Queer Exile, and looking back at those left behind

After wrapping up our discussion on LGBTQ+ people in rural contexts, I wanted to take a step back and identify with Eli Clare's Exile & Pride. 

Looking back on his queer development in rural Oregon, Eli says, "I would never walk down Main Street holding hands with a [same-sex ] lover. That simple act would be too much." Eli's fear of being identified as queer by those in his community is not an experience limited to rural lives. 

Growing up in densely populated Miami, I, too, feared holding hands with my same-sex partner as we walked the malls in my hometown. Despite Eli's claim that urban life offers a deeper level of anonymity, I still believed that someone who knew my family could be lurking around and quickly reveal my queerness. 

As a result of some of this identity suppression, and in seeking to move into the middle class, Eli decided to leave his rural hometown. I also identify with Eli on his reasoning for leaving his hometown. As he stated, "simply put, my desire for [queer] community, for physical safety, for emotional well-being, and psychological comfort compelled me to leave."

I, too, found that despite living in a city, I was surrounded by emotional instability and lacked a free connection with the queer community. My unsupportive and openly homophobic family turned the big city away from anonymity into a place of anxiety and discomfort. Like Eli, I wanted to move out to a place where there was no one who had participated in my abuse. 

It is interesting how similar mine and Eli's experiences were despite our differences in upbringing. I often wonder if the rural-urban divide represented much of a difference at all. This made me wonder about the many barriers the queer experience can transcend.  

Despite deeply identifying with Eli's "exile," I think back mostly to what Eli says when discussing queerness as urban-centered. In embracing an urban lifestyle... " Have we collectively turned our backs on the small towns?...  that one by one are passing local anti-gay ordinances." 

Recently, Florida has become infamous for trailblazing anti-LGBT+ legislation. This makes me think back on the queer friends I have left behind. Florida is becoming hostile to LGBT+ people, regardless of whether they are rural or urban.  

Most recently, Florida's newest bill HB991, makes it a per se defamation claim to accuse people of transphobia or transphobic discrimination. This bill entitled those "defamed" to damages of at least $35,000. On its face, this bill will lead to chilling speech for those critical of Florida's anti-LGBT+ bills. This law may be targeted against those who pinpoint and criticize the transphobia inherent in Florida's, also recent, banning of gender-affirming care for minors. 

However, this is only the beginning of Florida's hostility towards the trans community, with another anti-LGBT bill recently proposed in Florida. The "reverse woke" act is seemingly a sequel to the stop-woke bill that passed in Florida last year. This reverse woke act attempts to influence insurance companies to stop providing any gender-affirming care. The act states that any employer or insurance company providing gender-affirming care will be forced to, in perpetuity,  provide care that "reverses gender dysphoria treatment."

The confusion and ambiguity brought on by the "reverse woke" bill is not a new strategy for Florida Governor Ron DeSantis. Last year, Florida's "Don't say gay" bill used similar ambiguity to ban discussions of LGBT identity in Florida classrooms. The bill's vague language led to the adoption of a wide range of different and often discriminatory school policies. 

For starters, less populated counties like Alachua County now mandate their students use bathrooms according to their “biological sex” to better align with the law. Similarly, the more populated Orange County School District in Orlando verbally warned all its teachers not to wear rainbows, to remove all pictures of same-sex spouses, and to remove all LGBTQ+ safe space stickers from classroom doors. Further, the Miami-Dade school district preemptively stripped all its schools of LGBT+ protections and banned discussions of the Supreme Court's same-sex marriage decision, Obergafell.

In going back to Eli's words, I find that, like those from rural communities, I sometimes struggle with whether to return to my hometown, despite the contrast in population. In light of Florida's antics, the question has become harder to answer. It seems like some experiences from the rural-urban divide aren't so different after all.