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227 pages, Paperback
First published November 8, 1999
it is worth noting that the subject of same-sex marriage is so thoroughly mediated by public-sphere discourse that few can think about the topic apart from some kind of narrative about long-term social change, usually on the national scale. Mere mention of "gay marriage" triggers a consciousness of national policy dispute. It is as though a pollster and a reporter were in your bedroom, asking you if you wanted a judge or a cop to join the party. (134)
People who think that queer life consists of sex without intimacy are usually seeing only a tiny part of the picture, and seeing it through homophobic stereotype. The most fleeting sexual encounter is, in its way, intimate. And in the way many gay men and lesbians live, quite casual sexual relations can develop into powerful and enduring friendships. Friendships, in turn, can cross into sexual relations and back. Because gay social life is not as ritualized and institutionalized as straight life, each relation is an adventure in nearly uncharted territory—whether it is between two gay men, or two lesbians, or a gay man and a lesbian, or among three or more queers, or between gay men and the straight women whose commitment to queer culture brings them the punishment of the "fag hag" label.
There are almost as many kinds of relationship as there are people in combination. Where there are patterns, we learn them from other queers, not from our parents or schools or the state. Between tricks and lovers and exes and friends and fuckbuddies and bar friends and bar friends' tricks and tricks' bar friends and gal pals and companions "in the life," queers have an astonishing range of intimacies. Most have no labels. Most receive no public recognition. Many of these relations are difficult because the rules have to be invented as we go along. Often desire and unease add to their intensity, and their unpredictability They can be complex and bewildering, in a way that arouses fear among many gay people, and tremendous resistance and resentment from many straight people. Who among us would give them up?
If there is such a thing as a gay way of life, it consists in these relations, a welter of intimacies outside the framework of professions and institutions and ordinary social obligations. Straight culture has much to learn from it, and in many ways has already begun to learn from it. Queers should be insisting on teaching these lessons. Instead, the marriage issue, as currently framed, seems to be a way of denying recognition to these relations, of streamlining queer relations into the much less troubling division of couples from friends. (115-6)
The sexual cultures of gay men and lesbians are, after all, cultures in ways that are often forgotten, especially when they are treated simply as a mass of deviants looking for hormonally driven release. They recognize themselves as cultures, with their own knowledges, places, practices, languages, and learned modes of feeling. The naive belief that sex is simply an inborn instinct still exerts its power, but most gay men and lesbians know that the sex they have was not innate nor entirely of their own making, but learned—learned by participating, in scenes of talk as well as of fucking. One learns both the elaborated codes of a subculture, with its rituals and typologies (top/bottom, butch/femme, and so on), but also simply the improvisational nature of unpredicted situations. As queers we do not always share the same tastes or practices, though often enough we learn new pleasures from others. What we do share is an ability to swap stories and learn from them, to enter new scenes not entirely of our own making, to know that in these contexts it is taken for granted that people are different, that one can surprise oneself, that one's task in the face of unpredicted variations is to recognize the dignity in each person's way of surviving and playing and creating, to recognize that dignity in this context need not be purchased at the high cost of conformity or self-amputation. Within this queer world we recognize, usually tacitly, that the norms of the dominant culture would quash the scene we're participating in. It is therefore best understood as a counterpublic. Its openness, accessibility, and unpredictability are all marks of its publicness. (177-8)
Pornography and adult businesses jeopardize the amnesias separating sex and public culture in large part because of their physical orientation toward an indefinite public; they are media of acknowledgment. Having been reared in the bosom of Jesus, I never, it happens, saw gay porn until I began graduate school. I had had sex with men for years on the side, but I didn't think I was gay. I thought I was just wicked. The first porn images I saw, in a magazine belonging to a friend, set me suddenly to think, "I could be gay" Why did those pictures trigger my recognition when years of sleeping with men somehow didn't? It's because the men in the pictures were not only doing what I wanted to do, they were doing it with a witness: the camera. Or rather, a world of witnesses, including the infrastructure for producing, distributing, selling, and consuming these texts. This whole world could be concretized in places like Christopher Street or Times Square, but also in the formal language of pornography. In order for the porn to exist, not only did some of its producers have to have gay sex, they and many others had to acknowledge that they were having it. What is traded in pornographic commerce is not just speech, privately consumed; it is publicly certifiable recognition. This is part of the meaning of every piece of porn, and what is difficult to communicate in the dominant culture is that the publicity of porn has profoundly different meanings for nonnormative sex practices. When it comes to resources of recognition, queers do not begin on a level playing field (184-5)
The queerness that is repressed in this view may be finding expression in risk. Sex has long been associated with death, in part because of its sublimity. There is no sublimity without danger, without the scary ability to imagine ourselves and everything we hold dear, at least for a moment, as relatively valueless. In this context, the pursuit of dangerous sex is not as simple as mere thrill seeking or self-destructiveness. In many cases it may represent deep and mostly unconscious thinking, about desire and the conditions that make life a value. (213)
In those circles where queerness has been most cultivated, the ground rule is that one doesn't pretend to be above the indignity of sex. And although this usually isn't announced as an ethical vision, that's what it perversely is. In queer circles, you are likely to be teased and abused until you grasp the idea. Sex is understood to be as various as the people who have it. It is not required to be tidy, normal, uniform, or authorized by the government. This kind of culture is often denounced as relativist, self-indulgent, or merely libertine. In fact, it has its own norms, its own way of keeping people in line. I call its way of life an ethic not only because it is understood as a better kind of self-relation, but because it is the premise of the special kind of sociability that holds queer culture together. A relation to others, in these contexts, begins in an acknowledgment of all that is most abject and least reputable in oneself. Shame is bedrock. (35)
You learn that everyone deviates from the norm in some context or other, and that the statistical norm has no moral value. You begin to recognize how stultifying the faith in the norm can be. You learn that the people who look most different from you can be, by virtue of that fact, the very people from whom you have the most to learn. Your lot is cast with them, and you begin to recognize that there are other worlds of interaction that the mass media cannot comprehend, worlds that they can only deform when they project images of ghettos and other deviant scenes. To seek out queer culture, to interact with it and learn from it, is a kind of public activity It is a way of transforming oneself, and at the same time helping to elaborate a commonly accessible world. (70-1)
For this reason, paradoxically the ethic of queer life is actually truer to the core of the modern notion of dignity than the usual use of the word is. Dignity has at least two radically different meanings in our culture. One is ancient, closely related to honor, and fundamentally an ethic of rank. It is historically a value of nobility. It requires soap. (Real estate doesn't hurt, either.) The other is modern and democratic. Dignity in the latter sense is not pomp and distinction; it is inherent in the human. You can't, in a way, not have it. At worst, others can simply fail to recognize your dignity. These two notions of dignity have opposite implications for sex. The most common judgments about sex assign dignity to some kinds (married, heterosexual, private, loving), as long as they are out of sight, while all other kinds of sex are no more dignified than defecating in public, and possibly less so. That kind of dignity we might as well call bourgeois propriety In what I am calling queer culture, however, there is no truck with bourgeois propriety. If sex is a kind of indignity, then we're all in it together. And the paradoxical result is that only when this indignity of sex is spread around the room, leaving no one out, and in fact binding people together, that it begins to resemble the dignity of the human. (36)
Sullivan's main argument here has had an extremely powerful influence, even on people who otherwise disagree with the often cantankerous and eccentric Sullivan. Nearly everyone, it seems, wants to be normal. And who can blame them, if the alternative is being abnormal, or deviant, or not being one of the rest of us? Put in those terms, there doesn't seem to be a choice at all. Especially not in America, where normal probably outranks all other social aspirations. What immortality was to the Greeks, what virtù was to Machiavelli's prince, what faith was to the martyrs, what honor was to the slave owners, what glamour is to drag queens, normalcy is to the contemporary American. Of course people want individuality as well, but they want their individuality to be the normal kind, and given the choice between the two they will take normal. But what exactly is normal (p. 53)?
Marriage, in short, would make for good gays—the kind who would not challenge the norms of straight culture, who would not flaunt sexuality, and who would not insist on living differently from ordinary folk. These behavioristic arguments for gay marriage are mostly aimed at modifying the sexual culture of gay men. Left and right, advocates of gay marriage assume that marriage as a social institution is, in the words of Bishop John Shelby Spong, "marked by integrity and caring and . . . filled with grace and beauty"; that it will modify "behavior"; and that a culture of "gay bars, pornography, and one-night stands" is desperately in need of virtue.
This idealization of marriage is typical of those who are excluded from it: priests, gays, adolescents. It shows an extraordinarily willful blindness. As one observer notes: "to presume that morality follows on marriage is to ignore centuries of evidence that each is very much possible without the other." Worse, it is predicated on the homophobic equation of "gay bars, pornography, and one night stands" with immorality—the very equation against which the gay movement came into being. If the conservative arguments against gay marriage reduce to almost nothing but homophobia, these arguments in' favor of it are powered by homophobic assumptions as well.
It may be more precise to call these arguments anti-queer rather than homophobic, and as a way of commandeering the resources and agenda of gay politics, that's what they are. Yet the image of the Good Gay is never invoked without its shadow in mind—the Bad Queer, the kind who has sex, who talks about it, and who builds with other queers a way of life that ordinary folk do not understand or control. Marriage could hardly produce in reality the Good Gays who are pictured in this rhetoric: gays who marry will be as likely to divorce, cheat, and abuse each other as anyone else. The more likely effect is much uglier, since any politics that makes full social membership conditional on the proprieties of the marital form is ultimately a way to pave over the collective world that lesbians and gays have made. From the homophile movement until recently, gay activism understood itself as an attempt to stave off the pathologization of gay life—by the police, by the McCarthy inquest, by psychologists and psychiatrists, by politicians, by health and sanitation departments. Now we are faced with activists who see the normalization of queer life precisely as their role (pp. 113-114).
The implication tends to be that those who favor sex, especially casual sex, are opposed by those who favor romantic love. But queer culture is the last place where this opposition should be taken for granted. One of its greatest contributions to modern life is the discovery that you can have both: intimacy and casualness; long-term commitment and sex with strangers; romantic love and perverse pleasure. To cast the conflict as one between sex and love is to deny the best insights and lived experience of queers (p. 73).