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The Trouble with Hasbians and the Phenomenon of Banishment
Athena Douris and Diane Anderson-Minshall / FALL 2002
A LESBIAN WHO SCREWS A MAN IS SUCH A CLICHÉ, IT’S THE plot of a Kevin Smith movie, numerous
Jerry Springer
episodes, and thousands of pornos. For some straight men, it’s proof that lesbians just need some good dick. For homophobes, it’s a trajectory that follows God’s supposed plan for “normal” sexual relations between men and women. For many dykes, it’s a scandalous bit of gossip that makes excellent fodder for dinnertime conversation. And in the eyes of the dyke community as a whole, a lesbian who goes to men has committed the ultimate betrayal—a betrayal that can be properly punished only by exile.
Jerry Springer
episodes, and thousands of pornos. For some straight men, it’s proof that lesbians just need some good dick. For homophobes, it’s a trajectory that follows God’s supposed plan for “normal” sexual relations between men and women. For many dykes, it’s a scandalous bit of gossip that makes excellent fodder for dinnertime conversation. And in the eyes of the dyke community as a whole, a lesbian who goes to men has committed the ultimate betrayal—a betrayal that can be properly punished only by exile.
We were two dyke friends who regularly chatted about the tragedy of lesbians who went to men. That is, until it happened to one of us. Out, lesbian-feminist activist Athena fell in love with a man. She lost her job. (She was a sex columnist; her boss quickly labeled her “straight” and “replaceable.”) Her closest friend, a former lover, stopped speaking to her. In the space of two months—the time it took for her to realize her relationship with this man was more than a sexual fling—she lost her identity. She went from lesbian to hasbian (a term that first appeared in print in a 1990
San Francisco Chronicle
gossip column, in which lesbians who’d “gone straight” were declared “all the rage these days”).
San Francisco Chronicle
gossip column, in which lesbians who’d “gone straight” were declared “all the rage these days”).
Athena is far from the first hasbian, or the most infamous. That title might belong to JoAnn Loulan, who was the world’s leading lesbian sex
therapist for twenty years. She authored our greatest tomes of lesbian sexuality, including Lesbian Passion and Lesbian Sex, and even coined the term “lesbian bed death.” When Loulan started a relationship with a man several years ago, her best friend also stopped speaking to her. She lost speaking engagements, book sales, and, she says, her sense of purpose in life.
therapist for twenty years. She authored our greatest tomes of lesbian sexuality, including Lesbian Passion and Lesbian Sex, and even coined the term “lesbian bed death.” When Loulan started a relationship with a man several years ago, her best friend also stopped speaking to her. She lost speaking engagements, book sales, and, she says, her sense of purpose in life.
“I feel like I got a quickie divorce against my will, like my wealthy spouse walked out with everything and I got nothing,” she says, speaking of her estrangement from the lesbian community in an interview with Athena earlier this year. “My life looks very empty to me now, compared to how it used to be. I’ve filled it up—I’ve made a life for myself—but it’s not the same.” Loulan says she’s been courted by bisexual organizations who’d like her to head their groups. She refuses because she doesn’t identify as bisexual. In an essay published in a 1999 issue of
Girlfriends
, Loulan wrote, “During the 20 years of my adult life that I loved and fucked (and was fucked by) women exclusively … I was a lesbian. Now a man comes along and his involvement in my life changes my identity? I don’t think so.”
Girlfriends
, Loulan wrote, “During the 20 years of my adult life that I loved and fucked (and was fucked by) women exclusively … I was a lesbian. Now a man comes along and his involvement in my life changes my identity? I don’t think so.”
But for most of the world—lesbian and otherwise—when a man comes along, it does change everything. Anne Heche, you might remember, stopped being queer in the world’s eyes the moment she bedded a cameraman. Heche didn’t identify as a dyke to begin with (she has said she was as surprised as anyone when she fell in love with Ellen DeGeneres), but then, many women who fuck women speak of their sexual identity in the same terms. Ani DiFranco has always sung and spoken openly about her relationships with both men and women. Yet when she partnered with a man, many of her fans disavowed their former icon, shuttered their fan sites, and moved on. Then, of course, there’s Julie Cypher, the woman who left her husband and sidelined her own film-directing career (remember
Theresa’s Tattoo?
) for Melissa Etheridge. They had two kids and became America’s gay family delegates, turning up at every rally, every benefit, every awards show. Then they split up, and suddenly Cypher was, dykes declared, straight all along.
Theresa’s Tattoo?
) for Melissa Etheridge. They had two kids and became America’s gay family delegates, turning up at every rally, every benefit, every awards show. Then they split up, and suddenly Cypher was, dykes declared, straight all along.
The reasons behind this kind of rejection—a phenomenon we have termed “dyke banishment”—are many. Loulan believes that it’s a result of homophobia—that lesbians feel so overwhelmed and negated by society, we can’t see the pain we’re creating when we exile another woman. Often, dykes who reject women like Cypher say they’re justified because women who love
men have easier lives, so they don’t deserve the protection, companionship, or support of the lesbian community. In some ways, they’re right: Male-female couples enjoy thousands of perks unavailable to queer couples, including the rights to marry, inherit, and share custody—not to mention the ability to walk down a street holding hands and not be bashed.
men have easier lives, so they don’t deserve the protection, companionship, or support of the lesbian community. In some ways, they’re right: Male-female couples enjoy thousands of perks unavailable to queer couples, including the rights to marry, inherit, and share custody—not to mention the ability to walk down a street holding hands and not be bashed.
But in other ways, the matter may not be so simple. An out dyke can be marked for the rest of her life, no matter who she’s with. Athena’s queer past means that her future in-laws, who are fundamentalist Christians, will not allow her to take her boyfriend’s two-year-old niece into the yard to play (the “gays molest children” fallacy). She has been barred from family gatherings that fall on religious holidays (the “God hates fags” myth). One future in-law accused her of satanism. At a time when some lesbians refuse to see her as one of them, she’s dealing with the most vitriolic homophobia she’s ever faced.
The root cause of dyke banishment may also lie in the queer community’s concept of sexual orientation. In today’s GLBT culture, there’s a belief that sexual orientation has a permanent, biological core. It’s a concept frequently expressed by women who say, “I was born a dyke,” by most coming-out narratives, and by T-shirt/bumper-sticker slogans like “I can’t even think straight.” This sentiment can be traced to the late 1800s, when sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld claimed that queers were “born that way” in order to advance gay rights in Germany. The theory found modern expression in the early 1990s, when the GLBT community seized upon the work of Simon LeVay for the same reason. LeVay found a link between hypothalamus size and homosexuality in men. This finding was spun into an argument for civil rights based on the thesis that if being gay isn’t our choice, then it isn’t our fault—and we deserve all the rights of people born with a larger hypothalamus. As it applies to lesbians, the biology-is-destiny theory is used by the queer community to discredit the lives of dykes who end up in love with men. By this logic, women who were “born gay” (i.e., women whose behavior is consistent) are real, authentic dykes who deserve the support of the lesbian community. Women whose behavior is inconsistent, on the other hand, appear to be shifty, confused liars who dart all over the sexual continuum, not because they were born that way but because of poor choices—which is why they are rejected not only by the lesbian community as a whole but also by their closest friends, who can’t reconcile their concept
of lesbian pride with their best friend’s morphing sexual orientation. And so the questions are: Are dykes who fuck men confused? Have we made poor choices? Were we straight all along—as we’ve been told by friends, family, and the media? Did we go from licking pussy to sucking cock because we wanted to betray the lesbian community? The answer to all these is no. In fact, dykes who fall in love with men can be seen as acting on the principle that love sees no gender—a long-used catchphrase of the queer community itself. If the GLBT community could begin to accept the idea that a lesbian’s sexual orientation may change over the course of her life, dyke banishment might become less severe. But to eradicate the urge to ostracize altogether, the lesbian community would need to address our negative stereotypes of male-female relationships. Although some progressive heterosexual women may find this hard to believe, many lesbians consider any relationship between a man and a woman to be inherently detrimental to the woman. Due to this mischaracterization, a false polarity is created between heterosexual and lesbian relationships, whereby the former are seen as inferior and the latter as superior—not just sexually, but as they reflect female development.
of lesbian pride with their best friend’s morphing sexual orientation. And so the questions are: Are dykes who fuck men confused? Have we made poor choices? Were we straight all along—as we’ve been told by friends, family, and the media? Did we go from licking pussy to sucking cock because we wanted to betray the lesbian community? The answer to all these is no. In fact, dykes who fall in love with men can be seen as acting on the principle that love sees no gender—a long-used catchphrase of the queer community itself. If the GLBT community could begin to accept the idea that a lesbian’s sexual orientation may change over the course of her life, dyke banishment might become less severe. But to eradicate the urge to ostracize altogether, the lesbian community would need to address our negative stereotypes of male-female relationships. Although some progressive heterosexual women may find this hard to believe, many lesbians consider any relationship between a man and a woman to be inherently detrimental to the woman. Due to this mischaracterization, a false polarity is created between heterosexual and lesbian relationships, whereby the former are seen as inferior and the latter as superior—not just sexually, but as they reflect female development.
Both stereotypes are false. Being a lesbian does not guarantee relationship bliss—domestic violence, for example, occurs among lesbians just as it does among heterosexuals. Likewise, having a male partner does not doom a woman to a life as the perpetually frustrated housekeeper of Betty Friedan’s
The Feminine Mystique
. If we truly care about the lives of dykes, we should care about their lives even after they’ve partnered with men. We should not assume that their queer identity short-circuits the minute they make love to a man. We should not jump to the easy conclusion that a lesbian who’s with a man was “never a real lesbian.” We must make an effort to understand how these women identify—as dykes, as bisexuals, as queers, or as women who do not identify at all—and respect their self-determination. Because, ultimately, the question is not, Do these women deserve to be called lesbians? The questions are, rather, Why do we, the queer community, find it necessary to punish dykes who step outside some predetermined boundary of lesbian culture, and how can we stop? What are the queer possibilities in a relationship between a dyke and a man? How can we offer support to a woman who’s in the process of being banished?
And, most important, how can we include partnerships between dykes and men in our formal and informal queer communities? The answers to these questions will transform lesbian culture—by broadening its scope and changing its face—and it’s a transformation that’s been a long time coming.
The Feminine Mystique
. If we truly care about the lives of dykes, we should care about their lives even after they’ve partnered with men. We should not assume that their queer identity short-circuits the minute they make love to a man. We should not jump to the easy conclusion that a lesbian who’s with a man was “never a real lesbian.” We must make an effort to understand how these women identify—as dykes, as bisexuals, as queers, or as women who do not identify at all—and respect their self-determination. Because, ultimately, the question is not, Do these women deserve to be called lesbians? The questions are, rather, Why do we, the queer community, find it necessary to punish dykes who step outside some predetermined boundary of lesbian culture, and how can we stop? What are the queer possibilities in a relationship between a dyke and a man? How can we offer support to a woman who’s in the process of being banished?
And, most important, how can we include partnerships between dykes and men in our formal and informal queer communities? The answers to these questions will transform lesbian culture—by broadening its scope and changing its face—and it’s a transformation that’s been a long time coming.
You Guys
Audrey Bilger / FALL 2002
OPRAH SAYS IT. MY YOGA INSTRUCTOR SAYS IT. COLLEGE STUDENTS around the country say it. The cast of Friends says it, as do my own friends, over and over again. At least ten to twenty times a day, I hear someone say “you guys” to refer to groups or pairs that include and in some cases consist entirely of women. I get e-mail all the time asking after my (female) partner and me: “How’s everything with you guys?” or “What are you guys doing for the holidays?” In informal speech and writing, the phrase has become so common in American English that it’s completely invisible to many who use it. In response to my post on the topic, participants on WMST-L, a listserv for women’s studies teachers and scholars hosted by the University of Maryland, report that it’s not confined to young people, nor is it an altogether recent development (some of the participants’ older relatives used it in the ’50s and ’60s). Furthermore, the usage is beginning to spread to Canada, England, and Australia, largely through the influence of American television.
What’s the problem? people ask when I question this usage. The language has evolved, and now “guys” is gender neutral, they say. Even those who consider themselves feminists—who conscientiously choose “he or she” over “he”; use “flight attendant,” “chairperson,” and “restaurant server”; and avoid gender-specific language as much as possible—seem quite willing to accept “you guys” as if it were generic. But let’s do the math:
One guy is clearly male; two or more guys are males. How does a word become gender neutral just by being plural? And then how do you explain something like
Heyyouguys.com
, “The Man’s Search Engine”? Can the same culture that says “it’s a guy thing” to refer to anything that women just don’t get about male behavior view a woman as one of the guys?
One guy is clearly male; two or more guys are males. How does a word become gender neutral just by being plural? And then how do you explain something like
Heyyouguys.com
, “The Man’s Search Engine”? Can the same culture that says “it’s a guy thing” to refer to anything that women just don’t get about male behavior view a woman as one of the guys?
Current dictionaries, such as
Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary,
eleventh edition, tell us that “guys” may be “used in plural to refer to the members of a group regardless of sex”; but then, we need to keep in mind that dictionaries are not apolitical. They record the state of language and reflect particular ways of seeing the world. (This same tome offers the word “wicked” as one synonym for “black.”) My 1979 ninth edition of
Webster’s
includes no reference to gender-free guys, an indication that “you guys” had not yet become a standard form of address.
Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary,
eleventh edition, tell us that “guys” may be “used in plural to refer to the members of a group regardless of sex”; but then, we need to keep in mind that dictionaries are not apolitical. They record the state of language and reflect particular ways of seeing the world. (This same tome offers the word “wicked” as one synonym for “black.”) My 1979 ninth edition of
Webster’s
includes no reference to gender-free guys, an indication that “you guys” had not yet become a standard form of address.
In “The Ascent of Guy,” a 1999 article in
American Speech,
Steven J. Clancy writes, “Contrary to everything we might expect because of the pressures of ‘politically correct’ putative language reforms, a new generic noun is developing right before our eyes.” Although Clancy doesn’t take issue with the development (as you could probably guess from his disparaging tone on the whole idea of feminist language reform), his report ought to make us stop and think. During the same decades in which feminist critiques of generic uses of “man” and “he” led to widespread changes in usage—no mean feat—“you guys” became even more widely accepted as an informal and allegedly gender-free phrase. What Clancy concludes is that English contains a “cognitive framework in which strongly masculine words regularly show a development including specifically male meanings (man, he, guy) along with gender nonspecific forms … whereas in English, feminine words do not undergo such changes.” In practice, that is, terms signifying maleness have been more readily perceived as universal than those signifying femaleness. Or, to put it another way, if you call a group of men “you gals,” they’re not going to think you’re just celebrating our common humanity.
American Speech,
Steven J. Clancy writes, “Contrary to everything we might expect because of the pressures of ‘politically correct’ putative language reforms, a new generic noun is developing right before our eyes.” Although Clancy doesn’t take issue with the development (as you could probably guess from his disparaging tone on the whole idea of feminist language reform), his report ought to make us stop and think. During the same decades in which feminist critiques of generic uses of “man” and “he” led to widespread changes in usage—no mean feat—“you guys” became even more widely accepted as an informal and allegedly gender-free phrase. What Clancy concludes is that English contains a “cognitive framework in which strongly masculine words regularly show a development including specifically male meanings (man, he, guy) along with gender nonspecific forms … whereas in English, feminine words do not undergo such changes.” In practice, that is, terms signifying maleness have been more readily perceived as universal than those signifying femaleness. Or, to put it another way, if you call a group of men “you gals,” they’re not going to think you’re just celebrating our common humanity.
And this should trouble us. After all, haven’t we been largely pleased by the way the media has worked to adopt at least a semblance of nonsexist language? Newscasters and other public figures make an effort to avoid obviously gender-biased words, and major publications such as
The New York Times
and
The Wall Street Journal
do the same. In spite of vocal criticism from those who view such shifts as preposterous, genuine feminist language
reform has gained some ground. But as is the case with all advances brought about by feminism and other progressive movements, we need to stay on top of things—or else we may wake up one day to find them gone. This seemingly innocent phrase may be operating like a computer virus, worming its way into our memory files and erasing our sense of why we worry about sexism in language to begin with.
The New York Times
and
The Wall Street Journal
do the same. In spite of vocal criticism from those who view such shifts as preposterous, genuine feminist language
reform has gained some ground. But as is the case with all advances brought about by feminism and other progressive movements, we need to stay on top of things—or else we may wake up one day to find them gone. This seemingly innocent phrase may be operating like a computer virus, worming its way into our memory files and erasing our sense of why we worry about sexism in language to begin with.
Up until a couple of years ago, I used the phrase as much as anyone, and I never gave it a thought. “You guys” sounds casual, friendly, harmless. When two female friends told me one day that it bothered them to be called “you guys,” my wounded ego began an internal rant:
I’m
a literature and gender studies professor,
I
know about language,
I
spend much of my time teaching and writing against sexism, and here were people whose opinions I valued telling me that
I
was being patriarchal. Impossible! And then I started listening. I listened first to my own defensive indignation. Clearly, my friends had touched a nerve. Deep down I knew that they were right: Calling women “guys” makes femaleness invisible. It says that man—as in a male person—is still the measure of all things.
I’m
a literature and gender studies professor,
I
know about language,
I
spend much of my time teaching and writing against sexism, and here were people whose opinions I valued telling me that
I
was being patriarchal. Impossible! And then I started listening. I listened first to my own defensive indignation. Clearly, my friends had touched a nerve. Deep down I knew that they were right: Calling women “guys” makes femaleness invisible. It says that man—as in a male person—is still the measure of all things.
Once I copped to being in the wrong, I started hearing the phrase with new ears. Suddenly it seemed bizarre to me when a speaker at an academic conference addressed a room full of women as “you guys”; when a man taking tickets from me and some friends told us all to enjoy the show, “you guys”; and on and on. It was as if these speakers were not really seeing what was before their eyes.
Alice Walker, a vocal opponent of this usage, recounts how she and filmmaker Pratibha Parmar toured the U.S. supporting the film
Warrior Marks
and were discouraged to find that in question-and-answer sessions audience members continually referred to them as “you guys.” “Each night, over and over, we told the women greeting us: We are not ‘guys.’ We are women. Many failed to get it. Others were amused. One woman amused us, she had so much difficulty not saying ‘you guys’ every two minutes, even after we’d complained” (from “Becoming What We’re Called,” in 1997’s
Anything We Love Can Be Saved)
. Because it took me the better part of a year to eradicate this usage from my own speech, and after hearing friends—whom I’ve encouraged to follow suit—apologize when they slip back into it, I feel like I understand the problem from the inside out. Most of us are familiar with the idea of internalized oppression, the subtle
process by which members of disenfranchised groups come to accept their own lesser status. We need to recognize that accepting “guys” as a label for girls and women is a particularly insidious example of that process.
Warrior Marks
and were discouraged to find that in question-and-answer sessions audience members continually referred to them as “you guys.” “Each night, over and over, we told the women greeting us: We are not ‘guys.’ We are women. Many failed to get it. Others were amused. One woman amused us, she had so much difficulty not saying ‘you guys’ every two minutes, even after we’d complained” (from “Becoming What We’re Called,” in 1997’s
Anything We Love Can Be Saved)
. Because it took me the better part of a year to eradicate this usage from my own speech, and after hearing friends—whom I’ve encouraged to follow suit—apologize when they slip back into it, I feel like I understand the problem from the inside out. Most of us are familiar with the idea of internalized oppression, the subtle
process by which members of disenfranchised groups come to accept their own lesser status. We need to recognize that accepting “guys” as a label for girls and women is a particularly insidious example of that process.
Many people on WMST-L have offered alternatives, ranging from the Southern “y’all” or less regionally marked “you all,” to the Midwestern “yoonz” or “you-uns,” to the apparently unhip “people,” which is associated, it seems, with nerdy high-school teachers and coaches. “Folks” received the most support as a truly gender-free option. Some suggested “gyns” as a playful feminist variant. A more radical solution might be to use a word like “gals” as generic and get men used to hearing themselves included in a female-specific term. Although the majority of those who posted and wrote to me privately viewed the spread of “guys” as something to resist (with many noting how they sometimes regressed), others expressed hope that the phrase would indeed free itself from masculine connotations over time. One professor writes, almost wistfully, “I, for one, have always liked the formulation ‘you guys’ and wholeheartedly wish it were gender neutral. English could use a gender-neutral term to refer to a group of people (or even to individuals for that matter) … I’ve had students (female) be offended when I’ve used ‘you guys’ to them, but I still like it for some reason.” I think many feminists who find “you guys” acceptable would similarly like to believe that it is indeed nonsexist. It’s a powerful phrase precisely because it seems so warm and cozy. But we ought to ask what we are protecting when we claim that “you guys” is no big deal.
Sherryl Kleinman, professor of sociology at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill, has dedicated herself to eliminating the usage. She argues, in “Why Sexist Language Matters” (published in
Center Line,
the newsletter of the Orange County Rape Crisis Center), that male-based generics function as “reinforcers” of a “system in which ‘man’ in the abstract and men in the flesh are privileged over women.” With the help of two former students, Kleinman developed a small card to leave at establishments where “you guys” is spoken (it’s available to download at
www.youall2.freeservers.com
). The card succinctly explains what’s at stake in this usage and suggests alternatives. She reports that distributing the card has aroused some anger. After dining with a group of female friends and being called “you guys” several times by the server, Kleinman left the card along with a generous tip. The server followed the women out of the
restaurant and berated them for what he perceived to be an insult. Christian Helms, who designed the card’s artwork, comments, “It’s interesting how something that is supposedly ‘no big deal’ seems to get people so worked up.”
Center Line,
the newsletter of the Orange County Rape Crisis Center), that male-based generics function as “reinforcers” of a “system in which ‘man’ in the abstract and men in the flesh are privileged over women.” With the help of two former students, Kleinman developed a small card to leave at establishments where “you guys” is spoken (it’s available to download at
www.youall2.freeservers.com
). The card succinctly explains what’s at stake in this usage and suggests alternatives. She reports that distributing the card has aroused some anger. After dining with a group of female friends and being called “you guys” several times by the server, Kleinman left the card along with a generous tip. The server followed the women out of the
restaurant and berated them for what he perceived to be an insult. Christian Helms, who designed the card’s artwork, comments, “It’s interesting how something that is supposedly ‘no big deal’ seems to get people so worked up.”
Most of us have probably had the experience of pointing out some type of sexist expression or behavior to acquaintances and being accused of being “too sensitive” or “too PC” and told to “lighten up.” It’s certainly easier just to go along with things, to avoid making people uncomfortable, to accept what we think will do no harm. If you feel this way about “you guys,” you might want to consider Alice Walker’s view of the expression: “I see in its use some women’s obsequious need to be accepted, at any cost, even at the cost of erasing their own femaleness, and that of other women. Isn’t it at least ironic that after so many years of struggle for women’s liberation, women should end up calling themselves this?”
So open your ears and your mouth. Tell people that women and girls aren’t “guys.” Stop saying it yourself. Feminist language reform is an ongoing process that requires a supportive community of speakers. The more we raise our voices, the less likely it is that women and girls will be erased from speech.
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