A Rainbow Lining

The alarm sounded and I reached over to turn it off, rubbing my eyes to wake myself up. It was eight in the morning, June 30th 2019, and my friends were picking me up in an hour. I leapt up and threw open the curtains, greeted by a cloudless sky. I rushed to get ready and grabbed my bag, running out the door. I fell into the car parked in my driveway and immediately jumped into the conversation. My friends were planning where we should eat after the parade. We headed downtown, the driver maneuvering through the crowded streets. Music came from all different directions and rowdy partygoers filled the sidewalks. Color was everywhere; rainbow flags hung from fire escapes, people in elaborate costumes passed by. We double parked outside City Hall, and my friends and I filed onto the sidewalk, making our way to the closed off streets.

“Are you excited?” my best friend, Lauren, asked. She wore a gold glittery dress and hair ribbons cascaded over her shoulders.

“Of course!” I exclaimed. It was my first pride parade, even though I was born and raised in San Francisco, and I couldn’t wait. I had on my homemade outfit, tie-dyed t-shirt and painted sneakers.

The three of us weaved our way through the crowd and found a place to stand near the front of the roadblocks. We chatted with each other until the first float appeared far in the distance. The people around us yelled with excitement, some already tipsy. My friend Kelly leaned back on the roadblock and pulled out a stick of rainbow face paint from her jean pocket. We all took turns applying the paint on each other’s cheeks, until we were satisfied with the amount of color. The floats approached and we leaned around the people next to us to get a better look at the dancers. They wore skimpy costumes and glitter was everywhere. The music was loud, and my friends and I danced together, enjoying the party.

As I remember this day, two years ago, I realize that I take for granted how comfortable I am in my identity, as bisexual. My friends, Lauren and Kelly, who I mention in the story, are also LGBTQ. It’s so easy to accept our identities, living our entire lives in the liberal bubble of San Francisco. When I remember the summers I spend in the Midwest with my extended family, I’m struck immediately by the stark difference between the two environments, and how they each affect the way I present my identity. As soon as the plane touches down in South Bend, Indiana, this core part of who I am vanishes, and I code-switch. I don a mask, subconsciously. I remember how my childhood and adolescence were influenced inside this bubble, in my home city of San Francisco, and I wonder, will I ever feel free to be myself in the Midwest?

To begin answering my question, I wanted to hear a queer narrative of resilience and love in the face of oppression. Uncle Frank, a film directed by Alan Ball, follows the relationship between Beth, a young woman coming of age in the American south during the 1970s, and her closeted gay uncle, Frank. Beth has immense admiration for her Uncle Frank, but can’t help but notice his alienation from the rest of their family.

As I was watching the film, I noticed a palpable change in the way Frank presented himself as he, his boyfriend, and his niece, Beth, traveled by car from New York down the coast. The first time I noticed was when Frank and Beth were seated in a diner booth, snacking on some french fries. Beth knew about Frank’s sexuality, and asked when he knew he was gay. Frank looked up abruptly and subtly gestured for Beth to keep her voice down. They had crossed into the southern region and Frank knew that being gay wasn’t accepted like it was in New York City. Frank begins to repress his sexuality at this very moment and code-switch. Another notable encounter is at a hotel when Frank and his boyfriend, Wally, are renting a room for the night. Beth stands behind them, which catches the attention of the desk lady, as the three of them don’t fit the heteronormative family structure. She asks what the relationship between the three of them is, and Frank lies, saying they’re all cousins. He knew that if he were to admit that Wally and him were a couple, it would not be received well by the Southern woman. They check into a second motel later in the movie, and Frank and Beth go in alone, without Wally. They can’t risk the man at the desk suspecting Frank to be gay and then calling the police. Frank presents as straight while he’s in South Carolina, not only because being gay is not accepted culturally, but also because his life would be in danger, were anyone to suspect anything about him and his boyfriend. I think that this aspect is necessary when contemplating the gay experience in conservative areas. It’s wrong to assume that gay people are simply “not accepted” into society. While that is true, there’s more to it than that. People in the LGBTQ community are often in danger, their lives are threatened, solely because of their identity. It’s a lot more intense than most media will portray. However, Uncle Frank gives an accurate portrayal of a gay man whose life is threatened because of who he loves.

Another theme brought up throughout the storyline that I think is worth mentioning is that of family. Beth talks with her female cousins early in the movie, who are around her age, 19 or 20. One of her cousins is already married and pregnant with her second child, and expresses her immense happiness to Beth. In Creekville, there’s no shame in getting pregnant young, in fact it’s encouraged to start your family as early as you can. Another way family life is apparent in South Carolina is during Frank’s father’s funeral. Frank’s brother, Mike, comes up to him and tells him about the weekly dinners that Mike and his dad used to have. Mike never moved far from home, and made sure to visit his family as often as he could. The culture in the American South is portrayed as family oriented, much more so than Frank’s community in New York City. This theme speaks to the stereotype, or misconception, that gay people aren’t able to be apart of their family, because of homophobia, or aren’t able to begin a family of their own. Some people in our society also believe that gay people don’t deserve to have a family, that it’s wrong to have a child if you’re with a same sex partner. Frank’s lack of family in the movie doesn’t prove that he’s incapable of beginning a family, instead if highlights the dramatic differences between heteronormative expectations in our society and homosexual expectations. Young straight women are expected to begin a family, and gay men are expected to hide their sexuality instead of beginning their own family, or being a part of their own.

After watching this film, and reflecting on the struggles that Frank faces in order to survive in his society, I think that the themes portrayed in this film are relevant today. Many people in the LGBTQ community are forced to hide their sexuality when they travel to different regions, to avoid violence and oppression. Others are unable to be a part of their own family. Although I cannot speak to the threat of violence, I have experience with exclusion and the feeling of not belonging in one’s own family. I have memories of my own, similar to Frank’s, where I hid my identity from my family. In the movie, Frank’s emotions built up and it was extremely taxing to have to hide his true self from everyone all the time. I can see my own experiences in this; it’s tiring having to consciously think about what I’m saying next, to code-switch from the real me. At the end of the movie, Frank came out to his family and was rewarded with a new community full of love. His family accepted him completely and he didn’t have to hide behind his mask any longer. I didn’t feel a relation to this at all; I doubt my family would be as joyful or supportive. I wondered, was the only solution to feeling like an outsider, to come out to my family? I would think that would serve to ostracize me even more. Frank was lucky to have a loving family, but not everyone has that privilege. Even though the movie didn’t answer my question, it was introspective to relate my own experiences to Frank’s experiences, and validating to hear my own anxieties surrounding being gay in a rural area laid out on screen.

After thinking about my personal feelings surrounding code-switching, I wanted to hear about my friends’ opinions on the topic. I sat down with two of my closest friends, one who identifies as lesbian and the other who identifies as queer. I facilitated a conversation focused on the topic of code-switching when traveling to more rural areas. Both of my interviewees have family in somewhat conservative areas (California’s Central Valley and Marin County), and they both agreed that they don’t feel close with their family at all. I’ll summarize some of the topics that we touched on in the interview.

First, I wanted to think about why I felt the need to present differently. Was this something I wanted to do consciously, or did it happen subconsciously as a result of my environment? I talked about it with my friends and I decided that I didn’t act differently because my personality traits are inherently gay. Rather, based on the stereotypes that my extended family may have of gay people, I felt the need to hide anything that could possibly be seen by them as gay. I was acting in response to stereotypes that existed about me. This idea, of altering the way I present to proactively act against stereotypes of gay people, answers my question about changing myself subconsciously. It’s this fear that I have, the fear of being seen as “the other”, and not belonging. This fear is something I share with my friends, and it’s the root of my code-switching.

After coming to this realization, I wanted to dig deeper. I wanted to know what the difference was between the Midwest and San Francisco. Why didn’t this fear exist in San Francisco? Growing up in this city, I was always encouraged to be myself, both by my parents and the community I was surrounded with. There are so many different types of people in the city, it allowed me to blend in and discover who I really was, without feeling the need to conform to anything. But as I talked about growing up in the city with my friends, I learned from them that it’s not as picture-perfect as it may seem. Pockets of acceptance exist in San Francisco, just like anywhere else. My friends have experienced bullying and oppression, and I’ve seen it happen in my own communities. Sometimes, the cloak of the liberal bubble allows homophobia to persist unchecked. It’s unexpected that homophobia would exist in a place as liberal as San Francisco, and perhaps that’s why it does. As a bisexual woman, I haven’t been oppressed nearly as much as my peers of color, or transgender people in my community. I recognize that my place in society is indeed privileged. Regardless, I think that the way I present myself would be very different, had I grown up where my extended family lives.

After interviewing my friends, I realized that they are a big reason why I feel so at home in the city, and in my identity. Community plays a big role in the formation of someone’s identity, and I was lucky enough to find a loving community among people like me in San Francisco. I think that the diversity of city life provides people in the LGBTQ community with a place to belong, and it’s easier to find people who are similar to you, without feeling ostracized. “LGBTQs in the City, Queering Urban Space’’ by Yvonne Doderer (March 2011) examines why city life and urban areas have a more defined LGBTQ community. Doderer’s argument is that urban areas provide a healthy environment for people who identify as LGBTQ to accept their identity and seek out others in their community. As a gay person living in a large city, I can attest that having a tangible community is important to the formation of one’s identity. Being near others within your community contributes to a sense of companionship and camaraderie. I think that if I hadn’t found my friends, who are also LGBTQ, I would be very different than who I am today.

At this point, I knew why I felt the need to code-switch, I’d thought about the differences between San Francisco and the Midwest, I’d consulted my own community about it, but somehow I still felt discouraged. Would I always feel this way about the Midwest? I felt resigned to believe that my only community was that of my friends in San Francisco. I decided I needed some hopeful news. I was surprised to find that although the majority of the Midwest is conservative, there is a liberal and democratic community in certain areas. For example, as Michael Scherer and Chelsea Janes report on in the article for the New York Times: “Pete Buttigieg, the Young and Openly Gay Midwest Mayor, Finds a Voice in Crowded Democratic Presidential Field”, a town called South Bend, Indiana elected their first openly gay mayor, Pete Buttigieg.

My family is from South Bend: my aunt and cousins live there currently, and my dad was born there. I go and visit them there frequently and the town is a big part of my childhood. I remember when Buttigieg was running in the democratic race for president, and finding out that he was both from South Bend and openly gay. I felt a surge of hope, because before, I had just known South Bend as a closed-minded, conservative, Midwestern town. It’s so reassuring to know about people like Buttigieg, who’s married to his husband, Chasten Buttigieg, and comfortable in his identity. I think in San Francisco, it’s not that big of a deal, but knowing what South Bend is like, it’s a giant step toward progress and acceptance.

As I researched Buttigieg, I found out about transgender activist Gene Dawson, a major figure in the LGBTQ community in St. Louis. Ryan Schuessler, from The New York Times, wrote the article “LGBTQ in the Midwest, Where the Fight is Still Happening”, (May 30, 2019) in which he recounts six interviews with different people identifying as a part of the LGBTQ community. All of his interviewees have different experiences relating to identifying as LGBTQ and living in the Midwest. Some feel discriminated against, or in danger. Others feel as if the Midwest doesn’t get enough recognition in the fight for gay rights, like Gene Dawson.

Dawson, who identifies as gay, talks about going out dressed in drag for the first time in St. Louis, in 1954. Schuessler points out that this was 15 years before Stonewall in New York, arguably one of the most significant gay rights protests. Dawson explains in his interview that he feels that St. Louis, and other places in the Midwest, don’t get enough credit in LGBTQ history. Oftentimes, it’s New York or San Francisco that’s mentioned instead of other, often looked over, historic places, like St. Louis. Dawson is quoted in the article saying, “They don’t give St. Louis credit for anything. They just assume we’re all farmers 10 or 20 years behind everyone else. We were never behind anyone, especially the gay people.” Gay people in the Midwest existed in the mid-20th century, and their stories matter just as much as the gay community’s in larger cities.

I think Dawson’s quote is important in answering my question because, although the Midwest may have legislation that’s less progressive than California, gay people still exist in this region, and their narratives matter. In my question, I was somewhat quick to assume that the stark difference between California and the Midwest means that the Midwest is less progressive. However, it’s necessary to acknowledge that there is an important LGBTQ community in the Midwest, to acknowledge their stories, and give their experiences just as much attention as we do the LGBTQ community’s stories in San Francisco.

My journey in finding the answer to my question has been one of self discovery, to put it simply. I began with a feeling of doubt: doubt in my own identity and whether or not I could really fit in. After watching Uncle Frank, I began to see similarities between myself and Frank. Frank’s shift as he traveled down to the South, mirrors my experience traveling east, to Indiana. I remember getting ready for family reunions: I felt myself becoming conscious of what I would wear, picking out outfits ahead of time and making sure my clothes would fit in. I was aware of what I said, often talking very little for fear of saying the wrong thing, like Frank did in the movie. I was present with my family, and I love my aunts and uncles, however I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. I think this uneasiness comes with leaving one’s identity behind. Being without that part of myself left me feeling empty and isolated. It was easier in that regard to forget the line between who I was and who I pretended to be. I felt sad, realizing that my extended family may never truly know who I am. I’m at home in San Francisco, and I fall into my natural mannerisms and routines. The minute I landed in Indiana, I remembered stiffening, fearing the imaginary rules and falling into the gay stereotype. My friend said it best in our interview: “I do feel like I need to change and to hide everything that could possibly be seen as gay. I think that’s why I act differently.”

However, it’s progress like Pete Buttigieg’s election in my family’s hometown, and learning about long-time activists like Gene Dawson, that brings me hope and peace. Although there will always be some people who don’t accept my community, I’m okay with that. I think, through all my research, I’ve learned to be more sure of myself. I know now that whether it seems like it or not, there is always a community for me wherever I go. Dawson found community in Saint Louis, Buttigieg found community in South Bend, Frank found community in his family in South Carolina, and I feel encouraged to look for community in the Midwest. I learned that I’m loved, and my identity is valuable. My answer to my question is yes, I am free to be myself, wherever I choose to do so. If I were to pass along a message to any young, queer people feeling doubtful or afraid of who they are, I would say, there is always a rainbow lining.