The Feminist Magazine of The University of Oregon
THE SIREN
the Pride Issue
“I’ve never interested i invisible an
been in being nd erased.� Laverne Cox
from the editor It’s been a whirlwind of a year creating and collaborating with many amazing people during my time as the Editor-In-Chief of The Siren. This Pride Issue is the culmination of my work. I was surprised to learn that The Siren has not had an LGBTQIA+ focused issue before, at least to my knowledge. I set forth to create a magazine that reflects some of the various aspects of the community, especially since I would be finishing the magazine during Pride Month. As a history note, Pride Month exists to commemorate the Stonewall Riots of 1969, a riot sparked by Black Trans Woman Marsha P. Johnson to fight against the discrimination the community faced from police. During those times, homosexuality was “illegal” and harrassment was common. On June 28, 1969, patrons inside the Stonewall Inn, a Gay bar in Greenwich Village, resisted and rioted against the police discrimination after they raided the bar. The riot sent the police and the rest of the country a loud and clear message about their frustrations with the treatment towards the LGBTQIA+ community. From then, the Gay Rights Liberation movement sprung. And from then, until now, vast improvements in the the fight for equal rights have been granted to the community. In the U.S., same-sex marriage was legalized by the Supreme Court in 2015. Sadly, discrimination and violence still exists, especially under the current administration. The fight continues now and in the future until we can all chant, once and for all, “Love has won.” Love, Amy Garay-Azucena Editor-In-Chief
contributors Carson Scott Mike O’Ryan Kiva Hanson Mecca Donovan Allison Barr Hannah Smudland DeForest Rolnick-Wihtol Nicole Francisco Neeka Safdari
The Siren is published by the UO Women’s Center. We are the only student-led feminist publication on campus. It is our mission to cover contemporary feminist issues and act as an outlet for the creative and intellectual development of people of all genders.
Editor-in-Chief Amy Garay-Azucena Art Director Brooke Harman Web Writer Carson Scott Web Illustrator Hannah Smudland UO Women’s Center Oregon Web Press
Cover Photography by Allison Barr
BY HANNAH SMUDLAND
table of contents 07
LGBTQIA+ Film Recommendations
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To My Lovebug/My Sea Turtle/My Person (Poem)
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T-Shirts (Poem)
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Photography
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Some Thoughts on Bisexualty and Pansexuality
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LUCIFER or I COME OUT TO MY MOTHER ON A TUESDAY
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A History of the Rainbow Flag
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Interview with Alok Vaid-Menon
LGBTQIA+ Film Recs BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN Dir. Ang Lee (2005) Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain was the best American film of 2006. Despite getting snubbed at the Oscars that year, its spell wasn’t soon lost on critics and audiences. This is a devastating portrait of two cowboys attempting to navigate and survive the nuances of what blooms into something much more intricate than a passing dalliance while being rooted in an ultra-toxically-masculine culture. The moments in the film in which the two lovers possess sovereignty over their yearnings shine like small treasures. Parallel to this, the instances of self-suppression and oppression are palpably suffocating. Lee’s artistry allows for an idiosyncratic romance to remain its own while simultaneously portraying a tale that’s universally relatable. Despite the violence suffered at the hands of their oppressors, the fact these men were able to discover themselves with each other in the thick of Wyoming’s vast landscape remains a kind of doleful miracle. BY MIKE O’RYAN
BLUE IS THE WARMEST COLOR (La Vie d’Adèle) Dir. Abdellatif Kechiche (2013) Blue is the Warmest Color is a French LGBTQ+ romantic drama film about a French teenager, Adele, who discovers a warm and unique type of love when meeting a blue-haired aspiring painter, Emma. The film follows their journey in uncovering and experiencing a new level of desire and freedom while living in this world. Together, they explore social acceptance, sexuality, and the emotional spectrum of their maturing relationship. BY MECCA DONOVAN SOMETHING MUST BREAK (NÅNTING MÅSTE GÅ SÖNDER) Dir. Ester Martin Bergsmark (2014) A Swedish film about the self discovery and exploration of Sebastian as they transition into Ellie. The film explores ideas of gender expression, love and self acceptance as well as the discrimination and oppression Trans Women face. BY KIVA HANSON 8
To my Lovebug/my Sea Turtle/my Person: you know you are my first love. and my forever love. what you may not know is that I knew I would fall in love with you when you detailed all of the Little Things that bring you joy; that I knew I would fall in love with you when you kissed away my tears when I first cried in front of you; that I knew I would fall in love with you when I held back your hair That One Time (you know the time); that I knew I would fall in love with you the first time I saw you dance, blissful, eyes glistening; that I knew I would fall in love with you when you said you loved disco and sang How Deep Is Your Love; that I knew I would fall in love with you the first time I wanted to write for you, and the first time you read to me; that I knew I would fall in love with you when we watched Amélie and the words “how could I live without you” flashed across the screen; that I knew I would fall in love with you when I realized I wanted to fall asleep holding you.
you may not know that your eyes bring me back to the sea, espresso-colored as they may be; that some moments with you are so perfect, so much like a scene in one of our favorite films, that I have to remind myself that you are real; that your art , more than Van Gogh’s or Monet’s, reminds me of the beauty in the world; that I cant imagine making something of myself, in Brooklyn or wherever I find myself, if you arent’t there with me; that when you play with little Cashi, I am entirely sure that your heart is bigger than the vast beautiful sky itself, bigger than all the stars and the sun. you may not know that I love you *because of* what you call “flaws,” *not* in spite of them; that I love Every Little Thing because Every Little Thing is part of what has made you into the Extraordinary Person you are; that our love is irrefutably the Most Extraordinary Thing I have ever experienced. loving you is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever done. thank you for loving me. BY ANONYMOUS 10
BY ISSIDORA LAMBERT-FORTOUL
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BY ALLISON BARR
BY CARSON SCOTT
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some thoughts on bisexuality & pansexuality: 1. a bi/pan person is neither half straight nor half gay. they are 100% who they are. they can be bi/pan as fuck, if that is how they identify. 2. bi/pan people, particularly those who are feminized and/or People of Color, experience some of the worst health outcomes of any identity because of stigmatization, so please don't participate in biphobia, bierasure, or monosexism. the B and P in LGBTQIAP+ belong just as much as any other letter. 3. if someone coming out to you comes as a surprise, consider how coming out is only necessary because others assume, without having been told, that LGBTQIAP+ folks are straight. in this heteronormative society, everyone is assumed to conform to the norms, but that assumption erases all queer people and minimizes their existence. 4. parents should not "dream" about their children's weddings and then blame their children if their "dreams" do not match up with reality. a person having a spouse of a different gender than their parents had "dreamed" is NOT something they should be punished for. a person's wedding should fulfill THEIR dreams, not their parents'. LGBTQIAP+ folks deserve autonomy and agency, just like everyone else—whether they choose to get married or not. 5. when somebody tells you who they are, please believe them.
BY NEEKA SAFDARI
LUCIFER or I COME OUT TO MY MOTHER ON A TUESDAY
Your mother is a statue when you tell her, your feet turned in from shame in your brother’s old shoes, his hand-me-down sneakers and his disappointment smelling of apricots, of old love. She is the first house you ever lived in, but she has never understood your body, how it warps, turns to seawater with her touch. You tell her G-d still loves you, as if that will help, that you stand sexless like his angels, holy in love. G-d matters less and less to you these days, she is your G-d, you want her to strike you or at least say something, break her stony face with tears. The apricots have started rotting — your brother moved away as soon as he turned eighteen, as far from you as he could go, left you barefoot and smelling like too-sweet wine. Your mother is a graveyard when you tell her, a lodestar, the burial ground for your trauma. Her teeth are tombstones, and when her mouth spreads open, it is like some leaking wound, and you are struck and cast down, a comet, the prayer still unspoken but your body angelic: holy; reborn. BY DEFOREST ROLNICK-WIHTOL 16
A History of the Rainbow Flag
BY AMY GARAY-AZUCENA
Attend any Pride parade, and surely the Rainbow Flag, or the Pride Flag will be waving from paraders hands, draped across like capes, pinned on clothing, printed on t-shirts - on display as a symbol of solidarity and pride. The Rainbow Flag has a long history as the symbol of the LGBTQIA+ movement and pride. The first flag was designed in 1978 by Gilbert Baker, a San Francisco artist and openly gay activist. In 1974, Baker met Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in California, encouraged Baker to create a symbol of pride for the gay community. It’s said that Baker drew inspiration from the Flag of the Races, a popular flag in the 1960s that represented and called for world peace through the unification of races included the colors red, white, brown, yellow and black. Other inspiration is said to have come from Judy Garland’s song “Over the Rainbow” as Garland was revered as the first gay icon.
With the challenge on hand, Baker’s original design included eight colors, which each held a specific meaning:
Hot pink - Sex Red - Life Orange - Healing Yellow - Sunlight Green - Nature Turquoise - Magic and/or Art Indigo - Serenity Violet - Spirit Baker sewed and dyed the fabric himself, and it’s popularity and use grew after as it became recognized as a symbol of Pride. The eight color original flag first flew at the San Francisco Gay Freedom Pride Parade celebration on June 25, 1978.
Baker and 30 others commandeered the washing machines of a public laundromat in order to rinse the dye from the stripes of the flag, and later sew them together into a large flag to fly and display at the parade. The design was popularized and the demand for the Rainbow Flag grew tremendously in the aftermath of violence against LGBTQIA+community members or harassment from the public or police. The six color flag we all recognize today came about in 1979, as the production of the flag was increasing and certain colors were dropped for a variety of reasons. First, the hot pink stripe was dropped, as the pigment necessary for the stripe was difficult to source, and creation of the flag had moved on from hand-sewn and to being produced to sell in retail stores.
Second, the turquoise stripe was dropped to ensure symmetry in the design, as having an odd number of colors made displaying the flag vertically (from the top of buildings or lampposts, for example) awkward. The Rainbow Flag’s symbolic meaning and universality has remained strong since it’s first incarnation nearly 40 years ago. In 1994, a mile-long version of the flag was paraded through the streets of New York to mark the 25th anniversary of the 1969 Stonewall riots. It holds the record for the longest flag ever made and the event helped solidify the Rainbow Flag’s symbolism permanently into social consciousness. Today, the flag is everywhere,representing pride, hope and diversity for the LGBTQIA+ community. 18
Interview with Alok Vaid-Menon BY NICOLE FRANCISCO POSTER ARTWORK BY KIVA HANSON
The Women’s Center hosted it’s 18th annual OUT/LOUD Queer and Trans Womxn’s Performance Fest in May, with a special speaker and performer Alok Vaid-Menon. Alok is a Gender Non-Confomring perfomance artist, writer, educator and entertainer. The event honored the struggles of Queer and Trans Women of all races, ethnicites, abilites and age. The interview was conducted by the Women’s Center's LGBTQIA+ Coordinator, Nicole Francisco. N: What has traveling on this tour been like for you? A: I’m of two minds and two hearts about it. In one theory, where I grew up was not a good place, so I always have a desire to leave. So I think it’s very difficult for me to stay in one place. I associate that with being trapped. So, I often say the most at home I feel is when I’m on the road, because then I know I don’t have to stay. What I have been recently realizing in myself is that traveling allows me to feel like I’ve done self work that I haven’t actually done. Because I need people to return to to actually hold me accountable. When I’m traveling I am able to say, “this is who I am” and then we both believe it. When I’m with community that constantly interfaces with me I’m able to actually see, “am I changing my habits?” So I think that I’m trying to find a balance between wanting to run and also needing to be in a dynamic of return.
N: What is it like to be in a virtual community? A: Growing up I didn’t have access to people. And so I found the internet. I’ve been on the internet now for a very long time in very different capacities. The internet was where I got my main interlocutors and people who said, “you’re an artist and what you’re doing is important” and validated both me and my art. It was and continues to be such a foundational space to get inspiration, to feel like I’m not alone, to make my work accessible to the people that I want to read it and experience it. But that being said, I’ve recently become much more skeptical of the internet. The violence that’s required from being visible always makes me think is this worth it? Because something as simple as sharing an image of myself and being told to die. Am I gaining from this? Who’s gaining from this? I’ve just become sort of aware of the fact that we live in what I’m calling a ‘digital zoo,’ where the object is now starting to look at the other, but not to do anything about it. So, I put out all this stuff and I still experience all this violence. I used to
20
think of them as a disconnect, but now I see the larger algorithm. That we use social media as a way to navel gaze on other lives and other ways of being, but that doesn’t necessarily propel us into action. So I think that I’m now really thinking how do I use the internet to get people meet me physically and then try to make a call for action? I really have been returning to the need for touch, because I think especially when it comes to the Trans experience, very few people actually know Trans people, but they follow us online. And that’s such a strange dynamic. I think that one of the biggest things killing Trans people is social isolation. That people just don’t actually have friends who see them for them. So what I really want is for people who follow me online to be like, “there are Aloks around me” and to go and find those people and become friends with those people. And I don’t know if that’s happening because I think that we mistake the simulation as the real. And so I see the ways that participates in a broader economy, where we are reproducing loneliness. I think the internet is making us more lonely. Because it creates potentialities that we aren’t actually experiencing. So the disconnect between what could be and what is gets bigger and bigger and bigger. And that means our threshold for trauma gets bigger and bigger and bigger. So it’s confusing that there’s good and bad to everything. But for my own practice, I’m reconsidering presence. And that’s why I’ve really double downed on not allowing videos of my shows. Which is something I think a lot about because I really want this performance to be out there for people, I really want them to see my new work. But something gets lost when you’re looking at me through a camera. And regardless of what your intentions are. The algorithm and the device has been created to turn me into a meme and to not see me. So I’ve been really now trying to claim the space of performance as a space outside the digital. I don’t want to call that subversive or resistance, I don’t think it needs to be, but I think it is.
N: Can you speak about the body as a site of resistance? A: There becomes this sort of dynamic where sex is the body, gender is the adornment. And that’s not how I understand the world. This idea that this is just my expression, that the clothing is the add on and the “real” is the body. That’s really what I’m trying to tear apart. I’m trying to say that the costume is the reality. All this circulation of a natural body, that’s all a costume too, darling. It’s just certain costumes get made into identities. Whereas the rest of us are just seen as drag. I think I use style to be constantly evolving. To be a reservoir for memory, I remember from when and where I bought everything I’m wearing. And I love putting memories in conversation with each other because it reminds me that I’m just a composite of all these totally disparate worlds. I love bringing together fabrics and colors and styles that the world sees as clashing, because what are we but clash? I love having fun. And I think most of all I love creating joy for myself, because the violence I experience is such that I am constantly stripped of my joy. So when I’m able to encounter myself in my full adornment, I’m able to feel joy.
N: How has the experience of putting your clothing line out there publicly been for you? What was that process like? A: I’m very happy that people support me in doing this work. I think I felt insecure about it because aesthetics are constantly dismissed as illegitimate form of politic because of our deep misogyny. We constantly see aesthetic work as frivolous, not as legitimate or real. And I know that the reason I’m being punished is because of my aesthetics. I know there’s a materiality to that violence, we’ve just not caught up to that. So I know when I’m creating images, I’m doing political work. I know that I’m creating social reality when people see a body like mine and clothing like that. I know that image is doing things. But people don’t legitimize that. And so it’s been really wonderful to feel that people are starting to understand that the production of images and representation is political. But at the same time, it’s disheartening. You know, I paid for all that myself. And that’s just the reality of being a Trans creator. With a limited budget, I pull off worlds. Imagine what it would look like for a company or an investor who actually had money and was trying to do something to actually pay me. So, I worry that we romanticize the DIY. I mean, yes, I’m proud of us for creating things despite having no resources. But what would we look like if we actually had resources? Our aesthetics are traveling, it’s just that we’re not. And I worry because I’m basically showing all these companies how to be fashionable. My Instagram account is unpaid labor. I’m literally showing all these companies, all of these major brands with way bigger budgets than, [I’m showing them] this is what’s cool. And that’s what the history of Queer culture is, literally us, our bodies being separated from. It’s always a dangerous game. I want to the world to see this stuff, but I know what going to happen. I can already foretell that the sort of things that I’m making will get taken up by these fast fashion companies and then marketed as new, innovative, and original on white, thin, hairless, cis people. And they’re going to be heralded as revolutionary and groundbreaking. Whereas I’m going to still be paying my own friends to be my photographer.
N: What are some of your thoughts on memory? In particular I’m thinking about some of your poetry where you refer back to your former selves, and how to speak to the past self to create and constantly create out identities. A: What happens when I start to write, I just recollect. Writing is a way to unearth a lot of things that I’ve deposited in there and compartmentalized in there. I think for me that’s been a coping strategy. To have fully felt the things I’ve had to go through, I don’t think I’d still be here. Writing is how I deal with, reckon with, cope with, encounter. So, I always cry when I write. That’s why I don’t shame people for not processing your feeling in the moment; sometimes you can’t. For me, writing and performance has been a way of really dealing with that. And I think what I try to do is take the old and make the new and recognize that those things are simultaneously the new and the old. I’m really done with the idea of being original. Innovation, original… those are things that I just hate. What I’m doing is making collages out of memories, old things. And then making something new, performing it to audiences and it becomes something else. So, everything is the product of the things that were before it.
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