Person Unlimited An Ode to My Black Queer Body by Dean Atta

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This is an excellent book – of course it is, Dean Atta is a brilliant writer. But that also makes it a costly book to read, there are many things that he explores that touch on my own life experience (and many things that don’t and those are powerful too) – but rather than an account of the whole book I will give three points that particularly moved me.

The first one is about the word “queer”.

Dean engages with the term queer, which many of us have a complicated relationship with. It can be a useful short hand for LGBTQIA+, a way of saying I am part of something bigger than my own identity without sounding like I am speaking for the “letters” that are not part of my lived experience. It also has a deep history of being a slur and reclaiming a word that has been spat in your face is too much for many. At the end of the chapter he fills most of a page with “my queerness…” statements which concludes like this:

“…

My queerness is a child playing with a family heirloom.

My queerness is an inheritance, but what I do with it will not be dictated by older or younger generations, biological or chosen family, friends or even lovers.

My queerness is a conversation, and you have a right to reply.

My queerness believes in freedom of speech but not freedom from consequence.

My queerness is a consequence of oppression. And, no, my queerness can’t cure depression.” (p70)

It echoes with “My Short Skirt” from the Vagina Monologues which I first heard it at BGC (as it was then) in Lincoln the best part of 20 years ago. Of the Monologues it is the one that spoke to me and stayed with me. It has made me less apologetic about the times I am visibly queer – and more confident to push any abuse I have received as a consequence away. I am not always brave, I do “tone it down” more often that I would admit – you might not realise it but there are a lot of days when what you see of me is my “attempt” to pass as straight. My Gay Clothes are not an invitation to shout homophobic abuse across the street…

The second is about (not) coming-out.

Dean reflects after the passing of his material grandparents “That’s it, then, I think. Yiayia and Bapou are gone, along with the opportunity for them to accept me unconditionally.” (p134) This was the Cypriot side of his family, the Greek Orthodox Church is far from affirming, and so there were lots of good rationalisations for not having the conversation with them. But there is a feeling of guilt of not giving people the chance to show love bigger than our expectations.

My grandfathers passed while I was still a child, I was out to Gran, who warmly and publicly welcomed Alan to the family (alongside my cousins’ plus ones) at her Birthday lunch, but I was never out to Grandma and that does make me sad.

My then boyfriend came to my Sister’s wedding, while I am sure that most people would have drawn a correct conclusion about the status of my plus one nothing was said.

At some point during the reception Grandma did the “you will be next” thing (remember this was back before even Civil Partnerships). I sidestepped this by pointing out Grandma had 11 grandchildren, 10 of whom were then unmarried, so Ceinwen as her 5^th grandchild had actually jumped the queue. There were plenty of others Grandma needed to marry off before it was my turn (wind the clock on, now I am one of three of the grandchildren that remains unmarried it might take more explaining!).

I was then single for a while, so there was nothing really to tell, and she was increasingly confused so how would you really approach the subject. But the fact that Alan came to her funeral but never had the chance to meet her is a regret.

The third is dealing with sexual assaults.

Dean writes “While I didn’t see my risky sex as brave or sex for sport as healthy, I no longer blamed myself for the sexual assaults I’d survived. I saw it like this: I could let myself sink in self-blame and self-pity or I could float and swim in this open water full of ambiguity.” (p241)

There is a bit of my brain that tell me that if I want give a “sex positive” position I can’t talk about the bad times – but if we are going to celebrate the joy of sex we need to be absolutely honest about the times when that is not the case.

We can be coy about talking about sex, there are things I could share to illustrate the above point but I have decided I don’t want on the internet, and I have decided that knowing that makes me part of the problem – that I am not sharing my painful experiences means you are more likely to be silent about your pain. Our silent is the space that lets the abusive run free. I am sorry...