Queer Folk Don't Need Orientation

How decade-old discourse shows us a way out

This is a continuation of a series on sexuality. It can be read as a stand-alone piece. Previous installments can be found here and here.

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In this post I want to explore how identity politics, via the construct of orientation, is hurting the gays.

First of all, it distracts us. The US right now is ripe for a fascist turn, and we don’t have the grassroots infrastructure to effectively resist it. The gay movement has been largely assimilated into existing power structures, meaning our interests are represented not by ourselves but by large NGOs and foundations who are beholden to the very elite who foster cultural divisions in the first place. Focusing our activism on winning rights as a protected class puts us at the mercy of lawmakers and law enforcement.

It also keeps us at the margins of society. While I don’t think our goal should be assimilation into the mainstream (I think the mainstream should bend more towards queer ways of being), it doesn’t help that holding on to orientation means always relegating ourselves to minority status. Statistics that say we’re only a small percentage of the population tend to only record people who identify with a certain label. It’s not an accurate picture of how many people are attracted to, or have sex with, those of the same gender. Queer folks know that number is much higher. Presenting ourselves as a minority group reinforces heteronormativity, whereas we could instead challenge heterosexual identity at its root.

Finally, the framework of orientation makes us vulnerable to co-optation (rainbow capitalism) and violence (eugenics and hate crimes). Manipulating gay identity from an underground counterculture into a marketable demographic has been one of the biggest triumphs of our enemies. Similarly, if queer people can be easily understood as separate from everyone else, a distinctly different type of person, then interpersonal violence against us is more easily justified and overlooked.

Divide and conquer tactics are the bread and butter of those who want to maintain rule over others. While it’s still true that many find solace and security in a community of folks who share their idea of orientation, it’s also the case that many people have been kept from a healthy self-concept and trapped in toxic communities because of ideas about orientation.

I want to show how this happens by untangling some decade-old drama.

Exclusionists vs Inclusionists

The discourse around asexuality in the 2010s exemplifies the failure of orientation as a model and highlights the need for something new. Those on Tumblr around that time might be familiar with the divide between exclusionists and inclusionists (for those who weren’t, bless you). Full disclosure, I used to run an exclusionist blog. Since then I’ve shifted my perspective, and now I think we can deescalate those arguments by stepping back and reframing the issues.

In simple terms, the exclusionist/inclusionist debate was about whether or not asexual people are queer — specifically whether or not straight aces are LGBT. Exclusionists pointed out that “queer” always implies some form of same-gender attraction, which neither aroaces nor cishet aces experience. Inclusionists argued that “queer” always implies non-normative feelings or behaviors, which can accurately describe ace experiences.

Another issue was whether or not asexuality is an orientation. Exclusionists pointed out that “orientation” refers to the gender a person finds attractive, whereas asexuality describes how a person experiences attraction (as in, to what degree). Inclusionists argued that “orientation” can also refer to how people experience attraction, sometimes pointing to polyamory as an example (which some also consider an orientation).

This may seem in the weeds — and it was. The stakes felt high though. It matters how we define ourselves, especially as a community. Access to resources, social capital, and a sense of belonging all hinge on being accepted into the right groups. While it was a niche debate, primarily concerning extremely-online people, the aftermath has continued to color mainstream discourse.

We can see this in what happened with the acronym. Exclusionists stuck with LGBT, while inclusionists added letters — starting with Q and not really stopping. Their goal was to highlight how rich a tapestry gendered and sexual experiences can be, and to help give language to people’s uniqueness. Exclusionists, meanwhile, saw the alphabet soup as unnecessary and harmful — when, for example, it encouraged white folks to identity as two-spirit. Beyond that, we felt the endless proliferation of micro-identities (lithromantic, autochorissexual) hindered rather than helped people develop genuine self-awareness.

But the prime suspect in that debate was the use of the word “queer.” Exclusionists rejected it as an umbrella term, pointing out that it’s still used as a slur, and rejecting its “abnormal” or “unnatural” connotations. Inclusionists argued that slurs can be reclaimed, and were in general more willing to accept its “weird” connotations. One reason exclusionists warned against using “queer” as an umbrella term is that it could be used to include kinksters, polyamorous people, and other folks with “abnormal” sexual practices — like pedophiles — into the community.

In truth, there was some judgement against BDSM and poly communities on the exclusionist side. While straight kinksters and polyamorous folks aren’t technically queer, they are deviant. I think rather than relegate them to the heterosexual realm we should welcome them into our spaces, encouraging straight folks, by their example, to experiment more — to become more queer. My priorities have changed from preserving the safety and purity of queer spaces to undermining the stability, and therefore the power, of heterosexuality.

But going back to pedophilia for a moment, the discourse on Tumblr eventually devolved into mutual accusations of pedophilia, abuse, and manipulation. As the sides became more and more entrenched, dialogue dissolved into doxxing and harassment. Then in 2017, Tumblr basically nuked itself by changing its policies on explicit content — the “female-presenting nipples” incident.

By now, in mainstream culture the inclusionists have mostly won. “Queer” is used as an umbrella term almost everywhere, and the acronym has more or less stabilized into LGBTQ+. TikTok is the new front page of the internet, and I haven't kept up with the discourse on that platform.

This discourse around asexuality has had real consequences for young queer folks. Because there’s still stigma attached to being gay, too many people avoided calling themselves gay in favor of saying they’re asexual. It was easier to deny their sexuality entirely than to reckon with being gay. Particularly alluring was the ability to claim a spot in the queer community without claiming gayness.

This isn’t to say asexual people are or aren’t queer — I think that question misses the point. Rather, it’s to highlight how asexuality provided an avenue for some queer folks to escape themselves while thinking they were doing the opposite. This was especially true ten years ago, but I still see it happen today. With a vague definition of “sexual attraction” and ideas like the split attraction model, there are all sorts of ways to wriggle out of self-reflection. This prolongs time spent in the closet, postponing opportunities for pleasure and growth.

Inclusionists generally saw no problem with asexual ideas being applied in other contexts. Exclusionists saw all this and declared asexuals unfit for the community.

I think instead we can recognize how orientation itself laid the foundation for these misunderstandings.

Orientation as learned behavior

The popular idea of orientation is that it’s individual, inherent, inborn, and unchangeable. It’s explained by biology — genes or neurotransmitters or maybe hormones in the womb, the details are always fuzzy — and psychology, namely that if you feel (or don’t feel) a certain way, then that’s what you are.

Rarely is it ever suggested that sexuality, like so much else about human nature, is learned. Between biology and psychology is the social, and it’s our social constructs, like race and gender, that help define who we are as individuals. We understand this easily in other contexts. Why not apply it to orientation?

Well, because that would upset the whole foundation of heterosexuality, which relies on the presumption that straight is normal and everyone else is deviant. (An aside: consigning ourselves to ever more specific letters in an acronym actually gives credence to that claim.) But it might be helpful, liberating even, to remember that we aren’t the odd ones out — at least, not according to history or anthropology. The idea that most people are born 100% straight and will remain so for their entire lives with not a whiff of the gay affecting them is simply a myth. (Not least because gender and sex often don’t align.)

More importantly, it’s helpful to remember that ideas about sexuality do not arise spontaneously from the aether but are shared cultural artifacts. We teach each other sex. We do this through images of sex in media, literature, and art; through stories about and taboos around sex in conversation; through porn and erotica; through vows of chastity. And of course, we do this with our sexual partners.

In this way, the discourse around asexuality is the logical conclusion of the theory of sexual orientation.

There is no such thing as “a” sexuality. Sexuality is an aspect of being human. It’s learned behavior, a psychological self-concept, a set of biological traits, a journey of discovery, a facet of life, but it is not a thing you can have or not have.

Arguments over the position of asexuality relative to the queer community are only possible with an orientation model of sexuality. Asexuality is an orientation, because an orientation is the idea that sexuality is something you have or don’t have, and that it comes with set characteristics. The lived experience of plenty queer people already testifies against the strict binary between straight and gay — the entirety of the bisexual experience does as well.

Why should we be concerned with whether or not asexual people fit the queer bill? When fellow deviants want to join us in upsetting the patriarchy, we welcome them. When straight people trample over spaces with their obliviousness, we correct them. When folks share parts of themselves that are so different from our own, we learn from them.

We can prefigure the cultures of safety, accountability, and acceptance we want to see in the world right here and now.

If orientation gets in the way, then we can change our minds.

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