UNDERSTANDING THE HETEROSEXUAL WORLD AS A QUEER WOMAN
I first felt that I was
attracted to women as well as men when I was eleven years old. The only
vocabulary I knew to label this feeling was ‘bisexual’. Over the years, I went
from believing “I think I am bisexual, but it can only be confirmed once I have
a physical experience” to “I am definitely bisexual, however this word makes me
uncomfortable” to finally the peace I experience now with the statement “I am a
queer woman”.
Language is important. The
words that women use and how we use them has the potential for the radical
redefining of convention. What does it mean to be queer? Similar to ‘slut’ and
‘feminist’, queer is a word that has been reclaimed from being a derogatory
slur used by bigots against us, to something we proudly declare as our
identities.
I feel that ‘queer’
represents my identity better due to the fluidity of the word which requires me
to explain myself less to other people and makes me feel more empowered. The
fact that bisexual has the suffix -sexual in it often results in unnecessary
hyper sexualisation and fetishization.
Bisexual invisibility and
erasure both within the LGBTQIA+ movement and in the wider world are very real
challenges. It is expected of everyone that we are born straight, and that we
must spend our adolescence and early adulthood striving to find the perfect
partner of the opposite sex. I have definitely thought about how my life will
be much more challenging if I have a female partner compared to having a male
partner. Bisexual people have a choice – be with a person of the opposite sex
as you are expected to do or make the hard decision and live your life as a
queer person. We walk on the line between straight and gay and straight is much
safer which is why there is so much bisexual invisibility in society.
Every aspect of our societal
and community lives are built upon the expectation that all people are straight
and will enter man-woman relationships and uphold traditional family dynamics.
This is what we call heteronormativity. To be heterosexual is the norm and to
go against the norm, to not be straight, is a defiant act.
When two women are in a
relationship with no men involved, it challenges and refuses to uphold the
patriarchy in their personal lives. Saying “We do not need a man to be
fulfilled” and living an entire life man-free is a big political statement. It
disrupts the heteronormative expectation on which our society is
single-handedly built.
The social, cultural,
political and economic dimensions of our world rely on compulsory
heteronormativity to continue functioning seamlessly. Compulsory
heterosexuality is propagated by everything we hear and see around us. A heterosexual
relationship is the focus of 90 percent of movies, television shows and songs.
It is the focus of 90 percent of conversations that we find ourselves in during
our ‘peak reproduction age’ – especially for women.
“Do you have a boyfriend?
Should we find someone for you? It’s time to get married, look at everyone
around you! Your clock is ticking!”
This conditioning to be
culturally straight runs deep for women, and the spaces where we can question
whether we are allowed to have relationships beyond this social framework is
really not easy, especially in Nepal. Men are also affected by this societal
pressure, but it is seen as much more acceptable for a man to be single in his 40s
than it is for a woman. The patriarchy tells us throughout our lives that we
need a man. In Nepal, our reliance on men is forced upon us explicitly. When
we look at the most disadvantaged communities, this is a matter of survival, of
violence.
I truly believe that many
more women, and men, fall on the queer spectrum than they are socially given
permission to explore. If a woman’s straightness is essential for her to
survive in a patriarchal society, then a man’s straightness is enforced upon
him so that toxic masculinity can survive as the powerful and oppressive tool
that it is. In conclusion, compulsory heterosexuality hurts us all.