Fall In Love With An Activist
by Ana Catalina Paje
Fall in love with an activist because…
You could have the worst hair day of your life, he wouldn’t care…with his way of life, he’s had worse.
You won’t need to take her to a fancy restaurant, fine dining was never her thing…she would rather eat with her hands in the company of farmers.
You could shout at him all you want, he would just smile…he does it everyday..to assert for your rights.
She doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor. After all, she does understand class struggle.
You can be frank about him, in fact, he would like that very much.
Criticism and self-criticism are second nature to him. He always wants to improve himself.
She isn’t afraid to make the first move. Don’t worry she’s no bimbo.
It’s just that she believes in the equality of sexes. And she’s knows that women hold half the sky.
When you have a fight, it’s never all your fault. He knows that partly, he was to blame. Because he is a dialectical materialist.
She’s never boring. As long as social injustice and inequality exists, you won’t run out of things to talk about.
She’s very good at sharing her life with someone. Maybe it has something to do with their practice of collective living.
Being articulate is a skill he has come to master. And he will have no trouble telling you how much he loves you.
P.S. There’s a catch. You should know that you’re not the only person who owns his heart. You share it with the poor, the sick, the hungry, and the opressed.
P.P.S. By the time you fall for an activist, give it a week or so, you’ll be an activist yourself. Because if you love and understand her, you would know it’s the right thing to do.
I have sat with this post for weeks. I have sat with the personal exploration of how I intersect with my world and my community and what I want to do about that for far longer. I’ve had internal arguments about whether or not I am an activist, defended my fiscal conservatism and small government views to lovers, only to shy away from these same conversations, and to some extent intimate moments, with C because I couldn’t handle the expression of hetero-normative comfort in that moment; such a stark contrast to fighting to break the rules of an already taboo culture. It feels like I’m 16 again, wanting to belong with the queer punk kids but unwilling to shave my head, steal things, or break windows.
No one signs up for discovering that their world is far from being an easy and simplistic place full of basically just interactions.
Sometime last week I told maymay that I missed being able to go to a play party and not be struck by how white, how gender normative, how elitist it is. I missed being able to play without being keenly aware of who doesn’t get opportunities to play. I missed it being easy and I miss feeling included. Maymay told me it was ok to mourn those things and perhaps that’s what I’m doing now. It’s a beautiful sunny day, I’m co-working with a friend after early morning conference calls ate through my commute time, I’m settled back into SF after some hectic travel, and yet I’m…unsettled. And that’s the part I don’t understand. I thought I was upset by what the BDSM scene does to my partners, the way it casually degrades submissive men, maybe on my own behalf I was annoyed at the creepy old men…you know, the ones who wanted to add me, in the capacity of “sweet young thing,” to their submissive harem. I’ve been annoyed at the One True Way-ism for years, but so are half the people I know. This feels different, it’s felt different for a while, and I don’t think I quite put my finger on it before. My language changed. The BDSM Scene. From “our community” to “the BDSM scene.” This thing which has been so core to my self identity for so long feels alien. I wonder how others do it without experiencing that shift. How do Maggie Mayhem and Kitty Stryker do their work on exposing sexual assault in the kink community from a place within the community? I wonder not because I want to challenge them, but because I want to learn from them. Because, as maymay said it, and this rang painfully true; I am losing my cultural home. And that hurts.
It hurts to realize that your community doesn’t play well with others, but it hurts so so much more to realize what you thought was your community may not be. I wonder if now I get to find out what happens to all those kinky people who you don’t see at the munches?