When ‘Straight’ People Call the Shots, Queer People Become a Monolith

Heteronormativity isn’t inherently toxic…but it isn’t inherently idyllic, either

I’m going to preface this piece by expressing how touched I’ve felt, throughout my life, by all of the heterosexual people who’ve been supportive of me. When you spend your formative years struggling to make sense of how you’re “different,” it feels good not to be second-guessed by those whom you hold in high esteem.

When I was younger, I used to view the term “straight” with discomfort. I didn’t care for the suggestion that it meant I, as a gay person, was somehow “crooked.”

But as I came out to more and more people, I got over that stigma. Instead, my righteous indignation became directed at a much more fitting target: The types of heterosexual folks who take their orientational privilege for granted.

Well-Meaning Straight Allies

In the Spring 2002 Semester of my sophomore (second) year in college, I joined an LGBT+ support group offered through the counseling services office. It ended up being a small gathering of anywhere from 3–6 students regularly showing up per weekly private session.

The group was co-facilitated by P.J. and Carol, two members of the counseling services staff. Carol was a lesbian woman in a committed relationship with a female reverend who led the local Unitarian-Universalist congregation. Since she was a fellow homosexual person, I felt comfortable with Carol because I could relate to her.

On the other hand, P.J. was a very nice guy who constantly joked about being “the token heterosexual” in our group. To me, despite his pleasant demeanor and supportive outlook toward the LGBT+ community, P.J.’s self-deprecation just made our group sessions more awkward.

While I understood that he merely wanted us to feel empowered to speak our truths, I viewed P.J. as centering himself by drawing attention to how he was part of the in-group (with the rest of us all belonging to the out-group). Honestly, in an ideal world, I think I would have preferred it if Carol had been able to co-facilitate our group alongside of another staffer who likewise identified as Queer.

One semester earlier, I’d joined MOSAIC (Making Our School an Intercultural Community), a campus diversity organization funded through Housing & Residence Life. Every autumn, MOSAIC sponsored the annual “Tunnel of Oppression,” an immersive walk-thru theatre-style simulation. Each room would have a theme aligned with experiences of a specific marginalized group.

Many universities all over the United States host “Tunnel of Oppression” simulations. The whole idea is to create empathy within guests who travel from room to room. Most rooms are meant to be at least somewhat interactive, so the visitor will come away from it feeling oppressed themselves.

During my first semester working at our campus Tunnel (Fall 2001), I helped organize and run the religion room. We created a wacky Pagan-style fake religion, and Tunnel guests would be subjected to our theocratic customs and expectations.

One of the other featured rooms was “The Heterosexual Closet.” A common exercise long established by diversity groups nationwide, it involves attendees being corralled into a dark enclosure surrounded by curtains. All around them, faceless voices (belonging to Tunnel volunteers) will lob questions at the guests, such as…

“When did you first realize you were straight?”

“Why do you choose to flaunt your heterosexuality?”

“Aren’t you ashamed that you might end up having too many kids?”

Honestly, I found it to be lame and corny. Many of the other students in Spectrum (our campus Queer/Straight Alliance) shared my sentiments.

So, the following autumn, MOSAIC asked Spectrum to take the lead with designing a different queer-themed room for the 2002 Tunnel. We came up with a “Straight Pride Rally” — where the actors would hold signage, shout anti-Queer insults at the Tunnel visitors, and chant self-aggrandizing mantras such as…

“We’re straight!…We’re great!”

Unfortunately, after the fact, many of the heterosexual folks who were part of MOSAIC thought our “Straight Pride Rally” fell flat. They believed that it confused attendees.

This should have been the first warning sign.

Gaslighting Queer Voices

For the Fall 2003 Tunnel, a member of Spectrum named Rachel was appointed to organize the queer-themed room. Rachel wanted to do a theme that would challenge gender-segregated norms, such as “gendered” clothing or toys.

She thought we should integrate that with the message that society needs to embrace individuals who diverge from expected sex/gender roles. It shouldn’t matter whether somebody is homosexual, bisexual, transgender, or gender-nonconforming. Sartorial choices and human aptitude ought to be accepted across the board.

Dusty, an R.A. who was the Tunnel’s main chairperson for that year, had her doubts about Rachel’s idea. She shot it down, and Rachel resigned from her subcommittee chair position in anger.

Rather than asking other members of Spectrum for input, Paul (a Residence Hall Director who was MOSAIC’s faculty advisor) appointed Dusty to take over Rachel’s duties. With the clock ticking, Dusty and Paul decided to bring back “The Heterosexual Closet.”

That year’s Tunnel was much less interactive than the two which had directly preceded it. Most of the rooms contained passive displays or delivered monologues, more akin to a museum than theatre performances. During my time working at our 2003 Tunnel (I volunteered as a tour guide), I overheard many negative complaints from visitors.

Not negative accusations of “political correctness.” But rather, critiques in the vein of how the complainers didn’t feel they’d learned anything new from it.

Following the event’s conclusion, Paul sent out a mass-email to the MOSAIC network praising how “exceptionally well” the Tunnel had gone, that year. Since I felt very differently, I responded with a lengthy email (cc’ed to other university officials) pointing out both the things I thought were done well along with what rubbed me the wrong way. Something that was lacking, I’d cited, was how “The Heterosexual Closet” didn’t represent queer students with any real meaningful context. I also pointed out how offended I was that Spectrum wasn’t consulted for replacement ideas following Rachel’s resignation.

Paul responded defensively, cc’ing a follow-up email to everyone whom I’d cc’ed. He placed the blame on Spectrum for not being more involved with the process in the first place. Then, Paul gave a mealy-mouthed defense where he acknowledged how “The Heterosexual Closet” was “a bit dated,” but Rachel’s resignation had left MOSAIC with no other alternative.

I rebutted his excuses, and eventually there was a meeting set up between Dusty, her co-chair Emily, and members of Spectrum. Although they listened to our concerns, we were verbally raked over the coals at that meeting in much the same way Paul had done to me within his emailed response.

Years later, I found out that Paul and Dusty got married long after they’d both moved on from the university. In hindsight, it was an Aha! moment for me…

Paul had the hots for one of his student employees (Dusty). He obviously couldn’t act on it while in his authority position. So he did the next best thing: When faced with criticism directed at his future wife and the organization they led, Paul deflected and denied any culpability.

At any rate, the damage was done. MOSAIC’s next two student co-chairs decided not to feature *any* queer-themed room for the Fall 2004 Tunnel (although they did, for whatever reason, include a room centered on biases against Quakers, Shakers, and Mennonites).

Alternatives Get Ignored

Television and film are undoubtedly getting much better at onscreen queer representation. Yet, for all of you Zoomers and Alphas born after 1995, please believe me when I tell you: It wasn’t always that way!

Throughout the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, queer TV characters usually fell into one of three banal categories: invisible, boring, or hypersexual. Transgender characters didn’t even land on the map until the mid-aughts.

The few prominent queer protagonists on primetime sitcoms or dramas were either watered down or sidelined when it came to truly exploring their sexuality. There was:

Jodie Dallas (portrayed by Billy Crystal) on Soap

Cliff Waters (portrayed by Paul Regina) on Brothers

C.J. Lamb (portrayed by Amanda Donahoe) on L.A. Law

Matt Fielding (portrayed by Doug Savant) on Melrose Place

But a real turning-point arose when Dawson’s Creek creator (the openly-gay) Kevin Williamson scripted a February 1999 episode where the newer recurring character of Jack McPhee (portrayed by Kerr Smith) came out to his teenage classmates.

The Jack McPhee character had a lot of potential. Sadly, when Smith was upgraded to a series regular for the 1999–00 season, newly-minted showrunner Alex Gansa completely neutered Jack’s personality. Gansa himself was heterosexual and had admitted to having never watched a single episode of Dawson’s Creek before The WB hired him.

Gansa turned Jack into a GINO (Gay in Name Only) teenager who was rarely given the chance to explore the gay dating world or be mentored by other queer people. He was reduced to a sidekick for the heterosexual protagonists (particularly his annoying sister, Andie), alternately groaning over his hapless life while downplaying his own sexuality in an attempt to fit in with those who hadn’t shunned him.

Later that season, openly-gay showrunner Greg Berlanti was hired to replace Gansa. But the die had already been cast. The WB was obviously worried about Dawson’s Creek becoming “too gay” — so, even under Berlanti’s leadership, Jack kept regressing into a series of cringeworthy behavioral patterns.

Gansa, Berlanti, and The WB could have allowed Jack McPhee to have rich layers. He could have been confident but still self-conscious. Conflicted, but ultimately adventurous. Outspoken, rather than a pushover.

The sad truth is that, for the longest time, LGBT+ characters were mainly there to serve the stories of their straight counterparts. Did a queer character come out in a recent plot twist? The emphasis would usually be on how that revelation affected one of the heterosexual main characters.

The ‘Salad Bowl’ of Sexuality

Why do I take so much of this so personally, you might ask?

It’s because I don’t see why queer people should let straight people define our lives on our behalf.

P.J., Paul, and Alex all would probably consider themselves to be “straight allies.” But do they really understand what we need?

Many people have perceived me to be “straight-passing” before I confirm my sexuality for them. I can’t count the number of times random acquaintances have made references to my future “girlfriend” (or my future “wife”) in passing.

This is why I hate the sterilized reference to queer people’s spouses as “partners.” It’s heteronormative to “otherize” a queer person’s significant other as their “partner” against their will, yet simultaneously keep the husband/wife and boyfriend/girlfriend binaries intact for hetero couples.

We can even see variations of this internalized orientationism from within the queer community itself. Examples of this include cisgender queer people referring to genuine sexual attraction as “genital preference,” or “ranking” sexuality below race and biological sex along the “Oppression Olympics” totem pole.

Problems with queer portrayals will arise because that’s what happens to LGBT+ people in real life. It’s a consequence of failing to include queer people with differing ideological perspectives around the decision-making tables.

When heterosexual people are the ones calling all the shots, queer people are depicted as a monolith. And the patterns of damage repeat.

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