“…So there’s this faggot…”
I’m implying abasement; I’m replicating the same sexist, homophobic hierarchy that continues to narrate my status. I’m a faggot. There are many other faggots in the world. We share nothing but a label, but in that, in the loaded oppressive force it has, we also share the experience of being a target of objectifying hatred. The power of the word is transformative, perhaps in the associations if brings to mind, the memories of violence, or the pain of exclusion. Its use (re)assures my position as other, a certain inhabitant of the margins.
I’m not the only one. There’s a certain kindred faggotiness in the air. We recognize each other. We may ignore each other. We’re there, all the same. The faggots.
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