Twelve in Twelve

Happy Pride! As one can come to expect now, my reviews are coming in a few days into the next month. I promise I am trying, and I’m not making excuses when I say that June was a pretty hectic month for me. That being said, I did manage to finish this book in time. I’ve just been sitting on the review for a moment, completely in awe of the book I just finished.

Written and narrated by Anthony Delaney, a historian and researcher hailing from Ireland, we are taken through numerous accounts of queer history throughout this book. Right off the bat, we’re thrust into the middle of a raid on a “Molly House” outside of London in the 1720’s. Molly Houses were safe-havens for the queer community. Anyone who identified as gay, gender non-conforming or a cross-dresser was welcomed there, and could explore their sexuality and curiosities freely. Immediately we’re witnessing some of the frist hand-written accounts of queer discrimination. Delaney explains the laws that were in place to oppress and prosecute those who were identified to be queer, or outright outed by other members of their community. He walks us through a court documented trial; what defenses the accused would have and did use to clear their names and legacies. We’re even given insight to what those who aided and provided safe-havens for queer people were subjected to under the law. No discrimination was spared. No less-harsh punishment just because you were a woman giving refuge to an oppressed community. Certainly, women were not commonly put to death like those who had been outed. But their fates were just as dangerous and detrimental to them, for the rest of their lives. For those accused, there was only one ending; death.

It was not astonishing to read that even in the 1720s we as a society were putting queer people to death. Because of course we were. Unlike my feelings while reading Giovanni’s Room and Simply More, where we were reading stories of turmoil and triumph; my feelings while reading this title were more hardened and heartbroken. The stories we encounter in this book range from hopeful and light hearted….until they can no longer be simply because of law. The whole book, so meticulously researched and put together, serves as a stark reminder that no matter how long queer people have naturally existed; their lives have always been subject to scrutiny, abuse, oppression and death. We meet characters of high standing and of low standing in Georgian England. And still, class standing does not save them all. The fact that an aristocratic born man in 1720’s England who may have married, fathered numerous children and secured a legacy, could still face the same fate as a lowly milk delivery man should not surprise any of us. And it doesn’t surprise me. It saddens me.

If it is not clear, on this blog, we absolutely support LBGTQIA+ rights, among other political stances. You will definitely see the reading list for this year become more political as we move forward. Having been raised in a staunchly conservative Christian family, in the south no less, it was quite the surprise to my family when I came home from college with progressive ideas in my head. And when I said those thoughts out loud, my father only clutched his bible closer to his chest. I do believe that gay rights and women’s rights are vital and important to cement in society. It’s insane that the ERA has been a piece of legislation presented in front of congress repeatedly for the last 4o+ years, and it still hasn’t passed. It’s a shame that Obergefell v. Hodges only passed in 2015 – and it’s still being challenged at the Supreme Court level. These are the things I thought about as I went through this book, reading of influential lawmakers and ordinary men and women.

But what hurts the most, I think, is just how consistent and constant the persecution has been for the queer community. Again, I’m hurt by it because my morals and politics could never fathom treating any other person like that. But what do we expect from a society that has found every excuse to degrade and demean a faction of our society, simply because they do not “look” or “act” normal? This treatment goes well beyond gay men and women; and we only have to look at the playbook America has written. Our country’s history is rife with “othering” marginalized communities within our society. And so, it clearly seems, is England’s. What else were we to expect from the dynasty that colonized half the world at this point in time? It should come as no shock to anyone reading this book that the people in this country would be safe or spared from what the government was doing elsewhere, simply because they were themselves English citizens, men of the crown, or influential members of society. Something I have been thinking about consistently in the last five years is how ignorant you have to be think it can’t happen to you because of how you present in society, or how you mask, or your proximity to power. It’s a bleak thing to think about. But it’s true.

In American history, more so at the collegiate level, we learn the names of queer rights activists who came before us and paved the way. We familiarize ourselves with the saying “Pride was a riot” and adore murals of Marsha P. Johnson and Harvey Milk. But that is kind of where the education stops. Not because of any book ban or curtailing of access to education. (Well, I guess that’s true now). But because that’s where non-queer presenting people, the people who write the history books and create the laws say we should stop. Those stories are enough. Let’s not mention the AIDS epidemic the President Reagan allowed to happen. Let’s not mention the many lesbian communities who stepped up to care for gay men throughout that epidemic. Let’s not name them, let’s not remember. We can talk about Stonewall, but let’s not dare tarnish NYPD’s reputation by calling out their illegal and unjustifiable raids on gay bars and clubs across the city. We can’t blame the law for keeping things orderly. We can’t blame those in power for “assuming they were protecting the public” by letting so many people die. The new found rage this book stirred in me was instantaneous. But, I digress. I will not sit on a soap box and scream myself blue about all of the injustices in the world in this post. Instead, I will do that post by post, based on the next few books I read.

Queer Enlightenments was just that; enlightening. Delaney delivers each narrative with such ease and whimsy, even though the underlying material was heavy and fraught with an inevitable sad ending. These are stories that deserved to be told. These particular stories that were told serve as a reminder that we all want the same thing; to be who we are and to love who we want to love. The threat and fear of death shouldn’t come hand in hand with that. Aside from the sad endings; there was love and life; there was joy and fulfillment. Spaces had been created for the queer community where they could feel safe and free to be themselves – even if just for a short while. Others created their own spaces, having the means to make accommodations that were respectable and comfortable to them. I think it’s important to remember everyone is always seeking the comfort to be themselves. But they’re also seeking the safety to be themselves. If society cannot provide that, where else can they go? My hope is that we, as a society, will not have to keep asking that question anymore in the near future. That is another thing I took from these accounts; hope. There’s always hope, right?

So with that, my hope is that you pick up a copy of this book, and that you explore and honor the queer people who came before Miss Johnson and Mister Milk. Or at least listen to it on Spotify or Audible. As I said, Delaney is a delightful narrator. And I am very keen on finding more of his books. This is another book I will also have to buy a physical copy of to keep on my bookshelf for future reference. It will be the perfect addition to my ever-growing collection. Happy reading, and thanks for coming along with me.