A couple of days ago I was taken down a corridor of thinking that brought me to consider my privilege, my silence, and the benignity of a personal ethic. It started from my reading of a blog article by an anarchist feminist regarding a LSE discussion on anarchism and sexuality. Her common sense polemic against capitalism’s exploitative nature dogmatically perpetuating a conservative view of sex work as being inherently exploitative was particularly reassuring of my own view. In conjunction with this highlighting of the erroneous conflation of the concept of work with capitalism’s systemic exploitative doctrine, the traditional narrative of the gender binary made an appearance. The general direction of travel within the piece echoed my view of the gender binary as a naturalised authoritarian tool to indoctrinate, by way of precedent, a psychological control of division, and a susceptivity to marketing and objectification.
Anyway, it was an almost throw away comment regarding the fundamental efficacies of anarchism that came as bolt out of the blue. That comment went “… as Anarchists we believe struggles should be led by those most affected… ” This bolt wasn’t so much that it was something that I was unaware, but more of something that I had lost track of. After my rather undignified exit from the fantasy of requited love, I had been looking to reengage with my activism and rage. An acknowledging of all the injustices that promised to remind me of the rock I once felt destined to push. This was no bad initiation, but it did result in me neglecting to identify the ‘fight most affecting’. It’s true that the actualisation of capitalism’s inherent injustice and exploitation, and the promise of anarchism’s equalisation and liberty, are my main compulsions towards Humanism. But the bespoke fight that is uniquely mine has been neglected, despite its essentiality.
I’m not exactly sure where I am made to measure within the great fight, though I realise that I must find those niches to substantiate. I decided, based on the locality of the anarchism and sexuality discussion to my thought stream, to start by unacademically analysing my gender and sexuality. You might think that that is an undignified story better saved or left untold, but I will nevertheless stick it here. After all, this is the essential disclosure; one of the affecting fights that I do measure up to. A few kicks to the balls of a few hierarchical exploitations and an attempt to reclaim traditionally usurped traditions. But before I start, let me say that I will call out bigotry whenever and wherever I encounter it; and despite the suggested tunnelling that I will outline as “my fight” within this blog post, I will continue to support the positive discrimination of the LGBTQIA to even the balance and break down those conventional fictions to which ‘the pop’ publicly subscribes.
It’s considered by many, and you will hear no denials or apologetics or soreheadedness from me, that I am a privileged white male, naive to many kinds of nuanced discrimination. I do endeavour to understand, though I am limited to the known unknown known because of this privilege. There are aspects of my privilege, distinct from the blindness and checking, in which I revel. I covered one aspect regarding race in a blog post a while back; whilst the aspect in this case regards gender. It is only until relatively recently that I even thought about assessing my place in the spectrum of gender fluidity. This lax assessment is perhaps also a consequence of my being conceived throughout my life, by the public onlooker and standard inquisitor, as a white heterosexual male. But now, as I seek to ally myself and proactively participate in the move towards those egalitarian ideals, that I come to recognise my apparent genderlessness.
I feel privileged, content, and happy not to feel gendered. It wasn’t much of a consideration. Physically I am a male, and I could annoy some allies with my apparent cis-sexuality and perceived usurpation of a community label; but I must fight my corner, and mentally I just feel like me, an absurd genderless entity. When it comes to those validating labels, I like genderqueer. It is confrontational, provocative, and descriptive of my non-subscription to the gender binary; a hostility to stereotype. The term non-binary appeals to my scientific and intellectual leanings, however I can’t really imagine using that beyond these bloggings. All I know for sure is that when I am compelled to say “I am a man.” I feel the division; like a knife violently separating me from half the human population. I don’t like that feeling.
Romantically and sexually, I am attracted to those who identify themselves as women. To avoid any ambiguity, this encompasses both cisgendered and transgender women. Consequently, I identify as a heterosexual. This run of the mill disclosure is still a relevant fight to have though. Despite the prevalence and privilege associated with hetero-normativity it still feels important to maintain a heterosexual identity. It seems apparent to me, that in order to prevent heterosexuality being usurped and propagandised by bigots and reactionaries it is necessary to be the overt progressive. I intend to be the heterosexual who dissipates the misleading prescription of its indoctrinated normativity. Just to clarify, this overtness is only a tactic to counter prejudiced and indoctrinated views of the predominantly heterosexual persuasion. Oh well! There you have the cruxes. I will continue to try to find those offensive niches to shore up.
Anyway, just in case you were somehow inquisitive for more, I will disclose the branches in the breeze and other possible sub-fights, though I’m finding it hard to think of scenarios where those that follow could encounter overt prejudices. Nevertheless, here they are in all their thin glossings over. I am moderately kinky in a masochistic and adventurous manner. A repentant fetishist to the degree that I still feel compelled to check the paraphilias and objectifications, self and otherwise. that I indulge in. Whilst the kink is wonderful, the fetishisms can be hypocritical and requiring of ethical reconciliation. The fight involving fetish could be a tangible one, mainly because I recognise the fetishistic transcendences, in sexual partners and myself, that result in hierarchical reductions.
This reduction seems to be an injustice worthy of sadness. Whilst the adventure of the kinky is fine, it seems the conflation with those fetishisms can not only damage sexual freedoms, but also a fundamental conception of humanity. This results in my wondering whether this is some responsive psychosexual manifestation of childhood modelling and capitalist doctrine. That’s a scientific study beyond me; a question for someone more capable I think. When all’s said and done, I suppose the check and balance is respect. Without respect nothing can be built or nurtured.
It only remains to mention something about my monogamous inclination. Despite seeming to be my only adherence to a traditional convention, monogamy appears to have no associated fight at this moment in time. Like the necessary respect of the individual regarding fetishism, it is only a case of respectful agreement between those within a relationship. Just for the hell of defending my monogamous position against the invisible threat, or just satisfying some titillating completion of self disclosure, when I personally commit myself, I am wholly committed. I don’t think I could ever have the emotional capacity or physical energy to share, double, or whatever, my love and dedication beyond the singular.
This could all be regarded as pretty irrelevant really, as I am a reluctantly lonesome wanker. That is perhaps the best example of my singular-ness; an autonomy’s ironic slight to monogamistic want. Though that lonesome wankering is maybe a niche in need of shoring up, as I don’t see it being propounded very vociferously, I’m pretty sure I do not want to fight for its perpetuity. Despite the transient enjoyment, the long term seems to be a patchwork of convenient bodges rather than any ambitious overhaul. This appears to look more like a self abuse. Oh! Just in case you think that “abuse” sounds like I’m an ally of those masturbation obsessed theists; I’m not. After all, this blog is mind wank.