Steven LaChance Blog

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word queer lately.

I’m a gay man, and I’m also part of the queer community. To me, those two statements are not contradictory. One describes me specifically. The other describes the larger community I belong to.

I understand why the word queer makes some people uncomfortable. It was used as a weapon against many of us. For some, hearing it still brings back memories of bullying, rejection, and fear. Those experiences are real, and I would never tell someone how they should feel about a word that was once used to hurt them.

But I also grew up hearing the word gay used as an insult.

“You’re so gay.”

“That’s gay.”

For years, gay was used to describe anything people thought was weak, stupid, or unwanted. It was thrown around casually, often by people who never stopped to think about what they were really saying.

In school, being called gay was something to be ashamed of. It was used as a slur to hurt, mock, and demean us. In my experience, I heard it far more often than queer ever was used.

That’s one of the reasons I’ve never understood why people treat the two words so differently. Both have been used against our community. The difference is that today, I see queer as an umbrella that brings our community together rather than a word that divides it.

When I say queer, I’m not erasing anyone’s identity. I’m still a gay man. Someone else is still a lesbian. Someone else is still bisexual, transgender, nonbinary, asexual, or any number of other identities. Queer doesn’t replace those words. It simply acknowledges that we all belong to the same larger community.

To me, that’s what the word has become. An umbrella.

An umbrella over a community that has spent generations being told we didn’t belong. An umbrella that reminds us our stories are different, but our struggles have often intersected. We don’t have to be the same to stand together.

Words only have the power we allow them to keep.

Some words deserve to disappear because they exist only to dehumanize. Others lose their power when the people they were meant to shame refuse to surrender them.

For me, queer is one of those words.

You don’t have to use it if it doesn’t fit your experience. No one should be forced to identify with a word that causes them pain.

But I won’t apologize for embracing a word that, to me, represents a community much larger than any one letter, any one identity, or any one generation.

I’m a gay man.

I’m also part of the queer community.

Those two things don’t compete with each other. They complete each other.