LGBTQIAPK. Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender/Transexual, Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Pansexual/Polyamorous, and Kinky.
Thatâs right. There are new letters. Itâs an expanded acronym designed to be even more inclusive of gender identities and sexual orientations. It takes up two lines on my page, and it does some heavy lifting. The beauty of that acronym is that itâs shared. It binds us together into a community thatâs big enough to speak up and be heard.
That function saved many of our lives in the 80s when the willful silence of Reaganâs administration during the AIDS crisis would have exterminated our community if not for loud protests from well-networked and organized groups like ACT-UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power).
Our acronym works because when one is in trouble, there are many to help. But weâre losing sight of its significance.
People in and out of the LGBTQIAPK community are using the term âqueerâ as shorthand for our diverse community. âQueerâ instead of non-binary. âQueerâ instead of trans. âQueerâ instead of asexual. âQueerâ instead of gay, even. You get the point. The motivation there is questionable. It might be laziness. Or it might be something more positive; a drive to feel closer to one another, for all to sit at one table. On an individual level, it might be a means to avoid discussing our identities with curious strangers.
I sat next to Roxy at Twist, Seattleâs Queer Film Festival. Sheâs a 56-year-old, self-described âbutch lesbian.â We went into that term, âbutch.â
âIâm actually non-binary,â she said. Roxy only just discovered the term and began using she/they pronouns a year ago. When she wants to avoid a conversation about intersectionality, she often just says sheâs queer. âMy partner usually tells people sheâs gender-queer,â she confided, âwhich doesnât avoid much.â
Yet, the term âqueerâ can be homogenizing. When itâs used for a collective (i.e. âthe queer communityâ), it doesnât give us much room to be different â and we are different. Our experiences vary greatly. Itâs important to recognize that, because our need for the network of support we developed in the 80s is the same.
According to Human Rights Campaign, last year 29 trans people were murdered; this year, the tally is already at 22 â and these are only confirmed homicides, and do not take into account trans individuals who are currently missing. To call us all âqueerâ is to equate the trans experience to, for example, the gay experience. The problem with that is that gay people arenât being murdered at the rate trans people are. Saying âqueerâ instead of trans erases the specificity our community relies on to rally behind a group that needs support.
We did and do not come together because we are all the same. Itâs important to remember that our sameness is not our point of commonality. Our point of commonality, the genesis of our alliance, is fighting to survive a strong and deadly heteronormative current. The symbol of that alliance? Our acronym. Thanks to our acronym, not a single sentence is written without each of us present. Thanks to LGBTQIAPK, we all sit at one table in full appreciation and recognition of our diversity in sexual orientation and gender identity. âQueer,â on the other hand, forces us to share a seat. It imagines a sameness in experience that, frankly, doesn’t exist. It behaves like the trans or non-binary or intersex experience can be likened to the gay experience when the they are each unique.
The acronym is better. But itâs also true that we seldom have a conversation with a heterosexual person without them bringing up how long the acronym is getting. The skeptic will wonder: By adding more letters, are we forgetting that we need to be understood when we speak up? Are we making indigestible alphabet soup? Theyâll think itâs the last thing we need.
But âqueerâ muddies the water. In fact, itâs âqueerâ that makes us hard to understand. It isnât a show of solidarity as much as it is a disservice to our mission of equal rights and equal treatment.
In ditching LGBTQIAPK for âqueer,â we are silencing a minority of important experiences and turning our backs on the letters of our acronym which most need our support. When did we forget that, for us, silence = death?