Welcome to the Deep Dive. We're really so glad
you're joining us today. You know, we spend a
lot of time on this show looking at these sprawling
cultural movements and massive paradigm shifts,
but today's mission is a bit different. Yeah,
it's much more focused. Exactly. We are going
to explore how a single, highly controversial
piece of paper... Literally just a folded shoot
of newsprint helped completely reshape language,
identity and activism in the 1990s. It really
is an incredible story. It's about the mechanics
of a cultural shockwave. You know, we're looking
at a moment where a community just decided to
completely rewrite the rules of their own identity.
And we've been looking through this really fascinating
stack of materials for this. We have the original
text of the manifesto itself, the historical
record surrounding its release, and, of course,
all the decades of academic critiques that followed.
Right, which are extensive. Oh, very extensive.
So the essay is titled Queers Read This. But
it is also widely known by the title of its deeply
polarizing back page, which is I Hate Straits.
Just hearing those titles, I mean, you immediately
get a sense of the friction and the sheer anger
that was just poured into this document. Oh,
the tension is baked right into the ink. And
OK, let's unpack this just as a quick note to
you listening before we really jump in. We are
looking at a deeply polarizing, radical piece
of history today. Very radical. And because of
that, our goal here isn't to endorse the text,
nor are we endorsing the critics who tore it
apart later. We are completely impartial here.
We are simply acting as your historical guides
to understand what this document said, why it
was written, and why it created such massive
shockwaves. What's fascinating here is why you
should actually care about this. Yeah. I mean,
even if you don't typically read 1990s political
manifestos, This text is essentially a masterclass
in how marginalized groups take language and
just reappropriate it. We're looking at the exact
historical moment, the exact physical document,
where a word began to rapidly transform from
a really harmful slur into a recognized weapon
of political empowerment. It shows us how radical
texts can force these sudden shifts in cultural
paradigms. So take us back to that historical
environment, because from what I'm seeing in
the sources, you really cannot understand this
piece of paper without understanding the sheer
terror of the late 1980s and the very beginning
of the 1990s. You really can't. The climate of
that era just cannot be overstated. It was in
many ways an incredibly grim time to be part
of the LGBT community. The HIV AIDS epidemic
was completely ravaging the United States. And
what made it so horrific wasn't just the disease
itself, but the staggering, devastating lack
of an effective response from the broader society
and from the government. People were watching
their friends and partners die. Yeah, they were.
Well, the world largely just looked the other
way. So you have this devastating public health
crisis. Did the broader society's apathy toward
AIDS directly fuel the anger we see in this pamphlet?
It was the apathy, but it was also active hostility.
Compounding the tragedy of the epidemic was a
really severe environment of heterosexism and
homophobia. Violence against LGBT people wasn't
just a background issue. It was skyrocketing.
The historical records point out a shocking statistic.
By early April of 1990, instances of discriminatory
violence had spiked 122 percent. from just the
start of that very same year. Wait, a 122 % spike?
Yes. In just the first few months of the year?
Exactly. A 122 % increase in roughly three months.
That is terrifying. It is. It completely changes
how you view the activism of that moment. It
makes total sense why the existing, perhaps more
polite forms of activism just weren't cutting
it anymore for the people actually living through
that reality. Precisely. When a community is
facing a deadly epidemic and simultaneously experiencing
a massive surge in physical violence in the streets,
you reach a boiling point. Yeah. And that pressure
cooker birthed a completely new kind of movement.
It led to the creation of direct action groups,
most notably Queer Nation. And Queer Nation has
a really interesting origin, right? Because they
didn't just form out of nowhere. They didn't.
Queer Nation was actually formed by members of
ACTUP. Which was the massive AIDS advocacy group.
Right. An incredibly influential group. But these
specific members formed Queer Nation to explicitly
reject what they viewed as liberal conservatism
within parts of the LGBT community. Let's pause
on that term. What did liberal conservatism actually
mean in the context of 1990s LGBT politics? In
this context, it referred to an assimilationist
approach. asking politely for acceptance, trying
to show the mainstream heterosexual world, look,
we are just like you, please give us our rights.
Right, fitting in. Exactly. But the founders
of Queer Nation believed that survival in their
current climate required a completely different
approach. They wanted to replace polite assimilation
with radical, unapologetic disruption. Which
brings us to the physical object they created
to spread that disruption. I really want to paint
a picture of this for you listening because it's
such a contrast to how we consume information
today. Oh, completely. This wasn't a published
book and it wasn't a glossy magazine. It was
a broad sheet, just a single sheet of standard
size newsprint. It was printed on both sides
and just folded in half to create four pages.
There's something incredibly raw and urgent about
that medium. A folded piece of newsprint is cheap
to produce. It's disposable. It smears ink on
your fingers and it is incredibly easy to conceal
and hand out. Yeah. Before the Internet existed,
this was the perfect vehicle for a grassroots
viral spread. And viral it went. The materials
detail how this drop actually happened. It was
at the June 1990 New York Gay Pride Parade. A
collective calling themselves Anonymous Queers,
who were generally understood to be acting as
Queer Nation, marched alongside the ACTUP contingent.
And as they marched, they manually handed out
roughly 15 ,000 copies of this newsprint pamphlet
directly into the crowd. 15 ,000 copies dropped.
straight into the hands of the community during
a massive public event. But the virality didn't
stop at the parade ramp. How did it spread after
that? From that initial drop, the essay spread
person to person. People were physically photocopying
the newsprint. They were faxing it across the
country to other activists. They were stuffing
it into envelopes and sending it through the
mail. It was a total analog viral sensation.
But what was actually written on those four pages
that made people go to the office fax machine
and send it to their friends? What was the core
argument? The fundamental proposal of the essay
was a radical shift in identity. The authors
made a very sharp, deliberate distinction between
being gay or lesbian and being queer. That feels
like a massive philosophical distinction to make
in 1990. How did they define the difference?
Well, the essay framed gay and lesbian identities
as being based on natural or inherent characteristics.
Essentially, it was about who you are attracted
to. Okay. But it defined queer as something entirely
different. It characterized queerness as a community
that you access through choice, through your
social situation, and most importantly, through
action. So it's an active state. Yes. It wasn't
just about who you loved. It was about how you
chose to stand in opposition to the mainstream.
It was an identity of defiance. But we have to
remember the context of that word. Using the
word queer in 1990 was incredibly controversial.
Highly controversial. Even at the pride parade
surrounded by the LGBT community, there were
people who literally refused to take the pamphlet
from the activist's hands simply because that
word was printed in huge letters on the front
cover. Because for decades, that word had been
used almost exclusively as a pejorative. It was
a violent slur. It was the very word shouted
during those exact acts of street violence we
just talked about. about. And the essay actually
anticipated this exact reaction from its readers.
I want you to read the excerpt from the text
addressing this because it really brings the
author's voices into the room. Sure. The text
says, do we really have to use that word? It's
trouble. Every gay person has his or her own
take on it. For some, it means strange and eccentric
and kind of mysterious. And for others, queer
conjures up those awful memories of adolescent
suffering. Well, yes, gay is great. It has its
place. But when a lot of lesbians and gay men
wake up in the morning, we feel angry and disgusted,
not gay. So we've chosen to call ourselves queer.
That is such a powerful piece of linguistic jujitsu.
They're explicitly acknowledging the deep pain
associated with the word the adolescent suffering,
but they're choosing to wield it anyway because
the word gay implies a sort of lightness or happiness.
And they're saying we aren't happy right now.
We are furious. Exactly. The essay literally
calls the word a sly and ironic weapon we can
steal from the homophobe's hands and use against
him. It completely disarms the oppressor. If
you willingly call yourself the very thing they
are trying to hurt you with, you take away their
power. The text goes on to define being queer
as leading a different sort of life, a life inherently
opposed to profit margins, opposed to patriarchy,
and opposed to assimilation. Here's where it
gets really interesting, though. The essay also
made a really specific point about gender in
relation to that word, didn't it? Yes, it explicitly
noted that the term queer was gender neutral.
The text stated, Queer, unlike gay, doesn't mean
male. Why was that distinction so critical at
that specific moment in time? It was a direct
critique of the broader gay rights movement,
which many felt had historically sidelined the
voices and experiences of women and people of
color. Right. By adopting a new gender neutral
umbrella term, they were trying to build a coalition
that didn't automatically default to the white
male experience. They wanted something more inclusive,
yet simultaneously far more radical. And the
tone of the essay certainly matched that radical
ambition. It wasn't a polite request for a seat
at the table. It was broken up into distinct
sections written in different voices, but the
overarching tone was consistently urgent. Very
urgent. It varied from upbeat to incredibly angry.
In fact, it explicitly told its readers to let
yourself be angry, entirely rejecting the notion
that good queers don't get mad. In a climate
where people were dying and facing violence daily,
the authors viewed anger as the only rational
response. The essay framed the simple act of
surviving as an act of defiance. Yeah, listen
to how they open the manifesto. How can I tell
you? How can I convince you, brother, sister,
that your life is in danger? That every day you
wake up alive, relatively happy, and a functioning
human being, you are committing a rebellious
act. You as an alive and functioning queer are
a revolutionary. Just breathing is political.
Exactly. It's a profound reframing of existence.
It challenges the reader to tear themselves away
from passive acceptance and to become visible.
It demanded action over acceptance. And it spoke
very directly to different factions of the community
to spur that action. For instance, it urged queer
women not to wait around for society or even
other activists to change. What do they say to
them? The text read, girl, you can't wait for
other dykes to make the world safe for you. Stop
waiting for a better, more lesbian future. The
revolution could be here if we started it. The
emphasis is constantly on the now. Not tomorrow,
not when society is ready, but today. And that
unapologetic, immediate demand for space culminated
in the most polarizing part of the entire pamphlet.
The final page. Right. The entire back page of
this fold in newsprint was taken up by a single
section titled, I Hate Straits. What was the
actual demand being made in that section? Because
it's obviously a deliberately shocking title.
And remember, everyone, we are just looking at
the history here. Right. Looking at it purely
historically, it was a blistering demand for
absolute. accountability from heterosexual society.
The essay asserted that until queer people could
enjoy the exact same freedom of movement and
the exact same freedom of sexuality as straight
people, straight privilege must stop. It must
stop. And it must be handed over to them. It
was a confrontational challenge to the status
quo designed to shock the reader into recognizing
the stark inequalities of daily life. So what
does this all mean? What actually happens when
you drop 15 ,000 copies of a manifesto titled
I Hate Straights into a parade? What was the
fallout the next day? The fallout was immediate,
and it was explosive. It sparked a ferocious
debate instantly, and not just in the broader
society, but fiercely within the queer community
itself. The historical records give us a really
fascinating snapshot of this exact tension. What
happened? The very next day after the parade,
there was an ACT -UP meeting. Now remember, ACTUP
members were the ones who formed Queer Nation
and handed these broadsheets out. Right, their
own members. At this meeting, a straight woman
stood up and condemned the I Hate Straits essay.
And the room applauded her. But when a gay man
stood up to defend the essay, his defense completely
bombed with the crowd. That is so interesting.
Why did the room react that way? Why applaud
the condemnation of a text written by their own
members? Because it highlights a deep internal
conflict regarding strategy. ACTUP was a big
tent anti -AIDS organization. They relied on
a broad coalition of people, including straight
allies, politicians, and donors, to fight the
health crisis. Oh, I see. The distribution of
this pamphlet inappropriately linked this broad
health organization to a highly polarizing radical
gay liberation stance. It alienated their allies
and forced the group to confront a massive strategic
divide. But despite that internal friction, the
pamphlet didn't just fade away. The media amplification
of it was massive. It's huge. An article in Outweek
by a journalist named Nina Reyes actually praised
the essay. She called it a persuasive argument
for unified queer intolerance. She did. Reyes
even compared it favorably to Sojourner Truth's
famous Ain't I a Woman speech. She loved the
unapologetic anger and called the title both
concise and eloquent. And that media coverage
was essentially the rocket fuel, right? It propelled
Queer Nation from a local New York collective
to a national audience. Almost overnight, it
spawned a new chapter in San Francisco, and soon
chapters in other major cities across the United
States were established. Yeah, the manifesto
had done its job. It mobilized a radical new
faction. But the conversation surrounding this
text didn't stop. in the 1990s. This is where
the story takes a fascinating turn. This single
piece of paper handed out at a parade is widely
credited with helping birth what we now call
queer theory in academia. Right. But if we connect
this to the bigger picture. As the text moved
from the streets into university classrooms,
academics began to levy some heavy, heavy critiques
against it. Let's bridge that gap. How did a
street -level handout become a foundational yet
heavily criticized text in universities? What
were the academics actually pushing back on?
The primary pushback came a few years later,
in 1997, from a prominent scholar named Kathy
J. Cohen. Her critique raises a crucial question
about how we define oppression. Cohen's main
argument was that queers read this targeted heterosexuality
as an identity rather than targeting heteronormativity
as a systemic structure. Wait, let's break that
down for a second. What is the practical difference
between attacking heterosexuality versus attacking
heteronormativity? Attacking heterosexuality
means you're attacking a group of people based
on who they love, straight people. Attacking
heteronormativity means you are attacking the
societal assumption that being straight is the
default. And you're attacking the systems that
punish anyone who falls outside that default.
That is a very clear distinction. Cohen argued
that by just saying, I hate straights, the essay
reinforced simple black and white dichotomies.
You're either heterosexual or you are queer.
So they were flattening everyone's complex experience
into a single binary. Precisely. Cohen felt this
created a massive blind spot. She argued the
manifesto completely lacked class and racial
consciousness. By creating this hard line, the
essay failed to account for what she called queer
privilege. How does queer privilege work in this
context? Cohen pointed out that a white, wealthy,
able -bodied queer person still holds massive
systemic advantages in society advantages that
the manifesto completely glossed over in its
anger. Wow, yeah. Furthermore, she argued it
failed to recognize the systemic disadvantages
faced by some heterosexuals. Give me an example
of that. How did the manifesto ignore disadvantaged
straight people? Cohen noted that non -normative
family structures of straight people of color
or lower -class straight families are also heavily
regulated, marginalized, and excluded by society.
So by drawing the battle lines purely at sexual
orientation, the wealthy white queer person is
ignoring the very real oppression of the lower
class straight family of color. That makes complete
sense. If you ignore how race and income level
change a person's experience of oppression, your
revolution is leaving a lot of people behind.
Did other scholars build on Cohen's critique?
Yes. The academic consensus heavily evolved in
that direction. Another scholar... Ulrika Dahl
even suggested that this blanket stance against
heterosexuality as a whole was heavily linked
to lesbian separatism movements. Which were what
exactly? Movements that often sought to completely
sever ties with mainstream society rather than
reform it. So when we look back at Queer as Read
This through the lens of modern intersectional
theory, it's clear it had major blind spots.
It was a blunt instrument used to smash open
a door in a time of extreme life or death crisis.
Right. But it wasn't a surgical tool for long
-term inclusive activism. That is a perfect way
to summarize it. As queer theory developed, scholars
realized that a blunt instrument isn't always
the best tool for understanding the nuanced intersecting
webs of societal power. But you cannot deny the
door it smashed open. What an incredible journey
for one folded piece of newsprint. Let's synthesize
everything we've uncovered today. We started
in a terrifying historical climate, a soaring
AIDS epidemic and physical violence spiking by
122 percent in just a few months. A literal boiling
point. That pressure cooker led to a 15 ,000
copy physical pamphlet drop at a pride parade.
We saw a community deliberately reappropriate
a harmful slur, literally stealing the weapon
from their oppressors and turning the word queer
into a symbol of political empowerment. And then
we witnessed the fierce internal battles that
followed at that ACT -UP meeting. Yes, and the
long -lasting academic debates over race, class,
and binary thinking that continue in universities
to this day. It is a phenomenal example of how
text can be an active, disruptive agent of history,
not just a passive record. Before we go, we want
to leave you with a final thought to mull over,
building on everything we've just discussed regarding
how information spreads. Think about the physical
medium of this manifesto. In 1990, a revolution
in language and identity was sparked by manually
handing out 15 ,000 folded pieces of paper at
a parade. The activists had to rely on faxes
and physical smearing photocopies to go viral.
Today, we live in an era of algorithmic feeds,
endless scrolling, and digital echo chambers
where millions of words are published every single
second. It's a completely different world. It
is. It begs the question, could a singular physical
document ever force an entire community to pause,
debate, and redefine its own identity the way
queers read this did? Or has the digital age
made that... kind of focused analog shockwave
impossible. It is a wild thing to consider next
time you're scrolling through your feed. Thank
you so much for joining us on this deep dive.
Keep questioning the words you use every day
and we will see you next time.