As
a useful thought experiment, let’s imagine that there is a modern interpolation
of Shakespeare, in which the disabled outcast, Shylock, says the following:
[I] am a Crip.
Hath not a Crip eyes?
hath not a Crip hands, organs,
dimensions, senses,
affections, passions? fed with
the same food, hurt with
the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases,
healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the
same winter and summer, as
a ‘Normal’ is? If you
prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we
not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if
you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like
you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. If
a Crip wrong a ‘Normal’,
what is his humility?
Revenge. If a ‘Normal’
wrong a Crip, what should
his sufferance be by
‘Normal’ example? Why,
revenge. The villany you
teach me, I will execute,
and it shall go hard but I
will better the
instruction.
— Adapted
from William Shakespeare, The Merchant of
Venice, Act III, Seen I
This monologue of indignation perfectly expresses how I
feel after most dates.
With the exception of an amazing fellow, whose beauty,
intelligence, caring , gentility, and quiet courage, almost eclipse the below
and many other far worse stories, online dating has caused me to lose faith in
humanity and brought into sharper relief the marginalization disabled queers
confront. Hence, while I am thankful for the love and support I do receive, I
felt compelled to write about online dating both as a critique of my own
conduct and ideological interpolation and rebuke of the attitudes expressed by
others.
I don't know why persons believe it is socially acceptable
to be casually cruel and benignly bigoted toward their fellow [disabled] human
beings. The guy I went on a date with, who knew I was disabled and the extent
of the disability, said sharing my disability was not the kind of life that he
wanted. I don't know why I didn't say being with a guy who is physically and
emotionally repulsive is not the kind of life I want, so that is okay —
nevermind the fact that this was the second date, so I wasn’t committed to
sharing very much of my life. Of course, I did not say this because what is the
point of vengeance. I wasn’t going to make him any better. He had already made
up his mind, which was made clear from his further admission that he agreed to
himself that he would “try it” — and I’m still not clear precisely what the it
was — and now that he had seen what my life was like, after a few hours, spread
over two meetings, he had come to a rational decision. Even more, he required
me to reassure him that this decision, in addition to the way in which it was
phrased, did not make him a rather selfish individual.
Everyone goes on bad dates. And everyone meets terrible
people, but this is indicative of a general pattern of which I have many more
disturbing examples.
On good days, being disabled and gay, of course, on account
of my other privileges, can be really fun. I love who I am most of the time; I
love my friends and their support, and I love the progress that has been made,
the caring that I have been given, and the opportunity it has engendered. I’ve
definitely received a warmer welcome in queer communities than anywhere else,
and that needs to be stated and nurtured with gusto.
Nevertheless, I, and from what I gather owing to personal
experience and research, any queer who significantly deviates from the white,
homonormative, cisgendered, masculinist, able-bodied, STBBI & drug-free,
mentally-well, and economically privileged ideal, often feel like something of
a Shylock character within many traditional Gay spaces and social interactions.
And this is very saddening for a community already ravaged by the scars of
oppression and caustic heterosexist callousness.
Acknowledging the misogyny and anti-Semitism of the play,
I’ve always thought that the Merchant of
Venice was a brilliant work of art and Shylock a brilliant character,
precisely because he can’t win. Usery (lending of money at interest) was
forbidden by Christianity, but it was necessary for the continuance of society.
Jews were made to do it because of social stigma; this action, in turn, created
more social stigma. The other characters, rightly, criticize Shylock, the Jew,
for his lack of humanity. Yet it is precisely his profound humanity, in
addition to the pain he feels at the denial of it, which causes him to lash out
so violently and plaintively against his accusers. He must ask two fundamental
and yet humiliating questions those who are significantly marginalized must
implicitly ask or deny asking themselves: why don’t other persons recognize
that I’m a human being who feels pain as they do? When do unjust circumstances,
for which I am often blamed, demand redress, even by unsavory means? I remember
disturbing my grade nine teacher by stating, quite matter-of-factly, something
like the following: “I thought Shylock was justified in the quest for a pound
of Antonio’s flesh. If someone had
treated me as Antonio had treated Shylock, then asked me for a loan, and
subsequently was unable to pay said loan, I would cut the bastard’s heart out
and eat it for breakfast — mercy is for weak idiots!” I do not believe that
that is the reaction anticipated by Ontario’s mind-numbing curriculum.
It seems that Shylock can’t win, and neither can I. The
same goes for others who are marginalized in all communities, particularly
queer communities.
On the one hand, if I yell like Shylock and demand
retribution, or at the very least, justice, I am branded as someone heart of
heart, who won’t convert to dominant ideologies and receive my inferior status,
as Shylock is made to do at the end of the play. If I don’t accept my putative
natural inferiority and express gratitude for the social standing I have
achieved, I become an unnatural ice queen. People become perplexed when I laugh
derisively after hearing statements, such as, “it is what is on the inside that
matters”. I wish very much that that were true, but it doesn’t seem to reflect the
world in which we live. And curiously it is often the conventionally attractive
who say that.
On the other hand, if I express frustration or sorrow at
the current state of things, I am labeled as an “eternal Jew”. I become a strange
object of tragicomic contempt, who is resiliently obstinate in his pain and
will to live despite years of oppression. I become a lesson in pity and scorn
that is both at once necessary for the functioning of the social order, as well
as the monster that creeps outside it. Like Shylock, and like everyone, I am an
agent of my own pain. And this is as perplexing as it is nauseating.
In fact, what is most disturbing to me is not necessarily
the subjugating actions of others. Rather, I am far more appalled by the fact
that I am both an unwilling and willing participant in this immorality. The
times we hung out I was disgusted by his general demeanor, interests, grooming
regiment, teeth and oral hygiene, unibrow, career development, lack of muscle,
definition, emotional intelligence, and the list goes on. And yet, I was
trying, despite all evidence to the contrary, to see the good in this person.
And I’ll never be able to separate ethics, what little I have left in these
types of situations, from an overwhelming desire for convenient sex and
intimacy. I probably did like him a little, but it was difficult not to erupt
in sardonic laughter when he said “I feel bad, because you seem like you really
like me and were looking forward to us dating”. Because I had a very strong
urge to reply, “even though you are genuinely intelligent, your idiocy is
marvelous. In future, when gay men show the slightest bit of interest in Renaissance
dance reenactment troop choreography, and how you accomplish this using
permutation mathematics, it’s because there is a slight chance of sleeping with
you, and you’re the only one available; it’s not because they’re interested”.
What really bothers me about online dating is I’m always
figured as the one to be tolerated, when most of the time, from any kind of more
neutral standard, I ought to be the one tolerating. So, because I exemplify
some of the very stereotypes I detest so strongly, though am working to change,
this is a fitting situation. It has made the violent reality of external and
internalized stigma all the more apparent.
To reiterate, it has also made me cherish those who do love
and appreciate me as an equal. But I am fairly certain that the monstrous side of
me was created by circumstances similar to, though distinct from, those that
created such a complex character in the mind of Shakespeare. And I’m also
fairly certain that all of us, most especially myself, need to consciously
challenge internal and external stigma, lest the theatrical personas that we create
for ourselves solidify into iron masks from which it is difficult to escape. In
addition, however spiteful this may be, I don’t think I can be entirely blamed
for coveting one, if not several, pounds of queer flesh, in anticipation of the
time when I may finally desecrate the hearts of those who would deny me full
humanity. Monsters exist in all of us; they are made, not begotten — to invert
the formula of the Nicene Creed, in a blasphemous move that I think Shylock
would appreciate.
Not just for me, but for for everyone wanting a fuller experience humanity and the diversity of life, there must a way beyond martyrdom ,on the one hand , and vengeance, on the other. It's a shame that despite all my learning and diligence in trying to practice ethics, even I have difficulty breaking this cycle.
