SINCE 1906
Western University’s Student Newspaper
Pride Pride Issue
ANASTASIIA FEDOROVA GAZETTE
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TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2021 •
VOLUME 114 ISSUE 6 Guest Editor Brad Moir Contributors Alex McComb Anastasiia Fedorova Bella Pick Ben Kitching Caroline Alpert J. Gerantonis Matthew Myles Matthew Plaskett Sally Co Scott Ho
Teigan Elliott Wiktoria Pestka Willem Hart
Rebecca Streef Sekar Shan Taniya Spolia
Editor-in-Chief Emily Tayler
Copy Editors Bella Pick Elizabeth Hart Faith Caswell Gabby Glasier Hope Mahood
Managing Editor Rania Osman
Graphics Anastasiia Fedorova Composing Erin Grace Liam Afonso Maja Anjoli-Bilic
LOVE IN COLOUR CAROLINE ALPERT
TABLE OF CONTENTS 3
Letter from the editor
4
Reflections made at the local Pride parade
6
Current LGBTQ+ issues
7 Why there’s an overwhelming amount of self-identifiers 7
The struggle of dating apps for trans people
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Letting children transition isn’t ruining their life
9
Fight on
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Crossing the finish line
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Understanding asexuality
HEART & PRIDE CAROLINE ALPERT
12 Zamir Fakirani on being the first openly gay USC president 13
Pride at King’s
14 Rest 15
Let’s talk about queerbaiting LOVE IN COLOUR CAROLINE ALPERT
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Letter from the Editor The president of Spectrum reflects on how COVID-19 has impacted the queer community By Brad Moir, president of Spectrum A lot has changed over the past year. At first, many of us thought the coronavirus pandemic would be taken care of in a timely manner, that in a few weeks, things would be back to normal. But what is “normal”? We live in a society that is ever changing, in some ways for the better, yet normal seems to always find its place. Normal is a subjective term, while an overarching understanding of what it means to be normal exists, being normal can look a little different for everyone. Queer people have and continue to be viewed as not normal — though that has not stopped us yet. The pandemic has been difficult for so many people: lives lost, lack of governmental aid, isolation and more. Those who compose marginalized groups have faced substantial blows. When someone gets knocked down, many people would say they just need to get back up. Imagine how difficult it would be to get back up if a dozen people were holding you down. That is the reality for many folks. These people holding you down are barriers and systemic inequalities that exist in our society. We can say our society is progressive, but is that really the case? Sure, there have been improvements over the years but at the end of the day it is still an inequitable society. For queer people, a sense of community and belongingness is incredibly important. Community is what unites us, inspires us and comforts us. COVID-19 has drastically altered what this sense of community looks and feels like. We may still be able to connect via FaceTime or Zoom, but it is not the same. There is something special about physically being with people who are like you — people who can understand and relate to the struggles you have endured, people who have felt the pain one feels when they have been ridiculed, tormented and outcast for being themselves. Some folks have had to move back home with their family, potentially a family that does
not support or understand them. An individual’s chosen family, can be so important to their well-being and many are not able to be together. So many people feel alone. But, the beauty of a community is that you are truly never alone. Whether we are in the same room or on other sides of the world, we are a community. To those who feel that they have no one who cares about them, values them or loves them: you are not alone. You may not explicitly see it, but there is someone in your corner. I am in your corner. We may not know each other yet, but you are not alone. You are valid, you are unique and most importantly, you are loved. In a society that tries so hard to invalidate us, to shame us and to tear us apart, we have yet to let it happen — and we don’t plan to start.
DISSONANCE SALLY CO
COURTESY OF BRAD MOIR
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Reflections made at the local Pride parade By Teigan Elliott
It’s 42 degrees Celsius at the local Pride Parade.
Still, the people keep dancing,
Even with the clouds casting their grey hue on the day
Nevermind makeup melting off of their faces,
The people are their own rainbow.
The music plays on, the people cheer.
The humidity pulls sweat from us like it too needs water to survive,
I’m taking in this cacophony of colour.
And in all honesty, I am a little bit miserable.
Glitter, feathers, spidery eyelashes, flags.
To my left, a couple of drag queens make their way down the parade line.
Is this what Pride is?
With their long legs and high heels they look like decked out giraffes,
When I was a kid this is most certainly what I thought Pride was.
And I admire their ability to walk 3 meters without toppling over.
An annual parade.
To my right, a volunteer is handing out brochures on practising safe anal sex.
I think this is what many people visualize when they hear the word Pride,
This will be a small taste of the city of tents I encounter later
But what about the other 364 days of the year?
Filled with pamphlets on HIV, STIs and consent.
We shed our gay apparel, clean off the makeup and glitter,
The first few drops of rain go unnoticed.
But, my God, we are still quite queer.
The next few we all feel.
It’s not a jacket we shrug off when we arrive home from a party.
I’M WATCHING YOU CAROLINE ALPERT
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No, it’s a layer of our skin that won’t be shed.
It’s your ability to love the same gender.
Pride is the gay men at the parade, but it is still the gay men on the bus ride home hurrying to
My bathroom doesn’t look like a Pride Parade,
wipe themselves clean of sparkles.
But it is where I faced my mirror and practised saying I’m bi.
Pride is the drag queens strutting down that asphalt runway, but it is also the new queens
A minivan is not a parade float,
tending to the blisters on their feet as they grow accustomed to stilettos.
But it is where I said I like girls out loud for the first time
Pride is finding that first friend to come out to.
And my friend told me she did too.
It is when the tears come, the first few unnoticed, the next few strongly felt.
Do you see what I am trying to say yet?
It is packing your bags to move away from a family who did not choose you, to one that chooses
This community I love,
you everyday. Pride is finding a binder that fits right. It is finding a lover who fits right. Finding a name that fits right. It is cutting your hair short in spite of your parents’ disapproval. It is holding on to your light even when living in shadows. It is love. It is love it is love it is love. It is sex but it is also, so much love. It is 12 year old me looking up “kissing girls” on Youtube,
It is more than the month of June, More than a movie genre or a porn category, More than the H&M Pride collection, More than those rainbow company logos that vanish July 1st... Pride is coming together. Building ourselves back up. It is a history of holding our heads high. When they throw stones, we throw bricks. They shoot at us with bullets. We count our wounded, count our dead, cry together, heal together. What is Pride?
And it is 14 year old me pretending I didn’t wish one of my girl friends was my girlfriend.
We take a look around at the scattered debris.
At 17 I came out, and Pride was there then.
We pick each brick up,
It is my ability to love all genders.
And then we build a home.
LET YOUR INNER BEAUTY SHINE CAROLINE ALPERT
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WIKTORIA PESTKA
TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2021 •
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The struggle of dating apps for trans people While some apps are becoming more inclusive, many aren’t built with LGBTQ2+ folks in mind By J Gerantonis Dating apps have become the new normal way of meeting people and, although convenient, they don’t always serve as a safe space — especially for the trans community. Some apps, such as Tinder and Bumble, allow users to set their gender to what is most comfortable to them. This can go beyond just “male” and “female,” including labels like transmasculine, transfeminine and non-binary. Regardless of these efforts, not all users could be considered trans allies — making these dating apps restrictive for trans people. For some trans students, using dating apps doesn’t feel like an option. Chloe, a third-year management and organizational studies and French student, is a trans woman. She started the process of medically transitioning about two months ago when she began hormone replacement therapy. “I look almost nothing like a girl because I’m so early into estrogen, and if I tried to [use dating apps] now, it wouldn’t end very well,” says Chloe. The Gazette has removed Chloe’s last name to protect her privacy. Although she safely used dating apps before coming out as female, she no longer feels out of harm’s way as she now identifies as trans. Her biggest fear is encountering “chasers.” Chasers are people who seek out trans people solely because they are trans. They are only interested in trans individuals as a fetish and constantly bring up their genitalia even as it is an uncomfortable topic. While some trans people choose to be “stealth” and not openly tell others they are trans to avoid uncomfortable situations — Chloe believes that people who have medically transitioned for a longer period of time would have a safer experience on dating apps. Liam Pridding, a third-year sociology and criminology student, is a trans man who has been on hormone replacement therapy for just over a year. He has been using dating apps for almost a year on and off. “When I started out transitioning, I don’t think I would have ever gone on a dating app,” says Pridding. “I think that once you’ve transitioned a bit longer, you have a bit more of a confidence boost.” Despite his ability to be perceived as masculine, Pridding still experiences discrimination. “People will say ‘you belong on Grindr’ … or that I need to date another transgender person and that I shouldn’t be able to date a cis[gender] female,” he explains. “I feel like the biggest component is feeling confident and comfortable in who you are and just connecting with other people that are open-minded.” During his time on dating apps, Pridding has been open about being trans and has matched with a number of students from both Western University and Fanshawe College, noting that many of them also identify within the LGBTQ2+ community. “I tend to feel fairly comfortable if people have their pronouns in their bio. It kind of makes me
SEKAR SHAN GAZETTE
feel like they would be an ally, even if things weren’t to move in a romantic sense,” he explains. He has been able to meet understanding people on these apps, making new friends along the way. Matching with people from Western feels less daunting as the university community has been open about supporting trans people through trans-friendly initiatives, such as implementing gender-neutral washrooms and preferred name changes. “I would probably feel more comfortable [connecting] with Western students because we’re from the same university with the same morals and the same values,” says Chloe. Overall, Pridding’s experience with people on dating apps has been mixed. “I feel like there’s always people that will be negative and unwelcoming,” he says. “Some do take quite an interest. Some are ‘I really want to know your whole story and tell me when you started transition,’ which is really nice.” Once she has been on hormones for a longer period of time, Chloe says being trans still isn’t something she will immediately disclose to strangers. However, she also doesn’t think she’ll go back on dating apps. “I don’t really feel the need. Especially when I’m going through a medical, social and legal transition,” she says. “I’ll give them a try, but I prefer meeting people face-to-face.”
Why there’s an overwhelming amount of self-identifiers By Scott Ho Inside the gay psyche, between thoughts of iced coffee and stanning female pop icons, there exists a massive vocabulary of queer terminology. Meanings often overlap, which begs the question — why do so many similar words exist? All words are subjective — they take on meaning when we process them. In addition to the dictionary definition, we also perceive subtle nuances based on past associations with the phrase. Take “gay,” for example. Despite being defined as an adjective to describe homosexuality, someone’s past bullying might add a negative connotation, making it uncomfortable for them to identify with the word — they might opt for an alternative like “queer.”
This is one of the driving reasons behind why there’s so much LGBTQ2+ terminology for self-identification. Some members of the community are constantly searching for a word that has the perfect combination of associations. It’s only natural that new terms are created to keep up with demand. Though we explore trauma as a factor, this barely scratches the surface — the topic is bottomless, which, in itself, is beautiful. The pride rainbow is a mosaic of sexual and gender minorities, so it’s only fitting that there’s an endless amount of self-identifiers to reflect the community’s boundless diversity. Queer folks are walking dictionaries, and that’s something to celebrate.
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Letting children transition isn’t ruining their life By J. Gerantonis
REBECCA STREEF GAZETTE
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ome children start identifying as a gender different than the one they were assigned at birth as early as three years old. Although they may not have the language to know what being transgender means, they still know they aren’t their assigned gender. Rebekah Bruesehoff is a 12-year-old transgender girl. From the time she was three, she would avoid anything that was considered “for boys” and by age seven, her mental health was declining so fast that she was talking about ending her life. At the same time, she was consistently telling her parents that she was a girl. After allowing her to socially transition at the age of eight her parents noticed a significant change in her overall mood. Allowing children to socially transition is one aspect of transitioning as a child, often including the changing of pronouns and names. But, another potential aspect of a child’s transition is the use of hormone blockers. Hormone blockers are given to children and teens who have yet to go through most of puberty. They will stop or delay the
release of estrogen or testosterone to help elevate gender dysphoria — the stress that is caused by the mismatch between one’s assigned sex and gender identity. Hormone blockers can prevent the development of breasts or a deeper voice, which can allow trans kids to fit in better with people in their class and not be pointed out as the “different” boy or girl. The only thing that can change when a child is allowed to take hormone blockers is an improved sense of confidence around themselves and others. A lot of people see children identifying as trans as a phase that they will eventually outgrow. Although there are no recorded global statistics, the National Health Service in the UK reported less than 1 per cent of their clients regretting transitioning. Even if this does occur with a young person on hormone blockers, these blockers are an easily reversible process. Once blockers are stopped, the body’s natural hormone will take over and will begin developing its associated characteristics. Hormone replacement therapy is often the next step after hormone blockers, which does have some irreversible components.
However, most children aren’t put through this process, as cisgender kids also haven’t gone through puberty yet, either. In order to go through the process of either hormone blockers or hormone replacement therapy, most countries need a gender dysphoria diagnosis from a licensed professional. This can require many hours for consultations and waiting time. Medically transitioning is not a process taken lightly by professionals, and it shouldn’t be, involving in-depth conversations with parents and the child. It isn’t something that is given out to anyone who requests at the snap of a finger. Beginning to transition at an earlier age can give trans individuals a greater feeling of overall satisfaction with themselves and life in general. Both socially transitioning and early stages of medically transitioning are reversible processes if it comes down to it, so why not let your child live as the person they want to be? Parents allowing their children to transition is not encouraging “trans behaviour,” but rather letting them be happy and true to themselves.
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FIGHT ON FIGHT ON
IN MY HEAD SALLY CO
A story that you know
It gets better they tell you
The fight inside a mind
With an unconvincing grin
An ode to the kid going through the toughest time
The fight is never over Never lose or let them win
A fight to love and a fight to be They prescribe you normalcy
The haters and the noise
“You be blue and you be pink”
Let them see let them see Who are you?
Trying to learn in a place but finding loss and finding pain
Whatever that you want to be
The pressure to conform can drive you literally insane Child stay loud, be proud Don’t be ashamed of yourself or who you know
Don’t curse the struggle you’re blessed with
Deep inside
Give it some time
Learn to breath and learn to see
Then go share with the world your essence
After all the tears are cried
By Willem Hart
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Crossing the finish line LGBTQ2+ student-athletes talk breaking down sports’ heteronormative culture By Alex McComb
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hen the first openly gay National Football League draftee, Michael Sam, was picked by the St. Louis Rams in 2014, he was seen, on live television, kissing his boyfriend at the time of the announcement. In the hours and days that followed, he was met with hateful comments on social media — with people outraged that he was “shoving his sexuality in their faces.” Similar actions by his heterosexual peers were left untouched. Diversity at work, in the classroom and even in sport, more often than not, translates into a statistic. But inclusion is much more than a number — it’s something you feel. According to studies from Out on the Fields and OutSport in 2015 and 2019 respectively, there is a pattern of homophobia in sports today that makes LGBTQ2+ athletes feel excluded and unaccepted within the athletic community. About 80 per cent of participants in the study said they have seen or experienced homophobic behaviour at a sports event. In 2019, almost 90 per cent of LGBTQ2+ athletes reported that homophobia and transphobia are still major issues they face on the field, court and ice. “Throughout my whole [athletic] career, definitely towards the beginning when I was still trying to come to terms with my sexuality, I’d say there were some struggles with [acceptance],” says Menley Langham, a Western Mustangs swimming student-athlete. “I hadn’t always had supportive teammates growing up.” She was surrounded by derogatory statements that held little value to her peers, with shouts of “that’s so gay” flying through her high school hallways and athletic facilities. Langham believes that statements like this are to blame for much of the homophobia that has upheld a heteronormative sports culture. As the sports community becomes more open to accepting diverse sexualities, young LGBTQ2+ athletes can find representation within professional athletics. “Just having those people be open and authentic and come out, even when they’re professionals and there’s a lot at stake for them, is so helpful for younger athletes who might be questioning themselves,” she says. Stephanie Labbé, a Canadian international soccer goalkeeper, and her girlfriend, Georgia Simmerling, a Canadian road and track cyclist, are two high-profile athletes that have set an example for the community. Langham also points to Markus Thormeyer, a
Canadian world champion swimmer who came out as gay in February 2020. Thormeyer wrote an Op-ed in OutSports explaining that he hid his sexuality for years, but performed even better after coming out to the public. “Whenever you’re completely, authentically yourself, you’re not hiding anymore from your teammates or your coaches. It gives you the potential to be the best performer and athlete you can be,” Langham explains. Langham expresses that while coming out was a significant moment in her life, she never felt the need to announce it to her teammates in the locker room. “It was never really talked about,” she recalls. “That was important because I know some people prefer having a sit down with their teammates but for me, I wanted to be treated like everyone else. I didn’t want it to be a big thing.” The fourth-year student-athlete hopes to see more widespread education on LGBTQ2+ issues in the future. She mentions that Allies on Campus — a program dedicated to empowerment and preventing sexual and gender-based violence at Western — has taken initiative on that issue and helped create a more supportive campus environment. While she hasn’t met many Mustang varsity athletes in the LGBTQ2+ community, she has made many connections on campus through a Facebook group she and her friends started. Its purpose is to allow LGBTQ2+ Western students share their stories and connect with other people in their community. Langham hopes that the group can draw more followers, especially student-athletes. “There’s an unspoken support and connection with other LGBTQ athletes,” she explains. “It’s not really something that people talk about much but I think it would be fantastic if there was something implemented that did connect our athletes because it’s such a unique experience.” For Western students and student-athletes who have yet to come out and be open about their sexuality, Langham says that they shouldn’t rush if they don’t feel comfortable yet. When they do feel like it’s time to take that step, she hopes that they’ll be able to live a much more full and authentic life — just like Langham has been able to do since she came out. “Once you are ready, just know that you are so supported and you’re definitely not alone,” she says. “You’re not the only student-athlete out there who identifies within the LGBTQ community.”
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ANASTASIIA FEDOROVA GAZETTE
Understanding asexuality By Anastasiia Fedorova
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odern conversations about relationships, dating and love almost always involve sex. It seems to be an important part of life that everyone both wants and enjoys. But, what if instead of wanting to “Netflix and Chill,” some people just want to watch a movie and relax? According to a study by Canadian psychologist Anthony Bogaert, approximately one per cent of the world’s population identifies as asexual — or “ace” for short. Asexuality is a sexual orientation that exists on a spectrum and is defined as experiencing rare, little or no sexual attraction. Within the umbrella of asexuality there are several microlabels: demisexuals experience sexual attraction only after establishing a strong emotional bond with another person whereas graysexuals experience sexual attraction weakly or during specific circumstances. People on the asexual spectrum can be aromantic — experience no romantic attraction — or be romantically attracted to other genders. They can also be sex-positive or sex-repulsed. If a person is asexual, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they will forever stay single or never have sex. Many people on the asexual spectrum can fall in love and are interested in dating, relationships and intimacy. Jay, a fourth-year Media, Information and Technoculture student, says he has
identified as a biromantic asexual for the last two years. While he experiences romantic feelings, he was never interested in physical intimacy. Growing up, he never had an idea of sexual attraction and thought it was odd when he first learned about it. “I thought people were exaggerating or something. They were like ‘Oh, I had sex with this person’ or ‘I hooked up with this person.’ And I was like ‘Why would you want to do that?’” recalls Jay. Siddharth, a second-year governance, leadership and ethics, and gender studies student, identifies as demisexual. While they have known they were on the asexual spectrum since high school, it took them a few experiences to figure out where on the spectrum they belonged. Siddharth uses they/them pronouns. “For the longest time, I thought I was asexual but I just didn’t feel that was [the case],” explains Siddharth. “A lot of my friends told me that I was asexual. I was like ‘Okay, this is weird. Why am I letting other people tell me what my identity is?’ And then, you know, I realized that with my partner, [the relationship] felt different than usually how it feels. So I realized that demisexual probably is closest to home.” Siddharth explains they are not immediately sexually attracted to people. It takes time, and for them, close physical intimacy becomes desirable
only after they develop strong romantic and emotional attachments. Asexuality is often called the “invisible sexuality” because not many people know it exists and some are even convinced it’s not real. It can be challenging for people on the asexual spectrum to date and find a partner who is not overly interested in sex. “I get worried someone’s going to be like, hear that I’m asexual and then not even give me a chance,” says Jay. In his last relationship, he remembers constantly thinking “does he want to have sex with someone? Is this bothering him? Like, should I be doing something?” “There were some boundaries that weren’t obvious, that sometimes it was … a little ambiguous, and sometimes I felt a little uncomfortable,” adds Siddharth about their current relationship. “But gradually, I got more comfortable with different forms of being intimate.” So, although sex seems to be an integral part of romance — especially at university — a relationship without it is completely possible. “There was this one quote I saw on Instagram a while ago, and it was like, ‘if sex without love can exist, then love without sex can exist.’ And that really stuck with me. I think if you have a strong connection with someone, then it shouldn’t really be a huge issue,” notes Jay.
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Taking an intersectional approach Zamir Fakirani on being the first openly gay USC president By Bella Pick
ERIN GRACE GAZETTE
A
s the child of a refugee and an immigrant, Zamir Fakirani always knew he wanted to be involved in activism. Today, Zamir is the first openly LGBTQ2+ University Students’ Council president-elect. Zamir’s journey in student politics began when he joined the Social Science Students’ Council while searching for a sense of community after switching into the faculty. The following year, he became a USC councillor and is currently the SSSC president. “It’s a privilege to be honest — I am hopeful that in the past 57 years we have had other queer leaders at the forefront of the USC,” says Zamir. “But the fact that Western and [Huron University College, Brescia University College and King’s University College] have embraced me for who I am and have wanted to elect me because of my lived experiences and how that informs my approach to policy is something I’m forever thankful for.” His campaign focused on advocacy, a cause near and dear to his heart as a marginalized student. He says that he aimed to provide a platform for students who might not typically be heard on the USC floor. “Me being gay, me being brown, me being Muslim, it doesn’t qualify me for the role — but it does give me a really unique
perspective that’s typically underlooked or disadvantaged,” he recounts. “The fact that I’m able to represent those perspectives, that I can achieve the highest level of student government, means the absolute world to me.” Like many other marginalized students, Zamir notes the barriers he faced in finding representation on council. “There are definitely barriers … for example, going to a USC meeting, not seeing folks who look like me and being forced to represent an entire community as a result of that or being expected to, even though I wasn’t necessarily able [to provide that representation],” he explains. “Western is a pretty white school, and it is a pretty straight and cisgender school. I didn’t know if I would be accepted and I didn’t know if what I brought to the table is what [students] wanted, but I was elected twice.” Intersectionality is a key part of breaking down those barriers, according to Zamir. His campaign focused on the concept, but he acknowledges the importance of moving forward by practising intersectionality on a daily basis. “Something as simple as you’re going to The Spoke to eat, what you eat, is fundamentally impacted by your identity. What you choose to wear, how you choose to present yourself [are all impacted],” he says.
“And I don’t act the way I do, I don’t eat the way I do, I don’t pray the way I do, just because I’m gay. It’s also informed by the fact that I’m brown, the fact that I’m Muslim, the fact that I’m from Toronto and the fact that I’m in Social Science. So I think there’s so many day-to-day applications of intersectionality that are so easy to miss.” That intersectionality-focused thinking excites Zamir for the future of the USC. His incoming USC executive includes four women, three people of colour and other LGBTQ2+ identifying individuals. They officially begin their tenure in May. “It’s honestly the dream team. I’m so happy to see [that] so many diverse perspectives are going to be represented,” he says. Zamir has one simple piece of advice for marginalized students considering getting involved in student government: run. “It’s daunting, it’s intimidating, it’s nerve-racking, but you have a whole host of support, whether they’re queer students themselves or whether they’re allies who want to see you succeed and want to support you. So, I would say run,” he explains. “I would say the second that idea pops into your brain, email me, text me or message me. If you have questions, I would love to support you [and] figure out pathways to student government.”
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Pride at King’s The president of King’s students’ council calls on the college to better support the LGBTQ2+ community By Ben Kitching
president of the King’s University College Students’ Council As my term as the president of Kings University College Students’ Council comes to a close, I am reflecting back on the various advocacy efforts that I have been involved in throughout my term and the impact (or lack thereof) it has had on the King’s community. There is one issue that sticks in my mind above all else, and that is the state of LGBTQIA2S+ inclusion at the college. As one of Western University’s Catholic affiliate colleges, the mission and values of King’s is informed by the Catholic Intellectual Tradition. This connection to the church comes with its many advantages to the spiritual life of the community but it also has, in my view, led King’s to be slow to make progress on some social issues. Most notable of these issues is the college’s stance on the LGBTQIA2S+ community. For most of my time at King’s, the college has been silent on LGBTQIA2S+ issues and this has only just started to change. Their failure to acknowledge the LGBTQIA2S+ community becomes especially noticeable during times such as Pride Month or the Transgender Day of Remembrance when the Western community rallies together in support of our LGBTQIA2S+ peers. Statements of support are issued by Western, Huron University College, Brescia University College and the students’ council at King’s, but the college has traditionally remained silent. King’s failure to publicly support the LGBTQIA2S+ community has come to a head with their refusal to permit the Pride flag from being flown on campus. One of the first advocacy points I brought forward when I was elected president of the KUCSC was to formally request that the Pride flag be flown during the time when the London Pride Parade would have occurred (the college has not traditionally permitted the King’s brand be associated with that
event either). My request was denied under the justification that a committee had been struck to examine issue and after a year of deliberation, they recommended that the pride flag should not be flowed on campus because further discussion with the community needed to occur. I must say, having been involved in the advocacy to raise the Pride flag on our campus, I am quite disappointed to see the lack of progress that has been made. For the past two years, any advocacy about the Pride flag or LGBTQIA2S+ issues have been directed to an advisory committee established on the topic. This group has met only five times over the course of two years and after initially recommending the Pride flag not be flown, it eventually established a set of recommendations including the raising of the Pride flag and creating a more permanent committee to examine LGBTQIA2S+ issues. However, once these recommendations were made, King’s decided to reconstitute the committee with new membership and a new mandate before any further action on the flag could occur My concern is that given it took two years to come up with the recommendation that a new committee should be made, the issue will continue to be dragged out and no progress will be made in any reasonable timeline. In response to the Black Lives Matter protests in the summer, King’s moved quickly to enact change and establish a working group that meets regularly. I applaud the college for its swift actions on this important issue, but I believe that this demonstrates that King’s can move quickly to address social injustices when it wants to but that this is not the case here. The college has maintained its position that it wants to focus on real and meaningful progress for the LGBTQIA2S+ community and does not want to engage in any symbolic gestures such as raising the pride flag until those measures have been implemented.
While I respect the need for meaningful progress, I believe that acknowledging and celebrating symbols associated with the LGBTQIA2S+ community and outward signs of support are more than token gestures. They are instead important signs of the commitment the college says it has made to stand with and support its LGBTQIA2S+ students and staff. I have been deeply troubled by the types of comments and level of resistance such suggestions have faced by members of our campus community. As a member of the LGBTQIA2S+ community myself, I have long hoped that I would see the college fly the Pride flag as a sign of acknowledgement and support before I graduated. I am deeply disappointed to see that this will not be possible. As someone who has been involved in students’ council for most of my undergraduate career, each year I have seen the continual advocacy efforts being pushed forward by students’ council and even by some members of faculty. The fact that in the four years I have been here I have not seen any outward symbols of support from King’s or any meaningful student-facing change is deeply disheartening. While I support the creation of this new committee to explore LGBTQIA2S+ issues on campus and am encouraged by the steps of progress I have begun to see over the past year or so, the fact that these efforts have faced resistance and that progress on anything symbolic or attached to the school’s brand is pursued at a sluggish pace is of great concern. This is 2021, we should not still the fighting over whether we can publicly support the LGBTQIA2S+ community. We should not still be fighting over whether the Pride flag is an inappropriate symbol to associate with the King’s brand. King’s needs to do better. As a note to any LGBTQIA2S+ King’s students reading this and looking for support, a list of resources available to King’s students is available.
pride
TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2021 •
Rest By Matthew Myles Everyone is going to bed Crawling in Snuggling up Falling asleep All stranded in giant nightgowns With sheets stretching out into the ocean, GOLDEN PRIDE CAROLINE ALPERT
Pillows begin snapping moonbeams— Scattering. A self-induced heat death. But it’s fine, The sheets are thick And there’s enough of us falling asleep With fur overlapping. A collection of plush hearts, Warm and beating. CONFIDENCE CAROLINE ALPERT
CELEBRATE CAROLINE ALPERT
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pride
• TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2021
Let’s talk about queerbaiting This media trope is harmful and diminishing to the queer community By Matthew Plaskett
P
eople often wonder: what exactly is queerbaiting? While there are many forms of queerbaiting, it is generally an act in which someone hints at being queer — whether through feminine mannerisms or pretending to be interested in men, just to name a few. There are many ways to queerbait, but people typically do it to gain popularity and attract sympathy from the LGBTQ2+ community and allies. We see it in TV, movies, as well as by celebrities or ordinary people who do it to appear relatable and gain attention and sympathy from the LGBTQ2+ community. Queerbaiting is harmful for a variety of reasons. Coming to terms with your sexuality and the nature of coming out are very serious and often difficult for queer people. Pretending to be come out as a joke, acting gay with the “homies,” or using gay mannerisms delegitimizes the struggles of queer people. Not only is it extremely offensive, but it fosters homophobia and mocks the struggles of queer people.
ANASTASIIA FEDOROVA GAZETTE
Queerbaiting has become increasingly common over the years. We see it in many streams of media: seeing same-sex characters pretend to kiss or kiss for entertainment of others in TV shows and movies is very popular. An example of this is in Riverdale where viewers see Betty and Veronica, the two female leads, kiss for dramatic effect while cheerleading. While queer representation is important, doing it to gain attention or provide shock value is problematic. Queerbaiting has been increasingly common in the past few years on social media platforms such as TikTok. There have been creators on TikTok who pretend to come out as an “April Fool’s joke” or others who pretend to kiss their friends but excuse it because “they were wearing socks.” We also see it often when men act flamboyant or feminine while dancing to a song. Queerbaiting can happen anywhere and be done by anyone. Regardless of how it happens, it is not okay. Jackie Villan, a queer student at Western University considers queerbaiting to be not
only quite harmful, but invalidating as well. “A big thing that bothers me as a lesbian is straight girls alluding to lesbian relationships or sexual acts with their friends, but it’s all a big joke to them,” she says. This is a perfect example of the many different types of queerbaiting that occur. Whether it is someone pretending to be gay as a joke or a character on TV acting queer, it is harmful. They may see it as a joke, but queer people do not. While it is not possible to change the mindset of every individual, there are still ways that you can call queerbaiting out. It can often be intimidating to queer people to do so or to talk to people about it; whether they are not out or are fearful or repercussions. However, it should not be their job. How would you like it if the roles were reversed, and your sexuality was mocked or used for attention in the media? Ponder on it. Allies, you must call out queerbaiting. Whether you see a friend do it, see it on TV, or see it on social media — say something
pride
TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 2021 •
WE ALL BLEND TOGETHER CAROLINE ALPERT
The Western Gazette Western University’s students newspaper since 1906 westerngazette.ca editor@westerngazette.ca
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