Coming out
of the broom closet – no easy task as most of you will know, and doubly hard
when there are two closets from which to emerge into a harsh, intolerant and
often unforgiving world. Thank goodness we don’t live in medieval Europe
whereby I’d have been burnt at the stake, hosed down and then burnt again on
both counts. I want to discuss some of
the issues that I have come across in my day to day life as both a Pagan and a
member of the LGBT community, and the surprising things I have discovered about
how these two communities perceive each other and interact with one another.
I was
recently invited to an NUS LGBT conference in Manchester, UK (that is, the
National Union of Students conference for those identifying as Lesbian, Gay,
Bisexual, Trans* or other non-conforming gender or sexual identities), and as
one of my university’s representatives had dropped out at the last minute, I
decided on a whim to fill her place. This conference was an eye-opener to say
the least; never before had I seen such fervent political activism from such
inspiring and dedicated young speakers, and up until this point had been
largely ignorant as to the amount of voluntary work students do in the name of
LGBT rights across the whole UK student network. The sessions at this
conference I found the most useful were the Lesbian caucus and Faith caucus.
At lesbian
caucus we were asked how we feel about using the word ‘lesbian’ when talking to
other people, and how comfortable we are self-defining using that word. What
sprang instantly to mind for me was the way I get the same reaction using the
word ‘lesbian’ as I do the word ‘witch’, both words nobody likes to say but
words I don’t want to be ashamed to use while describing how I self-define. My
sexuality is nothing to be ashamed of, and I proudly reclaim the word
‘lesbian.’ In the same way I am proud of my religious beliefs and proudly
reclaim the word ‘witch.’ On the spur of the moment I grabbed the microphone
and told the assembled women that as a member of two oppressed minority groups,
I find that my fight to reclaim both of the words to describe this identity
have both helped each other to allow me express my sexuality and faith. When I
saw the grins spread across these peoples’ faces, as there were indeed many
Pagans in the room and those who similarly felt oppressed because of their
religious beliefs, I added that sure, sometimes I say ‘Pagan’ instead of
‘witch’, or I tell people I’m ‘gay’ instead of ‘a lesbian.’ Sometimes it’s just
easier to give the average Joe a mental image of a Druid in a stone circle
instead of the stereotypical witch, or, well – the ‘happy’ image that the word
‘gay’ brings to mind rather than the negative connotations the word ‘lesbian’
more often than not can conjure in people’s minds. No more can it be a taboo to
use these words! They are what I am!
That’s just
a bit about me and my first day at Conference. I want to start with how in my
experience the Pagan community is perceived by the LGBT community – “Ewww,
religion!” tends to be the most common reaction for me. It’s in their faces
even if it isn’t what comes out of their mouths. It’s surprising how much
resistance I’ve come up against in declaring myself a religious lesbian from
the LGBT community, without knowing what my faith is all about. There are many
LGBT atheists I know, particularly at university who shrink in horror at the
thought of us being voluntarily involved in anything to do with that icky word,
‘religion.’ ‘Wait, let me explain!’ often runs through my head as the old, ‘but
Paganism isn’t like mainstream religion, dot dot dot…’ monologue begins to race
to my mouth before the protester’s interest withers away entirely.
The next day was Faith Caucus, where
surprisingly, the Pagans assembled felt a good deal less oppressed than the
Christians and those from other religions. At this caucus I saw Christians
looking like they were on the verge of tears at the mere mention of the
subject, memories of being kicked out of families, churches and communities and
other horrors probably flashing through their minds. Of-course, the Pagan
community being generally accepting and largely embracing of those who identify
as LGBT, only at that point did I realise, relatively speaking, how lucky we
have it. In the Faith caucus it was easy to see the pain and frustration in
people’s eyes when they recounted the difficulties they’d faced in trying to
openly express both their faith and sexuality. Of-course in many mainstream
religions, gay and trans* people are led to believe that their deviance from
sexual or gender norms is not compatible with their faith.
Later on in the day was a Faith workshop,
addressing the techniques used to tackle the barriers between faith societies
and LGBT societies within universities. One of the other representatives from
my university asked me if I thought the workshop was too centred on mainstream
religions (well, I don’t expect my minority faith to get a shout-out in a one
hour workshop), but I found it to be a useful exercise nonetheless. I asked him
if our society had done anything to integrate with the Christian and Muslim
societies, to which he wrinkled his nose like I’d just stuck a smelly sock
under it. Negotiations unsuccessful/ not even attempted it would seem, and indeed
I know gays and lesbians of faith here in Swansea who find the University’s
Christian Union unwelcoming or even unapproachable, and have attempted to find
places of worship elsewhere. Yet how many closeted LGBT people do you think
there are within these societies who’d benefit hugely from a reach-out session
with the LGBT+ society? So many people between the ages of 18-25 are just
beginning to explore their sexuality and learn about who they are, and thus
university undergraduate students can be one of the most vulnerable groups and
most need this help. It’s something to think about if acting upon it doesn’t
seem to be an option.
I found the
inter-faith tolerance within the amassed LGBT groups at the conference very
inspiring. There was solidarity and strength in unity I’ve never felt at any
other inter-faith event I’ve attended as a Pagan. I didn’t feel at all
alienated for being a member of a minority religion most of them had never
heard of - in fact I felt a sense of support as strong if not stronger than
within Pagan circles. An Anglo-Catholic led prayers at the end with a small
group of us and never before had I felt so comfortable taking part in Christian
prayer with a majority group of Christians of various denominations. How’s that
for intersectionality!
Conference
got me thinking more generally about my own experiences within the Pagan
communities I’ve interacted with and responses from the wider community to LGBT
issues. Although generally accepting of LGBT and alternative gender identities/
sexualities/ lifestyles, some beliefs held aren’t as gay friendly as they might
appear.
“All acts of
love and pleasure are my rituals,” says the Goddess in Doreen Valiente’s Charge
of the Goddess. Taken from one of the most popular Pagan texts, one can assume
that love or sexual acts between anyone or any number of people (that is of-course
without violating the ‘harm none’ tenet) is not only acceptable but even
encouraged by the Goddess Herself. Our handfastings, or Pagan weddings also
reflect this, the requirement being that it be ‘between two people for as long
as their love lasts’, including same-sex partnerships (but excluding
polyamorous relationships, also generally accepted within the Pagan community,
but that’s another can of worms right there.) That’s all very well, but what
about when we come to The Great Rite and representations thereof? Personally I
have a dualistic view of deity, a god and a goddess being equally important and
complementary to one another. I find the ‘Goddess only’ view sexist and one-sided,
and that masculine and feminine energies need to be equally represented in the
whole of the natural world. However, does the traditional interpretation of the
Great rite and symbolism of human fertility in general not exclude gays and
lesbians? I’d like to stick my chalice in her chalice thank you very much! Not
an athame type, you see.
There are
ways around the fertility problem; for me, fertility of the Earth, the success
of the crops and sowing metaphorical seeds of ideas and projects are the way in
which I celebrate fertility, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. There are
male and female aspects of all of us, so in my view gay and lesbian sexualities
and partnerships are still a bringing together of masculine and feminine
energies. However I’ve recently left my local Pagan women’s group, feeling
increasingly unlike the rest of the women there; they seem to spend most of the
time talking about the female reproductive system which isn’t something I can
relate to. As an avid Starhawk fan it pains me to say that no, my lunar cycles
are not something I consider sacred or even value given that I’m not going to
end up with a partner who could give me children even if I had even the
remotest hankering to reproduce. Given the large numbers of people who identify
as LGBT within the Pagan community, surely I can’t be the only one to feel like
I don’t quite fit into a fertility religion?
In many
ancient shamanic cultures it was normal for the shaman to be transgender or not
defining within a gender binary, and yet British Traditional Wicca requires a
priest and a priestess to lead its rituals, usually demanding they be
cisgendered (born the sex they identify as) to boot? It’s easy to say that
Gerald Gardner’s open homophobia can be attributed to the fact that homophobia
was the general sentiment of the day, but despite the tremendous amount of work
he did in laying the foundation for modern neo-Pagan paths (without which most
of us would not be practising what we do), it disappoints me that someone so
forward-thinking in breaking through oppressive social structures could
actively exclude another oppressed minority group from his ideology.
Fortunately
nowadays most Pagan groups are wholly accepting of LGBT people, with groups
even created specifically for us such as the predominantly gay Radical Faeries;
but the Dianic tradition continues to disappoint and sadden me, particularly so
after seeing trans* issues taken so seriously at the NUS conference. I agree
that Zsuzsanna Budapest, founder of the Dianic tradition, has done wonderful
work for women and women’s rights, and an all-female tradition is what many
women who are victims of abuse and seek the goddess in their lives vitally
need. However the requirement that they be ‘womyn-born-womyn’ is something that
really makes my skin crawl. Are trans women not alienated, mocked, abused and
discriminated against enough in our [patriarchal] society? I was born and
raised female; I have a womb and a functioning menstrual cycle; I have the
potential to give birth. I didn’t choose to be born this way and while I recognise
my biological sex as female and generally conform to the female gender norms, I
otherwise don’t put myself inside of a gender binary. So for me the thought of
strongly identifying on one side of the gender binary but being rejected from a
single-sex group based on what’s between your legs makes my blood boil. Of-course
not all women identifying as Dianic or in a women-only group feel this way, but
there is a disgusting amount of transphobia in the Pagan feminist movement and
it needs to stop for the sake of our sisters turning to the old gods and
goddesses for love and guidance and overall, acceptance, something we’ve all
been looking for in the Pagan community.
Everything I’ve
written here is my own subjective opinion and of-course in no way reflects the
views of all Pagans or all members of the LGBT community; I’m open to comments
and counter-arguments - the spirit of debate is what keeps life interesting,
one of the most valuable things I learned at the NUS LGBT conference. To
conclude:
I proudly
reclaim the word ‘lesbian.’
I proudly reclaim the word ‘witch.’
This is part
of my identity – this is how I was born, this is how I will always be! I
encourage others to reclaim whatever words they see fit to describe themselves
and use them with pride.
So mote it be.
So mote it be.
Sophie
Horrocks, Swansea
Notes
1.
The
Charge of the Goddess, Doreen Valiente
