The “clean” straight cis body and the “dirty” queer body

Disease and uncleanliness are universal issues that have existed in every culture
throughout human history. Although we often view the previous generations as being
unaware or ignorant of health issues, they were still deeply concerned about their
health (For more about historical health I highly recommend Medieval Bodies by Jack
Harnell). However, creating clean healthy spaces is not just about picking trash oD the
street, it is about creating an image. What we see from this is that cleanliness and
uncleanliness become attributes given to groups of people, not just behaviour.
In the modern period in Europe and America, there is a division between clean white
upper- and middle- class bodies and unclean poor coloured bodies. This is deeply
connected to ideas of morality and pureness, which is really just a symptom of racism
and classism. For example, sanitation programs in the late 19th century and early 20th
century in the United States of America were in part put in place to create desirable
spaces for white middle- and upper-class people, which often included kicking the
working class and immigrants out of “alleys” as they were often called.
This idea of clean vs unclean bodies can also be applied to the socially constructed
contrast between pure cis bodies and defective trans and queer bodies. Queer bodies
and identities have historically been labelled as “deviant identities”, which creates a
clear distinction between “us” and “them”; “normal” bodies vs “unnatural” bodies.
Serano argues in her text about detransition bias that the general population views cis
bodies as “natural and pure” compared to trans bodies that they view as “artificial,
defective and/or corrupted.” This creates a moral hierarchy of cleanliness in which cis
people may try to “clean” the trans body from its transness, by for example hindering
gender aDirmative care.
Homosexuality has since the early 1800s been seen as a medical phenomenon or a
mental illness. Being queer also has negative connotations within many religions, as for
a very long time (and still to this day), it is seen as a sin and/or moral failure. Whether it
be an illness or the devil, the queer body needed to be cleansed from it. This manifested
in various forms of conversion therapy such as shock treatment or “praying the gay
away.”
Being labelled as “dirty” has a negative impact on the individual and their understanding
of themselves. One can keep trying to clean or cure the queerness away, but ultimately
it will fail, because the body was never dirty or sick in the first place. However, when
society tells you that your body is “sick,” it can make you feel like you are the one doing
something wrong; you are not good enough at curing yourself.
Cleansing happens on social scales as well. S. Lamble argues in their chapter in
Captive Genders that quality-of-life ordinances are used to “remove queer and trans

youth from public places and criminalize their social activities.” Ordinances like these

are really in place to create spaces that are desirable for the white upper- and middle-
class, similar to the sanitation campaigns I discussed in the beginning of this text.

Pathologized language is a highly instrumental tool for politicians to control the
narrative, as the general public automatically sees sickness as a threat and enemy. This
can make us believe that politicians want the best for us, while ignoring the deeper
agenda behind it, which is often one of white upper-class superiority. People in power
ascribe sexual deviancy to enforce social norms around race, class and ability. This is
not a single-issue problem, but a highly connected network of oppression that is
designed to maintain the status-quo.
This is why I implore you to be mindful of the language people in power use to discuss
queer bodies. See how disease is used to invoke fear in the public. Look for how this is
connected to racism, classism and ableism. Fight against the population control that
politicians label as disease control.

Lesbians Matter: Blood, Care, and Resistance during the AIDS crisis


When I first learned about the role lesbians played during the AIDS crisis, I felt a jolt
of recognition. Not simply from someone researching the past, but as someone who
carries that identity myself, as someone that was still looking for the meaning of
community, what it meant to be part of a larger collective. Lesbians were not only
present in this story, but they were vital to it, even though their contributions are
largely overlooked in the larger narrative of AIDS activism.
The AIDS epidemic broke out in the 1980s, and gay men were subsequently barred
from donagting blood, which also meant that they didn’t have any access to blood if
they needed it. In that moment of exclusion, lesbians stepped forward. Lesbians
stepped in as nurses, bedside carers, activists, protestors. They organized blood
drives, offering their own veins as a lifeline. The San Diego Blood Sisters
spearheaded these initiatives, if interested in more on this part of queer history:
https://womensmuseum.wordpress.com/2019/04/10/the-blood-sisters-of-san-diego/.
This wasn’t just to meet medical needs, in this there’s also a clear statement: our
community is interconnected, and when one part is cut off, the rest will step in. To
donate blood is to give something from your body, it is a gift of life. During the AIDS
crisis, it was also a gift of dignity.
Too often, lesbians are ignored, whether their contributions during the AIDS crisis or
even still within the community. But lesbians matter. And lesbian AIDS activism
matters, because it shows that we, as a community, are stronger when we are
intertwined, when we work together. It matters because it reminds us that activism
isn’t only about fighting for ourselves, but also about showing up for each other when
we need it most. (For more on lesbians as the glue in the queer community:
https://www.thepinknews.com/2023/04/28/lesbians-lesbian-visibility-week-lisa-
power/)
Remembering lesbian blood drives is more than just honoring a hidden chapter of
history; it is about reclaiming the truth that care and solidarity have always been at
the heart of our survival. AIDS has claimed the life of hundreds of thousands of
people, a disproportionate number of them gay men, but AIDS did not and could
never claim the humanity, strength, connection and power it takes to get through
such tragedy as a community. Lesbians stood in that gap, offering their blood, their
bodies, their solidarity, their care, and their labor when it was most needed. Their
activism reminds us that survival has never been an individual act; it has always
been collective. To remember them is to remember the truth that pride is not a
celebration, it is a protest, it is resilience, it is resistance, it is showing up for one
another and about insisting every part of our community matters. The exhibit We Are
Everywhere explores lesbians’ roles within the community and has a header on
lesbian aids activism, for more information:
https://onlineexhibits.library.yale.edu/s/we-are-everywhere/page/welcome.

Knowing this history, I feel proud to be a lesbian, part of a community that, even in
the face of violence, has always chosen care and solidarity. Remembering the
lesbian blood drives is a reminder that our strength lies in showing up for one
another, and that pride itself is rooted in resilience and resistance.

Living on the streets

I’ve been living on the
street for a while
not out of loss,
but because I left myself at
the door
to be let in.
If I keep walking,
past where you last
recognized me
will there still be room
for the person I’ve
become?
Will you hear me now,
not as an echo of who I
was,
but as the truth I’ve been
hiding
finally whole,
finally home?

Laro

0 divided by 0


am i your worst nightmare?
am i a threat to national security?
am i an enemy of the state?


if my truth is your lie,
if my facts are your misinformation,
if my kiss is your propaganda,
if my love is your extremism,
if my identity is your inciting violence,
if my peace is your destruction,
if my words is your terrorism


if your country is my sudden death
my tortured skin


i will destroy,
i will lie,
i will be violent
i will love,
i will kiss,
i will be who i am
and i will not be afraid to say it


you try to take my life that i don’t have
my freedom that i don’t have

my self that i don’t have


you turn me into zero and you divide me by zero
if you think i’m nothing, why are you paying so much attention to me?
go on, then
turn me into nothing
kill me to buy yourself some time


turn me into dust and forget about me
you won’t notice me coming back
you won’t see me burn it all
burn you all
and then we’ll kiss and love and sing
we’ll talk and we’ll dance
and we won’t pay attention to you


i am the enemy to your state
i am the threat to your security
i am your worst nightmare

Ro Vilvovskaya, they/them.

Fuzzy Coffee


I.
I think it was October
October 2018
I could look it up if I scroll through all of our messages.
But I don’t dare look there
see the people we were then
can’t remember if you ever sent me a voice message
I don’t know what your voice sounds like anymore


II.
Let’s say it was October,
When I asked you on a walk, and you said yes, and I was surprised.
We walked through the centre of Moscow
от Кропоткинской до Тверской
you were complaining that you can’t see a single trash can – weird for such a big city
I was too embarrassed to let you hear me sing out of tune
you were not
you sang Курьер by Дайте Танк
the delivery person getting burned for nothing


III.
And I think it was next July,
we talked, and saw that there was no line between the fog and the lake – no horizon line, just
a vast mystery of grayish blue
I think you wanted to walk there


IV.
I think it was December,

when I met your brother
you were talking about coffee again
orange berry caramel note
dark coffee you found so sweet
sweeter than the world


V.
I think it was that first Fall,
when we went to a thrift store
a dream for any weird kid
your hand in mine was so warm
protective
protected
you said “everyone thinks we are dating. what a trick we played!”


VI.
It was Fall, Winter, Spring
you would ask me to come to Starbucks
15 minutes away from my place
you’d get me a cup of warm vegan milk with syrup
I could never like the taste and anxiety of black coffee


VII.
I know it was June 2020
it was the day before my birthday
My last chance to touch your hair
boop your nose
hold your hand
I didn’t know

I can never stop hearing the “what if”s in my head

VIII.
I know it was still June
I can tell you every detail
Google Photos thoughtfully sends a reminder
remember that day?
I remember
the Crimean sun on my skin
the smell of absinth plants
and the sea
and the rocks warmed by the sun
salty taste on my lips
the best tiredness after swimming against the waves
pebbles being very hard to walk on
dog barking excitedly
the purples and blues of the sunset


IX.
I knew before I opened the notification
4 hours of night summer air
fully dry, but really hurting eyes
someone else’s screams and why’s
suffocating rocks


X.
I don’t know what day it was.
I yelled your real name, hurting my lungs
I gave you one last boop on the nose

And you skin felt like rubber


XI.
I got the courage to walk into Lush this winter
I want to buy the perfume that you had.
The ring that was always on my finger, even after changing colours three times
broke a couple months ago
I saved everything you ever gave me
but not your voice


TRANSPHOBIA KILLS

Ro Vilvovskaya, they/them.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑