By Rachael Arsenault
I thought, at first, that I had an ally. An accomplice. Someone who accepted and understood, who was ready to stand by me and stand up with me. Someone I could be my whole self with, unapologetically and fearlessly.
You talked about looking out for “a woman who wanted to be a dude”—wrong phrasing, but right spirit. And you protected him. Supported him. Were a friend to him. Someone I could introduce to trans loved ones without fearing backlash and toxicity.
You talked about an ex who turned out to be a lesbian, how she asked if you wanted to be a sperm donor if she and her girlfriend ever had kids, how cool they both were. A friend to women who love women, who doesn’t get weird about his girlfriend turning out to be gay. Someone I could come out to without fearing for my safety.
You attended Pride. You bought me my first bi pride flag. You were supportively excited about progress in queer rights and queer characters in our favourite shows.
But.
You also argued with me about the difference between bi and pan. “Being bi is a sex thing. Being pan is about feelings.” It didn’t matter that I was trying to explain the definition of my own identity to you. You had to be right.
At a work function, when one of the guys dropped the f-slur, you laughed right along with them, even playing into the “joke.” It didn’t matter that I was standing there with you, openly queer, suddenly wondering how safe I was in this room full of laughing, homophobic men. You had to be fun.
On a questionnaire for your job, when it asked about sexuality, you decided to put yourself down as pan “to be supportive,” and insisted we had to commit to the bit going forward. It didn’t matter if you were actually queer (and I truly do not know, because these days each of your truths has a lie tucked in between them), because queerness was just a box to check to skew statistics and force administrative tolerance, something you could leverage. You had to be the ultimate accomplice.
But an accomplice does not lie out of both sides of their mouth. An accomplice does not make me question who they are, while trying to tell me who I am. An accomplice does not keep the peace with bigots while hushing queer voices.
I thought, at first, that I had an ally. An accomplice. Instead, I found a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Someone who calls himself my protector while shaking hands and laughing with the very people who want to hurt me.
Rachael Arsenault is a bi Canadian author who currently lives in New Brunswick with her son. She primarily writes contemporary fantasy featuring bi women in over their heads and some variety of plant magic.