As Queer As it Gets: On Queerness and Colonialism

If I were to display queerness on a scale between two extreme points—a spectrum—, the left side being labeled as “not that queer” and the right side, in contrast, labeled “as queer as it gets”, where would you place each and every single one of the queer identities you are aware of? Which identities or behaviours would be the ones in each extreme part of the spectrum? Xenogender, abrosexual, and transgender expressions seem to strike as the greatest threat against both cisnormativity and heteronormativity, thus often considered the “queerest” identities in the diverse lagoon of LGBTQ+ identities, genders, and expressions. An assigned male at birth person wearing a bright pink dress inherently rejects gender norms and social expectations the same way that an individual whose sexuality shifts over time damages heteronormative stigma, subsequently coming off as contemporary inventions that embody radicalism, progressivism and tolerance to the distinct aspects of human expression. We have never, ever seen a kinder, freer world before... or have we? What if I told you that the information I just gave you is not necessarily true, and that our so-called modern, broad-minded civilization is not even close to being as queer as it can get?

In 1492, a historical event that would later on shape the way we, as humans, experience, communicate, and interact with the world around us took place. The never-ending impact of European colonialism is still ingrained into our

comprehension of complex social characteristics, and is directly related to the way we see and understand gender expression, whether you believe it or not. When Christopher Columbus and his men first arrived in Indigenous land, they found themselves threatened by the unfamiliar, extraordinary gender system the Taino people lived in. Because, the unadorned truth is, there wasn’t any. Pre-colonialism, cultures in North America, South America and the Caribbean had a wider concept of gender structure, per instance, in Quisqueya (Indigenous name for the Island of Hispaniola, now divided into two countries: Dominican Republic and Haiti), Taino individuals could be part of the masculine gender, the feminine gender, or the maorocoti gender—that which is neither or both. Some people nowadays would loudly and confidently say that gender has always been a binary; well, aboriginal cultures worldwide beg to differ. Take for example Two-Spirit people in Indigenous North America, Babaylans, Asogs and Bayoks in matriarchal Philippines, genderfluid deities and the existence and validation of more than 20 genders in Medieval India, Mexico’s third gender Muxe, etc. When European colonizers first landed in Guanahaní, the language they used was nothing but ignorant to the multiple gender-related experiences and realities of the Indigenous people, two foreign words “man” and “woman” replacing tons of aboriginal ones, forcing a binary system where only two genders could co-exist and the rest of the individuals who could not be easily pushed onto one of the two categories, had to be left behind. Quoting best-selling author Blair Imani, “the colonizers ensured they would have a controlled Indigenous population to enslave and exploit as a labor force. In this way, the gender binary became a very literal way to control the means of production— human reproduction.” If the colonizers aimed for their oppressive, controlling system to succeed, they'd have to get rid of anyone who dared challenge it, and that meant importation of abrahamic religions and the Euro-centric ideas of “man” and “woman”, criminalization and satanization of homosexuality, persecution of gender-nonconforming individuals (genocide, mutilation of genitals, fed to wild animals, rape and/or kidnapping) and linguicide, or the intentional destruction of language that supported or upheld queer identities.

To me, the most intriguing part of pre-colonial queer history is about how deeply established were these ideas of gender expression in their community; where you could be Two-spirit or maorocoti despite your genitalia and the whole world around you wouldn't flinch or wonder “why” or “how” or even “what is”. No rules, no expectations, no categorization, just the human soul expressing itself through social behavior. Nowadays, the Cambridge Dictionary defines ‘queer’ as “strange, unusual or not expected”, and even though the modern usage of this word has considerably changed to mean anyone who considers themselves to be a part of the LGBTQIA+ community, for some of us the traditional meaning of the word still lingers beneath, first considered strange and unusual because we do not, would not, fit the Euro-centric concepts of sex and gender. That brings us back to the initial hypothetical, how can our world be queerer? Well, for starters, we should all advocate for the abolition of queerness as we know it. Six hundreds of years ago, Indigenous queer individuals would have never thought of calling themselves queer or “different”, they lived, loved, experienced freely and carelessly, there was no one to dictate whom they should love, how their outward appearance must present as, how to communicate to others or how to behave. And this is because before colonialism, neither heteronormativity nor cisnormativity held enough weight on Indigenous communities for it to be able to thrive on or even exist. The most effective technique for broadening our minds to deconstructing colonialism and its effects on society (including queerphobia), is to cease to believe that there's a norm that should always be sought to implement and if not possible, then you are the odd one out. The concept of being queer implies that there are humans who are living up to the standard; therefore implying that there is a set standard. I am not personally asking for you to stop using the word ‘queer’, as I well know it's a popularized way of identifying a place where we, as people against the Euro-centric norm, belong to. With this essay, I am personally advocating for a full stop to the mental segregation colonizers still have upon all of us. The “Us vs. them” mentality that restrains people from forming actual meaningful connections and encourages LGBTQIA+ people to “come out” or “accept

that you're different, unique, and thus special”. We are special because we've fought against oppression relentlessly, not because of how we present ourselves to the rest of the human race. Acknowledging that in order to be pro-freedom, you have to let go of stereotyping, policing, and expecting queer people to act or behave a certain way, is not an easy task, but it's one we can all collectively learn from whilst in the process of making our own minds around the idea that all humans are equal, even though normalized social stigmas have taught us differently. Realizing that, this is not as queer as it gets, and we can always be queerer by actively fighting against the Euro-colonialist mindset that centuries later still, somehow, manages to command us to either fit the mold or be outside of it—as if there was a mold in the first place—, has been the greatest form of liberation for myself.

Yonsiri Rojas is a tongue-tied teenager who has been lucky enough to find his language through human expression and art. Reading, writing, and researching weirdly interesting topics are his favorite ways of exploring the inmense world that lies upon all of us. He hopes for his words to reach every corner of the world, and touch the reader's inner artsy self, their core.