Am I, a Straight Man, Allowed in Queer Spaces?

“Am I allowed to celebrate Pride?”

This was the question I asked two of my friends when they invited me to join them for London Pride. The plan was for a whole group of us to meet up and watch the parade together, then move on to the party in Trafalgar Square. No pressure. No huge plan. Just a bunch of friends celebrating Pride together.

But here’s the thing; everyone else in the group was queer. I’m not. And as much as I want to support the LGBTQ+ community and all my friends who are part of it, I’m very aware of the danger of inviting myself, unwelcome, into their spaces.

Because while it’s important for straight people to openly support the queer community, there’s always a line we shouldn’t cross. A line where supporting the queer community becomes invading their spaces.

And I’ve been attacked for crossing that line once before.

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Just one more straight man invading queer spaces

A short while ago, I wrote an article about learning not to sexualise my partner’s bisexuality. This is a problem many straight people with bisexual partners fall into, especially in ethical non-monogamy. I wanted to share the story of my journey to reeducate myself in the hope others like me might learn from my experience.

This article didn’t get a particularly big response. Not compared to some others. But boy, did one particular member of the LGBTQ+ community have something to say about it.

After I posted this article, I received a direct message. In this message, the sender informed me in no uncertain terms that I was “a piece of shit human” who “makes me sick”. They told me the very concept of me taking enjoyment from seeing queer women together, whether they had consented to it or not, was disgusting. I had never been an ally, they said, just one more straight man using that word to invade queer spaces. That as a cis-straight man, I had no right to talk about anything to do with the queer community. I would never be a part of it, and that was that.

Now, if this had been a random internet stranger, I would have simply dismissed them. I’ve had enough people attacking me for my articles on polyamory to learn how to ignore online trolls who feel the need to police others’ opinions. But this wasn’t a random internet stranger. No, this message came from a friend. Someone I’d known for years. But here they were, burning that friendship to the ground and telling me I was the worse kind of person imaginable.

As it happens, I feel I knew this person well enough to know what parts of the article had triggered them so violently. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

And on top of that was another issue. What if they’re right?

Ally or Invader?

When I look at my social circle, the majority of people in it are part of the LGBTQ+ community. Not that it matters. I don’t make friends with people based on their sexuality or gender. It just happens that the life I’ve lived has led to these people.

I, however, am straight. I’d love it if I weren’t, but that’s how I was born. It’s actually a bit of a running joke that I’m the “token straight” at social events.

Now, I’m not saying having queer friends makes me a good person. But I do know how much I’ve grown and changed over the last twenty years. I know who I was when I moved from a small country town to London and found myself, for the first time, surrounded by people who weren’t all just like me. The person I was back then wouldn’t have been able to make the friends I have now because he didn’t understand them. He didn’t know how to joke around with them without being offensive or diminishing who they were. He didn’t know how to see past this one facet of their being to the human behind it.

I like to believe that I have the amazing friends I have now because of the work I’ve put into myself. Am I perfect? Good God, no. I’ll never be perfect. I’m sure I’ll continue to say offensive things and cross lines I shouldn’t cross along the way. But I tell myself that the fact they’ve welcomed me into their world shows that I’m at least doing the bare minimum needed to deserve having them in my life (and hopefully more).

But what if I’m wrong?

What if it’s all an assumption on my part, and I’m one comment or action from pushing someone fair enough to be brutally honest about how unwelcome I am? That I’m another privileged straight boy patting myself on the back and telling myself I’m “one of the good ones”, while at the same time making everyone feel unsafe.

Sometimes, it’s best just to ask

I like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There are some queer spaces I would never venture into. Even someone as provincial as me can tell when a space is intended to be “Straight Free”. And unless I was purposefully invited in for a specific reason by people I know, I would never dream of encroaching on those spaces.

But sometimes, I find the definition hard to define. And that brings us to London Pride.

I’d been planning on going to London Pride anyway. Yes, it’s a celebration of the LGBTQ+ community, but it’s also a place for people like me to show our support. But if I’d gone on my own, I would have simply watched and cheered the parade, showing my support while trying to take up as little space as possible.

But my friends had invited me into a large group of queer friends who would be celebrating themselves and their own community. Did I have a right to take up space in this particular group on this particular day? What if they only invited me out of politeness, and I should have declined? What if they were okay with me being there, but another member of the group disagreed and accused me of invading what was supposed to be a safe space?

As far as they were concerned, that meant straight allies were always welcome

To my relief, when I brought up this worry to my friends, they looked at me like I was talking nonsense. They weren’t inviting me out of politeness. They were inviting me because I was their friend, someone they considered an ally, and they were more than happy to have me join them for this celebration.

And then one of them put it this way: for all the insanely brave and heartrendingly amazing work the people of the LGBTQ+ community has done in the last fifty years to turn Pride into what it is today, they wouldn’t have come nearly as far without straight allies. And as far as they were concerned, that meant straight allies were always welcome to celebrate with them.

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When it comes to learning about the experience of communities outside my own, the responsibility is mine. It is no one else’s job to educate me. If I do or say something wrong, I can’t claim it’s not my fault because no one had assigned themselves to me as my teacher.

But by doing the work and by treating people as people rather than a demographic, you can reach a point where people in those communities will be willing to help you along the way if you ask nicely.

It’s my job to show them I deserve that help when I need it. That I will keep checking my privilege, and hopefully they will continue to feel safe to welcome me into those spaces that have a place for me.

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Please let me be clear; this article isn’t me patting myself on the back and telling myself what a great person I am. It’s my sharing my thoughts on an issue that’s important to me, and impacts others’ feelings of safety. But if you disagree, or I’ve said something wrong, leave a Comment and let me know. All I ask is that you do it in a way that educates me rather than attacks me for existing.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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