Me, Robin

So, let’s imagine a hypothetical situation where you are out, but your family is having none of it, and you worry that this is due to they themselves having to come out as well – a common phenomenon, in the same way that ‘coming out’ isn’t a single action but rather something you will be doing for the rest of your life. We’re all imagining it, right? It’s a testament to our creativity.

Your family carries a burden – we’re still in hypotheticals here – because, while you live your life and know your truth, for them it’s basically a story. A story that isn’t always very acceptable. This post is a two-part question: what is our responsibility to others coming out with us; and what sort of support can we provide to those who do?

‘You have to make it easier for us’

Do you, as a queer, trans or otherwise out-of-the-norm person, carry not only your own burden but also that of your family? Are you responsible for your mom’s happiness? For your dad’s discomfort? I’m of the mind that the answer is a big, loud fuck no. But here we are anyway. The question is how deserving they are of sympathy for putting you in that position.

If they are personally against whatever you came out as, then they’re trying to smokescreen you with excuses. But if there’s any genuine love for you, then most likely there’s a social reason. In a strong Christian environment it might be difficult to even associate with gay people. It doesn’t take a very conservative mind to be distressed with the idea of a man in women’s clothes. In a society that proudly supports the loud expression of whatever comes to mind, like the Dutch, a tranny is a tranny¹ – and even if I feel comfortable with my own life and the choices I’ve made, there is still an environment that I don’t ever move in, but that my parents work in every day.

It can certainly be difficult for family to deal with coming out, and I’m thinking a good part of this is the level to which they are informed. When they come out with you, they don’t have any of the language to support you. And so they are put on the spot in their own way: they are supposed to fight for someone they love, but they are under-equipped and need to fight back against bigots who have had plenty of experience with expressing their views. That leads me to the bigger question.

A manual for the co-outed

What is needed to turn a struggling relative into an ally? Sure, every person and every coming-out has its own story, its own deviation from the norm that needs explaining, but what’s the overarching approach to making this a shared coming-out?

Being a good ally requires education. It requires the ally to understand, at some level, the struggle that their friend, child or parent is going through, and then to turn that into protection. Because care without protection is, basically, I’m here if you ever need me, whereas care with protection is I defend you even if you’re not here. The question whether you love me enough to defend me is undercut by having to defend something you don’t understand. That’s, obviously, a tough call, especially when confronted with not only other people’s bigotry but also all sorts of internalised notions that you might not be aware of.

Any time the answer is ‘education’, I struggle to accept it. Because I think education has to come from both sides: if you don’t want to learn, you won’t. It’s also the background for one of my core sayings, which is that you can’t turn a true believer. Nobody has their minds changed forcefully. So if you already don’t believe that my existence is valid, what amount of education is going to change that?

And this is the real question, which I’d love for you to answer on Twitter or to otherwise tell me about (find me on Facebook, for example). I’d love to hear some ideas, and will try to compile some thoughts in a future post if it turns out to be worth it.