Asexual Identities & Feminist Her-Stories
This is a blog for Ace Week 2020 @asexualawarenessweek, inspired by this year’s theme: ‘Our History’.
I recently came across this talk on You Tube: ‘Ace and Aro Zines as Community Building and History’ which was delivered by Olivia Montoya at the 2019 WorldPride Ace and Aro Conference. It’s a fascinating insight into the history of ace zines. What got me particularly excited though was when Olivia started showing quotes from feminist speeches and publications from as far back as the 1970s which mention asexuality; and Riot Grrrl zines from the ‘90s and early-2000s which also discussed ace-ness.
Coming across this talk has led me to take a look back at my own involvement with feminism and how it informed the way I thought about my sexuality, prior to realising I was asexual.
I was involved in feminist activism from 2005-2008-ish, when I was in my early/mid-twenties. I was of the feminist generation that protested ‘raunch culture’; the objectification of women and the marketing of Playboy pencil cases to pre-pubescent girls. The activism I was involved in was very much underpinned by radical feminist theory and ideas; including that of the ‘woman-identified woman’. The ‘woman-identified woman’ rejects sexual/romantic relationships with men and instead prioritises relationships with women; these relationships can be sexual, but they don’t have to be.
This concept of the woman-identified woman, along with the radical feminist critique of compulsory heterosexuality, and just patriarchy in general really, definitely influenced the way I thought about my sexuality during this time. I didn’t identify as straight. But this wasn’t because I knew I lacked sexual/romantic attraction towards men (I didn’t really get to grips with this until I discovered there was such a thing as asexuality); I did know on some level I wasn’t interested in men; I couldn’t imagine myself settling down with a man; but my rejection of heterosexuality was more an expression of my radical feminism: “I’m not dating men because patriarchy, grrr!” type-thing.
I didn’t identify as bi or lesbian either, though (the only other sexualities on my radar at the time). I couldn’t imagine myself with a guy; but I couldn’t imagine myself with a girl, either. In fact, the way I thought about my sexuality is summed up perfectly in one of the Riot Grrrl zines Olivia shows in her presentation. In an essay entitled, ‘Your Revolution Will Not Happen Between These Thighs!’, its author, Lauren Jade Martin, writes: “I wasn’t straight, bi, or a dyke - I just thought of myself as nothing.”
Looking back now, I see how much I thought about (my) sexuality in the abstract. This way of thinking was certainly influenced by my exposure to radical feminism; however, I wonder whether it was also a sign of my asexuality.
Although I was in my twenties, I’d never had sex and never been in a relationship; I’d not experienced any of the fleshy, squishy-squashy feelings that (I’m told) constitute sexual/romantic attraction, and therefore a person’s sexual identity/orientation. This therefore probably made me more receptive to the radical feminist idea of sexual orientation being a political choice you can make.
Today, a decade on, I no longer think about my sexuality in this way. And that’s because I discovered (my) asexuality.
Over the past 12 months, I’ve been exploring (my) ace-ness, which has involved lots of self-reflection and examination of my past experiences and feelings in relation to all things sexual and romantic. This process of self-exploration has meant I no longer think about my sexuality as this abstract thing; now I know I’m asexual, I think about it as something more innate; as an orientation; as something I can’t help but be.
So, it was interesting to come across ‘The Asexual Manifesto’ (again, via Olivia’s talk, and available to view here). This was a feminist pamphlet published in 1972 and is very reminiscent of the radical feminism I was immersed in years ago, such as it talks about “reject(ing) any possibility of sex” (with men or with women), “unless our conditions are met… thereby prevent(ing) ourselves from being sexually exploited and oppressed.”
If I’d have come across this manifesto back in my activist days, I might have embraced its definition of asexual.
Reading The Asexual Manifesto now though, I find it more problematic; because the way it defined asexuality is different to the way asexuality is defined today. The manifesto says asexuality is something a woman can choose; that it’s an “efficient ‘alternative lifestyle’ for revolutionary women”. It does not talk about asexuality in terms of experiencing little/no sexual attraction.
And whilst it could be said, ‘yeah, okay, this is a definition from the past, so let’s not worry about it too much’; check out the Wikipedia entry on ‘feminism and asexuality’. It conflates asexuality with political lesbianism – another version of that ‘woman-identified woman’ radical feminism I was talking about above.
This conflation of asexuality with radical/political lesbian feminism troubles me because it distorts and negates what asexuality actually is. I don’t want my asexuality to be construed as a choice. Yes, I’m a feminist who has issues with compulsory heterosexuality; however, I don’t have relationships with men because of that; the reason I don’t have relationships with men is because I’m simply not attracted to them.
My asexuality is something innate to me; that’s how I experience it; how I embody it. It’s not something I’ve chosen. It’s who I am.
There’s definitely potential for an ‘asexual feminism’; but it needs to be rooted in an understanding of asexuality as experiencing little/no sexual attraction, rather than as a political/lifestyle choice.