to opinions that contradict their beliefs (I've seen it, a lot), but if your loved exclus is willing to actually sit down and listen to you, that's huge. The main idea that made me come to my senses and abandon exclusionism is the fact that you don't have a say in how another person identifies, nor are you even capable of judging whether or not their experiences are real. If your loved exclus is causing you distress on a regular basis, it's okay to take space from them. Exclusionist energy can be draining as fuck, it was draining for me to just harbour exclusionist beliefs, but you come first. And you may not be able to change their mind; that isn't your responsibility.
This is getting preachy, so it's time to hop off my soap box. I didn't write this post to participate in inclus/exclus discourse, I just wanted to talk about my own experiences and why I think I held those beliefs. I'm just glad that I changed; I'm more at peace now.
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