Chasing queer history

Vol. 76

In This Issue: ESSAY | NOW READ THIS | RESOURCE LIBRARY | GOOD THINGS | FINAL FRAME

For at least the last ten years, when people ask me what I’m working on, I’ve sighed and said, “my novel.” The earliest date on a document related to the project is from 2012. I’m almost certain I began work on it even before that, because this novel has followed me through multiple laptops and file transfers. 

I can’t help but sigh or laugh now when people ask me about it. It feels ridiculous to have spent this much time trying to finish the story. But I’ll go months without touching it before suddenly finding motivation and focus again and digging in. It’s been through three full drafts/revisions. I’m on number four now. This is the last one, I’m sure of it (am I sure of it?). I laugh at myself, but I do finally feel like I have the story I want to tell and the time/perspective/knowledge to write it the way I think it deserves. 

I’m not this precious with everything I write. In the time I’ve been engaged in this weird dance with “The Novel,” I’ve finished literally hundreds of essays and articles, even a few short stories. I know I’m capable. But this particular story is exceptionally close to my heart in several ways, and also feels something like a responsibility to get “right.” 

That sounds pretentious. Maybe it is. Let me explain.

When I was very young, I became obsessed with studying the American Civil War. I credit/blame the movie “Glory” and my best friend’s older brother who was a reenactor and would come into the house wearing his full Union uniform, which I coveted intensely. I eventually became a reenactor myself, saving up my allowance to buy the pieces of my uniform and joining a friend’s family unit to travel to various events across Northern Illinois in the early ‘90s, when Civil War reenacting was experiencing something of a boom. I even got to reenact on-site at Gettysburg (which historian Kevin M. Levin humorously and rightly refers to as “White America’s Greatest Civil War Battle”).

And you may have already guessed, I wasn’t putting on a dress and hanging out in camp with the women at the reenactments. There was never any question in my mind that I would dress and pass as a boy. I loved the blue uniforms with their shiny brass buttons, the leather belts, the canvas haversacks, the smooth-bore muskets and six-shooter revolvers that we only ever filled with blank cartridges with some cream-of-wheat added for effect.

I had no idea when I first joined that I was actually paying homage to a lineage of women and gender non-conforming people who’d done exactly what I was doing. What I would eventually discover, some years later, is that there were hundreds of documented (and probably many more that never were) such cases from the Civil War. Some of them joined to follow husbands and sweethearts into battle. Some joined to get away from difficult home lives. Some joined for the adventure, for the pay, and/or for the mission. Some of them were discovered in short order and sent home, while many others successfully blended in and fought valiantly alongside their comrades. More than a few never went back, opting instead to live out their lives as men. The concept of being transgender didn’t exist at the time, so it wouldn’t be right to impose our modern sense of gender identities on those folks. But safe to say that many of them were what we’d now call trans, or at least gender non-conforming, and they were able to carve out a path that felt more authentic for themselves at a time when all the odds were so mightily stacked against them.

But I didn’t know about any of that when I was a reenactor. I was just doing what felt right to me. Even though outside of reenactments it made me feel angry and embarrassed to be mistaken for a boy (which happened frequently), when I was in my uniform, being read as male felt good. I felt free to be myself while in camp, without any fear of being told I wasn’t acting appropriately for a “young lady” or limited by clothing that felt restrictive and wrong to me.

For the most part, the people I was around who knew that I was a “girl” were accepting and supportive. But I ran into my fair share of reenactors–mostly men–who turned up their noses and told me I wasn’t being “authentic,” that I should put on a skirt and cut the shit. It rankled, but it never stopped me. Eventually, in my reading research, I stumbled onto accounts from the war of people who had done exactly what I was doing. I remember feeling exhilarated by the discovery. It was the first time I felt really connected to people from the past.

Years later, two great books were published that meticulously collected the known stories of women and GNC people who’d served in the war: “They Fought Like Demons” by De Anne Blanton and Lauren M. Cook, and “All the Daring of a Soldier” by Elizabeth D. Leonard. It was in these books that I first encountered the story of Rebecca Peterman and was inspired to write The Novel that’s been my albatross and white whale for so many years now.

Rebecca was a 15-year-old from a small town in western Wisconsin’s Driftless area when she passed herself off as an 18-year-old boy and joined what would become the famed Iron Brigade in 1862. According to newspaper accounts from the era, she successfully served for a two-year stint, seeing action at some of the war’s most famous and bloody battles. When her enlistment ended, she tried to sign up again, only to be found out and thrown in jail for “impersonation.” It was while she was in jail that she gave an interview to a local reporter and popped up in the historical record. There are tantalizingly few details about her beyond what she said in the interview, and the sensationalized coverage of her from the press at the time can only be so accurate.

But it was enough to pique my interest. I thought, why not build a whole story around what little we know about her? Sometimes it feels like I’m writing fan fiction for a real person. There’s definitely an aspect of me exploring my own journey with identity and social expectations through the story I’ve built for Rebecca. It’s also been an amazing opportunity to dig more deeply into the lived experiences of my queer and trans ancestors, trying to understand how they lived and felt and thought and loved in times that are in many ways so different from my own. I’ve come to think of the project as my love letter to those ancestors, the people who blazed trails for us mostly without ever knowing they were doing it. It’s also at least somewhat an act of defiance. I hope this story will only add to the growing body of work that highlights the diversity of queer experiences and identities throughout time, that we’ve always been here and always will be, no matter how hard some people try to erase us.

I only came out as non-binary a few years ago, so in some ways it feels entirely understandable that this story would take so long to come out of me. I know now that I wasn’t ready to tell it when I first had the idea. I had a long way to go with my own journey and needed to learn a lot more from other people. That journey isn’t remotely over, but I do finally feel like I’m ready to get this particular story “right.” Even if I’m the only one who ever reads it. But of course I hope that’s not the case.

Because I believe that stories have power. Humans are storytellers by nature. It’s how we make sense of the world. That’s why it’s so important for us to all speak up and tell our stories, so that no one narrative dominates or erases any of the rest. 

I’m so grateful to the storytellers, both those who’ve shown me aspects of myself that I couldn’t find in the dominant narrative, and those who showed me whole new/different worlds that aren’t mine. I hope I’ve added something worthwhile, if small, to that tapestry. 

And I hope that, very soon, if you ask me what I’m working on, I’ll be able to say, “I finished writing a novel. Would you like to read it?”

Now Read This.

“When the soldiers come to your town, this is what I’ll say about you” [Garrett Bucks]

You don’t have to prove to me that your city shouldn’t be a war zone. No place should be a war zone. Whatever the President says, that’s not why you were targeted. The troops are there to make you give up. They are there to convince the rest of us that you are our enemy. They are there because fascism wins when you and your neighbors are reduced to pitiable abstraction. But it won’t work. Not because your parks are pristine or your affluent areas are teeming with monied energy. But because of your hearts. The size of them. The fight in them. The power of them, beating together, for neighbors you know and strangers you’ll never meet.

“AI data centers are sending power bills soaring” [Bloomberg]

Wholesale electricity costs as much as 267% more than it did five years ago in areas near data centers. That’s being passed on to customers.

“An FBI counterterrorism vet explains how to use Trump’s new orders against the Left” [Forever Wars]

I am not advocating self-censorship. People need to be tactical, surgical and methodical in what they say on and offline. There needs to be both a comprehensive understanding of the threat landscape—entrapment, FBI rats, and agents provocateurs—while embarking on a sustained strategy—protest, education, advocacy—to counteract that threat. We need to collectively speak with greater ferocity in solidarity with the least of us, regardless of the arbitrary and insignificant differences they use to divide us. Finally, we must solidify our resolve, prepare for further weaponization of the law, and commit to resisting fascism masquerading as patriotism.

“Wisconsin’s elected officials need to put themselves on the line” [Scott Gordon for Tone]

Elected officials are supposed to be doing all kinds of other stuff, things that voters do have a right to demand of them. Republicans had no right to put us in this dangerous position in the first place. But they did, and here we are. Elected officials at every level in this country must be willing to act as human shields for their constituents. Desperate as the situation is, elected officials have visibility and resources to put themselves in a better position (if only slightly) to bear the risks of protest and civil disobedience.

“A politician actually defended trans people. It shouldn’t be this rare.” [Parker Molloy]

New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani released the fourth episode of his “Until It’s Done” series on Saturday, and it’s about Sylvia Rivera. The whole thing. Two minutes dedicated entirely to a trans activist who died in 2002, her fight for queer liberation, and what New York City owes trans people today.

When’s the last time you saw that? A major Democratic politician releasing a campaign video that’s just... about trans rights? Not a 10-second aside in a broader equality montage. Not a single line buried in a stump speech. An entire video.

Resource Library.

Unthinkable is offering a wealth of resources for coping with climate-related grief/stress/trauma, including personalized care packages.

Kelly Hayes and crew have this great worksheet for “Mapping Community Care and Defense in Our Neighborhoods,” built and used by folks working to defy ICE raids and other incursions in Chicago. Also a great resource for folks doing the same work anywhere. 

Good Things.

Here are some things I’m enjoying these days that you might like, too:

• Gully Boys, a Minneapolis-based punk/rock band, just released a self-titled album that SLAPS. I’ve had the pleasure of sharing a bill with them on two occasions and can attest that they’re this good live, too, and also just lovely people. If you like big, beefy punk rock with shredding guitars and killer lyrics, check ‘em out.
• Friend and former roller derby-er turned award-winning author Melissa Faliveno has a new novel coming out in January called “Hemlock.” I had the privilege to read it early for an upcoming review/interview and loved it. Think of it like a butch/queer Black Swan, set in Wisconsin’s Northwoods. Beautifully written, it’s a moving and haunting (and maybe actually haunted) exploration of identity, generational trauma, addiction, and place. Pre-order it now from your favorite local bookstore.

Final Frame.

I’m in New York City for a long visit and recently got to attend a fundraiser party for Intertwine Arts, a wonderful organization that brings the weaving arts to people with disabilities and chronic illness. And I learned how to use a loom! It was very cool.

‘Til Next Time.

I love us. Take care. Be good to each other.