Lesbians are as different from one another as any fantasist could possibly imagine--except in one crucial factor: we all choose women as our life partners, our intimate partners, our sexual partners. That choice, its joys, puzzles, and difficulties, brings us into an entirely different life arena than choosing a partner of the opposite sex does. That choice make us outsiders, generally unsupported by the social fabric of the predominant heterosexual culture. While many of us like the veiw from without, indeed find our energy and joy for life in our difference, we should also recognize that we must continually push against the social norms. These are few approved role models or mentors for lesbians, whether as single lesbians or as couples.
It is perhaps appropriate that our knowledge of the sexual nature of some of our foremothers' relationships comes from an inquisitorial document detailing a criminal offense. Judith Brown's account of the trial of Abbess Benedetta reminds us that there are centeries-old reasons for hiding our sexual orientation. This fear is realistic. And it harms us by giving rise to heterosexism.
Heterosexism--the assumption that everyone is heterosexual--is what lesbians face when we are ignored, when we can find little or no reflection of ourselves in popular culture, no mention of us when hot national political issues like health care are discussed, when we are seldom included in the daily life of our culture, our "civilization," It isn't only that my lover can't be covered by my health insurance policy from my place of employment, but Hallmark doesn't publish a card that celerbrates our aniversary or the aniversaries of our friends. Sometimes we recognize the large omissions and forget the small ones that we deal with every day, but they are there, the opposite of support--those small details that whittle away at our sanity and our staying power like grains of sand carving caverns our of hard rock.
Heterosexism is, on the one hand, fairly benign; it is an omission, not a direct attack. And it is changing--fairly rapidly in some aspects. When I came out, I could not have expected to see a television news special on the phenomenon of gay parenting, nor would I have expected a prgram about the thriving lesbian community in Northampton. There were only two lesbian feminist presses operating in the United States when I came out; today there are more than a dozen feminist or women's presses that specialize in lesbian literature and culture. We can choose a gay/lesbian tour or travel agent, sta in gay/lesbian or "friendly" guest houses, motels, dude ranches, or resorts. The list expands every day.
It is important that heterosexism is fading away, even when our visibilty as lesbians makes us feel vulunerable and exposed, because the inevitable companion of hetersexism is homophobia--the fear of same-sex initimcay. Homophobia is what lesbians face when we are portrayed as vicious, oversexed demons in films or, in the words of Pat Robertson at the Republican National Convention in 1992, as women who would murder our children. Homophobia insits that all things lesbian or gay be kept quiet, hidden, secret. That secrecy allows homphobic images to define the norm of lesbian and gay existence and gives permission for the violence against lesbians and gay men perpetrated by for the by homophobic people.
Sometimes it is difficult to see where we should or can break the homophobia cycle. We are afraid of being attacked, so we hide our lives. When we hide, society assumes we don't exist. When we don't exist, we aren't known. And so the fear and hatred of the unknown becomes fear and hatred of us, and the old myths and distortions about who we are define us in the popular mind.
A modern example of this vicious circle, one that reminds us homophobia isn't gone yet, has been the national "debate" [U.S.] about whether or not gay people should be included in the military. Until recently, court-martial and removal from the military service was what awaited anyone suspected of being a lesbian or gay. Now there is allegedly a policy referred to as "Dont ask. don't tell." But if you do tell, you can still be court-martialed, which only maintains or exacerbates the expectation of secrecy about lesbian and gay lives.
The discussion about whether or not we could serve in the military was, of course, ridiculous, since we have always been a part of the miltary. Gay men who hid their sexual orientation served. Lesbians as well as heterosexual women passed as men in order to serve in the Revolutionary War and the Civil War and probably in every other conflict in which this country [U.S] has ever been involved. So the terms of the debate were not accurately being stated.
The Real question is whether lesbians and gays serving in the military will ever be alowed to say who they are openly or whether they will continue to be required to hide. The real debate is about heterosexism, which would allow us to be harrassed and attacked if we were noticed or if we said who we were.
If every lesbian and gay man in the military felt safe enough to say, "I'm lesbian or I'm gay," American society might have to examine some cherished myths about is. If lesbians have been living with and working with heterosexual women without "hitting" on them, if taking a shower with a lesbian has not placed the daughters of America in sexual jeopardy, at the very lease those heterosexual women who discover they have lesbian friends or coworkers will not shudder with horror when the lesbian myths are waved at them.
Suzanne Pharr and Cynthia Enloe have each wirtten about how fear of homosexuals (lesbians) has been used to keep heterosexaul women in their gender-limited identities. Most recently, Enloe observed that the group that would gain the most if homosexuals were allowed to serve openly in the military was not lesbians, not gay men, but heterosexuals women. The fear of being thought of as lesbian keeps heterosexual women from reporting male sexual harassment and violence. The woman who complains about a man's sexual interest is immediately labeled "lesbian" and subjected to investigation and possible court-martial. Married heterosexual women have been court-martialed with dishonorable discharges because they did not abide closely enough to the feminine stereotype.
I understand the dynamics of homophobia, but I'm always surprised when heterosexuals of good will, those folks who say they are our allies, don't understand why secrecy is painful to us. They ask, "Why do you have to tell people you're lesbian? Why do you want them to know about your sex life like that?" As though we were exhibitionists, we lesbians who are out. My response is simple. "Do you tell people you're married and introduce them to your wife?" I asked one male friend that question. He nodded, not seeing my point. "Then you're giving far more information than when I say I'm homosexual. You're telling me your sexual orientation and that you're currently having sex and with which woman."
His sense that I was revealing more than my sexual orientation involved "the secret," of course. Bringing a secret into the light of day always carries more power than acknowledging a known fact.
When lesbians are in a relationship, and when we are public about the nature of that relationship, we have to face the effect of our sexuality in the world. A single lesbian can be seen as a single woman--the world may assume that she's not having sex--and so she's not quite so threatening. This was my experience as a single lesbian dealing with some heteroseuxals and most institutions, such as the college where I taught occasionally. Most people in my life know I'm a lesbian, but when I'm not "coupled" and they don't have to inquire about my partner or spend time with us together, then I'm "just Judith." When we are coupled, our sexuality is out there, known or assumed, but it can't be ignored.
From the book The Lesbian Couples Guide
by Judith McDaniel