Since the anti-LGBTQ+ demonstrations last week, we have heard on several microphones and from many pens that “the left is tearing each other apart”, that “intersectionalists” no longer know where to turn, and other similar clichés.
For what ? Because the pan-Canadian movement which mobilized against the inclusion of trans and non-binary realities – and therefore children – in schools in Canada has coalesced around conspiracists to whom the pandemic had accustomed us, extreme activists right, fundamentalist Christians and Muslim ultraconservatives. The cameras, unsurprisingly, captured the faces of the Muslim demonstrators more insistently. Since then, we have said to ourselves, rubbing our hands: between trans people and veiled women, the “inclusive left” is finally facing its contradictions!
Except no, sorry for you. I can only speak for myself, who is committed against Islamophobia as well as transphobia: I don’t feel my world of meaning collapsing.
On the other hand, the comment makes me say that many people who attack social movements still struggle to understand their most basic logic.
First of all, we still have difficulty understanding what it means to defend human rights. This is a commitment that goes far beyond the logic of “my gang against your gang “. This means that I believe that all women should be free to wear or not wear what they want — even women who despise part of who I am.
That means defending the right of all LGBTQ+ people to live out their sexual orientation and gender identity — including those who reproduce racism in queer culture. This means that even if a black man has made deeply misogynistic comments or actions in the past, I don’t want him to get beaten up by the police. This means that I use my visibility on the pan-Canadian scene to raise awareness among my audience about bilingualism and the right of all Francophones in the country to live their lives fully in their mother tongue — including those who contribute to racism. This basically means that I want everyone, even people who disrespect me, to have access to respect and dignity.
In theory, this is all very noble. In practice, things can quickly become complex. Organizing work in social movements means facing this complexity on a daily basis. In interpersonal relationships and the construction of bonds of trust, as well as in the negotiation of key messages that enable coalition building. This complexity therefore does not surprise anyone with any field experience in mobilization.
This same complexity also sometimes gives a hard time to jurists who must draw the line when the freedoms of some come into conflict with the rights of others. When one group’s freedom of expression or association threatens the safety — or simply the dignity — of another, a line must be drawn. We don’t always agree on where it should be, but the line at least always testifies to a more or less skillful search for balance.
The more we are socially and politically accustomed to complexity, the more we will feel equipped to act precisely in this type of situation. We understand that we are often faced with false dilemmas. Rather than hesitating between two options that do not suit everyone, we are entirely capable, with a little will, of imagining a third.
There are queer people, traumatized by the violence they have suffered within their own religious community, who begin to despise all forms of faith and display their prejudices against all believers in the world. There are others who have found in spirituality a vocabulary to name their identity and their relationship to the world, and a community to support them in their search for meaning. There are also very religious people who justify patriarchal, sexist, homophobic and transphobic values by faith, which one can just as easily maintain by being an atheist. There are others who draw from their faith a compassion, a search for justice and a concern for the most vulnerable which will lead them to a completely different vision of the world.
This is why neither Christianity, nor Islam, nor any community of believers are monoliths that can be easily caricatured.
If we want to fully understand the links between religion and sexual diversity, it is to our advantage to listen to queer people who are themselves believers. To do this, we should at least stop pretending that they do not exist. We cannot honor them in all that they are unless we imagine a society where freedom of conscience, sexual orientation and gender identity are all equally respected. As long as we are comfortable with complexity, difficult but necessary conversations, looking for solutions and also listening, above all, I don’t see why it would be impossible.
If this optimism comes so easily to me, it is thanks to the years I spent in social movements. We can see how circumstantial allies, by dint of experiencing strong moments together, end up building the bonds of trust necessary for discussions which make it possible to reduce the blind spots that we all have – but absolutely all – when we decides to become socially involved. By defending each other’s rights without expecting reciprocity, activists end up seeing a mutual understanding slowly develop.
If we do not resume the rhythm of progressive mobilizations soon, moreover, it is to the right of the right that this magic of bonds of solidarity and trust built in political action will take place.
Anthropologist, Emilie Nicolas is a columnist at Duty and to Release. She hosts the podcast Detours for Canadaland.