Nevertheless, we should question whether the benefits of National Coming Out Day
still outweigh its harms. Continuing to use the rhetoric of “coming out” reinforces a
view that heterosexuality is the norm. “Coming out” implicitly announces — to
LGBTQ individuals, allies and enemies — that gay people are aberrant. Our
homosexuality is so different that we must proclaim it; heterosexuality, however, is
normal and expected.
still outweigh its harms. Continuing to use the rhetoric of “coming out” reinforces a
view that heterosexuality is the norm. “Coming out” implicitly announces — to
LGBTQ individuals, allies and enemies — that gay people are aberrant. Our
homosexuality is so different that we must proclaim it; heterosexuality, however, is
normal and expected.
He goes on to consider alternatives in which everyone is expected to come out and a homonormative future where everyone is assumed to be gay. He calls these alternatives "absurd" because they are "offensive" to straight people. While his compassion for heterosexuals is admirable, his insinuation that National Coming Out Day is ultimately for straight benefit belies his own internalized heteronormativity.
The problems with his piece don't stop there. His article gives no room for bisexual folk, transgender people, genderqueer folk, and any other people besides gays, lesbians, and cisgender heterosexuals. And when you get into those categories, and the interesectional oppressions queer folk of color face, his delightful illusions of safety in being out and the sufficient progress of queer liberation disappear. Globally and in America, transgender women of color are among the groups at highest risk for identity-based violence. In Birkhold's home state of Ohio, there is no legislation protecting people from discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation or gender identity, hate crimes legislation does not include sexual orientation or gender identity, same-sex marriage was outlawed by state constitutional amendment until it was struck down by Obergefell v. Hodges (let's not forget that the original Obergefell case was brought in Ohio against Kasich), the state is appealing the federal ruling that it can't defund Planned Parenthood (the largest provider of not only sexual and reproductive health care but also primary care and gender affirming health care to trans, genderqueer, and gender-non-conforming people in Ohio and throughout the US), and any modicum of protection from discrimination in employment that Birkhold may enjoy as a professor at Ohio State is either from a flimsy executive order covering state employees from discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation but not gender identity. If he resides within Columbus, he lives in one of only three Ohio municipalities where so-called conversion therapy for minors, well known for its actual harms to LGBTQ youth, is banned. And that's just the start of the list.
Birkhold's main point is that encouraging queer people to come out reinforces the idea that straight is the default category. It's a fair idea; it's a good idea. And it belongs to Adrienne Rich, who executes a better version of the argument against the perceived need to come out in her essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence", first published in 1980. Rich didn't need the human rights gains queer activists have made in the last 37 years or the social acceptance (where present) that has accompanied them to make her argument. Giving Birkhold the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he thinks her treatment, which predates National Coming Out Day by nearly a decade, doesn't address the issue of having a specific day to come out. But neither does his article. Or maybe his familiarity with queer theory is so lacking that he doesn't know that his attitudes are products of Rich's work. After all, she isn't included in most liberal arts curricula. Referencing compulsory heterosexuality and heteronormativity without citing Rich is both academically and socially irresponsible.
I don't blame the Washington Post for publishing Birkhold's drivel, though their Opinion editor should be well-enough informed to note that Rich isn't credited for her idea. The cis gay white male hot take on queer culture is trendy right now, and it would be good click bait if better presented. But Birkhold's shallow consideration pales in comparison to better critiques of National Coming Out Day, like Preston Mitchum's 2013 piece in The Atlantic examining whether the queer community puts so much emphasis on coming out it harms those who may still suffer fatal consequences from doing so. Do queer elders really want to encourage queer youth to come out if the animus they face is deadly? Shouldn't the goal of established queer adults be to protect queer youth?
National Coming Out Day was designed to be two things: a commemorative celebration of the 1987 National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights, and a day to mark a deliberate activism of queer people putting themselves at risk to make their identities known. It was designed as a strategy to combat compulsory heterosexuality. Its founders, Robert Eichberg and Jean O'Leary, also demonstrated the political alliance between different parts of the LGBTQ community. The theory of coming out in the political struggle for queer liberation is that if people know they knew gay people, if they looked beyond their stereotypes and prejudices into the eyes of their coworkers, neighbors, and family members, they could unlearn their prejudice to support their friends and loved ones. They could combat the animus of others by relating stories of real live queer people rather than some shadowy figure out to corrupt the children. And you know what? It works. The speedy gains (compared to other social justice movements, not to the needs of impacted folks) of queer liberation are due in no small part to the idea that others know who we queer folk are because we tell them, not just on October 11th but frequently. And other struggles have adopted a politics of coming out because it works. A notable example is among undocumented youth. Birkhold admits to the success the strategy of coming out brings, but thinks we've entered sexual orientation's equivalent of a post-racial society, and coming out is drawing undue attention to ourselves. But there are few places in our country where, even on paper, the rights of LGBTQ persons are equal to the rights of others. And he doesn't even live in one.
Still, this is the 30th National Coming Out Day. We should take that as an opportunity to examine the wisdom of the strategy of coming out and the day for it. Do we reinforce compulsory heterosexuality by acknowledging it exists when we "need" to come out? Is there a better strategy to combat compulsory heterosexuality than coming out that we overlooked because coming out is effective enough? Should we interrogate our straight friends about their sexuality the way they do us (as Birkhold suggests facetiously) in an effort to shed light on the absurdity of those questions? Should we retreat given the homophobic and transphobic rhetoric in the public sphere and many of our communities? Do we need to revamp our expectations of the day and make clear that we don't expect folks to risk their lives to be out? Should we expect folks to risk their lives (or at least their livelihoods) to be out? Which elders should we follow?
My own relationship with National Coming Out Day is loose, at best. My queer education was so lacking before I came out that I didn't even know the day existed until I was already out (the first time around, anyway). At my college, we held a National Coming Out Day Ball, and occasionally someone would get the courage to call their parents, but it was mostly an excuse to celebrate. And an event that is associated in my mind with National Coming Out Day based on juxtaposition is the anniversary of the murder of Matthew Shepard. So we'd all trek up to Boystown to join the Chicago Anti-Bashing Network (now the Gay Liberation Network) and its coalition for the commemorative march. And while there is little more than adjacent days linking these events (October 11th and October 12th), the connection between coming out and reducing homophobic violence was wired, rightly or wrongly, in my brain. The role of National Coming Out Day personally and politically is complex.
This year, National Coming Out Day co-occurs with the Jewish holiday of Hoshangna Rabba. Like National Coming Out Day, I hadn't heard of it growing up. It's the seventh day of Sukkot, and it has unique liturgy and customs. There are seven circuits of the synagogue holding willows (or perhaps a lulav) and beating them against the floor until all the leaves fall. In some communities, it is customary to clutch the lulav and etrog during the musaf amidah. And we pray for God to save us from transgression and impending doom. The liturgy mimics the themes of the Day of Atonement, and borrows passages, too, as well as having its own dedicated liturgical poems and constructs. We can trace the physical aspects of the ritual to the agricultural celebrations of nations bordering the ancient Israelites. The hailing of winter through a technique academically termed "sympathetic magic" and the pleas for God to protect us through it may have been important, useful, actions for our ancestors who lacked effortless heat and refrigeration, whose food storage may have been easily infested, and may still be meaningful to thse who find themselves in those conditions today. But in large part we go into the Middle East's rainy season knowing, if we are healthy, we are very likely to survive winter. And if we need help with other things we are more inclined to ask friends, family, or helping professionals than we are to pray for God to save us. Yet we parade around beating the leaves off our willows. Or maybe we skip it. And it's hard to connect.
We can raise many of the same kinds of questions about Hoshangna Rabba as we can about National Coming Out Day. Has it outlived its usefulness? Why do we do it in the way that we do? Should we update it? Which elders should we follow? What about the trees? The congregants who can't make seven circuits around the synagogue? We say that the gates of repentance are open on Hoshangna Rabba. Don't we know by now that they never really close? If we don't believe in this ritual should we still do it to be part of community? Do we expect God to save us speedily in our day? Is there some better way to go about making known that it is always time to repent? That it is always time to choose life?
On this National Coming Out Day, I am quite conscious that Hoshangna Rabba represents a queering of the Jewish calendar year. The gates are supposed to close on the Day of Atonement, yet they are open today. We add extra flare to our processions. We insist on staying alive against the odds.
Coming out is certainly correlated with massive political gain for queer liberation, but it is not a panacea. It does not resolve internalized homophobia and transphobia; it does not necessarily improve your life. Its gains are not immediate. And it still often entails sacrifice. Yet it creates visible queer community that gives those who come after us hope. Which, underneath the veneer of morbidity, is also the message of Hoshangna Rabba. The world may look bleak, but the flowers will bloom in the spring. The trees will again be covered in green leaves. The dormant seeds will sprout fabulous new plants. You can survive the winter. You can survive the school bullies. You can survive the street harassers. You can survive Trump.
You.
Can.
Survive.
The problems with his piece don't stop there. His article gives no room for bisexual folk, transgender people, genderqueer folk, and any other people besides gays, lesbians, and cisgender heterosexuals. And when you get into those categories, and the interesectional oppressions queer folk of color face, his delightful illusions of safety in being out and the sufficient progress of queer liberation disappear. Globally and in America, transgender women of color are among the groups at highest risk for identity-based violence. In Birkhold's home state of Ohio, there is no legislation protecting people from discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation or gender identity, hate crimes legislation does not include sexual orientation or gender identity, same-sex marriage was outlawed by state constitutional amendment until it was struck down by Obergefell v. Hodges (let's not forget that the original Obergefell case was brought in Ohio against Kasich), the state is appealing the federal ruling that it can't defund Planned Parenthood (the largest provider of not only sexual and reproductive health care but also primary care and gender affirming health care to trans, genderqueer, and gender-non-conforming people in Ohio and throughout the US), and any modicum of protection from discrimination in employment that Birkhold may enjoy as a professor at Ohio State is either from a flimsy executive order covering state employees from discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation but not gender identity. If he resides within Columbus, he lives in one of only three Ohio municipalities where so-called conversion therapy for minors, well known for its actual harms to LGBTQ youth, is banned. And that's just the start of the list.
Birkhold's main point is that encouraging queer people to come out reinforces the idea that straight is the default category. It's a fair idea; it's a good idea. And it belongs to Adrienne Rich, who executes a better version of the argument against the perceived need to come out in her essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence", first published in 1980. Rich didn't need the human rights gains queer activists have made in the last 37 years or the social acceptance (where present) that has accompanied them to make her argument. Giving Birkhold the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he thinks her treatment, which predates National Coming Out Day by nearly a decade, doesn't address the issue of having a specific day to come out. But neither does his article. Or maybe his familiarity with queer theory is so lacking that he doesn't know that his attitudes are products of Rich's work. After all, she isn't included in most liberal arts curricula. Referencing compulsory heterosexuality and heteronormativity without citing Rich is both academically and socially irresponsible.
I don't blame the Washington Post for publishing Birkhold's drivel, though their Opinion editor should be well-enough informed to note that Rich isn't credited for her idea. The cis gay white male hot take on queer culture is trendy right now, and it would be good click bait if better presented. But Birkhold's shallow consideration pales in comparison to better critiques of National Coming Out Day, like Preston Mitchum's 2013 piece in The Atlantic examining whether the queer community puts so much emphasis on coming out it harms those who may still suffer fatal consequences from doing so. Do queer elders really want to encourage queer youth to come out if the animus they face is deadly? Shouldn't the goal of established queer adults be to protect queer youth?
National Coming Out Day was designed to be two things: a commemorative celebration of the 1987 National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights, and a day to mark a deliberate activism of queer people putting themselves at risk to make their identities known. It was designed as a strategy to combat compulsory heterosexuality. Its founders, Robert Eichberg and Jean O'Leary, also demonstrated the political alliance between different parts of the LGBTQ community. The theory of coming out in the political struggle for queer liberation is that if people know they knew gay people, if they looked beyond their stereotypes and prejudices into the eyes of their coworkers, neighbors, and family members, they could unlearn their prejudice to support their friends and loved ones. They could combat the animus of others by relating stories of real live queer people rather than some shadowy figure out to corrupt the children. And you know what? It works. The speedy gains (compared to other social justice movements, not to the needs of impacted folks) of queer liberation are due in no small part to the idea that others know who we queer folk are because we tell them, not just on October 11th but frequently. And other struggles have adopted a politics of coming out because it works. A notable example is among undocumented youth. Birkhold admits to the success the strategy of coming out brings, but thinks we've entered sexual orientation's equivalent of a post-racial society, and coming out is drawing undue attention to ourselves. But there are few places in our country where, even on paper, the rights of LGBTQ persons are equal to the rights of others. And he doesn't even live in one.
Still, this is the 30th National Coming Out Day. We should take that as an opportunity to examine the wisdom of the strategy of coming out and the day for it. Do we reinforce compulsory heterosexuality by acknowledging it exists when we "need" to come out? Is there a better strategy to combat compulsory heterosexuality than coming out that we overlooked because coming out is effective enough? Should we interrogate our straight friends about their sexuality the way they do us (as Birkhold suggests facetiously) in an effort to shed light on the absurdity of those questions? Should we retreat given the homophobic and transphobic rhetoric in the public sphere and many of our communities? Do we need to revamp our expectations of the day and make clear that we don't expect folks to risk their lives to be out? Should we expect folks to risk their lives (or at least their livelihoods) to be out? Which elders should we follow?
My own relationship with National Coming Out Day is loose, at best. My queer education was so lacking before I came out that I didn't even know the day existed until I was already out (the first time around, anyway). At my college, we held a National Coming Out Day Ball, and occasionally someone would get the courage to call their parents, but it was mostly an excuse to celebrate. And an event that is associated in my mind with National Coming Out Day based on juxtaposition is the anniversary of the murder of Matthew Shepard. So we'd all trek up to Boystown to join the Chicago Anti-Bashing Network (now the Gay Liberation Network) and its coalition for the commemorative march. And while there is little more than adjacent days linking these events (October 11th and October 12th), the connection between coming out and reducing homophobic violence was wired, rightly or wrongly, in my brain. The role of National Coming Out Day personally and politically is complex.
This year, National Coming Out Day co-occurs with the Jewish holiday of Hoshangna Rabba. Like National Coming Out Day, I hadn't heard of it growing up. It's the seventh day of Sukkot, and it has unique liturgy and customs. There are seven circuits of the synagogue holding willows (or perhaps a lulav) and beating them against the floor until all the leaves fall. In some communities, it is customary to clutch the lulav and etrog during the musaf amidah. And we pray for God to save us from transgression and impending doom. The liturgy mimics the themes of the Day of Atonement, and borrows passages, too, as well as having its own dedicated liturgical poems and constructs. We can trace the physical aspects of the ritual to the agricultural celebrations of nations bordering the ancient Israelites. The hailing of winter through a technique academically termed "sympathetic magic" and the pleas for God to protect us through it may have been important, useful, actions for our ancestors who lacked effortless heat and refrigeration, whose food storage may have been easily infested, and may still be meaningful to thse who find themselves in those conditions today. But in large part we go into the Middle East's rainy season knowing, if we are healthy, we are very likely to survive winter. And if we need help with other things we are more inclined to ask friends, family, or helping professionals than we are to pray for God to save us. Yet we parade around beating the leaves off our willows. Or maybe we skip it. And it's hard to connect.
We can raise many of the same kinds of questions about Hoshangna Rabba as we can about National Coming Out Day. Has it outlived its usefulness? Why do we do it in the way that we do? Should we update it? Which elders should we follow? What about the trees? The congregants who can't make seven circuits around the synagogue? We say that the gates of repentance are open on Hoshangna Rabba. Don't we know by now that they never really close? If we don't believe in this ritual should we still do it to be part of community? Do we expect God to save us speedily in our day? Is there some better way to go about making known that it is always time to repent? That it is always time to choose life?
On this National Coming Out Day, I am quite conscious that Hoshangna Rabba represents a queering of the Jewish calendar year. The gates are supposed to close on the Day of Atonement, yet they are open today. We add extra flare to our processions. We insist on staying alive against the odds.
Coming out is certainly correlated with massive political gain for queer liberation, but it is not a panacea. It does not resolve internalized homophobia and transphobia; it does not necessarily improve your life. Its gains are not immediate. And it still often entails sacrifice. Yet it creates visible queer community that gives those who come after us hope. Which, underneath the veneer of morbidity, is also the message of Hoshangna Rabba. The world may look bleak, but the flowers will bloom in the spring. The trees will again be covered in green leaves. The dormant seeds will sprout fabulous new plants. You can survive the winter. You can survive the school bullies. You can survive the street harassers. You can survive Trump.
You.
Can.
Survive.
