February 2012

 

Don’t kid yourself, lesbian, you don’t exist. I know it would seem as if you did. When you are in the subway or walking down the street, you look like any other woman. A real woman. But you are not.

Your inexistence started before you could even assimilate it. You weren’t born yelling from between two open legs because you, lesbian, have been delivered by a man not by another woman.

In this a man’s world, it’s men who have defined and explained lesbianism – always in relation to them and their role in society. You have been sick or a pervert. Rebel against your gender assigned role. Strange. Sinner. Depraved. Naïve. Too ugly to attract a man. A bad copy of a man.

Lesbian, you don’t exist. Try reading children books or children movies. Look at the movies coming out this weekend or stay in your sofa for a second and watch TV commercials. Have you seen yourself? Are you a princess waiting for another princess to fit your glass slipper? Are you in any advertisement of wine for lesbian couples? Are you in any hip movies showing a healthy, beautiful relationship between two women?

No. You are not there. You aren’t on any health campaigns to prevent or raise awareness about different infections. You aren’t on the campaigns against domestic violence either. These campaigns, whose ads can be seen on the streets, don’t talk about you. Those ads know that you don’t exist.

You almost don’t exist in History. If you don’t believe me, try searching in an encyclopedia. You won’t find much. Historians have always needed too many proofs to eradicate a woman’s heterosexuality.

You, lesbian, aren’t important for the markets. You aren’t an attractive niche. You aren’t politically or socially relevant.

Stop kidding yourself. Don’t think that you or your family exist just because you live in Spain and have been able to legally marry and have children with another woman since 2005. If you don’t believe me, try filling the 2011 Census questionnaire and you’ll understand that there isn’t room for two mothers. There is no room to be accounted for. There’s no room to exist.

Yes. I’m sure you’ll tell me there are certain movies, books, and series where you have seen glimpses or reflections of yourself. Is that enough to exist? You may exist, but only half-way. Maybe you are like one of those ghost movies with noisy ghosts. Ghosts that manifest themselves but can’t be seen. Ghosts that walk in a different dimension and, sometimes, annoy real people.