Turning Points in Identity and Theology

Turning Points in Identity and Theology:
Bisexual Women Choosing Between
Monogamous and Polyamorous Relationships
By
Margaret Anne Robinson
A Thesis submitted to the Faculty of Theology of Regis College
and the Department of Theology of the Toronto School of Theology
in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy in Theology
Awarded by the University of St. Michael’s College
Toronto, 2009
 Margaret Anne Robinson
ii
Turning Points in Identity and Theology: Bisexual Women Choosing Between Monogamous and
Polyamorous Relationships.
Doctor of Philosophy in Theology, 2009
Margaret Anne Robinson
Theology Department of the Toronto School of Theology
Abstract
This study contributes to the development of nascent bisexual theology by examining
bisexual women’s lives in relation to the stereotype that bisexuals desire concurrent male and
female partners. Building on qualitative email interviews with forty bisexual women in the
Greater Toronto Area, this thesis finds that monogamy and polyamory function as strategic
identities. If bisexual theology is to speak authentically to the needs of bisexual women, it must
provide a critical analysis of these identities, understand and respond to their role in shaping
communities, moral agency and theological knowledge.
Chapter One sets the conflation of bisexuality with polyamory in its political and
theological context. Four characteristics of Catholic sexual ethics—their foundational,
sacramental, social, and moral character—frame this investigation about bisexual women as
subjects of theological enterprise. The conflation of bisexuality and polyamory is posed as the
key challenge for both secular politics and articulating a bisexual theological perspective.
Chapter Two provides a methodological overview of the qualitative research project using voice
centred relational analysis (VCRA) as an appropriate tool to conduct and analyse the interviews
in their social context. Chapter Three summarises the results of the VCRA analysis and
highlights key themes from the interviews. Chapter Four relates the results of the primary
research to the theological writing of Robert Goss and Marcella Althaus-Reid by examining five
iii
common elements in their work to assess how their work meets the challenges raised by the
interview analysis. The final chapter relates these common elements in the work of Goss and
Althaus-Reid to the four characteristics of Catholic sexual ethics outlined in Chapter One to
emphasize the importance of building bisexual women’s communities and how this relates to the
development of bisexual theology. The thesis concludes with concrete recommendations for
bisexual women’s community building and offers directions for further bisexual theological
work.
iv
Acknowledgements
I would first like to thank my dissertation supervisor Dr. Marilyn Legge of Emmanuelle
College. Marilyn’s political insight, sharp editorial eye, and kind encouragement made the
completion of this project possible. Thank-you for sharing my passion for this work. Thank-you
also to Dr. Ron Mercier, S.J. of Regis College. Ron’s perceptive questions and thorough
knowledge of Catholic sexual ethics has been an invaluable help. Both Ron and Marilyn have
been supportive mentors to me throughout my years of graduate study.
I also thank the members of the Dissertation Defense Committee, Traci West, Lee
Cormie, Marsha Hewitt, Tom Reynolds, and Michael Stoeber for their kind remarks and their
insightful questions.
Thanks to Terry Donaldson, Advanced Degree director of the Toronto School of
Theology, for making my defense of this dissertation possible. Thanks also to the bisexual
activists who have inspired and encouraged me in this work—Dana Shaw, Stephen Harvey,
Cheryl Dobinson, and Loraine Hutchins, among others—and to the forty women who honoured
me by agreeing to participate in this research. I am more grateful than I can express.
I am grateful also to those individuals whose work inspired me during my writing. This
includes Carlton Ridenhour and David Daniel Snider whose willingness to fight the powers that
be instilled in me the courage to stand up for my convictions. Thanks also to Patricia Mae
Andrzejewski, for pointing out that we have the right to be angry.
Thank-you to my parents, Heather MacLean and James Robinson, whose unflagging
encouragement and intellectual nurturing gave me the desire to pursue my academic dreams.
Finally, thank-you to my best friend and partner of 14 years, Mr. Pugh, whose stalwart love and
support has buoyed me through the roughest times. I love you.
Table of Contents
ABSTRACT ........................................................................................................................................................................II
INTRODUCTION...............................................................................................................................................................1
METHOD OF INSIDER RESEARCH ......................................................................................................................................2
My Relationship with Myself ......................................................................................................................................2
My Relationship with the Participants.....................................................................................................................10
My Relationship with the Reader .............................................................................................................................15
OVERVIEW OF THE DISSERTATION .................................................................................................................................20
CHAPTER ONE: POLYAMORY AND BISEXUALITY AS THEOLOGICAL ISSUES ...................................22
BISEXUALITY & POLYAMORY AS THEOLOGICAL ISSUES ..............................................................................................22
1) Sexuality is Foundational.....................................................................................................................................22
2) Sexuality is Sacramental ......................................................................................................................................23
3) Sexuality is Social .................................................................................................................................................24
4) Sexuality is Moral .................................................................................................................................................25
POLYAMORY: PROBLEMS AND STRATEGIES ..................................................................................................................26
Divisions Between Lesbians and Bisexuals .............................................................................................................28
Ties with Non-Conforming Heterosexuals...............................................................................................................30
Relation to Polyamory Activism ...............................................................................................................................34
MORAL DISCOURSE AS POLITICAL DISCOURSE .............................................................................................................38
Bisexuality in Mainstream Theologies.....................................................................................................................39
Bisexuality in Gay and Lesbian Theology ...............................................................................................................46
NEED FOR ALTERNATIVE VISIONS .................................................................................................................................53
CHAPTER TWO: STUDY DESCRIPTION ................................................................................................................57
ISSUES IN RESEARCH ON BISEXUAL WOMEN ................................................................................................................57
TORONTO’ S BISEXUAL WOMEN’ S COMMUNITY ...........................................................................................................61
FINDING PARTICIPANTS ..................................................................................................................................................67
INTERVIEWING THE PARTICIPANTS ................................................................................................................................69
Participant Overview ................................................................................................................................................72
METHODOLOGY: VOICE CENTRED RELATIONAL ANALYSIS ........................................................................................77
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative ...............................................................................................................79
In What Body? Reading for Participant’s Self-Representation ............................................................................81
Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading For Connections ....................................................................82
In What Societal And Cultural Frameworks? Reading For Social Location.......................................................82
CHAPTER THREE: MEETING SIX BISEXUAL WOMEN ...................................................................................84
RESEARCHER REFLEXIVITY ............................................................................................................................................85
MEETING SIX BISEXUAL WOMEN ...................................................................................................................................88
ANONYMOUS: THE INVISIBLE WOMAN .........................................................................................................................89
DANIELLE: BEING THE GIRL...........................................................................................................................................97
MODHOLLY: IT SEEMED A LOT EASIER WHEN I W AS Y OUNGER. ............................................................................105
DIANNA: OPEN AND LOOKING .....................................................................................................................................116
DIANE: MY LIFE, MY DECISIONS .................................................................................................................................125
AWE: FACING HER FEARS ............................................................................................................................................132
RESEARCH SUMMARY...................................................................................................................................................139
Relevance of Bisexual Identity and Community Involvement...............................................................................139
Relations with Lesbians ..........................................................................................................................................140
Being Out as Bisexual .............................................................................................................................................142
Negotiating Compulsory Heterosexuality..............................................................................................................143
Negotiating Gender Norms.....................................................................................................................................146
Promiscuity Stereotypes..........................................................................................................................................146
Polyamorous and Monogamous as Strategic Identities .......................................................................................147
ii
Polyamory as a Norm Shaping Bisexual Space ....................................................................................................149
Early Motherhood as a Competing (Non)Sexual Identity ....................................................................................150
Long-Term Social Supports ....................................................................................................................................152
Concerns for Bisexual Community Building .........................................................................................................154
CHAPTER FOUR: QUEER THEOLOGY AS A METHODOLOGICAL RESOURCE...................................156
ROBERT G OSS: ESCHATOLOGICAL THEOLOGY ...........................................................................................................156
MARCELLA ALTHAUS-REID: POSTCOLONIAL OUTRAGE[OUS]...................................................................................172
BISEXUAL THEOLOGY: MOVING FORWARD ................................................................................................................187
CONCLUSION ................................................................................................................................................................190
1. Valuing Queer Culture .......................................................................................................................................190
2) Sexualizing Theology..........................................................................................................................................192
3) Reframing Authority ...........................................................................................................................................194
4) Taking Metaphor Seriously ................................................................................................................................198
5) Reclaiming The Sacred.......................................................................................................................................200
RECOMMENDATIONS FOR COMMUNITY BUILDING .....................................................................................................203
1) Be Attentive To The Kinds Of Community We Create......................................................................................203
2) Provide Identity Support to Monogamous Women...........................................................................................204
3) Promote Practices That Counter Heteronormativity .......................................................................................205
4) Offer New Roles for Women with Developed Identities ...................................................................................206
RECOMMENDATIONS FOR BISEXUAL THEOLOGY ........................................................................................................207
1) Be Open To The Wisdom Of Multiple Traditions .............................................................................................207
2) Offer Alternative to Heterosexist Constructions of Sexual Morality...............................................................209
3) Theologize Bisexual Experience ........................................................................................................................210
4) Foster And Promote Bisexual Resources For Spiritual Development ............................................................211
BIBLIOGRAPHY ...........................................................................................................................................................214
DOCUMENT 1: EMAIL INTRODUCTION .............................................................................................................236
DOCUMENT 2: INFORMED CONSENT .................................................................................................................237
DOCUMENT 3: EMAIL QUESTIONNAIRE ...........................................................................................................238
1
Introduction
This dissertation is a work of feminist research at the intersection of critical cultural and
theological studies. Cultural studies professor Patti Lather argues that the goal of feminist
research is to “correct both the invisibility and the distortion of female experience in ways
relevant to ending women’s unequal social position.”1 I feel this goal most keenly in relation to
bisexual women. I came out as bisexual in 1992 and much of my time as an activist has been
dedicated to building a bisexual community in Toronto. Bisexual women face both of the
problems Lather identified. We are made invisible by models of sexuality that split the world
into straight and gay.2 Our experience is distorted by stereotypes, which portray us as
hypersexual and dishonest, and by discourses that authorize others to speak about us while delegitimating what we say about ourselves. This study is an attempt to counter that invisibility
and distortion.
Between August and December of 2006, I conducted 40 email interviews with bisexual
women in the Greater Toronto Area.3 My aim was to examine their lives in relation to the most
pervasive stereotype of bisexuals: that we desire concurrent male and female partners. Is this
conflation a symptom of bias, I wondered, or do bisexuals have a special relationship with
1
Patti Lather, “Feminist Perspectives on Empowering Research Methodologies,” in Debates and
Issues in Feminist Research and Pedagogy: a Reader, ed. Janet Holland and Maud Blair
(Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters, 1995), 295.
2
For a review of the literature on bisexual invisibility see Kenji Yoshino, “The Epistemic
Contract of Bisexual Erasure,” Stanford Law Review 52, no. 2 (January 2000): 353-461.
3
The Greater Toronto Area, or GTA, is a municipal unit formed through the amalgamation of
the City of Toronto with Durham, Halton, Peel and York Regional Municipalities. According to
the census of 2006, it has a population of over 5.5 million people. Statistics Canada, “Population
And Dwelling Counts, for Canada, Provinces And Territories, and Census Divisions, 2006 and
2001 Censuses,” (March 13, 2007): Catalogue number 97-550-XWE2006002.
2
polyamory?4 And if polyamory does figure significantly for bisexuals, what does this mean for
the development of bisexual theology?
Method of Insider Research
Andrea Doucet, a sociology professor at Carleton University, notes that the knowledge
we construct as researchers is contextual and relational. She identifies three relationships as
particularly key: 1) our relationship with ourselves, 2) our relationship with our research
participants, and 3) our relationship with our readers.5 Following is an overview of these three
relationships and how they shaped this study.
My Relationship with Myself
I was born in 1973. I am a member of Generation X, and a third wave feminist. Growing
up, I saw the power of human agency, good and bad, continually displayed on television. The
year I turned sixteen the Berlin wall fell, the Exxon Valdez crashed, tanks rolled over students in
Tiananmen Square, and fourteen women at the École Polytechnique were murdered for being
feminists. The activist in me has been inspired by the end of apartheid, and spurred to action by
the rise of the Religious Right. I have not experienced the crisis of agency which some associate
with the postmodern subject.6
4
In this dissertation polyamory refers to the practice of having multiple sexual partners. This
may also include multiple romantic or emotional relationships. As well, polyamorous
relationships are understood to involve informed and consenting individuals and to occur with
their partners’ full awareness.
5
Andrea Doucet, “‘From Her Side of the Gossamer Wall(s)’: Reflexivity and Relational
Knowing,” Qualitative Sociology 31, no. 1 (2008): 73–87.
6
Kobena Mercer, “‘1968’: Periodizing Politics and Identity,” in Cultural Studies, ed. Lawrence
Gossberg, Cary Nelson, and Paula A Treichler (London: Routledge, 1992), 424; Anthony
3
The decision to focus this research on the conflation of bisexuality and polyamory
emerges from my own experience. Simply being out as bisexual has drawn questions about
polyamory from concerned relatives, intrigued heterosexuals, and gay and lesbian fellow
activists. In 1995 an advertisement I had submitted to Telepersonals (a newspaper personals
column) was rejected because I had used the word “bisexual.” Their head office representative
told me that while the terms “gay” and “lesbian” were permitted, “bisexual” was not since it
implied that the person was looking for a threesome.7 It was the ubiquity of this conflation that
first led me to question compulsory monogamy. Although I am currently in a monogamous
relationship, I have had multiple relationships in the past. I accept both polyamory and
monogamy as potential sites of counter-practices to heteropatriarchy, however imperfect they
may be in practice. The ultimate aim, I advocate, is to reach a point where monogamy is not
linked with ownership and predicated on women’s subordination, and where polyamory is not
modelled on a capitalist premise of accumulation and consumption. I hope that approaching
both monogamy and polyamory as potentially liberating practices will enable me to explore
bisexual women’s experience more accurately.
My interest in religion emerged from my desire to understand Roman Catholic opposition
to homosexuality as it was expressed in the 1990s, particularly by Roseanne Skoke, a Catholic
laywoman who was the Liberal Member of Parliament for Central Nova, in my home province of
Nova Scotia. Skoke said that homosexuality “defiles humanity, destroys family [sic] and is
Thiselton, Interpreting God and the Postmodern Self: On Meaning, Manipulation and Promise,
(Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 121, 130.
7
Telepersonals has since become Lavalife. A similar problem was reported in Miriam Boon,
“Rejected From The Personals: Match.Com Mistakes Bisexuals For Swingers,” Xtra, Thursday,
May 11, 2006, www.xtra.ca/public/Toronto/Rejected_from_the_personals-1645.aspx
4
annihilating mankind.”8 If I was to participate in the public debate about my own rights, I
needed to be able to understand and communicate with people like Skoke. I soon discovered that
the sexual ethics debate in theology had already been framed to exclude me as a participant.
Bisexuality was absent from the Catholic vision of sexuality, present only by inference, in terms
such as “homosexual condition or tendency.”9
When I began my Bachelor of Arts degree in 1990, I hoped to participate in the
development of a more accurate and justice-seeking Catholic theology. Given the
democratization of South Africa and the former Soviet Republic (particularly the Solidarity
movement in the homeland of then Pope John Paul II), it seemed to me only a matter of time
before the Catholic Church reorganized its own structure to reflect democratic principles. I saw
the seeds of such a shift in the Vatican II Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity, which
emphasises that all members of the Church have a “Christian vocation,” and a responsibility to
use their gifts “in the Church and in the world.”10 By the time I had completed my Master of
Arts degree, in 2001, the Church—and my perception of it—had changed so rapidly that such
participation was no longer possible. Among these changes was an increase in the number of
8
Roseanne Skoke, CBC Newsworld: On the Line, (15 May 1994), cited in Queer Resources
Directory, www.qrd.org/qrd/world/americas/canada/mp.skoke.action-10.06.94. Skoke also
stated that homosexuality was “undermining and destroying our Canadian values and Christian
morality.” Roseanne Skoke, House of Commons Publications Debates, Routine Proceedings,
September 20, 1994, 35th Parliament, 1st Session, no. 93, Journal no. 93, 5910. Her words
prompted Bloc Quebecois Member of Parliament Réal Ménard to come out as gay on September
27, 1994.
9
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, “Letter to Bishops of the Catholic Church on the
Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons,” (October 1, 1986), 3.
10
Pope Paul VI, “Apostolicam Actuositatem: Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity,” Second
Vatican Ecumenical Council (November 18, 1965), 1-3.
5
documents produced by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.11 I was particularly
alarmed by "Some Considerations Concerning the Response to Legislative Proposals on NonDiscrimination of Homosexual Persons," which supported discrimination in adoption, housing,
employment, and military recruitment.12 Other documents reinforced the prohibition on divorce,
birth control and declared the non-ordination of women an infallible teaching, thus alienating me
as a feminist.13 As the Vatican’s position on these issues became more rigid, I began to wonder
if working within the current framework of Catholic sexual ethics was a worthwhile enterprise.
As a woman and a Micmac (the indigenous people of Eastern Canada), my approach to
Catholicism has always been what feminists call a “hermeneutics of suspicion.”14 Catholic
arguments against homosexuality that invoke the importance of the family ring hollow for me in
light of the residential school system. Likewise, I find Catholic sexual ethics, based on an
“iconic” complementarity between the sexes, to be rooted not in human nature but in a cultural
11
One Catholic journalist notes that “In the last twenty years the Church, at every level, has
produced more documents…than in almost twenty centuries earlier.” Vittori Messori, “Il Verbo
si è fatto carta,” del Corriere della Sera (December 14, 2000): www.et-et.it/articoli2004/
spec16.htm
12
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, “Some Considerations Concerning the Response to
Legislative Proposals On The Non-Discrimination Of Homosexual Persons,” (July 24, 1992).
This document called homosexuality “behavior to which no one has any conceivable right,”
claimed that it “may seriously threaten…lives,” and accused us of attempting to manipulate the
Church.
13
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, "Letter to Bishops Regarding the Reception of
Holy Communion by Divorced and Remarried Members of the Faithful," (Sept. 14, 1994); Idem,
“Note Regarding The Moral Rule of ‘Humanae Vitae’ and the Pastoral Duty,” (February 16,
1989); Idem, “Responsum ad Dubium: Concerning the Teaching Contained in ‘Ordinatio
Sacerdotalis’,” (October 28, 1995).
14
This phrase refers to readings that reveal concealed political interests within texts. It emerged
from the work of French philosopher Paul Ricoeur, who called Sigmund Freud, Francois de la
Rochefoucauld, Friedrich Nietzsche and Karl Marx the “masters of suspicion.” Paul Ricoeur,
Conflict of Interpretations: Essays in Hermeneutics, ed. Don Ihde (Evanston, Illinois:
Northwestern University Press, 1974), 331. For the feminist use of the concept see Elisabeth
Schussler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian
Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1983), xxiii-xxiv, 107.
6
tradition of women’s subordination.15 The status of the Church as a moral authority was further
undercut in my generation when reports of widespread sexual abuse by clergy began to appear in
the media. Like many people, I felt deceived by the individuals involved but also by the
Magisterium which had hidden the crimes.16 I was further infuriated when the Church, under the
leadership of newly elected Pope Benedict XVI responded to the scandals by prohibiting the
ordination of homosexuals.17 Church officials seemed to view the issue as a problem of acts
(abusive) and identity (homosexual). They had not learned from the many decades of feminist
activism and scholarship, and as a result did not adequately examine the role played by power
dynamics in creating a culture of abuse. The official response made no connection between the
physical, sexual, and cultural abuse in the residential school system, the sexual abuse of the laity
by the ordained, and the abuse of nuns by priests or religious order officials. I understood the
culture of abuse to be a product of the hierarchical structure of the Church itself.18
15
For a description of this complementarity, see John Paul II, “Letter to Women,” (June 1995),
11. For an example of how this concept functions in Catholic statements on homosexuality, see
CDF, “Response to Legislative Proposals.”
16
See for example, Sacred Congregation of the Holy Office, “Crimen Sollicitationis: Instruction
to all Patriarchs, Archbishops, Bishops and other Local Ordinaries, Including Those of Eastern
Rite,” (March 16, 1962): http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/shared/bsp/hi/pdfs/28_09_06_Crimen_english.
pdf. Minnesota lawyer Jeff Anderson called this document “the smoking gun that establishes
that secrecy was written, codified, and mandatorily applied.” Quoted by Kristen Lombardi in
“Law and the Law,” Boston Phoenix, August 15, 2003, www.thebostonphoenix.com/
boston/news_features/other_stories/multipage/documents/03090909.asp
17
Congregation for Catholic Education, “Instruction Concerning The Criteria For The
Discernment Of Vocations With Regard To Persons With Homosexual Tendencies In View Of
Their Admission To The Seminary And To Holy Orders,” (November 4, 2005).
18
For articles taking this perspective see Michael D. White and Karen J. Terry, “Child Sexual
Abuse In The Catholic Church: Revisiting The Rotten Apples Explanation,” Criminal Justice
And Behavior 35, no. 5 (May 2008): 658-678; Thomas P. Doyle, “Clericalism: Enabler of Clergy
Sexual Abuse,” Pastoral Psychology 54, no. 3 (January 2006): 189-213.
7
At the same time the sexual abuse scandals were breaking, the Magisterium’s approach to
dissent became aggressive. The Second Vatican Council had described the Church as “always in
need of purification,” and following “the path of penance and renewal.”19 These terms had
inspired reformers. Now Catholic sexual ethics took an authoritarian and punitive approach
designed to quell public debate. They removed or withheld the imprimatur from books that
presented multiple viewpoints on moral issues or portrayed sexual ethics as evolving.20 They
investigated, censured or fired some of their most liberal theologians, and excommunicated those
dissenting on the ordination of women.21 Particularly distressing to me was the shift in the
pastoral treatment of gays and lesbians. Despite the Magisterium’s position that homosexuality
was “intrinsically disordered,” there has been a strain of pastoral practice in which sexual ethics
was treated similarly to other social ethics—as an evolving search for holiness in which
individual experience and personal conscience was respected. Whereas previously these pastoral
practices were ignored, Catholic authorities now began to root them out. Groups such as
Dignity, a queer-positive Catholic organization, were banned from meeting on Church property,
Sister Jeannine Gramick and Reverend Robert Nugent were ordered to end their outreach
19
Pope Paul VI, “Lumen Gentium: Dogmatic Constitution on the Church,“ Second Vatican
Ecumenical Council (November 21, 1964).
20
An imprimatur (“let it be printed”), imprimi potest (“it can be printed”) and nihil obstat
(“nothing stands in the way”) are designations given by a Roman Catholic bishops, religious
superiors, or censors indicating a book is free from error in matters of doctrine.
21
Theologians targeted in this way include André Guindon, Charles Curran, Matthew Fox, John
J. McNeill, and James Callan. On the excommunication of ordained women, see Congregation
for the Doctrine of the Faith, “General Decree Regarding The Delict Of Attempted Sacred
Ordination Of A Woman,” (May 30, 2008).
8
ministry to gays and lesbians, and approved pastoral practice moved toward endorsing reparative
therapy.22
It became apparent that there would be no democratic revolution in the Church; liberal
Catholicism was being legislated out, and the new generation of Catholics were drawn
specifically to its neo-conservative stance.23 The rigidity of the new documents on
homosexuality, the efforts to curtail human rights, the prohibition of public dissent, and the
elimination of supportive pastoral practices combined to reveal what ought to have been clear
earlier; there was no space in Catholicism for my kind of work. The Church’s stand on
homosexuality was, in the words of Paolo Freire, “an act of arrogance,” by an “in-group of pure
men, the owners of truth and knowledge.”24 In the Church’s own terms, it had become a “culture
of death” for gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transpeople.25 This was expressed most clearly by
Alfredo Ormando, a gay Catholic writer, who committed suicide by lighting himself on fire in St.
Peter's Square on January 14, 1998 to protest the Church’s position on homosexuality.
Even in the midst of my disillusionment with the Church as an institution, I found
elements of inspiration in many of the Church’s statements. Like the Bible, these reflections on
22
For my analysis of this shift, see Margaret Anne Robinson, “The Influence of Gender
Construction on Catholic Approaches to Same-Sex Desire,” (Masters Thesis, University of St.
Michael’s College, 2001), 61-64.
23
Mary E. Bendyna and Paul M. Perl, “Young Adult Catholics in the Context of Other Catholic
Generations: Living with Diversity, Seeking Service, Waiting to be Welcomed,” Center for
Applied Research in the Apostolate, Georgetown University, Working Paper no. 1 (June 2000);
Paul J. Levesque and Stephen M. Siptroth, “The Correlation Between Political and Ecclesial
Ideologies of Catholic Priests: A Research Note,” Sociology of Religion 66, no. 4 (Winter, 2005):
428.
24
Paolo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans Myra Begman Ramos (New York: Continuum,
1973; revised edition 2000), 90.
25
John Paul II, “Message of His Holiness Pope John Paul II for the XXX World Day of Prayer
for Vocations,” Castel Gandolfo, (8 September, 1992); Idem, “Evangelium Vitae: To the Bishops
Priests and Deacons Men and Women Religious Lay Faithful; and All People of Good Will on
the Value and Inviolability of Human Life,” (March 25, 1995).
9
religious experience and tradition include a dominating and conformist tendency alongside
potentially liberating and revolutionary insights. The Church’s own message to “take action
against…injustice and tyranny, against arbitrary domination…and any intolerance,” for example,
subvert the Church’s own domination.26 I was also inspired by the example of particular
individuals whose words and actions expressed the Catholic belief in the “dignity of the human
person.”27 I remember with great fondness Sr. Cathleen Dunne, who ran a spirituality group for
lesbians in Halifax until her death in 2006. I was heartened by initiatives such as Roman
Catholic Womenpriests, who have been ordaining women since 2002, and by individual priests
like Martin Kurylowicz, and Thomas J. Brennan, who came out as gay at a time when many are
remaining closeted. Closer to home, I appreciate the grace exhibited by Sister Christina Cathro,
when Toronto Cardinal Aloysius Ambrozic refused to confer her Doctor of Ministry degree
because the title of her thesis mentioned lesbians.28
In light of the developments in Catholicism, I feel my role as a queer scholar lies not in
trying to find a space to fit within traditional theology, but in beginning the theological process
again, this time among bisexuals. Although I believe strongly in the need to foster bisexual
theology as an internal conversation, I am not advocating complete separatism. As I will argue
further in Chapter One, bisexuals must add our voices the mainstream conversation about sexual
ethics and claim our place as citizens in democracy.
26
Pope Paul VI, “Gaudium et Spes: Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World,”
(December 7, 1965), 75.
27
28
“Catechism of the Catholic Church,” (1992) Part 3, Section 1, Chapter 1, 1700.
Christina Amy Cathro, “Listening for the Echo: Contributions of Lesbians' Journeys to
Spiritual Direction and Theological Reflection,” (Doctor of Ministry Thesis, St. Michael’s
College, 2003).
10
My Relationship with the Participants
“Even the author’s declared participation in bisexual community, while
candid and consistent with feminist principle, could as easily be a
statement of bias (negative) as a statement of perspective (positive).”29
Sociologist Anne Oakley argued that good research is not the result of objectivity,
neutrality, or distance from our interview subjects. As she explains, “personal involvement is
more than dangerous bias—is it the condition under which people come to know each other and
to admit others into their lives.”30 This personal involvement is the basis by which we generate
knowledge, particularly qualitative knowledge. I approach this work as an inside researcher,
what some call a “deep insider,” analysing a community to which I have belonged for over a
decade.31 I can claim, in the words of educational researchers Carole Karooz and Chris Trevitt,
“an intimate knowledge of its culture, structures, systems and processes.”32 Due to the length of
my membership and the degree of my involvement in Toronto’s bisexual community, it is
inevitable that I would know many of the women who responded to my call for participants.
Nineteen of them (47.5% of respondents) knew me from Bisexual Women of Toronto (BiWOT).
Others knew me from our shared work as bisexual community organizers, facilitating meetings,
hosting socials and organizing educational events. Eleven of them (27.5%) were close friends.
One was a woman I had twice nominated for a community award. Another six (15%) were
29
Stephen Dunn, “Evaluation of ‘The Influence of Gender Construction on Catholic Approaches
To Same-Sex Desire,’” Letter to Michael Steinhauser, Director of Advanced Degree Studies,
Toronto School of Theology, August 2, 2001, 2.
30
Anne Oakley, “Interviewing Women: A Contradiction in Terms,” in Doing Feminist Research
ed. Helen Roberts (London: Routledge, 981), 58.
31
Brian Edwards, “Deep Insider Research,” Qualitative Research Journal 2, no. 1, (2002): 71.
Edwards defines a “deep insider” as one who has “been a member of the organization under
research for at least five years.”
32
Carole Kayrooz and Chris Trevitt, Research in Organization and Communities: Tales From
The Real World (Crow’s Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2006), 335.
11
joined to me only through shared experiences that were significant to the queer women’s
community in Toronto. I had sat with them in court during the trial of Rachael Aitcheson and
J.P. Hornick, shared Jell-O shots and banner-carrying duty with them during Pride Week, and
grieved with them over the death of Karol Steinhouse.33 In addition, nine participants (22.5%)
were women I did not know. Some wrote familiarly about events I had attended. Others saw
themselves as isolated, not needing bisexual community, or finding support through alternative
channels, such as swinging. These women are members of what might be called the “imagined”
bisexual community.34 They are women I may never meet in person, but to whom I am grateful
and to whom I am accountable in my research.
Judith Stacey, professor of social and cultural analysis, warns that insider research may
damage its participants due to the emphasis on intimacy between researcher and participant. She
writes, “The greater the apparent mutuality of the researcher/researched relationship - the greater
is the danger."35 Stacey is referring to the possibility of betrayal, exploitation, and abandonment,
each of which arise when the research is privileged over the participants, and when the
33
Rachael Aitcheson and J.P. Hornick were charged with violating the Liquor Licence Act after
the September 14, 2000 raid of the Pussy Palace, a women’s bathhouse night organized by the
Toronto Women’s Bathhouse Committee. A Jell-O shot is a gelatin dessert that contains alcohol,
usually divided into 25 or 35 ml servings. Karol Steinhouse was a founder of Bisexual Women
of Toronto who died suddenly in March of 2000 when her car airbag deployed during a minor
fender bender.
34
Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of
Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983; reprint London: Verso, 1991), 6. Anderson, a professor of
International Studies, argued that nations are imagined communities. “[E]ven the smallest
nation,” he wrote, “will never know most of their fellow-members...yet in the minds of each lives
the image of their communion.” Anderson’s definition is particularly helpful when examining
our sense of belonging to a bisexual community, since membership cannot rely on traditional
boundary markers such as physical territory.
35
Judith Stacey, “Can There Be A Feminist Ethnography?” in Women’s Words: The Feminist
Practice of Oral History, ed. Sherma Berger Gluck and Daphne Patai (New York: Routledge,
1991), 114.
12
participant’s consent is not fully informed. I am aware of four potential problems arising from
my location as an insider researcher and from the fact that my research relied on intimacy with
my participants. The first of these is that interviewees may be hesitant to share information that
would threaten their position in the bisexual community. Second, my research findings may
over-expose the participants. Third, my work might betray the participants by appropriating
their voice. Finally, a sense of commonality might lead me to over-write the experience of the
participants with my own. Below I will examine these concerns and the measures I have taken to
address them.
The first challenge of working as an insider researcher is that my work occurs in a web of
relationships that I hope will continue undamaged in the wake of my research. It is reasonable to
assume that participants might be reluctant to say things they think will upset me, create a breach
in our relationship, or portray them in a poor light to the bisexual women’s community. As
feminist philosopher Damaris Rose notes, insider researchers “may be feared as possibly being
too judgmental of individual behaviours or attitudes expressed by the interviewee that do not
conform to the norms of the group, leading to self-censorship in interviewee responses.”36 As an
activist this possibility makes me cautious. I hope that this research will enable activists to make
positive changes to our bisexual community. Injustices cannot be addressed if those most
affected by them are afraid to complain for fear of retribution. I attempted to allay this concern
by enabling women to participate in the research anonymously, and by asking that all
36
Damaris Rose, “Revisiting Feminist Research Methodologies: A Working Paper, Part III, The
‘Insider/Outsider’ Conundrum in Feminist Interviewing: Update on the Debate,” Status of
Women Canada, Research Division (2001): www.swc-cfc.gc.ca/pubs/pubspr/revisiting/
revisiting _5_e.html
13
participants use pseudonyms.37 As a second precaution, I reduced my level of community
organizing during the dissertation. This distance may also change the dynamic between
researcher and participants as other bisexual women take on the authoritative and visible roles
within the community and I am viewed as a member of the community rather than an organizer.
The second concern when conducting insider research is that participants may feel
overexposed by the work. I assume that my relationship with many of the women was a factor in
their decision to participate in the research. Some may have wanted to show their friendship.
Others may have felt a responsibility to help a fellow BiWOTer. It is even possible that some
viewed me as an authority figure, because of my activism or my role as a facilitator at BiWOT
meetings. Therefore I aimed to make the degree of possible exposure clear to the participants.
The Informed Consent form (Document 2) described my intention to use their interview
material in the dissertation, as well as possible future books or articles. I emphasised that their
participation in the research was voluntary, and that they could withdraw from the study and
request that their information be omitted from the research. In addition to informing the
participants about the precautions I was taking to protect the interview data (passwords,
pseudonyms, etc.), I encouraged them to assess their own vulnerability and gauge their responses
accordingly. They were encouraged to disregard any questions that made them feel
uncomfortable, and some did so. I suggested ways they might increase their security or
participate anonymously. I offered them the chance to re-assess their exposure by seeing the
analysis of their interview, and seeing their responses in the context of the dissertation itself.
Although some responded to their analysis, none chose to withdraw or expressed regret at having
participated.
37
See Document 1, Email Introduction, and Document 2, Informed Consent. For more on the
use of pseudonyms, including participant’s resistance to anonymity, see Chapter Two.
14
Finally, I offered participants the choice to receive my own answers to the interview
questions. I did this in part to share in the kind of exposure I was asking of my participants,
(although not with the same degree of vulnerability) and because I view community as reciprocal
and participatory. I hoped that the interview itself would spark discussion. I sent this email after
receiving their own answers to avoid influencing their responses.
The third concern relates to the ownership of knowledge because knowledge is tied
inextricably to power. Bisexual women have often not been the authorized speakers of our own
knowledge, but those about whom others speak. I was concerned about replicating this dynamic
of expert and subject by subordinating my participant’s self-knowledge to my own analysis. At
the same time, I attempted to balance my concerns about hierarchical research binaries (such as
expert/subject) with a realistic view of the women I interviewed. Sociologist Jennifer Brayton
argues that feminist research should view participants as “critical thinkers” who are “conscious
and aware” of the forces that affect their lives. I found this to be especially true of the women in
this study, many of whom had university degrees, activist backgrounds similar to or lengthier
than my own, or broader professional experience. “It is important,” Brayton points out, “for the
researcher to take the finalized information back to participants for verification, since they are
the experts and owners of their own personal experiences.”38 Acknowledging the shared nature
of interview research, I worked to keep the process as transparent as possible and open to
ongoing involvement. I sent the participants my analysis of their interviews and welcomed their
38
Jennifer Brayton, “What Makes Feminist Research Feminist? The Structure of Feminist
Research Within the Social Sciences,” (1997): www.unb.ca/web/PAR-L/win/femin method.htm.
Citing Diane L. Wolf, “Situating Feminist Dilemmas in Fieldwork,” in Feminist Dilemmas in
Fieldwork, ed. Diane L. Wolf, Patricia Zavella, Carmen Diana Deere, et. al. (Colorado:
Westview Press, 1996), 3.
15
responses to the conclusions I drew. I explained the method I was using to analyse the
interviews, enabling them to check my work if they wished.
My fourth concern was that I would over-emphasise similar or shared experiences,
forcing their lives to fit categories or templates that originate from my own. This concern
became heightened as I noticed that the average woman in the survey shared certain
characteristics with me, including age, education, and family size.39 Closer examination,
particularly through the four-steps of the Voice Centred Relational Analysis (VCRA), revealed a
wealth of differences. Rather than over-identifying, I had difficulty finding points of connection
with both bisexual mothers and bisexual women who identified as swingers. Their lives seemed
remote to me and our politics and priorities were sometimes very different.
My Relationship with the Reader
One of the effects of my multiple subject positions is that I am usually never fully a
member of the intended audience of the material I read. As a result, I have come to see the
construction of the intended reader as an ethical choice as well as a practical necessity.
Incorporating reader-response theory, researchers have begun to reflect on the way our work is
shaped by the audiences we imagine ourselves addressing, the discourses in which we
participate, and the way we foresee our research being used. Andrea Doucet describes various
communities of reception as “guiding and moving us towards particular ways of seeing and
writing.” She writes that part of our role as researchers is to “build and maintain relationships
with the readers and users of our research….”40 In writing this dissertation, I see myself
addressing primarily bisexual and critically engaged theological communities. Although these
39
For a detailed overview of the participants, see Chapter Two.
40
Doucet, “‘From Her Side of the Gossamer Wall(s),’” 82.
16
communities have areas of overlap, they have differing expectations, different ways of
evaluating research, and different goals of research and practice.
I see this research first as a conversation with the women who agreed to participate in my
study and who shared their personal stories with me. Their emails form the basis of my work,
and without their cooperation, the study could not have happened. Most women asked to be
shown the analysis of their interview and all the women expressed a desire to receive a copy of
the finished dissertation. I had a strong sense that I was doing this work for them, and was held
accountable to report my progress and results. I was anxious when I imagined the responses
some women might have to my research. I did not want to stereotype the participants as unable
to understand the analysis or as in need of protection from unpleasantness. Despite this, I was
hesitant about sharing my analysis with women who already seemed conflicted or troubled.
Would I make them feel worse? Would they regret having given me the interview? Would
women in BiWOT be angry with me for having upset Danielle or Elèna?41 I discussed this
concern with other bisexual women and with some of the interview participants themselves.
Overall, the advice I received stressed the need for honesty, but also for tact, particularly with the
most vulnerable participants. I discuss this issue in more detail in Chapter Three.
This work also emerges out of a culture of academic investigation in my local bisexual
women’s community. Many of the women who come to BiWOT’s discussion groups and social
events hold degrees in sociology, philosophy, women’s studies, gender studies, sexual diversity
studies, and political science. Many more have done advanced reading on their own in an
attempt to understand themselves and their community. Social events and discussion meetings
are places I can discuss my personal life, but they are just as often places where we analyze,
41
References to interview participants use their chosen pseudonym.
17
share, and examine academic theory. While I did not expect that community members would
necessarily understand theological discourse, I did expect that they would examine the study by
their own criteria and perhaps question me about my gender framework, the epistemological
assumptions of the VCRA method, or how I assessed privilege in relation to multiple axes of
oppression.
This work is also part of an ongoing conversation among bisexual activists. Some, such
as Dana Shaw, Cheryl Dobinson, or Stephen Harvey, I know from our work on local protests and
event organizing. Others, such as Loraine Hutchins, Robin Ochs, Wendy Currie, or Pepper Mint
I have met through my writing or in my role as programming and financial director of 9ICB.42
Still others, such as Lani Kahumanu or the late Fritz Klein, I have known only through email
correspondence or discussions on international activist lists such as BIACT-L.43 I hope my
research will shed light on problems we face as a community. How do we approach the
differences between monogamous and polyamorous bisexuals so this difference is not divisive?
How do we support the most vulnerable in our community? How do we prevent burnout,
through which we lose experienced activists? What is our responsibility to bisexuals who are not
part of the communities we know?
My second audience is theological. This audience is broad, but is composed primarily of
those whose work has made an impact on my own. I see myself writing first to those who are
forging new paths in spirituality or religious community. Among this group I include: the “gay
churches,” such as the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches; feminist
42
9ICB, the Ninth International Conference on Bisexuality, Gender and Sexual Diversity, took
place at Ryerson University, in Toronto, from June 15 to 18, 2006.
43
BIACT-L ([email protected]) is a discussion list for bisexual activists
hosted at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. It began in January of 1997. I have
been a member since 2001.
18
organizations such as the Women's Alliance for Theology, Ethics and Ritual (WATER);
humanist churches such as the Unitarian Universalists; Pagan traditions, such as Wicca; and new
religious movements such as BDSM or leather spirituality. I speak also to those who are
marginalized within their traditions. This includes queer people across many faiths. It includes
gay theologians such as Robert Goss or Chris Glaser, lesbian theologians such as Elizabeth
Stuart or Carter Heyward, and bisexual theologians such as Debra R. Kolodny, or Ibrahim
Abdurrahman Farajajé. It includes feminist theologians within mainline Christian and Jewish
communities, such as Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Judith Plaskow,
and Susannah Heschel.44 It includes liberation and postcolonial theologians such as Gustavo
Gutiérrez, James Cone, and Marcella Althaus-Reid.45
I also inevitably imagine those with whom I disagree. I think particularly of those
ecclesial bodies, such as the Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops, who are active in the
political debate about moral direction in Canada. Feminists are correct to note that the
mainstream church (in all its forms) has often been a dominating and toxic conversation partner.
Yet if, as scholar-activists Kathleen Lynch and Cathleen O’Neil claim, it is “only those who
speak in the language and voice of the established paradigm who will be heard” then some of us
must learn to speak theologically if we are to be heard by theologians.46 Although we may speak
theologically, we cannot control the way in which our voice is heard. It is impossible to write as
a queer woman without being aware of how my words might be used by right wing religious
44
There may be potential readers in other traditions as well (for example, feminist Muslims), but
I mention these traditions particularly because they have exerted the most influence on my own
thinking and it is to them that I see this work responding.
45
Marcella Althaus-Reid died on February 20, 2009, as I was editing my final draft of this
dissertation.
46
Kathleen Lynch and Cathleen O’Neill, “The Colonisation of Social Class in Education,”
British Journal of Sociology of Education 15, no. 3 (1994): 317.
19
organizations such as National Association for Research and Therapy of Homosexuality, Focus
On the Family, REAL Women, or by writers such as John F. Harvey, the founder of Courage.47
This has already been a problem for Carol Gilligan, whose Listening Guide forms the basis of
the Voice Centred Relational Analysis (VCRA) I use in this study.48 Yet one thing I have
learned from the many hours spent reading the depressing and demoralizing writing of the
religious right is that we must learn to speak our truths boldly, and without fear. As the
Silence=Death Project correctly states, “silence about…oppression and annihilation… must be
broken as a matter of our survival.”49
The truths we speak will be socially embedded, historically located, and necessarily
partial. Despite this, I assume that the answer to my questions about bisexual women’s decision
making can best be found by listening to what bisexual women themselves have to say. I agree
with standpoint feminism that in a patriarchal and homophobic culture those at the margins have
the best vantage point from which to perform social analysis. Marginality does not give us
access to objective truth, but it promises an analysis that may be less false than those of the
47
The National Association for Research and Therapy of Homosexuality is an organization that
promotes the view that homosexuality is a treatable mental disorder. Focus On the Family is a
conservative Protestant lobby group in the USA. REAL Women is a conservative lobby group in
Canada. Courage is a Catholic organization that initially focused on fostering chastity among
Catholic homosexuals, and increasingly endorses a reparative therapy model.
48
Gilligan used YouTube to respond to the use of her research by James Dobson, founder and
chairman of Focus on the Family. She called Dobson’s use of her work unfounded, distorted and
a “caricature of my work.” www.youtube.com/ watch ?v=9NHdSVknB5Q. At the time of this
writing her video had been viewed over thirty-five thousand times.
49
Michael J. Sobnosky and Eric Hauer, “Initiating or Avoiding Activism: Red Ribbons, Pink
Triangles, and Public Argument about AIDS,” in Power In The Blood, ed. William N. Elwood
(Mahwah, New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1999), 32, citing Crimp and Rolston,
AIDS Demo Grapics [sic] (Seattle: Bay Press, 1990), 14.
20
heterosexist mainstream.50 As feminist theorist Donna Haraway argues, “The only way to find a
larger vision is to be somewhere in particular.”51
Overview of the Dissertation
The following chapter will review the issues around the conflation of bisexuality and
polyamory. I begin by explaining why I view this conflation as a theological issue. Next, I
describe the divisions and alliances this conflation shapes in bisexual communities. I then
identify the challenges this conflation poses for sexual ethics in secular, mainstream, and gay and
lesbian theologies. Finally, I stress the importance of articulating a bisexual vision for human
sexuality.
Chapter Two sets out the methodology of the study. I present a brief overview of critical
issues in research on bisexual women and describe the community in which my research was
done. I describe the process of soliciting and interviewing participants, and address the issues
that arose from the use of email. I then describe the Voice Centred Relational Analysis (VCRA),
explain why it was appropriate to the research, and how I applied it to specific interviews.
Chapter Three reports the results of the Voice Centred Relational Analysis. This includes
1) my relation to the participants; 2) themes in participants’ self-representation and my
interpretation of these themes; 3) assessment of key relationships in the participant’s lives and
their influence on the participant’s self-understanding; and 4) an analysis of the social forces at
50
Sandra Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University
Press, 1991), xi.
51
Donna Haraway, “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege
of Partial Perspective,” Feminist Studies 14, no. 3 (1988): 590.
21
play in the participant’s accounts. Finally, I provide a summary of the research findings,
highlighting key themes from the interviews.
Chapter Four relates the results of the Voice Centred Relational Analysis to the work of
theologians Robert Goss and Marcella Althaus-Reid. Both authors use queer identities as a
source of moral knowledge. Both also address the issue of polyamory and its place within a
renewed queer theology. Goss identifies as gay but offers a theology informed by queer theory
and by his friendships with bisexuals. Althaus-Reid identified as queer, and used “critical
bisexuality” not as an identity position from which to do theology, but as a critical methodology
which she termed a “pre-requisite for being Christian.”52
The final chapter draws conclusions about my central research question: Is the conflation
of bisexuality and polyamory a symptom of bias or do bisexuals have a special relationship with
polyamory? Based on the findings of Chapter Three and the theological analysis of Chapter
Four I make recommendations for changes to bisexual women’s community in Toronto and for
directions in bisexual theology.
52
Marcella Althaus-Reid, The Queer God (London: Routledge, 2003), 16-17, 108.
22
Chapter One: Polyamory and Bisexuality as Theological Issues
“When I think of ‘bisexual’ I think of bedhopping…They not only can’t
commit to being one or the other, but probably can’t commit to whoever
they’re with, be it male or female. How could someone who wants to be
in a long-term committed relationship still call themselves bisexual,
without some infidelity coming into the picture?”53
In this chapter I examine the conflation of bisexuality and polyamory and several key
issues arising from it. I begin by explaining why this conflation is a theological issue. I then
describe the divisions and alliances this conflation shapes in bisexual communities. I identify the
challenges this conflation poses for sexual ethics in secular, mainstream, and gay and lesbian
theologies. Finally, I stress the importance of articulating a bisexual perspective on human
sexuality.
Of the many qualities that Catholic sexual ethics ascribes to sexuality, I see four as
particularly significant: 1) sexuality is foundational, 2) sexuality is sacramental, 3) sexuality is
social, and 4) sexuality is moral. These four qualities are a useful frame for explaining why a
qualitative research project about bisexual women is a theological enterprise.
1) Sexuality is Foundational
Sexuality is relevant to theology primarily because of its significant role in human
relations. Catholic teaching affirms that sexuality is a foundational element of our personhood.
As the Catechism explains, our sexuality “affects all aspects of the human person in the unity of
his body and soul. It especially concerns affectivity, the capacity to love and to procreate, and in
53
Anonymous lesbian woman, quoted in Amber Ault, “Hegemonic Discourse in an Oppositional
Community: Lesbian Feminist Stigmatization of Bisexual Women,” in Queer Studies: a Lesbian,
Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Anthology, ed. Brett Beemyn and Mickey Elaison (New York:
New York University Press, 1996), 212.
23
a more general way the aptitude for forming bonds of communion with others.”54 In essence,
Catholic sexual ethics has come to see sexuality as our embodied way of relating to others in the
world.55 As a researcher examining bisexuality, the assertion that sexuality is foundational to
personhood serves to centre sexual issues.
If sexuality is foundational, then what we see as contained within our sexuality becomes
significant for Christian anthropology. It also requires that theologians unpack the assumptions
hidden within the term sexuality, to determine exactly what elements make up this foundation of
personhood. Sexuality might include identity labels, such as straight, bisexual, gay, or lesbian,
or elements of gender identity such as our feeling of being masculine or feminine. The
conflation of bisexuality with polyamory raises an additional question often taken for granted
when sexuality is constructed in terms of matching couples: should we also include a relational
orientation, such as monogamy or polyamory? And if such practices are part of a foundational
sexuality then what role do they play?
2) Sexuality is Sacramental
In claiming that sexuality is sacramental, Christians identify the love of God with the
complete self-giving of one person to another, which they see as the essence of marriage.
Catholic tradition has positioned marital love as mirroring the love of Christ for the church, and
54
55
“Catechism of the Catholic Church,” (1992), Part 3, Section 2, Chapter 2, 2332.
The foundational nature of sexuality is one of the elements at work in Catholicism’s
increasingly negative view of the character of the homosexual—as a person whose fundamental
method of relating to others is disordered. There is more wrong in homosexuality, according to
the Church, than sinful sexual acts.
24
partaking in the source of all life—the God that is love.56 Pope John Paul II connects love’s
sacramentality with the creation of humans in God’s image: “Creating the human race in His
own image…God inscribed in the humanity of man and woman the vocation, and thus the
capacity and responsibility, of love and communion. Love is therefore the fundamental and
innate vocation of every human being.”57 If sexuality is fundamental to our humanity, and if our
ability to love is rooted in our creation in the image of God, then the choices we make about who
to love and how to love them are inherently theological. Queer theology asserts that it is not
only heterosexual love that is sacramental—queer love too transcends itself.58 Formulations that
exclude the experience of gay men, lesbians, and bisexuals will be intentionally impoverished to
the degree that they ignore our experience of this human vocation. As I will show in Chapter
Four, images of God’s love can also reinforce sexual practices such as monogamy or polyamory.
3) Sexuality is Social
Sexuality is social, in that it connects us with others. On a basic level, Catholic teaching
views sexuality as our impulse to move outside ourselves toward others. It is our capacity for
encountering the Other in love. On a sociological level, sexuality forms connections between
individuals, be they connections of attraction, sexual intimacy, sexual history, or relationship.
56
Pope Paul VI claims that conjugal love “reveals its true nature and nobility when we realize
that it takes its origin from God, who “is love.”” Pope Paul VI, “Humanae Vitae: On the
Regulation of Birth,” (1968), 8.
57
John Paul II, “Familiaris Consortio: On The Role of the Christian Family in the Modern
World,” (1981), 11.
58
Bernard Schlager, “Reading CSTH as a Call to Action: Boswell and Gay-Affirming
Movements in American Christianity,” in The Boswell Theses: Essays on Christianity, Social
Tolerance and Homosexuality, ed. Mathew Keufler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
2006), 81-83. For the sacramentality of same-sex relationships, see Robert Williams, Just As I
Am: A Practical Guide to Being Out, Proud and Christian (New York: Crown, 1992), 229;
Robert Goss, Jesus Acted Up: A Gay and Lesbian Manifesto (San Francisco: Harpersanfrancisco,
1993), 126-128.
25
For the queer community this has been evident—our sexuality separated us from the
heterosexual mainstream, and the sex we had (and the web of relations it forged) made our queer
communities. Pope John Paul II argues that other-sexed couples form a “community of
persons,” and asserts that the family serves as the foundation for society.59 I agree with this
assertion, although with certain adjustments emerging from queer feminism and Marxism: the
heteronormative family serves as the foundation for heterosexist and patriarchal society.
Variations in the practice and concept of family can offer hope for positive social change. These
variations emerge from and build upon the sexual/social impulse, creating queer communities of
resistance.
4) Sexuality is Moral
To claim that sexuality is moral is to argue that sexuality connects us with the good. This
goodness refers back to the previous three elements already discussed. To the foundational
character of sexuality, it emphasises that sexuality is not an effect of The Fall, but on the
contrary, was an essential element of our original design. To the sacramental nature of sexuality
it reveals that our love for one another is never simply private, but mediates and participates in
God’s love for all creation. This connects human beings of all sexual orientations, whether they
acknowledge it or not. To the social quality of sexuality—our impulse toward others in love—
the moral highlights our responsibility for the kinds of connections we form and the qualities
they embody. “Familiaris Consortio” portrays the moral element of sexuality as one of justice,
arguing that the family has a “responsibility for the building of a more just society,” which it
calls its “ecclesial mission.”60 If, as the Catholic tradition has believed, our sexuality is basic to
59
John Paul II, “Familiaris Consortio,” 17, 14, 21, 42.
60
Ibid., 6.
26
our personhood, mediates the love of God, and builds communities of justice and resistance, then
research such as this, in which we examine how particular women live their sexuality, is vital to
an authentic theology.
I turn now to the issue of polyamory specifically, and outline how this issue has drawn
lines of division and connection for bisexual women, both politically and theologically.
Polyamory: Problems and Strategies
Although people of any sexuality may choose not to be monogamous, bisexuals alone are
identified as non-monogamous by definition.61 Newsweek called bisexuality “A Perilous Double
Love Life.”62 Sociologist Martin Weinberg described his bisexual research subjects as “dealing
with their dual attraction, struggling to put together satisfying relationships.”63 Even some
bisexual writers have used phrases such as “duality of desire,” or “hybrid existence.”64
Portraying bisexuality as a mix of heterosexuality and homosexuality evokes the expectation of
multiple partnerships, which makes it difficult to see monogamous bisexuals as bisexual. Rigid
binary categories (such as straight and gay) conceal bisexuality, which can then be faulted as
61
While the attribution of promiscuity to gay men comes close to the conflation of bisexuality
with polyamory, promiscuity is seen as supplementary to gay orientation, rather than the basis by
which gayness is defined.
62
David Gelman, “A Perilous Double Love Life,” Newsweek 110, no. 2 (July 13, 1987): 44-47.
63
Martin S. Weinberg, Colin J. Williams, and Douglas W. Pryor, Dual Attraction:
Understanding Bisexuality (New York, and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994).
64
Carol Queen, “Sexual Diversity and Bisexual Identity,” in Bisexual Politics: Theories, Queries
& Visions, ed. Naomi Tucker, Liz Highleyman, and Rebecca Kaplan (New York: Haworth Press,
1995), 158; The Bisexual Anthology Collective, ed., Plural Desires: Writing Bisexual Women’s
Realities (Toronto: Sister Vision Press, 1995); Ruth Colker, Hybrid: Bisexuals, Multiracials, and
Other Misfits Under American Law (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 9. Even
Fritz Klein, whose grid expanded our measurement of sexuality, named one of his books with the
melodramatic title Two Lives to Lead. Fritz Klein and Timothy J. Wolf, Two Lives to Lead:
Bisexuality in Men and Women (New York: Harrington Park Press, 1985).
27
apolitical or unstable.65 Attaching identity to behaviour simply reframes the problem. Bisexuals
are still categorized as having lesbian relationships or heterosexual relationships, while only
polyamory is labelled as a “bisexual relationship.”66
Bisexual writers and activists initially addressed the conflation of bisexuality and
polyamory as a myth to be dispelled.67 In the first bisexual Anthology, Bi Any Other Name, sex
educator and activist Sharon Forman Sumpter wrote, “Bisexuals are as capable as anyone of
making a long-term monogamous commitment to a partner they love.”68 This “dispelling the
myths” approach has been taken up by numerous GLBT support and education organizations.69
Yet as Jo Bower and others note, the attempt to counter stereotypes of bisexuals as hypersexual
and promiscuous often “reinstates the hetero-normative ideal of monogamy.” These descriptions
marginalize polyamorous bisexuals.70 Community organizers are thus faced with difficult
65
Margaret A. McLaren, Feminism, Foucault and Embodied Subjectivity (Albany: State
University of New York, 2002), 138; Pepper Mint, “Power Dynamics of Cheating: Effects on
Polyamory and Bisexuality,” in Plural Loves: Designs for Bi and Poly Living, ed. Serena
Anderlini-D’Onofrio (Binghamton, NY: Harrington Park Press, 2004), 68.
66
See for example Peggy McEvoy, “Caribbean Crossroads,” The Washington Quarterly 24, no.
1 (Winter 2001): 227-235. Gabriel Kune, Reducing the Odds: A Manual for the Prevention of
Cancer (Sydney, Australia: Allen & Unwin, 1999), 94; Howard B. Levine, Adult Analysis and
Childhood Sexual Abuse (Hillsdale, N.J.: Analytic Press, 1998), 141.
67
See Fritz Klein, The Bisexual Option (Haworth Press, 1993), 169; Sean Cahill, “Bisexuality:
Dispelling the Myths,” National Gay and Lesbian Task Force (2005): www.thetaskforce.org/
downloads/reports/BisexualityDispellingtheMyths.pdf Bisexual Resource Centre 2002.
68
Sharon Forman Sumpter, “Myths/Realities of Bisexuality,” in Bi Any Other Name: Bisexual
People Speak Out, ed. Loraine Hutchins and Lani Kaahumanu (Boston: Alyson Publications,
1991), 12. See also, Lenore Norrgard, “Can Bisexuals be Monogamous?” Idem, 281-284.
69
Sean Cahill, “Bisexuality: Dispelling the Myths,” National Gay and Lesbian Task Force,
(2005): www.thetaskforce.org/downloads/reports/BisexualityDispellingtheMyths.pdf; Human
Rights Campaign, “Myths & Realities About Bisexuality,” (2008): www.hrc.org/issues/3306.
htm
70
Jo Bower, Maria Gurevich and Cynthia Mathieson, “(Con)Tested Identities: Bisexual Women
Reorient Sexuality,” in Bisexual Women in the Twenty-First Century, ed. Dawn Atkins (New
York: Haworth Press, 2002), 38-39.
28
decisions. Can we challenge mainstream monogamy without defining polyamory as the norm
for bisexuals? Is it possible to support monogamous bisexuals without reinforcing compulsory
monogamy? The issue is by no means easily solved. Participants in my study were almost
evenly split between those identifying as polyamorous and those identifying as monogamous,
and as I will show in more detail in Chapter Three, each group expressed feelings of being
marginalized by the other.
Divisions Between Lesbians and Bisexuals
In addition to creating divisions among bisexuals, polyamory is an issue that separates us
from lesbian-identified women. Certainly, some lesbians are polyamorous, as books such as The
Lesbian Polyamory Reader show.71 Yet monogamist values remain foundational to the lesbian
community, and in some cases serve as boundary markers, separating bisexuals from lesbians.
This split can be seen most clearly in the writing of radical lesbian feminists, where bisexuality
represents political infidelity and functions to mark the borders of lesbian community.72 Sheila
Jeffreys defines bisexuality as essentially non-monogamous and heterosexually aligned. She
dismisses as “imaginary” claims to bisexuality by women who lack sexual experience with both
sexes, viewing them as heterosexual or lesbian. Although she acknowledges that some lesbians
are non-monogamous, she sees a qualitative difference between lesbian nonmonogamy and that
71
Marcia Munson, Judith P. Stelbourne, ed. The Lesbian Polyamory Reader: Open
Relationships, Non-Monogamy, and Casual Sex (New York: Haworth Press, 1999). See also
Celeste West, Lesbian Polyfidelity (San Francisco: Booklegger Publishing, 1996);
72
Sara Lucia Hoagland and Julia Penelope, For Lesbians Only: A Separatist Anthology (London:
Onlywomen Press, 1988), 35; Paula C. Rust, “Neutralizing the Political Threat of the Marginal
Woman: Lesbians’ Beliefs About Bisexual Women,” in Bisexuality in the United States, ed.
Paula C. Rust (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000), 471-496.
29
practiced by “one who remains attached to the dominant sex.”73 I agree that heterosexual
privilege impedes mutual relationships among women, but I disagree with her attribution of
heterosexual privilege to all bisexuals and her assumption that it is denied to all lesbians.
Analyses such as that by Jeffreys, privilege the dynamics between the sexes to the exclusion of
factors, such as race, class, age, religion, ability or gender presentation. Jeffreys and others
therefore overlook significant elements of the social and material realities of domination and
subordination. Furthermore, approaches that frame lesbianism as a primarily asexual political
identity and portray bisexuality as apolitical and sexual, reiterate the mind/body dualism, which
has traditionally served to oppress women.74
The belief that bisexual women’s practice makes them fundamentally different from and
inferior to lesbians functions to distinguish authentic lesbians from outsiders. This view,
foundational to radical lesbian writing, is also prevalent among “mainstream” lesbians where it
serves to reassure individual lesbians of the authenticity of their identity and the security of their
membership in lesbian community. Lesbian sociologist, Paula Rust, found that lesbians felt less
accepting of bisexual women when they viewed them as having relationships with both men and
women than when they viewed them as having attractions to both men and women. The issue is
practical as well as theoretical. The lesbians in Rust’s study oppose not only what they think
bisexuals do, they also reject what many bisexuals actually do. Rust found that bisexuals were
73
Shiela Jeffreys, “Bisexual Politics: A Superior Form of Feminism?” Women’s Studies
International Forum 22, no. 3 (1991): 281.
74
Elizabeth V. Spelman, “Woman As Body: Ancient and Contemporary Views,” Journal of
Feminist Studies 8, no. 1 (Spring 1982): 109-131; Rosemary Radford Ruether, “Dualism and the
Nature of Evil in Feminist Theology,” Studies in Christian Ethics 5 (1991): 26-39; Christine E.
Gudorf, Body, Sex and Pleasure: Reconstructing Christian Sexual Ethics (Cleveland: Pilgrim
Press, 1994), 162, 210-211.
30
twice as likely as lesbians to be involved in multiple partnerships.75 It is possible that identity
labels may reflect goals and values as much as they do sexual history. Only 29.5% of the
bisexuals interviewed by Rust saw monogamy as their ideal relationship structure, compared
with 45.7% of lesbians.76
Complicating the issue of identity labels are changes in women’s sexual identity and
behaviour over time. A ten-year longitudinal study by Lisa Diamond found that bisexual women
were more likely than lesbians to form monogamous relationships. By the end of the study, 89%
of the bisexuals were in monogamous relationships, compared with 70% of the lesbians, 85% of
the unlabeled women, and 67% of the heterosexuals.77 Further research into how polyamory and
monogamy function for bisexual women can provide us with a greater self-understanding from
which to build connections with lesbians.
Ties with Non-Conforming Heterosexuals
While polyamory draws lines within the queer women’s community, it also ties bisexual
women more closely with non-conforming heterosexuals, such as swingers.78 Swinging surfaced
in the 1940s on U.S. Air Force bases, and entered mainstream consciousness in the 1960s
75
Paula Rust, “Monogamy and Polyamory: Relationship Issues for Bisexuals,” in Bisexuality:
the Psychology and Politics of an Invisible Minority, ed. Beth Firestein (Thousand Oaks: Sage
Publications, 1996), 135.
76
Ibid., 136. Another study found that 54% of bisexual respondents viewed a polyamorous
relationship as their ideal. Ellen Page, “Mental Health Services Experiences of Bisexual Women
And Bisexual Men: An Empirical Study,” Journal of Bisexuality 3, no. 3-4 (2004): 137-160.
77
Lisa M. Diamond, “Female Bisexuality From Adolescence to Adulthood: Results From a 10Year Longitudinal Study,” Developmental Psychology 44, no. 1 (January 2008): 5-14. The key
finding of this study was that there was no support for the model of bisexuality as a transitional
identity, either to lesbian or to heterosexual.
78
Many swingers do not identify as polyamorous because they do not pursue multiple romantic
relationships. For the purpose of this work, I label them as polyamorous because they fit the
criteria of mutual consent.
31
through magazines such as Playboy, which depicted a lifestyle of sexual consumption.79
Swinging was perceived as the marginal activity of otherwise normal people, rather than the
normal activity of marginal people. Traditionally, swinging has welcomed single women, but
not single men, normalizing bisexuality as natural for women, albeit in a heterosexuality-aligned
form.
Swinging is significant to bisexual activists because it is a venue by which some women
come to identify as bisexual. Gwendolyn, an office administrator in her 50s, has been swinging
for 25 years. She writes, “I discovered my bisexuality very early in my swinging encounters. I
had never had bisexual fantasies or thoughts before that.” A 1984 study indicated that more than
68% of women involved in swinging identify as bisexual. Women reported initiating same-sex
activities at the request of their male partners, although they tended to identify as bisexual after
such experiences.80 Gwendolyn wrote, “I find that most of the women I meet are also bi, and it
just seems a natural extension.” Teasha, a 35-year-old author of children’s books, also finds
swinging an accepting space. “It has been my experience that around 45% of females in a
swinging relationship are bi. And they mold together quite nicely. There are no judgments
about choices with these groups.” Swinging subculture is a site of bisexual women’s emergence,
yet it is also a site of heteronormativity, which many bisexual women find problematic.
Although two of the women in my study identified themselves as swingers, and another
mentioned attending a swingers club, five others (four polyamorous, one monogamous)
mentioned swinging in order to distance themselves from the practice.
79
Terry Gould, The Lifestyle: A Look At The Erotic Rites of Swingers (New York: Firefly, 2000),
29-30.
80
Joan K. Dixon, `"The Commencement Of Bisexual Activity In Swinging Married Women
Over Age Thirty,"' The Journal of Sex Research 20, no. 1 (1984): 71-90.
32
The second group of non-conforming heterosexuals are those who identify as
polyamorous. The distinction between swinging and polyamory is one of degree rather than
kind. Swingers have multiple sexual encounters, but only one primary relationship, usually
heterosexual. Polyamorous people have multiple sexual relationships, which may range from
single sexual encounters to long-term multi-partner bonds, and which may be open or closed to
the addition of new partners. Although polyamory is sometimes portrayed as the modern day
version of swinging, historically polyamory emerged out of the new age, hippy, and science
fiction fan scene of the 1960s.81 As a counter-cultural rather than subcultural movement, it has
sometimes been portrayed as a liberating practice, and sometimes as an identity akin to sexual
orientation.82 Although many studies have noted that gay men’s relationships often lack the
expectation of monogamy, research suggests that polyamorous identity is adopted by bisexuals
and heterosexuals more than by gays or lesbians.83 A 2002 study by the polyamory journal
Loving More Magazine found that 50% of their four hundred respondents identified as bisexual,
45% identified as heterosexual, and only 5% identified as gay or lesbian.84 If mainly
heterosexuals and bisexuals choose polyamory then such a bond could be a foundation for
coalition building between bisexuals and non-conforming heterosexuals. These studies also raise
81
Raven Kaldera, Pagan Polyamory: Becoming a Tribe of Hearts (St. Paul, Minnesota:
Llewellyn Publications, 2005), 183; Raven Grimassi, Encyclopaedia of Wicca and Witchcraft
(St. Paul, Minnesota: Llewellyn Publications, 2000), 468-469.
82
Justen Bennett-Maccubbin, the founder of Polyamorous NYC, states that "Polyamory is just as
much an orientation as being gay.” See Rachel Breitman, “When Three’s No Crowd,” Gay City
News (October 25, 2007): www.gaycitynews.com/site/news. See also Felice Newman, The
Whole Lesbian Sex Book (San Francisco: Cleis Press, 2004), 120; and Peter J. Bensen’s selfpublished title, The Polyamory Handbook (Bloomington, Indiana: AuthorHouse, 2008), 12.
83
Philip Blumstein and Pepper Schwartz, American Couples: Money-Work-Sex (New York:
William Morrow & Co., 1983), 312; David McWhirter and Andrew Mattison, The Gay Male
Couple: How Relationships Develop (Englewood Cliff, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1984), 252.
84
Adam Weber, “Survey Results: Who Are We? And Other Interesting Impressions,” Loving
More Magazine 30 (Summer 2002): 4-6.
33
the question whether coalitions based on identities such as polyamorous, are preferable to
behaviour-based alliances, such as those with gay men, based on non-monogamy.
A third tie between bisexuals and non-conforming heterosexuals is the issue of police
regulation of sexual behaviour. Non-conforming heterosexuals are subject to the same policing
and criminalization that gays, lesbians, and bisexuals have experienced. Examples include the
bawdy house charges levied against dominatrix Terri-Jean Bedford and convictions against
Denis and Brigitte Chesnel, who operated a swingers club in Montreal.85 The recent overturning
of similar charges against James Kouri and Jean-Paul Labaye, both owners of Montreal-based
swingers clubs, show a law in the process of changing.86 The Supreme Court of Canada ruled
that the definition of indecency was not whether the act violated community standards but
whether it caused harm. In her summary, Justice Beverly McLachlin wrote, “consensual conduct
behind code-locked doors can hardly be supposed to jeopardize a society as vigorous and tolerant
as Canadian society.”87 This shift may have significant impact on the use of police to enforce
standards of sexual behaviour.
Like gay men’s bathhouses, swingers clubs are businesses as well as sites for potential
community creation. Legal challenges may have the effect of expanding individual freedom, but
85
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, “Dominatrix Found Guilty,” (November 13, 1998):
www.cbc.ca/news/story/1998/10/09/bedford981009c.html; Canadian Press, “Montreal Judge
Convicts Five Swingers,” Globe and Mail (July 4, 2003): www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/
story/RTGAM.20030704.wswing0704/BNStory/National/
86
R. v. Kouri, Supreme Court Reports vol. 3, no. 789 (December 21, 2005) SCC 81; R. v.
Labaye, Supreme Court Reports vol. 3, no. 728 (December 21, 2005) SCC 80. Similar charges
have been used against dominatrixes. See Janne Cleveland, “‘Bawdies’ in the City: The Sexual
Regulation of Urban Space,” Queen: A Journal of Rhetoric and Power, 1.1 (2000): www.arsrhetorica.net/Queen/Volume11/Articles/Cleveland.htm
87
R. v. Labaye, Supreme Court Reports vol. 3, no. 728 (December 21, 2005) SCC 80, #71; Fred
Kuhr, “City Targets Swingers Clubs” Xtra, issue 619, July 17, 2008, 12.
34
the expression of that freedom is shaped by capitalist interests.88 The marketing of sexuality as a
consumable luxury may be at odds with the bisexual women’s political objectives, such as
challenging heteronormativity, or creating communities of feminist conscientisation.
Relation to Polyamory Activism
Polyamory is a political issue for bisexuals because we are treated as emblematic of
multi-partner relationships. This was apparent in statements made by several of the presenters to
Canada’s Standing Committee on Justice and Human Rights in their study on the legal
recognition of same-sex unions. Philip Horgan, vice-president of the Catholic Civil Rights
League, stated that a bisexual “necessarily engages with two other people,” and Roger
Armbruster, a Manitoba Pastor, described bisexuals has having “relationships that, by their very
nature, include more than only couples.”89 Similar statements have been made in the U.S.
Senate.90 Bisexual activist Pepper Mint also sees bisexuality and polyamory as strongly linked.
There is a certain inevitability about this connection,” he writes, “Poly activism is bi activism.”91
88
See Marsha Hewitt, Critical Theory of Religion: A Feminist Analysis (Philadelphia: Fortress
Press, 1995), 137.
89
Philip Horgan, Evidence, Standing Committee on Justice and Human Rights, Thursday, April
10, 2003, 37th Parliament, 2nd Session, 10:15; Roger Armbruster, ibid. Friday, April 4, 2003,
9:05. This view was also voiced by Bruce Clemenger, Director of the Centre for Faith and
Public Life, who asked, “I'm not sure what a bisexual marriage looks like, but does that require
more than two?” and by Daniel Genest, of the Coalition des protestants évangéliques du Québec,
who equated bisexuality with polyamory. Bruce Clemenger, idib., Thursday, February 13, 2003,
10:10; Daniel Genest, ibid., Tuesday, April 29, 2003, 13:45.
90
In voicing his opposition to the Employment Non-Discrimination Act, Donald Nickles, a
Republican Senator from Oklahoma, stated that “bisexual by definition means promiscuous,
having relations with both male and female.” He called legally protecting our rights “a serious
mistake.” Senator Don Nickles, Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA) Debate in the
U.S. Senate (September 10, 1996): www.religioustolerance.org/bisexuality.htm.
91
Mint, “Power Dynamics of Cheating,” 72.
35
Currently, polyamory is illegal in Canada. Section 293 of Canada's Criminal Code
forbids not only bigamy (contracting multiple concurrent marriages), but "any kind of conjugal
union with more than one person at the same time, whether or not it is by law recognized as a
binding form of marriage.” This includes unions contracted outside of Canada, even in countries
where such marriages are legal. Also liable to prosecution is anyone who “celebrates, assists or
is a party to a rite, ceremony, contract or consent that purports to sanction [such] a relationship.”
Conceivably, this could include guests, caterers or photographers at a commitment ceremony, as
well as presiding religious or secular officials. Such people are currently “guilty of an indictable
offence and liable to imprisonment for a term not exceeding five years.”92 As a bisexual activist,
I am concerned about a law that criminalizes a significant portion of my community. As a
scholar of ethics, I find it curious that my country, which legally permits me to have numerous
sexual partners, finds it necessary to criminalize multiple sexual relationships, as if emotional
and social bonding between multiple individuals was in itself objectionable or dangerous to the
social welfare.
Polyamory is opposed by many religious organizations in Canada, some of which were
particularly vocal about their views during the equal marriage debate. In December of 2006 the
Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops wrote to the Prime Minister, reiterating the view that
marriage should be defined as “the exclusive union of one man and one woman.” Included
among their concerns was the desire to “guard against further changes to the definition of civil
92
Criminal Code of Canada, supranote 41 at section 293. I would wonder whether the definition
of “celebrates” could extend to those who advocate for such unions through activism, articles or
books. Could designing such a rite, for example, and including it in a book on polyamorous
theology be indictable?
36
marriage, including polygamy.”93 Yet in contrast to same-sex marriage, polyamory advocates
may have the support of some religious groups whose traditions permit multiple marriages.
Recent media attention has tended to focus on enclaves of fundamentalist Mormons in
communities such as Bountiful, but polyamory is permitted by most new age religious
movements, such as Wicca, and the Qur'an permits a man to have up to four wives.
Polyamorous people have also formed support and educational groups within many other faith
traditions.94
Public debate has focussed on polygamy, the practice of having multiple wives, and
framed it as an issue of women’s equality. A 2006 study commissioned by the Federal Justice
Department recommended that Canada decriminalize polygamy, reasoning that the current law
prevents women from seeking help to leave polygamous marriages.95 Doctor of laws, Kazi
Hamid argues, “traditionally, polygamous marriages appear to be almost universally associated
with inequality between the sexes.”96 Yet until very recently, the same has been true of
93
Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops, “Debate On The Definition Of Marriage: Letter Of
The CCCB President To PM And Leaders Of The Parties In The Opposition,” (December 14,
2006). Similar concerns have been expressed in the United States. See Jan LaRye, Chief
Council, Concerned Women For America, “When will bisexuals drag homosexuals out of the
polygamy closet?” (December 22, 2006): www.cwfa.org/articles/12060/LEGAL/family/index.
htm.
94
Many of these groups are online. See for example Universalist Unitarians for Polyamory
Awareness, www.uupa.org; Liberated Christians (evangelical) www.libchrist.com; AhavaRaba
(poly Jewish email discussion); Poly Commandment Keepers (yahoogroup); and Polypagans
(yahoogroup). Also, see Mystic Life, Spiritual Polyamory (Lincoln, New England: IUniverse [a
self-publishing company], 2004); Kaldera, Pagan Polyamory.
95
Martha Bailey, Beverley Baines, Bita Amani and Amy Kaufman, “Polygamy in Canada: Legal
and Social implications for Women and Children – A Collection of Policy Research Reports,”
(January 13, 2006): www.swc-cfc.gc.ca/pubs/pubspr/0662420683/200511_0662420683-3_1_e
.html
96
Kazi Hamid, “Criminal Law Issues Involving Religion and Conscience.” Appendix to
Ethnocultural Groups and the Justice System in Canada: A Review of the Issues. By A. Currie.
Ottawa: Law Reform Commission of Canada. (1994): WD1994-5e, para. 3.1.3.
37
monogamous marriage, and one could argue that such relationships are still tainted by patriarchy.
Relationships built on women’s subordination exist in part because such women are kept isolated
from feminist culture. A significant difference between polyamory and polygamy is that
polyamory emerges in a cultural context that has been influenced, though not yet transformed, by
feminism. As Pepper Mint points out, “women have been central in the creation of polyamorous
ideology,” coining the term, and authoring the first five books on the subject.97
A woman’s equity in a relationship with men has much to do with her freedom as an
individual in her society. Is she financially independent? Do the laws permit her to separate or
divorce? Does she have equal access to her children, if any? The ability to consent and to
exercise sexual agency seems key to women’s freedom in relationships. The sexual agency of a
woman choosing multiple partners in an urban setting may be very different from the agency of a
woman raised in a polygamist commune with a strong patriarchal belief system. But should her
rights be any different? Lesbian activist and Journalist Ariel Troster wrote, “What it always
comes down to is the rights of adults to consent to sexual activity….”98 The current law
discourages the development of equality-based multi-partner relationships and criminalizes
multiple partner same-sex relationships, a practice it would be difficult to connect with women’s
subordination.
Bisexuals are tied to the rising polyamorous activism movement by the conflation of
bisexuality with polyamory in the popular mind, and by the number of bisexuals in the
polyamory movement. An understanding of the continuities and discontinuities between
97
Pepper Mint, “Polyamory and Feminism,” Freaksexual (March 27, 2007): http://freaksexual.
wordpress.com/2007/03/27/polyamory-and-feminism/.
98
Ariel Troster, “We Need to Stand Up for our Poly Friends,” Xtra, Wednesday, June 25, 2008,
www.xtra.ca/public/viewstory.aspx?AFF_TYPE=1&STORY_ID=5012&PUB_TEMPLATE_ID
=7.
38
bisexuality and polyamory will help all bisexuals determine their stand on this political
movement. As I will argue now, this clarity is essential if we are to participate in political and
theological discourse.
Moral Discourse as Political Discourse
Engagement in political activism requires competence in moral discourse. Although we
do not live in a theocracy, neither do we live in a secular society. Social scientist Peter L. Berger
argues that our world is “as furiously religious as it ever was.”99 Christian assumptions infuse
our key social institutions, including government, education, law, and health. Increasingly,
religious language is adopted by politicians. Bisexual theologian Ibrahim Abdurrahman Farajajé
writes that politicians in the United Staves have “hijacked the role of public theologian,” using
images of apocalypse to justify aggression. U.S. policy, he argues, is based on an obsession with
purity, particularly around gender, class, race, and sexuality.100
Conservative religious stakeholders have been the most vocal opponents to equality for
gays, lesbians and bisexuals. If we are to participate fully in the debate about our lives then we
must be able to speak to the objections raised by Christians in their own terms. Those who claim
to speak on behalf of their traditions are not going to vacate the field of public debate; for many
Christians, the religious and the political are not separate spheres. Rather, it is a religious duty to
shape the world in accordance with their vision of God’s will. Pope Benedict XVI has called this
99
Peter L. Berger, The Desecularization of the World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 2.
100
Ibrahim Abdurrahman Farajajé, “Teaching for Peace in a Time of Impending War,” (February
19, 2003): www.sksm.edu/research/speeches/teachingforpeace.pdf
39
responsibility “the evangelization of culture.”101 Since theology has claimed a place at the table
of public politics, we ignore it at our peril.
Even as religious conservatives increase their political influence, the moral vision of
religious liberals remains under-articulated. Sociology professor Jeffrey Weeks argues the
traditional left has been afraid “of confusing morality with the excesses of moralism” and as a
result has failed to present a viable alternative to the values of the right.102 For those seeking
direction, the choice may appear to be between a retrogressive vision and no vision at all. The
relative silence of the religious left has enabled the “homosexuality debate” to be portrayed as a
conflict between secular gay activists and faith communities. In reality the debate is more
accurately described as dividing both secular and religious spheres. I agree with Farajajé when
he writes, “we have an obligation to help re-shape the discourse by reclaiming our place as
public intellectuals, public theologians, [and] public scholars of religion.”103 I turn now to
address the inadequacy of the political and moral analysis of bisexuality thus far.
Bisexuality in Mainstream Theologies
Compared to the material available on homosexuality, few religious authorities have even
issued statements on bisexuality. The statements that have been made suggest that mainstream
Christian theologians view bisexuality as a challenge to distinct categories of sexuality, to the
universality of heterosexual norms, and to the elevation of monogamy above other relationship
structures. Each of these issues will be addressed below.
101
Benedict XVI, “To the Bishops of the Episcopal Conference Of Canada-Ontario On Their
‘Ad Limina’ Visit,” Castel Gandolfo (Friday, 8 September 2006), 3.
102
Jeffrey Weeks, Invented Moralities: Sexual Values in an Age of Uncertainty (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1995), 11, x.
103
Farajajé, “Teaching for Peace in a Time of Impending War.”
40
In general, Christian theology has tended to subsume bisexuality under discussions of
homosexuality. Catholic writing has focussed on homosexuality as an inclination toward a type
of sexual act, rather than as a class of people with a distinct sexual identity. The founder of
Courage, John F. Harvey, writes that “apparently bisexual persons are either homosexual or
heterosexual,” and Joseph Nicolosi, director of the Thomas Aquinas Psychological Clinic,
writes, “a bisexual is a person who to some extent has not resolved his homosexuality.”104 From
this perspective, whether an individual identifies as gay or bisexual is irrelevant, for they share
the same problem of homosexual attraction and behaviour. This has been problematic since both
the emphasis on sexual acts and the use of rigid hetero/homo binary categories makes us
invisible as bisexuals. The former defines us as individuals who may engage in heterosexual or
homosexual acts, and who may accumulate a behaviourally bisexual history, but for whom a
bisexual present is impossible. The latter defines us as people who shift categories. Rather than
challenging the integrity of the categories themselves, this approach defines bisexuals as
ambiguous, unreliable, or traitorous.
Both the act-centred view and the use of rigid categories assume a heteronormative
construction of human nature. Anglican statements have been very clear about this position.
The 1991 House of Bishops Report stated that “heterosexuality and homosexuality are not
equally congruous with the observed order of creation or with the insights of revelation….”105
This document rejects the suggestion that same-sex relationships are “parallel” or “alternative” to
heterosexuality, which they characterized as “complete.” The discussion document from 2003
104
John F. Harvey, The Homosexual Person: New Thinking In Pastoral Care (San Francisco:
Ignatius Press, 1987), 29; Joseph Nicolosi, “Focus on The Family” CFYI-AM (July 7, 2000):
www.cbsc.ca/english/decisions/2001/010831cappendixa.pdf
105
Church of England House of Bishops, Issues in Human Sexuality (London: Church House
Publishing, 1991), 5.2.
41
emphasised the issue of gay rights in relation to this paragraph, but also the need to balance
rights with the common good and the Biblical witness.106
Catholic theology defines sexuality as two-fold in purpose (procreation and union), and
sees this meaning expressed in the Genesis story and reflected in the physical and psychological
structures of human beings themselves.107 This definition excludes same-sex relationships and
some heterosexual practice, such as contraception or oral sex, from being fully expressive of
God’s design. Even relatively liberal Catholic writers have uncritically accepted the premise that
in its original design, humanity (and the animal kingdom, to which we belong) is heterosexual.
Gregory Baum describes heterosexual unions as “the reconciliation of a divided world, the
overcoming of differences and the completion of humanity.”108 Charles Curran argues that the
covenantal love between men and women is constitutive of their likeness to their creator.109
Such Biblical scholarship, theology, and symbolism elevates heterosexuality as an ideal to which
all who are able should strive. Same sex relationships, for bisexuals, gays or lesbians, thus fail to
be fully human in that they reflect neither of these divinely ordained purposes.110
106
Church of England House of Bishops, Group on Issues in Human Sexuality, Some Issues in
Human Sexuality: A Guide to the Debate (London: Church House Publishing, 2003), 5.2.15.2.23.
107
See “The Catechism of the Catholic Church,” part 2, section 2, chapter 3, 1643; John Paul II,
“Letter To Women,” 7-8; Pontifical Council for the Family, “Family, Marriage and ‘De Facto’
Unions,” (July 26, 2000), 8. Catholic teaching calls this the body’s “spousal significance.” See
John Paul II, The Theology of Marriage and Celibacy (Boston: St. Paul Editions, 1986), 296299.
108
Gregory Baum, “Catholic Sexual Morality: A New Start,” The Ecumenist 11, no. 3
(March/April 1973): 37.
109
110
Charles E. Curran, Catholic Moral Theology in Dialogue (Notre Dame: Fides, 1972), 203.
That same-sex pairings are not procreative is readily apparent. The determination that such
pairings are not unitive is the result of a highly gendered definition of human sexuality in which
men and women are one another’s complementary opposites.
42
So-called “compromise” theologies begin with the view that same-sex attraction is a
sexual deformation and judge same-sex relations by how closely they approximate the
heterosexual model. Anglican theology recommends abstinence for gays and lesbians but states
“we do not reject” those who through “free conscientious judgement” are “convinced that this
way of abstinence is not for them.” Such individuals are permitted to choose a “loving and
faithful homophile partnership, in intention lifelong, where mutual self-giving includes the
physical expression of that attachment.”111 Some Catholic scholars have also called for a special
exception for those “irreversible” homosexuals, wherein their monogamous, permanent
homosexual couplings would be permitted as the closest approximation to the heterosexual
ideal.112 I agree with scholars such as William George and Cristina Traina that this
exceptionalism dehumanizes gays and lesbians, artificially separates theology from pastoral
practice, and fails to adequately challenge heteronormativity.”113 As a pastoral practice, the
compromise position effectively permits same-sex relationships for gays and lesbians but denies
them for bisexuals. This can be seen in the House of Bishops statement on bisexuality:
We recognize that there are those whose sexual orientation is ambiguous,
and who can find themselves attracted to partners of either sex.
Nevertheless it is clear that bisexual activity must always be wrong for this
reason, if no other, that it inevitably involves being unfaithful. The
Church’s guidance to bisexual Christians is that if they are capable of
heterophile relationships and of satisfaction within them, they should
follow the way of holiness in either celibacy or abstinence or heterosexual
111
House of Bishops, Issues in Human Sexuality, 5.6.
112
Charles E. Curran and Richard A. McCormick, ed., Catholic Moral Theology in Dialogue;
The Use of Scripture in Moral Theology, Readings in Moral Theology, no.4 (New York: Paulist
Press, 1984); Lisa Sowle Cahill, Women and Sexuality, Madeleva Lecture in Spirituality (New
York: Paulist Press, 1992).
113
William George, “Moral Statement and Pastoral Adaptation: A Problematic Distinction in
McCormick’s Theological Ethics,” The Annual of the Society of Christian Ethics (Boston:
Society of Christian Ethics, 1992) 135-56, 142-43; Cristina L. H. Traina, Feminist Ethics and
Natural Law (Washington: Georgetown University, 1999), 217.
43
marriage. In the situation of the bisexual it can also be that counselling
will help the person concerned to discover the truth of their personality
and to achieve a degree of inner healing.114
The framework of binary sex categories (male and female) and binary sexuality
(heterosexual and homosexual) eviscerates bisexuality as a distinct orientation. Instead,
bisexuality is reduced to a confusing ambiguity that can only be expressed promiscuously.115
The last sentence undercuts the authenticity of bisexuality by suggesting that counselling will
uncover another, truer identity. The reference to “inner healing” constructs bisexuality as a
broken or split desire and evokes images of reparative therapy. When theology relies on these
binary categories and elevates heterosexuality as the norm, bisexuals can have only two
approved options: celibacy or heterosexual marriage.
Challenges to monogamy are not yet an accepted part of mainstream theology. Pepper
Mint notes that in the absence of such a debate, “monogamy functions as a hidden assumption,
ever-present and unexamined.”116 Within Catholic theology, multiple relationships have been
addressed, but only as they pertain to the enculturation of Christianity in Africa, or the Middle
East, where polygamy is a common practice.117 This discourse contains and racializes
114
House of Bishops, Issues in Human Sexuality, 5.8. See also House of Bishops, Some Issues in
Human Sexuality, 6.3.5, which quotes the earlier document.
115
This conflation of bisexuality with promiscuity is not limited to the Anglican Church. At a
meeting of The United Church of Canada one member asked, “If we include bisexuals as part of
our resolution, aren’t we permitting promiscuity?” Debbie Culbertson, “Keeping The Faith In
Alberta,” Southminster-Steinhauer United Church Annual General Meeting (Jan 31, 1999):
www.albertaviews.ab.ca/issues/2001/novdec01/novdec01essay.pdf.
116
117
Mint, “The Power Dynamics of Cheating,” 72.
Pope Benedict XVI, “To The Bishops of Kenya on their ‘Ad Limina’ Visit,” Castel Gandolfo,
(November 19, 2007); John Paul II, “To The Tribunal of the Roman Rota,” (January 28, 1991);
John Paul II, “Mass for Young People and Celebration of Marriage,” Nairobi, (August 17, 1985);
See also Eugene Hillman, “Polygamy and the Council of Trent,” Jurist 33 (1973): 358; Idem,
Polygamy Reconsidered (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1975).
44
nonmonogamy within particular contexts rather than permitting the practice to challenge
monogamy as a norm of Christian sexuality. Anglicans have also tended to view the subject in
terms of African polygamy. The shift toward toleration can be seen in the Resolutions of the
Lambeth Conference of 1888, where polygamist men were not permitted to be baptized, and that
of 1988, where they were permitted to be baptized and confirmed if they continued to provide for
their wives and children and promised not to marry again.118 This toleration has not been
extended to gay or lesbian Anglicans. While the 1991 House of Bishops report expressed an
awareness of gay oppositions to monogamy, it argued that such a view “flies in the face of all
that has been said earlier about the sacramentality of the body and the importance of proportion
between physical intimacy and personal commitment.” Although the bishops suggested that gays
and lesbians might choose to have a network of warm, “intensely emotional” friendships, they
dismissed the unnamed polyamory option as “a pretentious disguise for the evil of
promiscuity.”119 I suspect that the difference between the polygamy of Africans and the
polyamory of gays and lesbians is not an issue of cultural authenticity, but of voting power
within the House of Bishops.
Those who do address multiple relationships in a queer context tend to assume that the
cultural context would be the same for queers as it is for heterosexuals. Professor of New
Testament George R. Edwards proposes a model for gay and lesbian liberation in which agape
(defined as liberating, constant and responsive love) is the model for all human relationships.
Although this succeeds in equalizing heterosexuals with gays and lesbians he seems unsure what
118
Lambeth Conference, Resolution 26, “Church and Polygamy,” (1988): www.lambeth
conference.org/resolutions/1988/1988-26.cfm; Lambeth Conference, Resolution 5, “Resolutions
from 1888,” (1888): www.lambethconference.org/resolutions/1888/1888-5.cfm
119
House of Bishops, Issues in Human Sexuality, 5.9.
45
to make of bisexuals. “Constancy,” he writes, “does impose a particular, perhaps unequal burden
on those who fall near the center of Alfred Kinsey’s zero-to-six scale of sexual orientation.”120
As I read it, his definition of constancy demands commitment and relational stamina, rather than
sexual exclusivity. Edwards perhaps senses this given his tentative and speculative opposition to
multiple relationships. “It is difficult to believe,” he writes, “that continued erosion of the
monogamous culture can have any other result in the patriarchal situation, however than the
reinforcement of female oppression.”121 How these practices might play out in different social or
subcultural settings is not addressed, but Edwards’ objection surely raises the question.
Some scholars have found it easier to challenge heterosexuality and monogamy at the
level of formal norms. These norms discuss moral imperatives without describing their
particular application in historical or cultural circumstances. Gregory Baum argues that the
Bible offers formal norms (who we ought to be) rather than material norms (what we ought to
do) with love (defined as mutuality) as the standard for all human relationships. He asserts that
“every person is entitled to sexual happiness within the bounds of love, truth and justice.”122
Although Baum does not make this argument, one could propose that the acceptance of such
norms could be a starting point for assessing relationships without prioritizing monogamous
heterosexuality. Baum argues that if same-sex relationships are open to mutuality, then they
120
George R. Edwards, Gay/Lesbian Liberation in Biblical Perspective (New York: Pilgrim
Press, 1984), 116-117. His conflation is based on the definition offered by William Masters and
Virginia Johnson, who defined an ambisexual as one “who unreservedly enjoys, solicits, or
responds to overt sexual opportunity with equal ease and interest regardless of the sex of the
partners, and who as a sexually mature individual, has never evidenced interest in a continuing
relationship.” See William Masters and Virginia Johnson, Homosexuality in Perspective
(Boston: Little, Brown, 1970), 154.
121
Edwards, Gay/Lesbian Liberation, 114.
122
Gregory Baum, “Catholic Homosexuals,” Commonweal (February 15, 1974): 480.
46
must be authentically Christian ways of relating.123 A similar argument can be made for
polyamorous relationships. As one polyamorous Jewish man asks, “Is our standard that one
should be monogamous or is it that one should be open, present, supportive, loving, honest, and
keeping of commitments? Which of these brings more kedusha [holiness] into a relationship?
Which of these is more likely to build a healthy Jewish community with stable, loving
families?”124
Bisexuality in Gay and Lesbian Theology
The association of bisexuality with polyamory has slowed the inclusion of bisexuals in
gay and lesbian religious groups. When Presbyterians for Lesbian and Gay Concerns considered
including bisexuals in their name the discussion that followed focussed on the possible
repercussions for mainstream acceptance. As one member put it, “Do we really want to include
an orientation which by definition is non-monogamous? It seems to me we’re having enough
trouble getting the church to accept monogamous lesbian and gay relationships, without asking
them to branch out in this way.”125 This approach, of bonding with heterosexual allies over the
importance of lifelong monogamous love relationships serves to normalize gay and lesbian
123
Gregory Baum, “Faithfulness and Change: Moments of Discontinuity in the Church’s
Teaching,” in The Challenge of Tradition: Discerning The Future of Anglicanism, ed. John
Simons (Toronto: Anglican Book Centre, 1997), 144. Note that Baum uses homosexual
interchangeably with gay and lesbian.
124
Rab Yankle, “Bisexuality and Polyamory,” Letter to the Editor, Shalom Centre, (August 9,
2001): www.shalomctr.org/node/318
125
Lisa Konick, “The Bisexuality Debate: Distress” More Light Update 14, no. 5 (December,
1993): www.qrd.orgs.PLGC/newsletters/1993/1293. In 1999 Presbyterians for Lesbian and Gay
Concerns merged with the More Light Network (a group of congregations welcoming gay and
lesbian members) to become More Light Presbyterians. In a similar case, a proposal to establish
a welcoming Congregation program at the 1989 General Assembly of the Unitarian Universalist
Association drew an amendment to delete bisexuality from the wording. See Gary David
Comstock, Unrepentant, Self-Affirming, Practicing, (New York: Continuum, 2002), 113.
47
pairings while marginalizing bisexuals and those gays and lesbians who fail to conform to the
accepted model. This strategy consecrates compulsory monogamy, which ultimately strengthens
patriarchal heterosexuality.
For the most part, early gay and lesbian theology ignored bisexuality, as the mainstream
theology they challenged had done before them. I disagree with the founder of Other Sheep
Ministries, Tom Hanks, who writes that our invisibility in mainstream theology has been an
“enormous advantage” for bisexuals.126 The subsuming of bisexuality into homosexuality has
meant that our sexuality has been rejected in terms that refuse to even acknowledge our selfdefinitions. Hanks is also incorrect when he asserts that biblical exegesis has not targeted
bisexuals. On the contrary, bisexuals have been included by behavioural definitions of
homosexuality, and by scholars who view the sexual standards to which Paul objects as bisexual
in nature.127 Moreover, bisexuals have not always been able to rely on gays and lesbians to
produce liberating exegesis or theology.
John J. McNeill’s use of sexual identity categories in The Church and the Homosexual is
as binary as any found in mainstream theology. He defines homosexuality as an exclusive samesex attraction and distinguishes the invert, or “true” homosexual from the pervert, describing the
latter as “a heterosexual who engages in homosexual practices,” possibly “as an easy means of
sexual indulgence.” He argues that the people Paul denounces in Romans 1:26 are not
homosexuals, since Paul describes them as “abandoning their natural customs,” but are
126
Other Sheep is an ecumenical gay and lesbian organization ministering to sexual minorities
throughout the world. Tom Hanks, “The Bible, Sex, and Ideological Fundamentalism,” Part III,
Section 4, Other Sheep: Multicultural Ministries with Sexual Minorities. (June 2007): www.other
sheep.org/bisexuals.htm
127
Eva Cantarella, Bisexuality in the Ancient World, trans. C.O. Culleanain (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1992); Mark D. Smith, “Ancient Bisexuality and the Interpretation of Romans
1:26-27,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 64, No. 2 (Summer, 1996): 223-256.
48
“debauched individuals” or possibly male prostitutes.128 McNeill holds that same-sex sexual acts
would not be sinful for “genuine” homosexuals provided they took place within the context of a
committed loving relationship.129 This theology counters Biblical prohibitions against gay
relationships in ways that make such prohibitions still applicable to bisexuals. The same
approach is found in John Boswell’s book, Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality.130
He attributes gay male promiscuity to criminalization, and far from endorsing open relationships
refers to them as “neurotic,” “unhappy,” “dehumanized and compulsive.”131
Maury Johnston makes the same perversion/inversion distinction as McNeill, and rejects
suggestions that multiple partnerships might be recognized as an authentically Christian variation
in sexual practice. Johnston exhibits a dualistic and hierarchical view in which the mind must
control the body. Lust, he argues, is “one channel through which our lower nature can destroy
the effectiveness of our spiritual walk with God,” and as such, “must never be accepted, or even
tolerated by true Christians.”132 In support of his position he cites Proverbs 5:15-20 and 1 John
2:15-17 without contextualizing these texts in their historical or social location.133 Johnston
128
John J. McNeill, The Church and The Homosexual, 4th ed. (Kansas City: Sheed, Andrews and
McMeel, 1976; Boston: Beacon Press, 1993), 39, 53-57.
129
Ibid., 39.
130
John Boswell, Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1980; 1981), 110-111; McNeill, The Church and The Homosexual, 39, 56.
131
Ibid., 112-113.
132
Maury Johnston, Gays Under Grace: A Gay Christian’s Response to the Moral Majority
(Nashville: Winston-Derek, 1983), 165.
133
“Drink water from your own cistern, flowing water from your own well. Should your springs
be scattered abroad, streams of water in the streets? Let them be for yourself alone, and not for
strangers with you. Let your fountain be blessed, and rejoice in the wife of your youth, a lovely
deer, a graceful doe. Let her breasts fill you at all times with delight; be intoxicated always in
her love. Why should you be intoxicated, my son, with a forbidden woman and embrace the
bosom of an adulteress?” Prov 5:15-20, ESV.; “Do not love the world or the things in the world.
If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the
49
mirrors the conservative writing of the Moral Majority that he critiques. He described multiple
relationships as “moral degeneracy,” and “consensual adultery,” committed by individuals who
are “too lazy to work at building and strengthening a monogamous relationship.”134 Particularly
troubling is his use of AIDS imagery, such as when he writes of the “plague of promiscuity,
which infects our community through so-called open relationships.”135 This language reiterates
conservative arguments that portray AIDS as God’s punishment for promiscuity.
Lesbian theology, written by individuals who were already marginalized in multiple
ways, has tended to be more critical of heterosexual theology. Some lesbian theologians have
alarmed conservative and mainstream Christians with their critique of sexism, their rejection of
sex-negative moral values, their use of female imagery for God, and their adoptionist theology—
viewing Jesus as the anointed of God, but not as divine.136 Yet for the most part, these
theologians ignore bisexuality. Carter Heyward was one of the Philadelphia Eleven, a group of
women irregularly ordained in 1974, who paved the way for women’s ordination in the
Episcopal Church. Her choice to come out as a lesbian was an expression of her decision to
value women and prioritize relationships with them. Given the sexism of society, she argues that
mutuality is “largely available in same-sex relationships.”137 Her portrayal of lesbianism as a
desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father
but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the
will of God abides forever.” 1 Jn 2:15-17, ESV.
134
Johnston, Gays Under Grace, 165, 168.
135
Ibid., 168.
136
James R. Edwards, “Earthquake in the Mainline,” Christianity Today (November 14, 1994):
39-41, 43.
137
Carter Heyward, Our Passion for Justice: Images of Power, Sexuality and Liberation (New
York: Pilgrim Press, 1985), 90.
50
strategy for coping with sexism is an important challenge to portrayals of sexuality as private and
personal.
Her theology is a mixed blessing for bisexuals. On the one hand, she offers mutuality
and justice as norms by which to judge all sexual relationships. This would be an improvement
over theologies that judge bisexuality against a heterosexual or lesbian norm. These norms also
open up the possibility for recognizing multiple-partner relationships as both loving and
revolutionary. On the other hand, Heyward’s theology takes a problematic approach to
bisexuality. Her epistemology assumes a fundamental human bisexuality, which is shaped by
social context, particularly by compulsory heterosexuality. “As boxes go,” Heyward writes,
“bisexuality isn't bad. It may be (if unknowable truths were known) the most nearly adequate
box for all persons.”138 Universalizing bisexuality undercuts our identity’s political content by
making it pre-conscious rather than politically strategic. Furthermore, it reinforces portrayals of
our sexuality as immature and underdeveloped.
Heyward’s sexual history led her to consider identifying as bisexual. In an essay written
in 1979 she wrote:
The problem with bisexuality in my life (and I can speak only for myself)
is that it has been grounded too much in my utopian fantasy of the way
things ought to be and too little in the more modest recognition of myself
as a participant in this society at this time in this world, in which I have
both a concrete desire for personal intimacy with someone else and a
responsibility to participate in, and witness to, the destruction of unjust
social structures - specifically, the heterosexual box.139
If Heyward is indeed speaking only for herself, it becomes difficult to explain why the body of
her work speaks only of “lesbians and straight women,” or of “gays and lesbians” as if these are
138
Heyward, Our Passion for Justice, 80.
139
Ibid.
51
the only identities that are significant.140 A more recent work uses “gay, lesbian and bisexual,”
but this appears to be a concession to changing convention, since she does not incorporate
bisexual perspectives, address bisexual issues or engage bisexual theology.141 This erasure
leaves bisexuality as the only identity unable to be actualized in oppressive political
environments, ignoring the motives behind bisexual women’s identity choices, which may be no
less political and strategic than Heyward’s choice to identify as lesbian. It is possible that she
felt a binary view of sexuality was needed to challenge heterosexuality for its shortage of
mutuality and justice. Nevertheless, challenges to heterosexuality that erase bisexuality overlook
or ignore the differences in social vulnerability between bisexual and heterosexual women.
While critical of patriarchy, and notions of male ownership of women, some lesbian
theologians have upheld expectations of monogamy in same-sex relationships. Elizabeth Stuart
allows that multiple relationships may challenge heterosexual possessiveness, but warns that it
may also “encourage the objectification of sexual partners that patriarchy breeds in men.”142
Virginia Ramey Mollenkott notes that cruising is “primarily a male phenomenon,” for which
heterosexual homophobia is largely responsible. Prevented from meeting socially by
homophobic laws and social censure, she argues that gay men resort to sexual encounters for a
140
This oversight is slightly mitigated by the context of her work; the essays in Our Passion for
Justice, the book in which she came out as lesbian, were written between March of 1976 and
May of 1983.
141
Carter Heyward, Staying Power: Reflections on Gender, Justice and Compassion (Cleveland:
Pilgrim Press, 1995), 112-120.
142
Elizabeth Stuart, Gay and Lesbian Theologies: Repetitions with Critical Difference
(Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 2003), 37.
52
sense of connection. She contends that men who cruise are searching for a meaningful
relationship, but are “too confused and frightened” to pursue one effectively.143
Not all gay and lesbian theologians have been uncritically accepting of monogamy.
Carter Heyward argued that accusations of promiscuity emerge from a “culture of sex-negative
moralism.” She writes that lesbians may “think of ourselves as open to sexual friendships.”144
Mary Hunt attributes monogamy to “male property orientation toward women,” and to “a kind of
shutting out of the world” by the couple. She argues that non-exclusivity is characteristic of
women’s friendships, and that such friendships can act as a model for sexual relationships.145
Robert Williams writes that the non-monogamous sexual bonding of gay men in the 1960s and
70s “literally created our communities,” and Michael Lynch has called the “sexual brotherhood
of promiscuity” the “foundation of our identity.”146 The Gay Men’s Issues in Religion Group, at
the 2003 Annual Conference of the American Academy of Religion, featured a panel in which
five theologians offered proposals for polyamorous theology.147 Marvin Ellison argues that the
143
Letha Dawson Scanzoni and Virginia Ramey Mollenkott, Is The Homosexual My Neighbour?
(San Francisco: Harper & Row 1978; reprint San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1994 ed. ), 124.
Mollenkott came out as a lesbian the year this book was published. She has since come out as
transgendered as well.
144
Carter Heyward, Touching Our Strength: The Erotic as Power and the Love of God (San
Francisco: Harper & Row), 1989), 121.
145
Mary E. Hunt, “Lovingly Lesbian: Toward a Feminist Theology of Friendship,” in Sexuality
and the Sacred: Sources for Theological Reflection, ed. James B. Nelson and Sandra P.
Longfellow (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1994), 178.
146
Robert Williams, Just as I Am: A Practical Guide to Being Out, Proud, and Christian (New
York: HarperPerrenial,1992), 198; Michael Lynch, “Living with Kaposi’s,” Body Politic 88
(November 1982): 35.
147
Those papers included: Julianne Buenting, “(Marriage) Queered: proposing Polyfidelity as
Christian Theo-praxis;” Robert E. Goss, “Proleptic Sexual Love: God’s Promiscuity Reflected in
Christian Polyamory;” Jay E. Johnson, “Trinitarian Tango: Divine Perichoretic Fecundity in
Polyamorous Relations;” Mark D. Jordan, “One Wife: The Problem with the Patriarchs and the
Promiscuity of Agape;” and Ronald E. Long, “Heavenly Sex: The Moral Authority of a
Seemingly Impossible Dream.” Papers presented to Gay Men’s Issues in Religion Group,
53
question of multiple partnerships is one of many issues that call for a larger debate among
progressive Christians. “Could it be,” he asks, “that limiting intimate partnerships to only two
people at a time is no guarantee of avoiding exploitation, and expanding them to include more
than two parties is no guarantee that the relationship will be exploitative?"148
Although it is groundbreaking and inspiring, gay and lesbian theology has failed to be
knowledgably inclusive of bisexuals. Indeed some of their theology, far from liberating us, has
simply reinforced our oppression. The need for a bisexual theology by and for bisexuals is
ultimately part of the pattern already established: gay theology was a response to mainstream
theology’s views on homosexuality, lesbian theology emerged to critique both mainstream
theology’s homophobia and gay theology’s sexism, and bisexual theology must now offer its
own contribution.
Need For Alternative Visions
Bisexual women have a complex relationship with our faith traditions. Darren Sherkat’s
analysis of Statistics Canada’s 1991-2000 General Social Surveys found that bisexual women
showed the lowest rate of church attendance. Their frequency of prayer was second lowest, with
only heterosexual men scoring lower. Interestingly, when compared with lesbians and gay men,
more bisexual women identified with the faith tradition in which they were raised and a larger
percentage of bisexual women (69.4%) reported believing that the Bible was the actual or
American Academy of Religion Annual Meeting Atlanta, Georgia, (November 22-25, 2003).
For abstracts see www.aarweb.org/Meetings/Annual_Meeting/Past_and_Future_Meetings
/2003/abstracts.asp.
148
Marvin Ellison, Same-Sex Marriage? A Christian Ethical Analysis (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press,
2004), 155.
54
inspired word of God.149 Why are bisexual women remaining attached to the faith in which they
were raised, even as their practice of that faith dwindles? I believe the answer to this question
lies in the lack of alternative options, among which the lack of an articulate and well-developed
bisexual theology is key.
Without doubt, part of what is driving bisexual women away from their churches is
mainstream Christianity’s resistance to women’s equality. Previous generations of feminists
have revealed the misogyny at the root of many of western culture’s most sacred traditions.150
Some Christian denominations, such as Catholicism, still do not ordain women, and those
churches that do still have a mostly male decision-making body which rules over a mostly
female laity. In addition, dominant Christian moral pronouncements have tended to focus on the
perceived threat to the nuclear family posed by non-conforming sexuality, and on women’s
equality issues, such as abortion, birth control, and the creation of reproductive technologies. On
many of these issues women find their communities of faith out of step or resistant to the best of
critical feminist theory and research. In comparison to topics like sexuality and reproduction,
relatively little is being said about issues such as the feminization of poverty, violence against
women, institutionalized sexism, sustainable living, rampant consumerism, globalization, food
production and consumption, global warming, or the dire erosion of the environment. Put
149
Darren E. Sherkat, “Sexuality and Religious Commitment in the United States: An Empirical
Examination,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 41, no. 2(2002): 318.
150
See particularly, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, The Woman's Bible (New York: European
Publishing Co., 1895, 1898); Mary Daly, The Church and the Second Sex (New York: Harper &
Row, 1968); idem., Beyond God the Father: Toward a Philosophy of Women's Liberation
(Boston: Beacon Press, 1973); Rosemary Radford Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Toward a
Feminist Theology (Boston: Beacon Press, 1983); Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror (Philadelphia:
Fortress Press, 1984); Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, But She Said: Feminist Practices of Biblical
Interpretation (Boston, Beacon Press, 1992); Joanna Manning, Is The Pope Catholic? A Woman
Confronts Her Church (Toronto, Malcolm Lester Books, 1999).
55
another way, queer vegan feminists with a small carbon footprint may have more to tell their
church about sin than the church has to tell them.
Yet this disillusionment has sometimes left feminists without the spiritual resources
offered by a religious path or the social capital offered by organized religion—what Kenneth
Leech calls “resources for resistance.”151 Adequate resources will not require us to compromise
our political commitments, or check our brains at the door of the chapel. Some resources for this
discussion are already apparent. Many of our bisexual anthologies have chapters or essays
devoted to spirituality. Bi Any Other Name called their section “Healing the Splits,” and
included essays from Wicca, Jewish, Pagan, and Buddhist perspectives, as well as the text of the
closing ritual from the First National Bisexual Conference in San Francisco. Similar sections
have appeared in Bisexual Politics and Plural Desires. These works tend to integrate spirituality
into politics, personal relationship development, and community building rather than treating it
as a separate discourse in conversation with mainstream churches. Bisexual theologians have
also been keynote speakers at national and international bisexuality conferences. At 9ICB
Loraine Hutchins’ keynote presentation posed ethical challenges including our complicity in the
control of the planet’s natural resources by transnational companies, such as when Coke, Pepsi,
or Nestle bottle water.
What we need is not a bisexual theology modeled after current hegemonic traditions.
What we need is a change in moral, spiritual, and religious outlook that is shaped by our
experience as bisexuals, our own perspectives on Scripture, our own methods of reasoning, and
our own cultural traditions. Such a theology can only be achieved by listening to the experiences
of bisexuals themselves, particularly bisexual women. What do bisexual women have to say
151
Kenneth Leech, Soul Friend: Spiritual Direction in the Modern World (New York:
Morehouse, 2001), 187.
56
about their relationships, and their sense of themselves as people in community with others? Do
we share what might be called “bisexual values”? If so, what might these be, and how might
they inform a feminist theology for both monogamous and polyamorous bisexual women?
57
Chapter Two: Study Description
What follows is a description of the social context of this research project and the
methods used for recruiting participants and analysing their interviews. The chapter begins with
a review of issues I find concerning in previous research on bisexual women. Next follows a
brief sketch of the bisexual women’s community in the Greater Toronto Area – its structure,
locations, and history. I then explain the data gathering process and the interview method, and
provide an overview of the participants. Finally, I describe my use of Voice Centred Relational
Analysis, including its origins, technique and purpose, and how I adapted it for use in this study.
Issues in Research on Bisexual Women
Alex Plows, an environmental activist and academic, writes that “A feminist research
process should reflect feminist principles, and … is intended to be accountable, non-hierarchical,
‘user-friendly’ and of use to the research subjects.”152 Qualitative feminist research is no longer
in a position where it needs to justify either the choice to use qualitative analysis or feminist
standpoint. Yet as feminist activists Kathleen Lynch and Cathleen O’Neill observe, “the
interpretations are still made by ‘experts’ on relatively powerless research subjects.”153 One
effect of this power dynamic has been the erasure of bisexual identity in academia. Rarely have
152
Alex Plows, “Pushing the Boundaries: Personal Biography, Reflexivity and Partisanship in
Feminist Research. The Case of New Social Movements.” Posted to social-movements@
listserv.heanet.ie (May 1998): www.iol.ie/~mazzoldi/toolsforchange/archive/papers/ pap001.
html.
153
Lynch and O’Neill, “The Colonisation of Social Class in Education,” 308.
58
bisexual women been studied as a distinct category.154 Psychologists I-Ching Lee and Mary
Crawford reviewed psychological research abstracts published between 1975 and 2001.
Research on bisexuals in general constituted less than 0.2%. Of the studies that included
bisexual women, only 1.1% focussed on bisexual women alone.155 Researchers have tended to
subsume self-identified bisexual women under the category of lesbian, usually attributing this
decision to a need for simplicity.156 This practice assigns validity to lesbian identity that it
denies to bisexuality. In addition to over-riding our power of self-definition re-defining us as
lesbians impairs our ability to examine bisexual data independently or to compare it with that for
heterosexuals or lesbians.157 It may also discourage researchers from studying bisexual women.
154
“The authors recognize the acute need for more research focusing specifically on selfidentified bisexual women.” Michael D. Shankle, ed. Handbook of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and
Transgender Public Health: A Practitioner’s Guide to Service (Haworth Press, 2006), 88;
Psychologists I-Ching Lee and Mary Crawford described studies of bi women alone as
“extremely rare,” and “strikingly absent,” in “Lesbians and Bisexual Women in the Eyes of
Scientific Psychology,” Feminism & Psychology 17, no. 1 (February 2007): 120, 123.
155
Ulrike Boehmer, “Twenty Years of Public Health Research: Inclusion of Lesbian, Gay,
Bisexual, and Transgender Populations,” American Journal of Public Health 92, no. 7 (July
2002): 1125; Lee and Crawford, “Lesbians and Bisexual Women,” 112, 116.
156
Examples include Susan D. Cochran et al., “Cancer-Related Risk Indicators And Preventive
Screening Behaviors Among Lesbians And Bisexual Women,” American Journal of Public
Health 91, no. 4 (April 2001): 592; Ray Blanchard, “The Relation of Closed Birth Intervals to
the Sex of the Preceding Child and the Sexual Orientation of the Succeeding Child,” Journal of
Biosocial Science 29 (1997): 112; Christine Saulnier and Brenda Miller, “Drug and Alcohol
Problems: Heterosexual Compared to Lesbian and Bisexual Women,” Canadian Journal of
Human Sexuality 6, no. 3 (Fall 1997): 221; Jennifer Gerarda Brown and Ian Ayres, “The
Inclusive Command: Voluntary Integration of Sexual Minorities Into The U.S. Military,”
Michigan Law Review 103, no. 1 (October 2004): 150, note 3; Tessa Wright, “A Comparison of
the Experiences of Lesbians and Heterosexual Women in a Non-Traditional Female Occupation,
The Fire Service,” (Masters Dissertation, London Metropolitan University, 2005), 16. Nancy
Goldstein, “Lesbians And The Medical Profession: HIV/AIDS And The Pursuit Of Visibility,” in
The Gender Politics Of HIV/AIDS In Women: Perspectives On The Pandemic In The United
States, ed Nancy Goldsrein and Jennifer L. Manlowe (New York: New York University Press,
1997), 86-112.
157
A.P. MacDonald, Jr., “A Little Bit of Lavender Goes A Long Way: A Critique of Research on
Sexual Orientation,” Journal of Sex Research 19, no. 1 (February 1983): 99.
59
The Committee on Lesbian Health Research, for example, cited the lack of available data on
bisexual women to justify ignoring them in their report.158
A second effect of the expert/subject power dynamic has been to reinforce stereotypes of
bisexual women as vectors for disease transmission between “high risk” populations (gay or
bisexual men and intravenous drug users) and lesbians. I-Ching Lee and Mary Crawford found
that psychological research was more likely to include bisexual women in STD research.159
Lynda Doll’s examination of peer-reviewed social science literature published between 1986 and
1996 found that 12% of the articles on bisexual women related to HIV risk, versus 2% of the
articles on lesbians.160 Such research portrays bisexual women as sources of contagion to an
uninfected lesbian population. Several studies report that avoiding bisexual-identified partners
has been adopted as a risk reduction technique among lesbians, indicating that research which
views bisexuals as vectors for disease may reinforce biphobia rather than accurate behaviourbased risk assessment.161 Although bisexuals have taken part in research as subjects, we have
not received the benefit of this research. In fact, some of the research that has been done has had
a negative impact on our community.
158
Committee on Lesbian Health Research Priorities, Lesbian Health: Current Assessment and
Directions for the Future (Washington, D.C. National Academic Press, 1999), 4.
159
Lee and Crawford, “Lesbians and Bisexual Women,” 119.
160
Lynda S. Doll, “Sexual Behaviour Research: Studying Bisexual Men and Women and
Lesbians,” in Researching Sexual Behaviour: Methodological Issues, ed. John Bancroft (Indiana
University Press, 1997) 149.
161
Diane Richardson, “The Social Construction of Immunity: HIV Risk Perception and
Prevention Among Lesbians and Bisexual Women,” Health & Sexuality 2, no. 1 (January-March
2000): 39; Kathleen Dolan and Phillip W. Davis, “Nuances and Shifts in Lesbian Women’s
Constructions of STI and HIV Vulnerability,” Social Science and Medicine 57, no. 1 (July
2003): 31; Christian Klesse, “Bisexual Women, Non-Monogamy and Differentialist AntiPromiscuity Discourses,” Sexualities 8, no. 4 (2005): 457.
60
Bisexual activists have challenged biphobic research findings, with mixed success.162
Bisexual researchers have attempted to correct bisexual exclusion or invalidation by studying our
own communities.163 The Journal of Bisexuality has provided a much-needed forum for research
that is free from distortion by a biphobic lens. Excellent work has also been done by lesbianidentified researchers such as Paula Rust, Lisa Diamond, and Amber Ault. I see this
development as the result of an inclusivity influenced by bisexual and transsexual activism, and
the popularity of queer studies and postmodern gender theory, both of which offer alternative
political frameworks to the biphobic strain of radical lesbian feminism.
A final challenge is to make the research that has been done useful to bisexuals. While
bisexual women may lack the social power to implement changes in the larger queer community,
changes within our own bisexual communities are possible. A prerequisite for this change is
communication between scholars and activists. Theory developed without a sense of the
material realities of bisexual lives will be disconnected, speculative, or irrelevant. Activism done
without theory—that is, without a sense of what is wrong, why is it happening, what can be done
about it—will be haphazard, ineffective, or supportive of oppressive power structures. Ideally,
the roles of scholar and activist should not be exclusive.
162
In recent times BiNET USA and Boston’s Bisexual Resource Center worked together with the
Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation and The National Gay and Lesbian Task Force to
challenge Benedict Carey’s article, “Gay, Straight or Lying: Bisexuality Revisited,” New York
Times, Science Section (July 5, 2005), 1. See Loraine Hutchins, “Sexual Prejudice: The Erasure
of Bisexuals in Academia and the Media,” American Sexuality Magazine (August 15, 2005):
http://ai.eecs.umich.edu/people/conway/TS/Bailey/Bisexuality/American%20Sexuality/America
n%20Sexuality%20magazine%20-%20The%20 erasure%20of%20bisexuals.htm More locally,
Bisexual Women of Toronto challenged the decision by the Metropolitan Action Committee on
Violence Against Women and Children to exclude bisexual women from their focus groups on
queer women’s experience of violence.
163
For local research, see Cheryl Dobinson, Judy MacDonnell, Elaine Hampson, Jean Clipsham,
and Kathy Chow, Improving the Access to and Quality of Public Health Services for Bisexuals
(Toronto: Ontario Public Health Association, 2003).
61
Toronto’s Bisexual Women’s Community
“We don’t have what I consider to be a bisexual community. We don’t
have a bisexual community centre. We don’t have a bisexual newspaper.
We have one bisexual group, it’s mostly men, and the women’s group
[Bykes] isn’t going, so there’s not a whole lot of what I would refer to as a
bisexual community.” Lilith Finkler, 1995164
There are a host of scholarly opinions as to what constitutes a legitimate community.
Some definitions emphasise the importance of having a common territory.165 By this
measurement, we lack a bisexual community, since there are no bisexual bars, cafes, bookstores
or community centres in Toronto. Instead, we have bi-friendly space—places where bisexuality
is permitted to exist—the 519 community centre, which allows bisexual groups to meet in their
building, restaurants willing to book tables for BiWOT socials, and bars such as Buddies In Bad
Times or Goodhandy’s, where patrons freely dance with partners of any sex. Feminist theorist
164
Lilith Finkler, quoted in Nancy Chater & Lilith Finkler, “‘Traversing Wide Territories’: A
Journey From Lesbianism to Bisexuality,” in Plural Desires, 31. The Bisexual Anthology
Collective produced a book that stood in place of a local community for many Canadian
bisexuals.
165
Derek L. Phillips, Looking Backward: A Critical Appraisal of Communitarian Thought
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 14; Carlos Agudelo, “Community
Participation In Health Activities: Some Concepts And Appraisal Criteria,” Bulletin of the Pan
American Health Organization 17, no. 4 (1983): 375–386; Susan Rifkin, Frits Muller, and
Wolfgang Bichmann, “Primary Health Care on Measuring Participation,” Social Science and
Medicine 26, no. 9 (1988): 931-940. Similarly, Evelyn Hooker once argued that the homosexual
population “is not a community in the traditional sense of the term, as it has been used by
sociologists, in that it lacks a territorial base with primary institutions serving a residential
population.” Evelyn Hooker, “Homosexual Community,” in Sexual Deviance, ed. John Gagnon,
William Simon and Donald Carns (New York: Harper & Row, 1967), 171.
62
Clare Hemmings identifies the temporality of bisexual space, and its emergence from within gay
and lesbian space, as one of the reasons bisexuality is accused of being inauthentic.166
Without the cultural capital of a material neighbourhood, our sense of belonging is based
on what we imagine the bi community to be, and where we see ourselves in relation to it.
Sociologist Joseph R. Gusfield argues that self-understanding, rather than territory, is the key
element in defining community belonging. “What appears crucial,” argues Gusfield, is “the
perception among an aggregate of people that they constitute a community.”167 The perception
that there is a bisexual women’s community in Toronto is based, I argue, on four elements:
participation in bisexual discussion groups, creation of virtual bi space through email lists and
networking sites, the creation of bisexual cultural products such as zines, and finally, through
participation in bisexual activism.
The core of Toronto’s bisexual community consists of a series of regularly scheduled
events and groups: Bisexual Women of Toronto (BiWOT), Bisexual Men of Toronto (BiMOT),
and the Toronto Bisexual Network (TBN), a mixed gender group. TBN is the longest running of
these, with roots going back to 1989. These groups organize their own monthly social, political,
and cultural events and take part in larger queer events such as Pride Week.168 BiWOT was the
most important of these groups in terms of providing a base for my research. Forty-eight percent
of participants mentioned the group by name, and an additional 20% alluded to it. It was
166
Clare Hemmings, Bisexual Spaces: A Geography Of Sexuality And Gender (New York:
Routledge 2002), 46; Idem, “A Feminist Methodology of the Personal,” (2000): http://orlando.
women.it/cyberarchive/files/hemmings.htm.fethical
167
168
Joseph R. Gusfield, Community (Oxford: Blackwell, 1975), 32.
This community centre, commonly called “the five nineteen,” is owned by the City of
Toronto and is home primarily to GLBT groups and programmes. For a more detailed analysis
of the 519 and its effect on BiWOT see Margaret Robinson, “Becoming Who We Are: Building
Bi Women’s Community in Toronto,” (2008): www.margaretrobinson.com/scholarly/buildingbi
community.html
63
founded in 1998 by social work professor Karol Steinhouse. In the first two years, attendance
was small, averaging six to twelve women per meeting. Since then meetings have averaged an
attendance of 20 women per month.169 Toronto has two bisexual groups which are outside the
TBN umbrella: Fluid, a bi youth group facilitated by bisexual activist Cheryl Dobinson and the B
side, an 8-week coming out group held at Sherbourne Health Centre. Toronto’s bi community
also includes polyamorous groups such as Toronto Poly and the Ethical Lover Polygroup.170
Toronto poly was started in 1998 by members of the alt.polyamory usenet group. The Ethical
Lover group emerged from a workshop held in 2000 at Come As You Are, a cooperatively run
sex toy store. Both groups offer discussion and support for people interested in or practicing
polyamory.
These groups provide temporary bi space (usually within gay and lesbian space) where
bisexuals can enact their identity. One of the participants in this study, Awe, writes, “I feel
blessed to find a group of wonderful women in the BiWOT community. I am taking full
advantage of this wonderful support group. I feel like many of them are my friends.” Another
woman, B, described herself as “actively involved with TBN and BiWOT, both as an organizer
and as a participant in events and meetings...probably more than I want to be sometimes!” B.
writes, “I think building bi community is important, for myself and for others. Finding a sense of
community and understanding among other bi folk has been tremendously important to me.” B’s
description of both finding and building her community is revealing – the community exists, but
is still in process and is shaped by the women who attend and organize its events.
169
Statistics provided by Helen Rykens, Office Manager at the 519 Church Street Community
Centre.
170
The ethical lover group takes its name from the premise of polyamory that all parties are
informed and consenting.
64
The sense among bisexual women that they have joined a community is reinforced by
ongoing interaction online. Group members stay in touch between meetings through public diary
systems such as Livejournal,171 networking applications such as Facebook, and email lists such
as Yahoogroups. Ally, currently living in London, wrote, “there is only a very small queer
community in London, and though it's a fabulous community, the internet has been a good way
for me to feel like I have a larger queer community on which to draw support and information.”
Cassandra is a 42 year-old grandmother who began to question her sexuality two years ago. “I
started lurking in the BiTo & BiWOT groups 6 months after I realized I was bi.” Cassandra cites
time and money as constraints on being more involved, but notes, “I feel included based on what
I'm reading on the lists….” As Bisexual activist and researcher, Cheryl Dobinson explains, “this
virtual connection provides an important sense of community in between meetings and social
events, as well as for people who aren’t participating in the in-person community.” Dobinson
notes that this contact has enabled the bi women’s community to expand and diversify.
“Through the lists I have been part of a bi book club, a bi writing group, and a bi Wiccan study
group. So having the lists enabled me to develop communities within a community.”172
A third factor contributing to the sense of community among bi women in Toronto has
been the creation of cultural products, such as buttons, flags, and zines. Since stores in Toronto
have been unwilling to order bisexual-related merchandise, most of these have been handmade.
TBN holds yearly socials to assemble buttons and bracelets, which are then distributed during
Pride Week. Some of these contain slogans in use by bisexuals in other cities while others are
171
172
Livejournal is a weblogging and social networking client. www.livejournal.com.
Cheryl Dobinson, “Bi Community Quotes,” E-mail to Margaret Robinson (margaret.robinson
@utoronto.ca), June 16, 2008.
65
created off the cuff as members draw to their own experience.173 TBN has also made frequent
use of the bisexual pride flag since its invention in 1997, sewing them at home, bringing one to
every event, wearing them as sarongs in the Dyke March and carrying a 15 foot version in the
Pride Parade.174 These products enable bisexuals to be visible in both queer and straight space
and symbolically connect local bisexuals with those in other parts of the world.
A cultural product that has figured prominently in the development of a local bisexual
women’s community is the writing of its activists, poets, and journalists. This writing has
included articles in the gay press, pieces in anthologies such as Plural Desires, Getting Bi, or
Bent on Writing, and spoken word performances at events such as Clit Lit and Pussy Pen.175
Toronto has also produced several bisexual and queer women’s zines. The best known of these
is The Fence, started in 2003 by Cheryl Dobinson. “When I started the zine,” Dobinson writes,
“I felt there was something missing for me in terms of a publication for bi women and the kind
of community that this helps create, so I decided to make it happen.” Although Dobinson notes
that the zine is not exclusive to Toronto, it has a wide local distribution. “So bi folks can see a
local bi publication in various bookstores in the city, as well as for sale at Pride, Fruit Market,
173
For slogans see Hutchins and Kaahumanu, Bi Any Other Name, 214; Susan Kane, “Bisexual
Slogans: Snappy Comebacks for Daily Living,” Plural Desires 90.
174
The bisexual pride flag was created by bisexual activist Michael Page, and features stripes of
magenta, lavender and royal blue. While providing the ability to represent bisexuality
symbolically, the flag has been criticized for reinforcing gender categories in its colour choice,
and for reinscribing the association of bisexuality with multiplicity—specifically threes—in its
use of three colour strips.
175
The Bisexual Anthology Collective, ed. Plural Desires; Robyn Ochs, ed. Getting Bi: Voices
of Bisexuals Around The World (Boston: Bisexual Resource Centre, 2005); Elizabeth Ruth, ed.
Bent on Writing: Contemporary Queer Tales (Toronto: Women’s Press, 2002).
66
the Queer Lit Fair, etc.”176 Bisexual women’s zines are community productions, giving space to
a variety of marginalized voices and producing bisexuality as a multi-vocal identity. Queer
women’s zines in Toronto have risen in importance since the demise of local queer women’s
magazine, Siren, in 2004.
A last element contributing to bisexual women’s sense of community is our participation
in bi activism. Stephen O. Murray notes that the gay community coalesced in part through its
opposition to various adversaries.177 The bisexual women’s community in Toronto has been
shaped through its opposition to biphobia, and to its embracing of transsexual allies. Following
the example set by Karol Steinhouse, members bring their academic training or political activism
to the discussion, and the space is identified as feminist, antiracist and welcoming of transsexual
and transgender members (a position that was unusual in 1998 but is common in local queer
women’s groups now). Group members have organized letter writing campaigns and protests
over a variety of issues, including the exclusion of bisexual women from a queer women’s safety
study, the City of Toronto’s refusal to proclaim Celebrate Bisexuality Day and the research by
psychologist J. Michael Bailey, widely reported as proof that bisexual men do not exist.178
Individuals from BiWOT have held key positions in organizations such as Pride Toronto,
Sherbourne Health Centre, and the Toronto Women’s Bathhouse Committee, enabling them to
establish policies that include bisexuals and transpeople. The climate of political debate, as well
176
Dobinson, “Bi Community Quotes.” Fruit Market is an annual queer zine, arts and crafts fair,
started in 2002. Writing Outside the Margins is an annual queer literary street festival founded
in 2007.
177
Stephen O. Murray, “The Institutional Elaboration of a Quasi-ethnic Community,”
International Review of Modern Sociology 9 (July 1979): 165-177. Murray’s examples include
Anita Bryant and Joe Briggs. He cites Gerald D. Suttles, The Social Construction of
Communities (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1972), 50.
178
Carey, “Gay, Straight or Lying,” 1.
67
as the opportunity to engage in activism has fostered many local activists. When Toronto hosted
the Ninth International Conference on Bisexuality in June of 2006, twenty-two of the fifty-five
workshop presenters were Canadian. Seventeen of these twenty-two presenters were Toronto
residents.
Bisexual groups, online bi space, cultural products, and activism enact bisexuality
socially, virtually, physically, and politically. This reinforces the validity of bisexual women’s
community not only for those women who participate, but also for those lesbians, gay men,
heterosexuals, and other bisexuals who see themselves as outsiders to bi community. It was
primarily to this community, and to its overlapping elements within the gay and lesbian
community, that I turned for interview participants.
Finding Participants
I began by distributing a call for participants (see Document 1 in the appendix) to
bisexual groups based in Toronto. These included:
•
Email discussion lists for Bisexual Women of Toronto and the Toronto Bisexual Network
(BiTo). These email groups have over two hundred members each. I have been a member of
the BiWOT and BiTo list since 1999 and 2000 respectively.
•
Best of Both Worlds, a social club for bisexual and bi-curious women. Their online forum
lists over 350 members.
•
Community forums on the online blogging site Livejournal, such as bi_in_toronto, bi_people,
bi_pride, bi_teenagers, bicuriousgirls, bifriends, canadianlesbian, polyamory, and
torontoqueers.
•
The TorontoPoly email discussion list, with over 300 subscribers.
•
LGBT campus groups at Toronto, Ryerson, and York Universities.
•
Support and social organizations such as the Coalition for Lesbian and Gay Rights in
Ontario, Peel Pride, Supporting Our Youth, and Central Toronto Youth Services.
68
•
Online bulletin boards on sites such as LSBN Toronto, Transexual Menace, Craigslist, and
Now Magazine’s website.179
•
Toronto-based groups dedicated to serving particular populations, such as the 2-Spirited
People of The First nations, Kulanu (Jewish), KrUnK (Continental and Diasporic African
Queer Youth) Arco Iris (Portuguese), AVANTI (Italian), and the Russian, Polish, and
Ukrainian Gay and Lesbian Associations.
•
Groups whose focus is primarily sexual rather than political or cultural, such as Club Eros,
Happy Hedonist, GTAParty, and Swinger Date Club. In doing so, I aimed to attract
responses from women who identify as bisexual, but who do not align themselves with their
sexuality as a cultural identity.
Posters announcing the study were also posted at various locations on campus (Robarts
Library and New College), at community centres (the 519 Church St. Community Centre and the
University of Toronto’s Women’s Centre) and in businesses with a bisexual clientele (Good For
Her, the Toronto Women’s Bookstore and This Ain’t The Rosedale Library). I also mentioned
the study on my Livejournal, in my profiles on Facebook, MySpace, and the University
Consortium for Sexuality Research and Training, and on my personal website, www.margaret
robinson.com. Individual members of these groups also forwarded the call for participants to
their own email contact lists. Several respondents mentioned having heard about the study from
an email sent by Cheryl Dobinson. Contrary to my expectations, I did not receive a single
negative or homophobic email. The closest I came was when someone wrote a question mark
next to the word “polyamory” on the call for participants I had posted on the door of my carrel at
Robarts Library. This lack of negative feedback may be because my call was disseminated
primarily to individuals within the bisexual and queer women’s community.
Participation was limited to women who self-identified as bisexual. Participants were
further limited to those who viewed themselves as connected with the Toronto area, either by
179
Although not a queer publication, Now’s annual Love & Sex surveys indicate that 18-26% of
their survey-responding readership identifies as bisexual. Alice Klein, “Love and Sex Guide,”
NOW Magazine (2008): www.nowtoronto.com/ minisites/loveandsex/2008/index.cfm.
69
living within the GTA or by identifying Toronto as their source of culture or support. Those who
expressed interest were sent the consent form and the email questionnaire (see documents 2 and
3 in the appendix). The survey was available only in English, which further limited the available
participants.
Interviewing the Participants
I expected email interviewing to have four identifiable benefits: 1) limiting resource
requirements, 2) improving responses, 3) empowering participants, and 4) enabling participation.
These benefits are discussed briefly below.
1. Limiting resource requirements: Using email meant that interviews were already in
text format, and did not require transcribing. Responses were written in full sentences, making
them easier to quote and requiring less use of edit marks such as ellipses or square bracketing.
The average interview was eight pages in length. As a researcher working alone and without
funding, email provided an invaluable savings in time and labour.
2. Improving responses: Email research is often valued for its quick response time. My
first request for interviews was sent out in August of 2006, and within that month, twenty-two
women had responded. The research on email interviewing is still in its early stages, yet
preliminary studies suggest that email responses showed greater “clarity and depth” and felt
“more honest” then responses obtained through in-person interviews. In addition, some
researchers have found email studies to result in a lower dropout rate.180 In total, 97 women
180
Lorraine Parker, “Collecting Data The E-Mail Way,” Training and Development 42, no. 7
(July 1992): 54; Gillian A. Dunne, “The Different Dimensions of Gay Fatherhood: Report To
the Economic and Social Research Council,” (November, 1999): 9; Elizabeth Lane Lawley,
“Mamamusings: Elizabeth Lane Lawley’s Thoughts on Technology, Academia, Family, and
Tangential Topics,” (Thursday, March 31, 2005): http://mamamusings.net/archives/2005/03/31/
70
expressed interest in participating, and 40 women returned completed interviews—a response
rate of 41%. Reflecting on my experience working as a journalist, I felt that I exerted less
influence on the substance of the women’s responses than when I interview in person.
3. Empowering participants: Email is thought to give participants greater control over the
content of their responses than telephone or in-person interviews, since the participant may write,
re-write and edit drafts of their responses before sending them. This was especially important for
this study, since the questions were of a personal and sexual nature. In conversations at social
events, some women told me they had taken several days to write their responses.
4. Enabling participation: The use of email questionnaires was expected to expand the
number and type of women who participated in the study. This included women whose
schedules do not match my own, or who were in remote locations. Ultimately, only four women
mentioned living outside of Toronto. Robin wrote, “I wish I lived in Toronto!” and three others
named Hamilton, St. Catherines, and London as their home. Researchers Roberta Bampton and
Christopher J. Cowton suggest that email may facilitate the interviewing of shy respondents, or
those whose native language is other than the interview language and who may need the
flexibility for response construction that email allows.181 Three respondents described
themselves as shy at some point in their answers, and another three mentioned that English was
not their first language.
qualitative_interviews_via_email.php; Donna McAuliffe, “Challenging Methodological
Traditions: Research by Email,” The Qualitative Report 8, no. 1 (June 2003): 62-63, 65.
181
Roberta Bampton and Christopher J. Cowton, “The E-Interview,” Forum: Qualitative Social
Research 3, no. 2 (May 2002): www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/2-02/2-02bampton
cowton-e.htm.
71
Email also has some disadvantages, three of which were most relevant to this study: 1)
loss of non-textual data, 2) security issues, and 3) skewing of participant pool.
1) Loss of non-textual data: When participants use email, the process of crafting their
answers, including cues such as body language, pausing, rephrasing, or laughing, are invisible to
the researcher. These cues are frequently assigned meaning by qualitative researchers and
incorporated into their field notes. In addition, email does not allow the researcher to
communicate non-textually with the participant. It was not possible, for example, to make the
non-verbal cues associated with gentle prompting or support. It was my hope that the loss of
non-verbal cues would be balanced by a decreased sense of invasion or embarrassment on the
part of participants. Professor of Social Work, Donna McAuliffe, found that establishing a
rapport with email respondents and prompting their answers was a challenge that could be met
through sharing personal data, the use of humour, and reminder emails.182 This was my own
experience as well.
2) Security issues: Email carries inherent problems associated with confidentiality.
Unintended readers might access data in the participant’s draft folder, in their sent email cache,
or on their server. Deleted emails may reside temporarily in a computer’s trash bin. I
encouraged participants to be aware of these vulnerabilities and to protect themselves against
them if necessary. I suggested that women may want to counter these risks by choosing to
participate through an anonymous web email account. To my surprise, none chose to do so.
Although I asked each participant to choose a pseudonym, many chose names that were
transparent, such as a variation on their own name, or their online username known within the
bisexual community. I speculate that some women may have experienced the use of a
182
McAuliffe, “Challenging Methodological Traditions,” 62-63.
72
pseudonym as disempowering. They may have found the practice to be overly cautious, or even
felt it implied there was something shameful about their identity. Upon reflection, the ethical
guidelines set out by the University of Toronto may not be appropriate for research with every
population.183
3) Skewing of participant pool: Some researchers have suggested that email interviews
slant the study in terms of age, income, gender and race.184 I agree that the material conditions
for using email may have limited the types of women who were able to participate. My oldest
respondent was only 51 years of age, and as the participant overview will show, the sample was
overwhelmingly white. Although several women mentioned that money was a barrier to
participating in bisexual community, income levels were not discussed. The use of email may
have excluded a number of unemployed or poor bisexual women. Free computer use, such as
that provided by public libraries, is not yet easily accessible, nor are such venues entirely suitable
for interviews of a personal nature.
Participant Overview
The sample was composed of forty bisexual women living in the Greater Toronto Area.
Their ages ranged from 21 to 51, with the median and mean age being 33. Although all
183
Researchers Dawn Martin-Hill and Danielle Soucy, for example, found that First Nations
elders experienced ethical precautions differently. They observed that “confidentiality and the
use of pseudonyms to conceal the identity of informants were seen as dehumanizing, colonial
and patronizing.” See Dawn Martin-Hill and Danielle Soucy, “Ethical Guidelines for Aboriginal
Research: Elders and Healers Roundtable: A Report by the Indigenous Health Research
Development Program To the Interagency Advisory Panel on Research Ethics,” Commissioned
by the Aboriginal Ethics Policy Development Project and supported by the Ethics Office of the
Canadian Institutes of Health Research (2005): 8.
184
Jane Kenway, “The Information Superhighway and Post-Modernity: the Social Promise and
the Social Price,” Comparative Education 32, no. 2 (1996): 217-231; Sandra Kerka, “Access To
Information: To Have and Have Not,” Center on Education and Training for Employment, Adult,
Career and Vocational Education Archive (1995): www.cete.org/acve/docgen.asp?tbl=tia&
73
participants responded to the call for bisexual women, many felt ambivalent about the term.
Judith wrote, “I identify as bisexual, although I consider that label to be problematic because it
implies that there are only two genders/sexes when I know that there are many more than that.”
Sixty percent of participants identified themselves as bisexual or bi. Other reported identities
included queer (25%) and dyke (15%). Ally explained, “When asked, I identify as a queer
woman. However I also call myself a dyke often, because I hang out with a lot of dykes and
participate in what I'd call a dyke aesthetic I suppose.” Some identities, such as ambisexual,
polysexual, omnisexual, pansexual and hypersexual were only reported by one participant. One
woman identified her position on the Klein Grid.185 Nine women (22.5%) mentioned they had
previously identified as lesbian.
Although I specified that my definition of woman was trans-inclusive, only one
participant identified herself as a transwoman in her interview. Thirty-three percent of the
participants mentioned that they identified as female, and an additional thirty percent identified
themselves as women. Some went further and specifically identified themselves as cisgendered
—that is, not transgendered. Ana wrote, “I am biologically female. I don’t think of myself as
anything else.” Gwendolyn described herself as “a natural born woman,” and Cassandra wrote,
“I was born female, and have always identified as such.” Three women (8%) identified as
androgynous or bigendered. Several women reported feeling they did not fit conventional
gender expectations. Violet explained, “I am a big woman - 6 feet tall and over 200 pounds…I
always felt a disconnect from what I thought I was supposed to be as a girl, and who I really felt
like inside. I never felt male, simply less than I should be as a female.” Lola wrote, “I'm
biologically female, but often feel that I 'think like a man' and that gender roles with my partner
185
The Klein Sexual Orientation Grid is a system of sexual orientation measurement. See Fritz
Klein, The Bisexual Option, Second Edition (Binghamton, NY: The Haworth Press, 1993).
74
are reversed occasionally.” Some mentioned exploring non-traditional gender presentations.
Brianna noted that although she had always identified as a woman, she had recently begun to
examine her sense of gender more closely: “In the past year or two I have questioned whether
some aspects of me are male, but for the most part I still identify as female. I don't clearly
identify as trans.” Others mentioned experiencing a psychological androgyny as they identified
some aspects of their personality as masculine and others as feminine. Dinah wrote, “I identify
as a woman, although sometimes I lean more towards an androgynous presentation when I feel
like it.” As Judith explains, “I identify as a woman and present myself as a woman in physical
appearance, but consider my gender to be androgynous. To me that means I have a combination
of both feminine and masculine personality characteristics, and I resist being limited to the
feminine gender role.” Judith also thought the term “bigendered” might apply to her, “because I
feel both masculine and feminine and I like to shift my behaviour among gender roles and relate
to others with gender fluidity.” Kiera wrote, “I identify as female, although at times feel I have
masculine sides to me.” Three women identified themselves as femme. One woman, Phoenix,
identified as “a queer butch dyke with a strong masculine identity.” The stereotype that bisexual
women are always normatively gendered is undercut by the realization that bisexual women may
not see themselves this way, however their appearance may be assessed by others.
Nineteen of the women studied (47.5 %) identified as polyamorous, 5% identified as
swingers, another 5% described their relational identity as in flux or undetermined. The
remaining seventeen women (42.5%) were in monogamous relationships. Although my
definition of polyamory included swingers, not all the participants agreed with this inclusion.
Gwendolyn wrote, “I am an active swinger and as such don’t consider myself either
monogamous or polyamorous.” And of polyamory, she wrote, “I simply can’t see myself or any
75
of the many other bi women I know in the swinging lifestyle choosing it as their lifestyle
choice.” I found the degree of flux between monogamous and polyamorous labels particularly
interesting. Among the polyamorous women, 78.9% mentioned previously identifying as
monogamous—not surprising, since this is a socially reinforced norm. Of the monogamous
women, 23.5% had previously identified as polyamorous. Among all the participants, 12.5 %
had shifted more than once from monogamous to polyamorous or vice versa. Two monogamous
women reported having been in polyamorous relationships while still identifying as
monogamous. The conclusion I draw from this is that while behaviour and identity are
connected, they are not equivalent; behavioural preferences can lead to the adoption of identity
labels, but these labels do not accurately predict behaviour.
One quarter of the women had children. The number of children ranged from one to
three, with the median and mode being one.186 Three of the women with children identified as
monogamous, and four of the women with children identified as polyamorous. All the
monogamous mothers had children under two years of age and only one of the polyamorous
mothers did. Two of the polyamorous mothers had grown children (over 19 years). Both
swingers had children (one age 12 and one an adult), as did the woman who identified as nonmonogamous, but not polyamorous. This suggests that the presence of children is not
necessarily a barrier to adopting a non-conforming sexual identity label, such as polyamorous,
although the age of those children may be a factor shaping women’s sexual identity labels.
Fifty-five percent of respondents had some university education. Three (7.5%) identified
themselves as current students, twelve women (30%) held bachelors degrees, five (12.5%) held
186
This is lower than Toronto’s reported average birth rate of 1.5 children per family. Curtis
Rush, “Toronto’s growth slips behind,” Toronto Star, Mar 13, 2007, www.thestar.com/
News/article/191221.
76
masters degrees and two (5%) held doctorates. Five women with degrees had children (22.7%).
Of those five, four held bachelor degrees and one held a masters degree. The majority of women
with, or pursuing degrees did not have children (77%), reflecting the difficulty of pursuing
academic studies and parenting simultaneously. Fifteen percent of respondents were teachers,
13% were artists, 18% were writers, 10% worked in retail, and 8% were counsellors. An
additional 40% of participants reported working in a professional field, such as banking.
Most respondents volunteered information about their racial or ethnic heritage. Almost
half the participants (47.5%) identified their ancestors as having come from Europe. Thirty-five
percent traced their heritage to the British Isles, reporting English (22.5%), Scottish (17.5%),
Irish (10%), Welsh (5%), or Celtic (2.5%) ancestry. Ten percent identified their ancestry as
Eastern European, reporting Polish (7.5%), Ukrainian (5%), Romanian, Russian, or
Czechoslovakian (2.5% each). Other ancestries included: Native Canadian (12.5%); French
(10%); German (5%); Jewish; Swedish; and Jamaican (2.5% each). Eleven women (27.5%)
reported more than one racial identity. Ana described her background as “a mishmash of Celtic
and Anglo-Saxon on my mother's side, with a drop of Huron/Ojibway (1/16th), and Ukrainian
and Swedish on my father's side,” and Faelady is “a mishmash of races, dominated by
Polish/Ukrainian and Irish/Canadian blood.” Those with multiple racial identities reported an
average of three.
Although I did not intend my study to be representative of Toronto, it is worth noting that
my sample was so white, in a city that reports a visible minority population of 42.9%.187 Only
15% identified themselves in ways usually categorized as visible minorities. Of the remaining
187
Statistics Canada, “Canada’s Ethnocultural Mosaic: 2006 Census,” (April, 2007): Catalogue
97-562-X. www12.statcan.ca/english/census06/analysis/ethnicorigin/pdf/97-562-XIE2006001.
pdf.
77
85% of participants, only 12.5% self-identified as white or Caucasian. The women who used
these identifiers did not give additional details (e.g., British, or German) with the exception of
B., who described herself as having a “boring WASP background.” This suggests that those
women who may be socially categorized as white—who receive white privilege, for example—
may not see this as a significant or even accurate identity themselves. Only fifteen percent of the
participants were immigrants. Three women reported the number of generations their family had
lived in Canada (B. 2-3, Brianna 4, and Countess 5). Ten percent had lived in Toronto all their
lives. Others reported having moved to Toronto from a small town (12.5%), the east coast
(7.5%), western Canada (5%), or Quebec (2.5%).
Fifteen of the women were currently involved with a female partner. Of the total
participants, 25% had a female primary partner and an additional 12.5% had a female secondary
partner. Fifteen percent cited a relationship with a woman as a key factor in their decision to
come out. Single women made up 17.5% of the sample. In retrospect, my attempt to examine
identity as relational—that is, as emerging in a context of relationships with others—may have
been experienced as alienating by women who were single.
Methodology: Voice Centred Relational Analysis
I analyzed the interviews using Voice Centred Relational Analysis (VCRA), a feminist
method of textual hermeneutics also known as the Listening Guide. This method was developed
by feminist researchers Lyn Mikel Brown and Carol Gilligan and expanded upon by sociologists
Andrea Doucet and Natasha Mauthner.188 The VCRA method appealed to me for four reasons:
188
See Carol Gilligan and Lyn Mikel Brown, Meeting at the Crossroads (New York: Ballantine
Books, 1992), 21-41; Natasha Mauthner and Andrea Doucet, “Reflections On A Voice-Centered
Relational Method Of Data Analysis: Analysing Maternal And Domestic Voices,” in Feminist
78
1) It is a feminist method; 2) It includes an awareness of researcher reflexivity—the effect of the
researcher on what she is researching; 3) It can be used to analyse the multiplicity of personal
identity; 4) It may be well-suited for questioning participants about taboo subjects.
The first advantage I saw in VCRA is that it is a method designed by feminists for use in
interviewing girls and women. Brown and Gilligan developed the method for a longitudinal
study of seven to eighteen year-olds attending the Laurel School for Girls in Cleveland, Ohio. In
wanting to use a feminist method, I was looking for more than just the political commitment of
its designers. I was also seeking a tool for analysis that would not incorporate sexist bias in its
structure or epistemological grounding.189
A second advantage was its inclusion of the researcher in its analysis. By recording our
perspectives as well as our interpretations, VCRA makes it easier for other researchers to check
our work. This self-reflective analysis spoke to my concerns about over-writing the stories of
my participants. Although I expected this method would reveal knowledge about the women
interviewed, I did not expect the amount of information that it revealed about me. As a result, I
found VCRA to be a valuable opportunity to gain self-knowledge and grow as a researcher.
A third appealing feature of VCRA was its ability to accommodate multiple levels in selfpresentation. For example, while interviewing a woman who had been fired, one researcher
identified three distinct voices: a “voice of silence,” which disregarded her own experience, an
“awakened voice,” aware of her needs and the power dynamics of the office, and a “dissonant
Dilemmas in Qualitative Research, ed. Jane Ribbens and Rosalind Edwards (London: Sage,
1998), 119-146.
189
In this regard, I view feminism as a form of social enlightenment and increased awareness—
that is, a raised consciousness—and not only a political commitment to women.
79
voice,” which distinguishes between her own values and those of the company.190 This helps
researchers to record the conflicts experienced by the socially marginalized, who internalize not
only their own experience of oppression but also the dominant discourses about that oppression.
Finally, the design of VCRA enables researchers to examine issues from multiple
disciplinary viewpoints (e.g., psychological, sociological). One of the roots of VCRA is in the
field of moral development analysis. Professor of psychology Mechthild Kiegelmann agues that
VCRA’s attention to “latent meaning as well as explicitly stated content” makes it well suited to
analyze how people make decisions, and statements about taboo subjects, both aspects relevant
to this study.191
The Listening Guide prompts researchers to ask four questions: Who is speaking? In
what body? Telling what story about relationship? In what societal and cultural
frameworks?”192 I explain the content of these questions and how they applied to my research
below.
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
Feminist research has long noted that what researchers find in their data often says more
about who is doing the looking than it does about the subjects of the study. Carol Gilligan noted
that women’s low scores on moral development scales revealed the bias of the measurement
system, which valued traditionally masculine traits such as principle-based decision-making. In
190
B. Nicole Balan, “Multiple Voices and Methods: Listening to Women Who Are in
Workplace Transition,” International Journal of Qualitative Methods 4, no. 4 (December 2005):
11.
191
Mechthild Kiegelmann, “Qualitative-Psychological Research Using the Voice-Approach,”
Forum: Qualitative Social Research 1, no. 2 (June 2000): www.qualitative-research.ne t/fqstexte/2-00/2-00kiegelmann-e.htm.
192
Gilligan and Brown, Meeting at the Crossroads, 21.
80
incorporating reader-response theory, VCRA goes beyond the recognition of researcher bias.
Reader-response theory views readers as active participants in creating the meaning within a text.
As a researcher, this means that I am not simply revealing the clear or hidden meanings within
the interviews, but am an active participant in constructing the meaning and knowledge I find.
The character of the researcher is therefore a key element of any analysis. On a practical level,
this means that the women I am encountering through their interviews are not the women
themselves, in their essence, but are a co-creation between the researcher and the interview
participant. Even with the most careful analysis of the data, I cannot see who the women are,
but only who the women are to me.
VCRA’s first reading builds on literary analysis, such as form criticism. To understand what
is being said we must first know what kind of a tale is being told. In fictional terms, we might
ask, what is the genre of the story? Often the researcher gives the interview a name that evokes
the theme of the story, such as “coming into her own” or “struggling with her past.” The
interview is also read for plot, characters, themes, images, contradictions, and shifts in pronoun
use. Brown and Gilligan compare this process to being a literary critic or a psychotherapist.193
One might wish to apply the questions of the VCRA method to the research process itself;
the texts are shaped by participants’ self-awareness, willingness and ability to reflect on their
relationships and their social contexts, also by their sense of what kind of social interaction the
interview is and what might be appropriate or inappropriate. What, we might ask, are the rules
of the research genre? What is the etiquette of the thing? Do participants (or researchers), for
example, swear? Are we assuming a level and style of communication that reflects our own
attempt to appear professional as researchers?
193
Gilligan and Brown, Meeting at the Crossroads, 126, 27.
81
In What Body? Reading for Participant’s Self-Representation
The second stage of reading looks for the way participants represented themselves in the
interviews. First, the researcher lists the verbs the participant connects with the personal
pronoun “I,” and orders them chronologically to create what is termed “an I-poem.” This poem
forms a brief snapshot of the participant at that given time, and highlights themes that may not be
visible simply by reading the interview text. Gilligan claims that this analysis “brings us into
relationship” with the interview subject “ensuring that the sound of her voice enters our psyche,”
and finally that “we encounter not simply a text, but the ‘heart and mind’ of another….”194 I do
not contest the power of the written word to create intimacy, but here Gilligan has either rejected
or misunderstood the basis of reader-response theory. What we encounter here is not the other,
but rather our representation or imagination of what they are, possibly even our projection, and
that filtered through the persona of the narrator they have assumed. Following this line of
thought, I am not capturing a transparent truth about bisexuality. I am analysing what the
participants are willing to tell me, and are willing to tell themselves.
Sociologist Shona Hunter notes that VCRA assumes a “defended subject” who uses
“unconscious defence mechanisms to split off unpalatable experience which threatens their sense
of self.”195 Uncovering these splits requires attention to the use of the first person pronoun—“I”
statements—and to places where the use of such pronouns shift. A typical pronoun shift is from
first to second person, such as when Cassandra writes, “I know [first person] the relationship is
in trouble when there is disinterest in the bedroom, when you [pronoun shift] dread conversation
194
195
Gilligan and Brown, Meeting at the Crossroads, 27.
Shona Hunter, “Negotiating Professional And Social Voices in Research Principles and
Practice,” Journal of Social Work Practice 19, no. 2 (July 2005): 152. Citing Wendy Hollway,
and Tony Jefferson, Doing Qualitative Research Differently: Free Association, Narrative and
the Interview Method (London: Sage, 2000), 4.
82
due to frequent fights.…” Doucet and Mauthner claim that these shifts indicate where a
respondent is struggling to say something difficult.196 For researchers like me, without training
in psychology, it must be taken for granted that pronoun shifts do reveal such splits. My own
research into VCRA suggests that this is more of a hypothesis on the part of the developers than
an accepted fact.
Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading For Connections
The third stage examined how the participant experienced and described connections
with others. Mauthner and Doucet found that this stage revealed the “theoretical framework”
which pervaded much of the previous feminist work on their topics.197 This stage was important
to my study because I view sexual orientation as relational, not as a fixed nature or essence. This
stage of the analysis, more than any others, revealed the weak points in the structure of my
interview questions. I had assumed that their close romantic relationships would tell me the most
about participants’ sexual identity. In this regard, I underestimated the impact of intimate
friendships and peer groups.
In What Societal And Cultural Frameworks? Reading For Social Location
This last reading situates what the participants have said within “broader social, political,
cultural, and structural contexts.”198 The researcher notes the forces that the participant sees as
acting in her life, but also brings her own critical perspective to the analysis. Mauthner looked
196
Andrea Doucet and Natasha Mauthner, “Voice, Reflexivity, and Relationships in Qualitative
Data Analysis: Background Paper for Workshop on “Voice in Qualitative Data Analysis,”
(2001): www.coe.uga.edu/quig/proceedings/Quig98Proceedings/doucetmauthner.html.
197
Mauthner and Doucet, “Reflections on a Voice-Centred Relational Method,” 131.
198
Ibid., 132.
83
for ways women’s accounts replicated dominant narratives of motherhood.199 I looked for
discourses and social constructs that direct sexuality, such as compulsory monogamy. In
addition, this reading allowed for participants’ unacknowledged social identities (such as class)
to be interrogated.
199
Ibid., 133.
84
Chapter Three: Meeting Six Bisexual Women
This chapter presents the results of the Voice Centred Relational Analysis (VCRA) on
interviews with six bisexual women. It also draws out ten themes, arising from the larger
interview pool, that I see as significant for Toronto’s bisexual community.
Using VCRA, I examined the interviews as if they were literary texts, looking for story,
theme, narrative conflict, character depiction, and relationships. These elements of narrative are
the building blocks by which we construct selves and represent those selves to others. Historian
Drew Gilpin Faust writes:
We create ourselves out of the stories we tell about our lives, stories that
impose purpose and meaning on experiences that often seem random and
discontinuous. As we scrutinize our own past in the effort to explain
ourselves to ourselves, we discover - or invent - consistent motivations,
characteristic patterns, fundamental values, a sense of self. Fashioned out
of memories, our stories become our identities.200
The self that emerges through narrative is not the only possible self nor is it an inevitable sum of
life experiences. Instead, the order in which we recount those experiences matter—each incident
takes its meaning from its context in a larger story. Their order also projects a telos, that is, an
expected ending for the story. In the words of psychology professor Dan McAdams, “An
individual’s story has the power to tie together past, present and future in his or her life.”201
Each personal narrative also relates itself to our cultural depository of stories. The identity
transitions that women describe tell a story, but they also contain layers of other possible stories.
The story of a lesbian coming out as bisexual contains the expected lesbian coming out pattern,
200
Catherine Drew Gilpin Faust, “Living History: A Schoolgirl’s Letter to ‘Mr. Eisenhower’
Illuminates a Childhood in the Segregated South,” Harvard Magazine (May-June, 2003): http:
//harvardmagazine.com/2003/05/living-history.html
201
Dan McAdams, Power, Intimacy and the Life Story: Personological Inquiries Into Identity
(New York: Guilford Press, 1985), 18.
85
even as it over-writes or confounds the expected sequence of events. As McAdams explains,
“Identity transformation—identity crisis, identity change—is story revision.”202 Narratives of
polyamorous relationships are told over and against mainstream stories of linear romance—of
finding the “one true love” and achieving “happily ever after.” Each woman tells her story amid
the cacophony of constantly reiterated narratives that make up the social fabric: the myths, tales
and scripts that tell us what is socially approved, what is forbidden and what will be punished.
The successful telling of a story that veers from the expected requires not only a speaker, but also
a community of hearing—that is, listeners capable of comprehending what is being said.
Literary critic Robert Scholes observes that “Narrative is not just a sequencing...narrative is a
sequencing of something for somebody.”203 In the case of this research, the listener was an
insider to a shared bisexual community, but as I outline below, this identity as “insider” is not
entirely straightforward.
Researcher Reflexivity
Sociologists Natasha Mauthner and Andrea Doucet note that interpreting data is “a
reflexive exercise through which meanings are made rather than found.”204 Since I am an active
participant in making the meaning of these interviews an awareness of how I read is essential.
Lyn Mikel Brown, one of the developers of VCRA, describes how the researcher must document
“her interests, biases and limitations that arise from…race, class, gender and sexual orientation,
as well as to track her own feelings in response to what she hears—particularly those feelings
202
McAdams, Power, Intimacy and the Life Story, 18.
203
Robert Scholes, “Language, Narrative, and Anti-Narrative,” Critical Inquiry 7, no. 1 (Autumn
1980): 209.
204
Natasha S. Mauthner and Andrea Doucet, “Reflexive Accounts and Accounts of Reflexivity
in Qualitative Data Analysis,” Sociology 37, no. 3 (August 2003): 414.
86
that do not resonate with the speaker’s experience.”205 Consciously exploring our responses to
the text enables researchers to distinguish between our perception of the speaker and her selfrepresentation. Where relevant, I have included my response to the text in the interview analysis.
In general, I identified four issues that made some speakers difficult for me to hear.
The first of these issues was my tendency to accord political authority to women who
have previously identified as lesbian. Was this, I wondered, a leftover from my coming out
period, when I felt that lesbians held the power to grant or deny access to queer women’s
community? Was it internalized biphobia undercutting and deauthorizing my own (and others)
bisexual identity? Was it a defensive move related to critiques of bisexuality as a phase before
lesbian identity? Was I, in effect, looking to assert lesbianism as a phase of bisexuality?
Possibly all of these elements played a part. Yet those bisexual women who have previously
identified as lesbian also possessed a breadth of experience which enabled them to speak about
bisexuality in its cultural particularity, and to be specific about its areas of overlap and of
difference with lesbianism.
A second issue was my response to the dynamics of closeting. I found it difficult to be an
affirming reader when women recounted times they had closeted themselves. I have worked
hard to be visible as bisexual; I am out to my immediate and extended family, to my co-workers
and employers, and to classmates, professors and administrators at my theological school. I have
a visible queer presence online and I have been out in television and newspaper interviews in the
queer and mainstream media. I agree with gay theologian Chris Glaser who argues that “simply
being ‘out’ is a form of ministry,” and with Eugene Rogers who argues that coming out is a
205
Lyn Mikel Brown, “Standing in the Crossfire: A Response to Tavris, Gremmen, Lykes, Davis
and Contratto,” Feminism and Psychology 4 (1994): 392.
87
moral imperative, albeit one that entails certain sacrifices and risks.206 At the same time, I
recognize that being out is a freedom that is not yet accessible to all queers. It is because I feel
that being out is both necessary and dangerous that I felt conflicted about instances of relative
closeting—for none of the women interviewed can be considered completely closeted, since they
are out to themselves, to me as a researcher, and are part a bisexual community, if only online.
A third issue arose when reading interviews with mothers of young children. These
women reported having little time for themselves or their sexual relationships. Violet, mother of
a two year-old-son wrote, “since we had the kid, its all baby, baby, baby time.” Robin mentions
that she and her partner are interested in polyamory, “but right now, with kids, there just isn’t
enough time.” As a woman who has thus far chosen not to have children, I felt distanced from
women who put their children above their sexual identity, and I felt concerned about their ability
to resist heteronormative definitions of motherhood. Yet I was also aware that my response to
them was tainted by jealousy. Reading their interviews aroused my unresolved anger at
economic liabilities, such as my student loans, which I see as impediments to motherhood.
A final issue that arose had to do with participants who identified as swingers. It
occurred to me as I read Gwendolyn’s interview that the swinger-identified women were not
talking to an insider, since they saw themselves as bisexuals within swinging, rather than as
swingers within bisexual culture. Their subordination of sex with women to their heterosexual
relationships was disturbing to me. I felt that their practice expanded, rather than challenged, the
sphere of heteronormativity. Yet I wondered why I tended to view these women as victims of
heteronormativity rather than—the way they spoke about themselves—as active sexual subjects.
206
Chris Glaser, Coming Out as Sacrament, (Louisville, Kentucky: Geneva Press, 1998), 14;
Eugene F. Rogers, Jr. “The Liturgical Body,” Modern Theology 16, no. 3 (July 2000): 373.
88
I interpreted their commitment to their male partners as a commitment to heterosexuality. I
found this logic oppressive when lesbians used it against bisexuals, and I resisted making such a
leap when reading the interviews of polyamorous women in similar circumstances. I realized I
had uncritically adopted a negative view of women’s agency within swinging. At the same time,
the content of the interviews with the swinging-identified women reinforced this bias. Their
feminism was an individual, libertarian style modelled on male subjectivity. While it offered
relative freedom in their particular situations, it did not subvert male-dominated straight
hegemony. Like lesbian feminists who treated feminist and lesbian as synonymous (and
sometimes, co-terminus) I realized I had used “bisexual” as shorthand for my own type of
bisexuality—feminist, counter-cultural, and aligned with queer politics and theory.
The analysis that follows does not expose the truth of the data, as if there could be only
one correct reading, nor do I make a claim to be the least biased of readers, as if lack of bias was
possible or desirable. Instead, I claim that my interpretation is reasonable, both because my
position as an insider to bi community provides me with access to community history, language,
and traditions, and because the VCRA method enables me to record and share my findings in
ways that allow outsiders to judge their accuracy for themselves.
Meeting Six Bisexual Women
It is beyond the constraints of this chapter to present profiles of all forty participants. I
chose these six because they represented particular facets of our community. Three of them are
in polyamorous relationships and three are in monogamous relationships, closely reflecting the
split I found among the total participants. Four of these women are in primary or exclusive
relationships with men, again closely reflecting the total percentage (65% of overall
89
respondents). Fifty-five percent of the respondents had post secondary degrees, as do half of
these six women.
In addition to the similarities, there are important differences between these six and the
participants in general. Their mean age is 35, two years higher than the mean for the entire
sample. Two of the six are in primary or exclusive relationships with women (versus 25% of
overall respondents). Whereas one fourth of all bisexual women interviewed had children, only
one of these six has a child. Half of these respondents have previously identified as lesbian,
whereas this was true for only 22.5% of the total respondents.
Anonymous: The Invisible Woman
Anonymous is a forty-two-year-old art curator. She was born in London, UK. At thirtyfour she identified as a lesbian and moved to Atlanta, Georgia, to live with her American
girlfriend. The relationship lasted two years. Her next girlfriend suffered from schizophrenia
and committed suicide ten months into their relationship. At this point, she chose to date men
and relabelled her identity as bisexual. At the time of the interview, she had recently married her
heterosexual male partner and moved with him to Toronto. She identified as monogamous. I
selected her interview as one of these six because of the startling difference between how I
experienced her in the bisexual women’s community and the portrait of her interview presented
by the Voice Centred Relational Analysis.
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
While most of the respondents chose names that were transparent to their identity,
Anonymous was the exception. Although her real name was revealed by her email address, she
skipped selection of a pseudonym altogether, and I was faced with the decision to name her
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randomly or to identify her as Anonymous. It seemed unlikely that she had missed the
pseudonym question since she responded at length to the analysis of her interview in which I
noted that this question had been left blank. A thorough reading of her interview suggests that
the choice to give up her power of self-definition—the ability to name—is an overarching theme
of the interview itself.
In person, Anonymous is intelligent and witty and seemed to make friends easily. She
did not strike me as a woman in need of support, but as one who might be able to offer it to
other, less self-assured women. The VCRA presented a very different picture of Anonymous as
a woman struggling with isolation and identity. Her bisexuality is a site of conflict between
lesbian and straight identities, rather than an integrated sense of self. She wrote, “I currently
identify as bisexual,” which evokes impermanence, underlining her use of bisexuality as a
strategic identity, which performs a specific function, rather than as an ontological identity,
which is foundational to the self.
Due to the recent move, from Atlanta to Toronto, Anonymous’ interview has a large cast:
her first American girlfriend, her schizophrenic girlfriend, her male partner (who was named in
the interview but who I refer to here as C. to ensure confidentiality), her mother, father and
sister, a best friend, an old college friend now living in Vermont, a disastrous male date, a female
crush, her partner’s straight buddies, her lesbian and gay friends, and a lesbian couple living
upstairs. Despite its size, the cast fails to reduce her sense of isolation. Anonymous notes that
she only moved a year ago and does not “have many soul mates here yet.”
Her narrative has three themes: 1) changes in identity; 2) relationship trauma and
recovery; and 3) control and chaos. There is a conflict in the text between her role as a decisionmaker and her emotional self. The competing voices of rationality and passion appear
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throughout the text, where the rational self is portrayed as practical and the emotional self is
portrayed as unrealistic, and self-destructive.
In What Body? Reading for Self-Representation
This second reading examines the way participants represented themselves in the
interview. Central to this analysis is the construction of an “I-poem” by chronologically listing
the verbs paired with the pronoun “I.” Andrea Doucet describes this process as putting “the
narrator in the transcript at the center, at least for one heuristic moment.”207 The average I-poem
in my study was 94 lines long, with the shortest being 12 lines and the longest being 260. Taken
from their narrative context patterns of repeated verbs, themes, and shifts in the way participants
speak about themselves come into sharp relief. I found this method brought forward aspects of
the interviews that were obscured when read in their narrative context. In addition to
constructing and analysing the I-poem the researcher also looks for contra-punctual voices that
contradict or subvert the participant’s main narrative. These voices expressed feelings such as
internalized homophobia, misogyny, guilt, anger, uncertainty, or grief. Finally, I paid particular
attention to the use of adverbs such as “really” and to pronoun shifts, which other researchers
have associated with a participant’s unconscious defending of the her sense of self from
experiences that are threatening or difficult to integrate.208
The voice presented in Anonymous’ I-Poem is fraught with flux and change.
207
Andrea Doucet, Do Men Mother? Fathering, Care and Domestic Responsibility (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 2006), 282.
208
See for example, Shona Hunter, “Negotiating Professional and Social Voices,” 152. Other
research associates this adverb usage with social class. See Ronald Macaulay, “Extremely
Interesting, Very Interesting, Or Only Quite Interesting? Adverbs And Social Class” Journal of
Sociolinguistics 6, no. 3 (December 2002): 398-417.
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I stayed
I decided
I only learnt
I started going
I hadn’t realized
I joined
I am still
I still find
I fear
I hear women
I find myself
I fear
I was
I regarded
I was a lesbian
I dated
I was working
I was lesbian
I was seeing
I had been
I was seeing
I was interested
I also liked
I go
I can find
I find
I am
I tend to be
I am usually
I’ve had
I took
I helped
I can go
I do worry
I try to confront
I find
I find
I made
I try
I feel
I’d like to go
I developed
I think
I think
I haven’t felt
I am only finding
I am
I need
I experienced
I’ve always been
I identified
I don’t see
I feel
I did
I was
I feel
I am exiled
I don’t really hang out
I have
I have met
I would be
I used to hate
I was lesbian
I moved
I was a straight
I think I conform
I think
I don’t really feel
I feel
I must say
The recurring use of the phrase “I find” suggests a woman responding to her environment rather
than shaping it. This language is more prevalent when she discusses her emotional responses to
other women, reflecting a dissonance between her sense of self and her desires. Forming
intimate relationships with women is portrayed as something she discovers herself doing, rather
than something she actively chooses to do. Another possibility is that she may be experiencing
an internal journey of discovery in which she confronts facts of her own personality (that is, she
finds her self). Her use of the word “really” suggests she feels anxious about polyamory, gay
and lesbian space, and straight men, which reinforces the image of a woman struggling to find
her place along various axes of identity and sexual practice.
Anonymous’ poem is heavy with past tense verbs, suggesting that her history is very
much in the forefront of her mind. This is not surprising, since her present is a time of change
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(in location, identity, social circle), which results in isolation. Her verb choices are split between
thinking verbs (ex: “I realized”) and feeling verbs (ex: “I need”) reflecting the conflict in her
text between her role as a decision-maker and her emotional self whose desires threaten to
undermine her commitments. The self that Anonymous presents is weighed down with anxiety
(I worry”) and fear (“I fear”). Her attempts to control her environment are portrayed as only
partially successful (“I find that very frustrating”). In contrast, the text also has a guarded
optimism (“I can to a certain extent”) and a confidence in her ability to control chaos, abide by
her decisions and honour her commitments. This may be related to her history of surviving
through difficult circumstances.
Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading for Connection
The third stage of VCRA examines how participants experienced connections with
significant others. Mauthner and Doucet describe this stage as revealing the “theoretical
framework” behind feminist research—the importance of the relational self over the autonomous
self, which dominated pre-feminist work.209
Anonymous presents an image of conflicting, rather than integrated sexuality. She
describes herself as “married to a man but still mainly attracted to women, although enjoy sex
with my husband.” I found it difficult to read this line without imbuing it with a sense of
defensiveness. She presents her relationships with men as a cerebral decision rather than an
emotional one (“decided to give men another go”). She mentions one relationship with a man
before C., but describes it as “brief” and “disastrous.” In describing her attraction to C. she
emphasises his distinction from other men. She writes, “he didn't seem pushy, gave
209
Mauthner and Doucet, “Reflections on a Voice-Centred Relational Method,” 131.
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and continues to give me plenty of autonomy and space.” She depicts the positive attributes of
her relationship in terms of similarity (e.g., shared interests) rather than difference (e.g.,
opposites attracting), making C. almost a figure of non-masculinity.210 Her interest is in C. the
person, rather than in men in general.
She describes monogamy as “not an identity, more of a survival strategy.” This recalls
the theme of conflict between her rational and passionate selves. Her interest is not in
polyamory as such (she express no interest in seeing additional men, for example) but in
establishing strong relationships with women. She writes that she sometimes “feel[s] that I am
exiled from the experience of being with other women.” She portrays relationships with women
as particularly fulfilling or sustaining, yet feels she must exercise restraint lest she feel more than
she can control (“be falling in love with other people left, right, and centre”). The language she
uses to describe relationships with women is dominated by images of danger (“rock the
foundations of my marriage”). There is also a tendency to equate sexuality with selfishness, and
a fear that sexual needs will trump her responsibilities. In past relationships she has been the
“lifesaver” or “rescuer,” more in control than her partners have been. This contrasts with her
description of her ideal relationship, in which her partner is “not dependent on me and that I can
to a certain extent lean on them for support.” At the same time, her descriptions of previous
girlfriends (and to some extent, her mother) reflect the archetype of the “woman out of control”
which undergirds her current choices.
210
Anonymous challenged this portrayal of her relationship. “Actually,” she wrote, “C. is a
pretty guy type of guy - not especially feminine - although he does share with me a perhaps
'female' interest in the arts and literature.” She explains that C.’s “stereotypically hetero”
masculinity elicits her guilt about heterosexual privilege. It is their gender normativity that she
identifies with privilege, not the difference in their sexes.
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She describes bisexuality as a concurrent dual attraction, yet one whose expression is
dictated by personal choice (“polyamorous bisexuals act on their desires, whereas monogamous
ones don’t”). I read her negative terminology around polyamory (“popular...trend,” “antics,”
“self indulgent’) as a buffer against her own attractions to women, rather than as a measured
assessment of the polyamorous women she knows.
In What Societal and Cultural Frameworks? Reading for Social Location
This last reading situates what the participants have said within “broader social, political,
cultural, and structural contexts.”211 The researcher notes the forces that the participant sees as
acting within her own life, but also brings her own perspective to the analysis. My analysis of
Anonymous’ interview revealed several social forces at work. Uppermost are issues of survival,
practicality, and emotional safety. Her expectation of sexual egalitarianism is complicated by
her awareness of the lesbian analysis of heterosexuality, such as societal privileges. Other
discourses represented in the text include mental health, motherhood and child welfare,
monogamy, coupledom, group bonding, gendered emotional expression, masculinity, domestic
partnership, romance, self-sufficiency, security, institutional academia, and self-control.
Epilogue to Anonymous’ Interview
Anonymous stood out among the majority of the participants by responding at length to
the analysis of her interview. I had qualms about delivering on my promise to share the analysis
of the interviews with some participants. I was particularly concerned that the analysis of
Anonymous’ interview might reinforce her sense of alienation, or confront her with issues and
211
Mauthner and Doucet, “Reflections on a Voice-Centred Relational Method,” 132.
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conflicts that she lacked the support and resources to engage. I prefaced my emails with a
paragraph raising my concerns and setting the analysis in its proper context:
This analysis is not an analysis of you as a person. It is relevant only to
the words you wrote at that specific time and place. It can have been
affected by mood, situation or innumerable other factors. The voice you
use in this brief interview is not necessarily who you are all the time.
I invited the participants to reply with their own comments about my analysis, and to seek
support if they needed it. Anonymous’ email indicated that this decision was a good one. She
wrote, “I’m glad you prefaced her comments as you did. Reading this cold might have been
rather a jolt!”
I was pleased to read that things had changed for Anonymous in the four months between
her interview and the subsequent email. One significant difference was that she had started “a
very challenging job,” which opened new social horizons, and provided a sense of stability and
independence. Before work, she felt trapped in a highly inequitable position in relation to her
husband, who possessed social, financial and professional independence. “Without definable
measures of achievement,” she wrote, “I looked at myself from the outside, searching for signs
of my ‘realness.’”
Anonymous was interested in the I-poem, especially in the repetition of the phrase “I find
myself.” “It was, as you suggest,” she wrote, “a process of self-discovery…and both exciting
and scary for that.” She now sees the interview as a portrait of a former self:
I was struggling to come to terms with the lack of autonomy that I was
experiencing as a new wife/immigrant to a country that was unfamiliar to
me. Especially, perhaps, given the ‘out of control’ nature of my two major
relationships, the idea that I was in another ‘out of control’ situation
(albeit with less emotional risk) was giving me a bit of a hard time.
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Undoubtedly, an analysis of Anonymous now would produce very different results than that
done in August. In closing, Anonymous noted, “I feel that I am starting to find my feet and hit
my stride once more.” Perhaps most telling, she signed her name to the email.
Danielle: Being the Girl
Danielle is thirty-two and works as a writer at an ad agency in Toronto. She identified
her background as Metis and Scottish. At the time of the interview, she was about to marry her
heterosexual male partner with whom she had a two-year-old daughter. I chose Danielle’s
interview because her difficulty reconciling her sexuality with her identity as a mother seemed
relevant to both bisexual and lesbian mothers.
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
The plot of this interview centres on shifts in sexual identity (from straight to lesbian to
bisexual), followed by changes in perceived social responsibilities. Danielle came out as lesbian
during university, when she wrote, “I experienced my first (requited) crush on a female.”
Although she continued to date men, she felt she had discovered something essential about
herself. “I had a sense of having figured out who I ‘really was’—a lesbian. After seeking
support through community and establishing several relationships with bisexual and lesbian
women I felt that it was time to come out to my family.” Danielle now identifies this time of her
life as her “lesbian phase.”
Danielle began to question her lesbian identity when she met her current partner. “I
established for myself that I could simply (or not so simply) be bisexual.” Like anonymous,
Danielle does not yet have a well-developed bisexual identity upon which she can draw for a
sense of self. Rather, she is in a state of transition as she attempts to navigate her way through
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the powerful discourses of heteronormativity, such as family, motherhood, and femininity on the
one side, and her experience as a lesbian on the other. “I still struggle,” Danielle writes, “and
wonder how my identity fits within a monogamous heterosexual-appearing relationship. Even
now, when I experience crushes on people outside my relationship, my first thought is often
“Does this mean I’m really gay? Or does it confirm my heterosexuality?”
Her interview has a medium sized cast, split between the lesbian world of sexuality (first
female crush, a polyamorous woman) and the straight world of her family (her partner, daughter,
mother) and her male friends. Her narrative is filled with choices to be made: 1) Instinct vs.
Logic; 2) sexual interest vs. motherhood responsibilities; 3) anxiety vs. optimism. The
competing voices of sexuality and asexuality figure prominently throughout Danielle’s text.
The name for Danielle’s interview came from a statement she made about her decision to
date men after having identified as a lesbian for four years. She wrote:
I decided to begin dating men again. I can’t say it was a logical decision.
More an instinct. A soppy, half-brained notion of wanting to be treated
like “the girl” again. Be protected and coddled. And have a family.
The “logical” voice here speaks from her lesbian identity and judges her desire for a family as a
self-destructive conforming to straight gender roles. This quote stood out for me because it
encapsulates the aspect of Danielle’s interview that I found most disconcerting—the low selfimage expressed by her critical voice. Her logic has weighted her instincts and found them
deficient. I had met Danielle during what she calls her “lesbian phase,” and remembered her as
an articulate activist and passionate community builder. As a result, her self-critique was
difficult for me to hear.
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In What Body? Reading for Self-Representation
Danielle’s I-poem reveals a surprised self (“I seem to prefer” “I seem to consider” “to my
surprise”). Often these surprises have to do with relationships; she wants more out of it than she
expected, or she tolerated negative behaviour as “par for the course.” The verbs “find” and
“discover” are used to describe her attempts to establish relationships, as if they are encountered
fully scripted, rather than built and defined by those involved.
I am a 32 year old
I have a daughter
I was born
I work
I currently identify
I’ve always felt drawn
I suppose I was confused
I experienced
I continued to date
I had a sense
I “really was”
I felt that it was time
I refer to
I decided to begin dating
I can’t say
I was actively dating
I still identified
I met my current partner
I established
I could simply
I still struggle
I experience
I’m really gay?
I was dating
I could be
I wanted
I’m not
I didn’t like
I couldn’t conceive
I seem to prefer
I used to be
I am
I don’t think
I am
I could more readily admit
I have found
I find
I met
I found him
I was seeing
I remember feeling
I discovered
I felt an urge
I tried to break it off
I had decided
I wanted
I read fiction
I’m not
I do
I enjoy talking
I am prone
I put
I tend to make
I’m also thankful to have
I’ve always believed
I’ve never had
I can see
I seem to consider
I reserve
I envision
I have
I’m honestly not sure
I know
I have
I’m bisexual
I have
I would be
I share
I am not heavily involved
I sometimes attend
I feel
I want to be
I do miss
I remember
I’m older
I couldn’t keep up
I wanted to
I’m not sure
I think
I think
I introduce myself
I’ll add “monogamous”
I have to reveal
I’m monogamous
I might be
I’m only trying to be
I’m flirting
I chose monogamy
I think I probably
I may choose to be
I will still be
I like
If I choose to sleep with
I will know
I have given up
I’m bisexual
I’m not
I’m really a lesbian
I hope not to leave
If I did
I feel
I share
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I think
I don’t feel
I pretend to be
I am very focussed
I am very different
I’d supposed
I make
The present tense dominates the poem (58%), and the text is balanced between assertions (“I
am”) and negations (“I’m not), as she tries to negotiate space for her identity in discursive fields
that make her position impossible. Self-critique recurs throughout the text. Her current
relationship stems from a “soppy, half-brained notion,” she “obsessively” cleans the house, and
labels her responses as “defensiveness” or “hostility.” She describes herself as having a
“tendency to choose erratically and change my mind frequently.”
Danielle’s text contains two distinct voices when it comes to sex. The sexual voice
writes of sex as exciting, secret, and forbidden. Part of the hidden nature of sexuality is its
incompatibility with ideas of “nice” courtship. She writes, “We tell people we met on a dating
site, but to be perfectly honest, we met on a webcam site that was generally used for sexual
exchange.” Initially their relationship was only sexual, but gradually they both wanted
something different. Danielle’s sexual voice describes sex as a kind of focus of interest upon her
(“single-mindedness of his sexuality” “it was exciting to be the object of his concentration”). In
this case the interest is male but elsewhere she uses the same language about female interest.
This voice sees sex as necessary. She writes, “I’ve always believed that sex is the barometer of a
working relationship,” and part of the description of her parent’s “bad relationship” includes “no
sex for 15 years.” She describes her ideal relationship as having a “higher, sustained sexual
energy,” which would be “more intimate and open.” She mentions being disappointed with the
“deflated sexual energy” that occurred in her relationships with women. In addition, the sexual
voice judges her current relationship to be “probably undersexed.”
In conflict with this is the asexual voice, which sacrifices sexuality in order to preserve
relationship. Danielle writes, “I am very focused on my relationship and our little family, so it’s
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a simple matter to leave my own sexuality out of the equation.” This voice describes sex as a
distraction, which may cause her to lose focus. Sexuality is forbidden (“dark side of a man,”
“seedy” “shallow affair”), and socially inappropriate (“isn’t something that needs to be discussed
with your sister-in-law over dinner anyway.”) This voice notes that “we rarely discuss sex,” and
feels defensive and hostile when the subject is raised. The asexual voice describes her lesbian
identity as “fun,” “with a great social network and plans every evening,” but equates monogamy
and heterosexuality with responsibility, seeing it as “necessary to creating a solid, dependable
family structure in which to raise our child.” This voice describes itself as mainstream, calling
her practice of monogamy as “pretty standard.“
The asexual voice values her role as a mother (“I enjoy talking about my daughter “) even
while the sexual voice hints that this role has become a stumbling block to its sense of self, and
to her relationship with her partner (“monopolizes most of my conversation with my partner”).
Pronoun shifts in the text highlight the conflict between these two voices. These shifts occur
when she discusses being closeted with her partner’s family (“I am very focused…Your sexuality
isn’t something that needs to be discussed....”), and also below, in her response to being asked
the difference between a good relationship and a bad one [shifts are highlighted in italics]:
I’ve always believed that sex is the barometer of a working relationship. If
you’re having it, things are good. If not, not. Having a child and losing
interest in sex for a fair amount of time afterward really put that belief into
question.
Her use of the word “really” calls her assertion into question, as her sexual and asexual voices
undercut one another. “Really” also occurs in relation to sexual identity labels (“really was”
“really gay,” “really a lesbian”), highlighting their uncertainty and flux.
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Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading for Connection
Danielle’s identity shifts were precipitated by relationships. Her first requited crush on a
woman initiated her decision to identify as lesbian. This relational knowledge remains strong
despite being contradicted by her sexual practice. She continued to date men for “several years”
after coming out, and she began seeing her current partner while identifying as lesbian. As this
relationship increased in importance, it precipitated a new shift in identity—this time to bisexual.
Her bisexuality is not a synthesis of previous identities, but is a strategic label aimed at holding
together a disparate past and present. As long as the “truth” about her sexuality is connected
with the sex of her partner (or potential partners) her identity remains unfixed, a situation she
experiences as confusing and undermining of her security.
Danielle’s monogamous identity has remained constant. Her sexual voice equates
exclusiveness with intensity (“one-to one focus”), and connects it with images of eternal love
(“partnering for life and all that.”) She first encountered polyamory in her mid twenties when a
girlfriend suggested Danielle could be her primary partner. Danielle writes, “It didn’t seem like
something I wanted. I’m not a jealous person, but I didn’t like the idea of losing her focus at any
time. I couldn’t conceive of a primary/secondary model that would ensure the total
interdependence I seem to prefer in a relationship.” For Danielle, practice tells the real story of
any relationship. Supporting this view is her description of her parent’s unhappy marriage,
where connection was a performance for others (“pretending to be friendly”) at odds with reality
represented by their behaviour (“cheating” and “sleeping in different beds.”)
Discussing polyamory also stirs up Danielle’s conflicting attitudes about sexuality. Early
in the interview she recalls how she used to be “actively against the idea,” but is “laid back” and
“tolerant” of it now, although it is not for her. She even allows the possibility that “down the
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road perhaps,” it might be “enjoyable…to have more than one sexual/emotional bond.” Toward
the end of the interview, the danger and excitement that was evident in the text when she spoke
of how she met her partner shifts in the present and future to become a threat of relationship loss.
She describes how she has to come out as monogamous “as a precaution against” people
interpreting her friendliness as sexual relationship seeking. She then adds, almost as an
afterthought, “[o]r as a way of reminding myself that I’m flirting with danger.” Two paragraphs
later she writes, “[i]f I choose to sleep with someone other than my partner, I will know in my
heart that I have given up on my relationship.” The danger associated with polyamory is an
emotional one (loss of focus, loss of commitment) rather than a physical one (sexual
competition, body image). This sense of danger being rooted in emotional, rather than strictly
sexual infidelity, is further supported by the fact that she and her partner have had a threesome,
and remain theoretically open to the possibility in the future (“vague openness to” “we might
have another in the future, but it would be selected very carefully”). She subsumes sexual
threesomes within a definition of monogamy rather than polyamory in that they do not threaten
(and from the sexual voice’s perspective, may strengthen) her primary relationship.
In What Societal and Cultural Frameworks? Reading for Social Location
Danielle’s interview revealed several social forces at work; uppermost are gender roles
(“wanting to be treated like “the girl””), motherhood and marriage. The expectations as to what
these entail are heavily determined by middle-class values such as “clean” living, hard work, and
self-control. Pleasure is viewed as an illegitimate goal, and the desire for sex is seen as selfish.
Wanting to be “the girl” also evokes the image of women as eternally infantilized, never
maturing into autonomous individuals, but remaining someone’s girl, entitled to be “protected
and coddled.” This is the move desired by her “instinct,” but decried by her critical voice. To an
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extent, the critical voice is correct in that the promise of eternally postponing adulthood through
heterosexuality is a false one. As Betty Friedan observed in The Feminine Mystique, the
expectations placed upon the housewife and mother aim to keep her too busy to pursue selfrealization through other avenues.212 Danielle explains, “Most of our time together is spent
parenting now. After our daughter goes to bed we usually watch television or sit in the yard and
talk. About once a month we go out together on a ‘date’.” Yet the critical voice in Danielle’s
text is not simply to be equated with her feminist self. Its criticism is applied also to attempts
toward sexual fulfilment, and independent decision-making.
Danielle equates monogamy and heterosexuality with adulthood. “I do miss my former
lesbian lifestyle quite a bit,” she admits, “I remember that period as being fun with a great social
network and plans every evening. But the fact is, I’m older now. I couldn’t keep up with that
kind of social calendar if I wanted to.” Does Danielle really believe that the lesbian community
ends at age 28? Her use of the term “lifestyle,” generally considered pejorative in queer culture,
suggests that the heterosexual worldview of lesbian community is beginning to redefine her
lesbian memories.
Danielle’s bisexual identity is less visible than her previous lesbian identity, both because
of how people misinterpret her (“assumption; we’re both hetero”), and as a result of her own
self-censoring or masking (“I pretend to be one [heterosexual] regularly”). She senses that some
people might dismiss her relationship as “boring hetero stuff” while others might think it
“complex and weird.” She describes bisexuals as “most accepting” of her sexual identity history
and monogamous relationship structure. Despite this, she remains at a distance, noting that she
doesn’t go to BiWOT regularly, but feels “as involved as I want to be right now.” This arms-
212
Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique (New York: Dell Publishing, 1963), 224-246.
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length relationship may be necessary if she is to achieve the emotional distance necessary to
protect her monogamous heteronormative relationship. By isolating herself from bi community
(even if it is experienced as “accepting”) she prevents herself from returning to a life that she
admits she misses “quite a bit.”
The conflict between voices in her interview (the mother versus the lover) was echoed
among other women with children in my study and may be the result of internalizing cultural
images that view mothers as desexualized. As professor of philosophy and lesbian activist
Bonnie Mann writes, “If the price of entering motherhood is lesbian difference, then what is lost
is an undivided, if marginalized, life.”213 Danielle’s unstable sexual identity seems to be the
price she pays for her stable identity as a “good” mother, who sacrifices her sexuality for
security.
Modholly: It Seemed A Lot Easier When I Was Younger.
Modholly is 35 years old, and works as a production manager for a marketing and public
relations agency. She grew up in Sarnia and left home at 18 to attend university. She now lives
in Parkdale with her girlfriend and their five cats.214 Her relationship is monogamous, but she
sometimes thinks she would prefer a polyamorous one. I chose Modholly’s interview because
she was in a monogamous relationship with a woman and because I felt her interview was a good
expression of her struggle with the choice between monogamous and polyamorous relationships.
213
Bonnie Mann, “The Lesbian June Cleaver: Heterosexism and Lesbian Mothering,” Hypatia
22, no. 1 (2007) 160.
214
Sarnia is a small city (pop. 70,000) on the south shore of Lake Huron. Parkdale is a
neighbourhood in Toronto, located between Roncesvalles Avenue and Dufferin Street (west to
east), and the waterfront and Fermanagh Avenue (south to north).
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Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
After a series of polyamorous relationships in her teens and twenties, Modholly is now in
a three-year monogamous relationship. Her girlfriend also identifies as bisexual and works as a
production manager. Modholly writes, “you can imagine the to-do checklists and calendars in
our home.” The title of Modholly’s interview comes from a passage in which she summed up a
key shift in her outlook on polyamory and monogamy: “It seemed a lot easier when I was
younger. I mostly had sex with my friends, and there were few rules or commitments. Now that
I'm older it seems like there's more to lose, more people to please, and fewer hours in the day.”
Modholly’s interview is linear, with three acts distinguished by important transitions in
her life. Act one begins at 17 with her realization that her “fascination with certain funky, artsy
women was unusual.” This coming out to herself is complicated by difficulty in naming her
identity. “I knew I wasn’t lesbian,” she writes, “because I’d always been interested in guys but I
thought that bisexual people liked men and women exactly equally so I didn’t think I was
bisexual.” This realization of sexual difference is followed by efforts to achieve independence.
She writes, “I escaped when I was 18 and went to university, then college so I could get a job.”
This act of her narrative ends at age 23, when she uses the internet for the first time, discovers
the soc.bi newsgroup, and reads their Frequently Asked Questions.215 This connection with other
bisexuals and an awareness of definitions of bisexuality other than 50-50 attraction enables
Modholly to name her sexuality.
Act two covers the period in her 20s when she was having non-monogamous
relationships with men and women. Like one quarter of the participants, her practice of
215
Soc.bi is an online discussion forum on bisexuality that started in 1991. It is housed on
usenet, a computer discussion network created in 1979 by students at Duke University. The
soc.bi FAQ to which Modholly refers is at www.serf.org/jon/soc.bi/faq/a.html.
107
polyamory predated her knowledge of its terminology and community. By the time she heard of
polyamory Modholly had already been practicing it for several years in what she called “an
undefined sort of way.” She reports meeting women online and through BiWOT. Joining
BiWOT introduced her to a system of terminology for polyamorous relationships, and to other
poly-identified women. “Before BiWOT,” she writes, “I never really thought that what I was
doing was called something.”
The third act of Modholly’s interview begins at age 32, and is filled with transitions: She
divorces her husband and moves in with her current girlfriend. She comes out to her family and
to co-workers at her new job. It is from this post-transition stance that the interview occurs, and
retrospection and nostalgia is a recurring theme of the text. Other themes in Modholly’s
interview include: shifts in priorities (indicated by terms such as “serious”); negotiating social
expectations; and balancing loss of control with issues of practicality and responsibility.
Modholly’s cast is relatively large, and includes her bisexual girlfriend, both their sets of
parents, their friends from before their relationship, her younger brother, former husband, former
boyfriend, former girlfriend, her psychotherapist, straight coupled friends and her best friend.
There are also groups that function as characters in the text, including “funky, artsy women” (to
whom she is attracted) “several women at BiWOT,” men (who are presented as straight), and a
group simply described as “people” who represent social expectations.
In What Body? Reading for Self-Representation
Modholly’s I-poem is split between the past and the present (54 and 53 verbs,
respectively) with little emphasis on the future (only 2 verbs). This is not surprising since the
contrast of the past with the present is such a strong theme in her text. A second theme in her Ipoem is the split between knowing and not knowing. Those portions of her poem that speak
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about her younger years are permeated with both knowing (I realized, I knew, I recognized) and
not knowing (I didn’t think, I didn’t really know, I never really thought). Although her I-poem
has a relatively balanced number of thinking and feeling verbs (20 and 19 respectively), her
thinking verbs occur throughout the text while her feeling verbs are almost entirely in the second
half of her interview, emerging chronologically after she had met her current girlfriend.
I'm 35 years old
I work as a Production
Manager
I schedule and create
I grew up in Sarnia
I escaped
I was 18
I could get a job.
I identify as a bisexual
I started to think
I realized it was attraction.
I knew I wasn't lesbian
I'd always been interested
I thought that bisexual
I didn't think I was
I didn't really know
I was 23
I used the Internet
I found the soc.bi
I recognized myself
I didn't come out to my
I was 32,
I was divorcing
I came out at work
I started a new job
I first heard the
I'd been practicing
I met
I slept together
I both came out as bisexual
I never really thought
I was doing
I was younger.
I mostly had sex
I'm older
I tried to have
I think of polyamory
I tended to have
I became more serious
I got older.
I started to meet women
I got married to a man,
I sought only women
I met my current girlfriend.
I met online
I was married
I pointed it out
I was very strongly
I feel totally at ease,
I don't censor
I say,
I can grow and change
I feel like
I am
I feel like
I'm trying too hard
I start to wonder
I'm good enough
I don't do things
I really want to do,
I get resentful.
I think
I also have
I also see a psychotherapist
I end up talking
I'm on the BiWOT mailing
I don't go to meetings.
I found that
I got tired of
I also felt like
I'd be
I just want
I think we share
I go to queer events
I'd like to have
I think
I think
I feel that
I could love more
I've never had
I think
I've only been asked
I absolutely choose
I think
I think it's easier
I'm monogamous,
I sometimes miss
I rarely miss
I don't think
I like having
I like not
I don't like not having sex
I've never had
I feel like
I often encounter
I'm not totally
I'm right-handed (I'm not).
I'm uncomfortable
I'm lesbian.
I have to.
I don't feel a part
I'm not sure there is one.
I think we differ
I think monogamy
I think my experience
I enjoy not having
I think the biggest
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Two voices are active in Modholly’s interview. The first is a voice of nostalgia, which
portrays her younger self as a woman who takes action to reach her goals—leaving Sarnia,
attending university and then college and exploring her sexuality. Coming out as bisexual is
likewise a problem to be solved, as indicated by her verb use (“I realized it was attraction” “I
knew I wasn't lesbian”). She is an active agent of self-discovery who seeks solutions rather than
waiting for them to be revealed. She acknowledges her confusion “(I didn't think I was” “I didn't
really know”) and takes steps to address it (“I used the Internet…“I found the soc.bi newsgroup,”
“I recognized myself…come out to my friends as bisexual”).
The second voice is a voice of responsibility that sees her actions as having the potential
to hurt herself and others (“exhausting and painful” “someone will get hurt”). This voice
portrays her younger self as lacking in knowledge (“I didn't really know“ “I never really
thought”) including self-knowledge (“I didn't think I was”), and as acting before reflecting (“I
mostly had sex“). This voice portrays the shift from younger to older self as an intellectual shift
(“I started to think,” “I realized”) and a shift in priorities (“I became more serious”). This voice
expresses a responsibility to others, but it also evidences a sense of responsibility in terms of
guilt, for failing to foresee and prevent emotional pain. The latest of her transitions (“I was
divorcing”) comes with a sense of failure that her younger self had not yet known (“I tried to
have” “it didn’t work” “started to deteriorate”). The awareness that the effects of her actions
cannot always be predicted, coupled with her new awareness of the trauma that can result from
broken relationships, makes her hesitant to risk changing her relationship with her female
partner.
110
These two voices, nostalgia and responsibility, are demarcated by her shift from a
polyamorous dating structure to a monogamous one. The nostalgic voice presents her earlier
sexual experiences as carefree:
a close female friend…and I slept together occasionally over many
years… A boyfriend and I both came out as bisexual to each other, and
then agreed that we could sleep with whomever we liked. We were often
involved in group sex together, and sometimes had sex with other people
on our own.
Since her sexual practice predates her awareness of the term “polyamory,” it is unencumbered by
this community’s norms and expectations. The voice of responsibility does not challenge the
ease of these relationships but excludes polyamory as a practical option in her present
circumstances. “These days,” she writes, “I think of polyamory as being similar to communism:
looks great on paper and doesn’t work well in practice.”
Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading for Connection
Although the voice of responsibility speaks almost entirely as a rational voice, the
emergence and predomination of feeling verbs in the second half of the interview points to
affective knowledge as a key difference between the nostalgic voice and the rational one.
Modholly’s descriptions of her early relationships are primarily sexual. She slept with a close
female friend but was unable to have a relationship because they lived in different cities. She
negotiates an open relationship with a boyfriend that is described entirely in sexual terms (who
they sleep with). The passages contain no feeling verbs and no mention is made of the need to
include emotional guidelines in their negotiation. She writes that she became more “serious”
about her relationships with women as she got older. “In the early years, I tended to have serious
boyfriends and have only affectionate, sometimes-sexual relationships with women.” She
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continued to date women during her marriage but writes, “I sought only women who didn't want
to be my primary partner.”
These early relationships contrast sharply with her current relationship. She recalls how
she met her current girlfriend on Nerve.com, an online magazine, and they emailed for a month
before meeting, intending to become friends. It is at this point that emotional verbs begin to
appear in the text. This emotional connection acts as a type of knowledge for Modholly,
signalling this relationship as different. She writes, “It was clear on meeting #1 that this was
going to be much more than a friendship. I was very strongly attracted to her physically, she was
super-smart, funny, and we stayed up until 4 am on our first ‘not date.’” They now celebrate this
date, which Modholly describes as “the start of it all,” as their anniversary.
Initially Modholly attempts to incorporate this relationship into her existing marriage.
She writes, “My former husband, current girlfriend and I tried to have a three-person relationship
and it didn’t work. It was extremely exhausting and painful for everyone.” Eventually she
divorces, moves in with her girlfriend, and comes out to her family and co-workers as bisexual.
The order of these transitions is significant. While she mentions coming out to friends as
bisexual at 23, simply being bisexual was not sufficient to prompt a comprehensive coming out.
The importance of the relationship with her girlfriend—and the verbs suggest, the intensity of the
emotional connection—prompts her announcement of a public bisexual identity.
When Modholly begins to write about meeting her current girlfriend, the usual way she
portrays herself (as a rational thinker making practical decision) begins to be undercut. Their
dating is portrayed as simply happening, rather than as the result of decisions she makes. Her
rules about her relationships with women “went out the window.” Her attempt to put boundaries
around her feelings (by proclaiming their first outing to not be a date, for example) is so
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unsuccessful that it is humorous to her in retrospect. Given the significance of the relationship I
find it curious that her female partner remains unnamed throughout the interview.
Modholly and her girlfriend live together and work only two buildings apart. She writes,
“we go to work together, sometimes meet for lunch, and sometimes go home together.” They
enjoy a number of shared activities (“ride our bikes, eat out, play Scrabble, watch bad TV, see
live music, go camping….”) Modholly reports a level of communication that is stereotypically
feminine. She writes, “We talk a lot and very quickly. We talk about a lot of subjects and never
seem to run out of things to say.“ Arguments are rare, she observes, because “We share a similar
aesthetic and similar value.” Disagreements are attributed to forces such as “hunger, tiredness,
or misunderstanding,” and solved by separate reflection (“to cool down”) that enables rational
discussion (“talk until we have some kind of resolution that we can both live with.”)
Modholly identifies her relationship, but not herself as monogamous. She notes, “It's not
an identity for me. I feel that I could love more than one person at the same time, but that
logistics make it totally impractical.” She points to her “bad experience” (the failed triad) as “a
major factor” in her choice of monogamy. The relationship pattern in Modholly’s interview is a
common one, according to a recent long-term study of bisexual women. Lisa Diamond notes
that women in their teens and 20s “tended to be involved in multiple successive relationships,
and their ratio of same-sex to other-sex sexual contact tended to parallel their attractions.” Ten
years later, Diamond notes that 85% of these same women were in monogamous relationships.216
Her overarching theme, “it seemed easier when I was younger,” represents a longing for
control that is incompatible with the intensity and unpredictability of her emotional life. Simply
put, it “seemed easier” when she was younger because these relationships are portrayed as
216
Diamond, “Female Bisexuality From Adolescence To Adulthood,” 13.
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physical rather than emotional. This becomes clearer when she speaks of “my desire to
occasionally have no-strings-attached sex with a guy together.” The “strings” of emotional
attachment are absent in this proposed encounter. Furthermore, her interest in sharing the
experience with her girlfriend defines it as an activity that does not threaten the relationship, in
the same category as playing Scrabble or riding bicycles. It is the presence or threat of emotional
significance, its unpredictability, and her sense of emotions as out of her control that makes
practices such as polyamory seem difficult in her present situation.
In What Societal and Cultural Frameworks? Reading for Social Location
For women in a relationship together, the cultural framework of lesbianism is significant,
regardless of how they label their sexuality. Modholly and her girlfriend both identify as
bisexual, but she notes, “[p]eople often assume we're lesbian. We correct them only if we're
going to be spending lots of time with them.” As with her coming out at work and family, its
necessity is dictated by the significance of the relationship.
Modholly associates mainstream heterosexuality with strict gender roles, and enjoys the
lack of these expectations in her own relationship (“we both cook, we both use a hammer”). She
reports that men treat them either as “sexual fantasy objects” or as asexual or masculinized
“buddies” and admits manipulating these attitudes (“play on those assumptions”) to manoeuvre
through heterosexual space. The paragraph in which she explains doing so includes a pronoun
shift (“not that we seek out chances to manipulate others, or do anything heinous, but sometimes
it feels vindicating to use your sexuality for power”), suggesting that she feels anxious about
reporting this behaviour.
Modholly’s description of her relationship (“go to work together…meet for lunch…go
home together.”) invites comparisons with “lesbian symbiosis,” characterized by a blurring of
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the boundaries between self and other. Psychologist Susan MacKenzie argues that this dynamic
is not a barrier to women’s identity development, and “strengthens the couple's boundaries
against a culture that constantly challenges the notion of a lesbian couple unit.”217 A certain
emphasis on similarity may undoubtedly strengthen relationships that have low social
recognition and support (or even face hostility). Aspects of Modholly’s relationship that speak
against the symbiotic label including their pursuit of individual activities (“practice guitar
separately,” “go alone to movies that the other one doesn’t want to see,”) and their maintenance
of friendships that pre-date the relationship.
If Modholly and her girlfriend were an other-sex couple they might be described as close
to exploring swinging, given her desire for “no strings-attached” encounters.218 Yet without the
social support of compulsory heterosexuality reinforcing the primary couple’s status it is more
difficult for female couples to view an occasional male sexual partner as unthreatening. This
social explanation is not pursued by Modholly. Instead, she turns to another social issue, body
image, as a way of explaining her girlfriend’s hesitance. Modholly asserts that her girlfriend is
interested in casual sex with men (“she wants to do it too,”) but that her “negative feelings about
her [own] body” are a factor preventing her from participating. This reason is mentioned twice;
the second time her girlfriend is described as feeling “self-conscious about her body.” This
portrait of her girlfriend as body anxious is reinforced by her mention that one of the activities
they do separately is shopping for clothes, which she describes as “too stressful” to do together.
217
Susan MacKenzie, “Merger in Lesbian Relationships,” Women and Therapy 12, no. 1-2,
(1992): 157.
218
Here I encounter the dilemma caused by my use of the term polyamory to refer to any
consensual non-monogamous relationship, and definitions of polyamory as multiple emotional
(as well as sexual) relationships. In practice, multiple definitions of polyamory exist
simultaneously in both bisexual and polyamorous spaces.
115
Although her girlfriend may be body anxious, the focus on this feature as a barrier to sexual
fulfilment reflects a personal and privatizing (rather than social or political) lens.
Several lines in the interview suggest that Modholly feels that she is answerable to others
for her choices and feelings, and is struggling to resist this feeling. As a monogamous person,
she likes “not having to justify my choice of relationship structure to others.” She attributes her
dislike of being misidentified as a lesbian in part to feeling that she has “to do too much
explaining” to correct the assumption. The sense that she may be held accountable to others is
related to expectations of social pressure (e.g., parents who pressure straight couples to have
children), some of which she escapes by virtue of being in a relationship with a woman (“less
parental pressure,” “not having strict gender roles”).
Modholly’s experience of bisexual community has been mixed. She reports attending
queer events and queer nights at bars, and being on the BiWOT email list, but she no longer
attends BiWOT meetings. She writes, “I found that I got tired of talking about bisexuality as a
topic.” In addition, Modholly feels marginal within bi culture, where she feels “there are fewer
monogamous…people” and even fewer “female-female monogamous bi couples.” Although she
feels a commonality with other bisexuals (“I think we share a similar way of looking at life”) and
expresses a desire to connect, she wants to limit the kinds of demands that such friendships
might make upon her. She writes, “I'd like to have bisexual friends to hang out with who aren't
newly discovering themselves or wanting to date.” The desire to avoid sexual demands emerges
twice in her discussion of BiWOT. She reports feeling like “several women in BIWOT were in a
little sexual clique and assumed that I'd be interesting in flirting with them.” These issues are a
challenge for BiWOT organizers, who must begin to question their traditional reliance upon the
discussion/support group format, which is useful for women whose bisexual identity is just
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emerging, but which may be experienced as a burden for women with an established bisexual
identity.219
Dianna: Open and Looking
Dianna is a forty-one year old bisexual activist and community organizer. She is working
as a career counsellor but wants to transition to being a relationship therapist. Dianna identifies
as polyamorous but at the time of the interview she had only one partner, a woman with whom
she had celebrated a handfasting (Wiccan commitment ceremony). I met Dianna when she
joined BiWOT in May of 1999 and she has been a friend since. I selected her interview because
of the breadth of her experience and the depth of her self-reflection.
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
I named this interview “Open and Looking,” because it reflected Dianna’s approach to
relationships and community. She is open about her life (“I’m out to most people”), open to
learning (“I like what the conflicts in polyamorous relationships teach me…the lessons I learn,”)
and open to change (in her job, identity, group involvement, and understanding). Dianna is also
looking for communities where she is accepted (“I prefer to just be in spaces that don’t have
built-in assumptions,”) for visibility as a bisexual, and for relationships that meet her needs (“I
like having choices and variety in whom I date, have sex with, engage in relationships with”).
Dianna’s interview stands out in that it has a particularly small cast: herself, her former
husband and her current wife. All the other characters in the interview are associated with her
wife rather than with herself (ex: wife’s former male partner, wife’s family, wife’s other partner),
and are mentioned only in passing. One possible explanation for this small cast is that Dianna is
219
For more on BiWOT as a sexualized space see Robinson, “Becoming Who We Are.”
117
socially isolated. Comparing herself to her wife, Dianna writes, “I spend a lot more time alone
than she does.” Yet this possibility is contradicted by her involvement with a number of social
groups and by statements such as “I have wonderful friends who are very supportive. I know
many of them from the bi and kink communities or through Livejournal.” A more likely option is
that the interview simply has a different focus; it is telling the story of her internal journey rather
than charting her relationships.
Dianna’s interview has two central themes. The first theme is shifts in identity such as
her decision to identify as bisexual, then as polyamorous. Dianna also identifies as kinky, which
places her as a member of the BDSM and fetish community, and as a bi-dyke, a term which
“encapsulates both bisexuality and queer politics.”220 These identities are social as well as
sexual in that they entail not only seeking individual sexual partners, but also seeking community
by attending support and discussion groups, and socials. Her interview reveals that her
community commitments are shifting. She has taken a step back from bisexual community
organizing (“I used to be far more involved in organizing the local bi community than I am
now,” “[I] am not involved in organizing social or educational events as I was for over 5 years”).
Dianna continues to attend BiWOT but spends less time in mixed-gender space such as TBN (“I
don’t attend the mixed events as often”). This could be interpreted as a prioritizing of womenonly space over mixed-sex/gender space, as the sex of her partner makes such spaces more
welcoming and affirming, versus mixed-gender space where the devaluation of relationships
220
BDSM stands for bondage, discipline and/or dominance, submission and/or sadism and
masochism. The use of bi-dyke to signal a queer politicized bi identity has been notes in several
works. See particularly Amber Ault, “Ambiguous Identity in and Unambiguous Sex/Gender
Structure: The Case of Bisexual Women,” in Bisexuality: A Critical Reader, ed. Merl Storr,
London: Routledge, 1999), 176. Ault argues that these hyphenated identities “reinforce the
power of lesbian discourse to define bisexuals as marginal to lesbian communities.”
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between women is still an issue.221 She has also increased her commitment to kink events (“my
attention is now more focussed on kink community”) but does not mention if these events are
mixed gender or women-only (both are available in Toronto).
A second theme is her resistance to group norms. Dianna names and resists pressure to
conform to various heteronormative models (“I have rejected the ideas of the society at large and
have chosen my own way”). She resists similar pressure to conform in polyamorous contexts (“I
don’t like other people trying to tell me whether or not I’m ‘Poly enough’ or doing poly right”)
and in gay and lesbian space (“ I didn’t want to lie about my bisexuality,” “I’ve experienced
biphobia in gay/les spaces”).
In What Body? Reading for Self-Representation
Dianna’s interview is both retrospective and contemporary; her I-poem consists almost
entirely of past tense and present tense verbs (44 and 64 respectively). The sense that Dianna is
looking for something (community, direction, ideal relationship) is emphasised by the lack of
future tense verbs in her interview. As yet, she has no set future. This theme of searching is
echoed by verbs such as look, sought and found (which occur six times).
221
As is the case for many groups in Toronto, “women-only” is trans-inclusive.
119
I’m a 42 year old woman
I identify as a bi-dyke
I like that
I realized that
I identified it
I was aware
I identify
I have been married
I didn’t know
I do is called
I started to
I used to cheat
I’m open about
I’m involved
I’m more knowledgeable
I feel better able
I discovered
I was bisexual
I was very enthusiastic
I actively sought
I met
I didn’t want to lie
I didn’t want them
I was a long-term
I knew that
I was looking
I was looking
I found either one
I was partnered
I was looking
I was open
I met my partner
I was invited
I mentioned
I’m a bi switch
I was attracted
I spend a lot more time
I know what it’s
I get hurt too badly
I’m able to work through
I celebrate
I have except
I have wonderful friends
I know many of them
I used to be far
I am now
I’ve been part of BiWOT
I don’t attend the mixed
I was for over 5 years
I do believe we have
I think we have
I view polyamory
I define my relationships
I’m out to most
I feel it’s not useful
I don’t know well
I generally prefer
I am
I’m out to
I have consciously chosen
I just felt it
I was able to do so
I have not been
I believe they’re
I often feel
I have both
I have spent
I feel that
I don’t like that
I like that
I’m not limited
I like having choices
I date
I like what the
I’m not all
I learn
I don’t like
I’m “poly enough”
I’ve experienced
I’ve often heard
I’ve just not realized
I’m a lesbian yet
I’ve had lesbians tell
I might leave them
I’m interested
I’ve been told
I’m bisexual
I’m less accepted
I’m comfortable
I have more than
I’m monogamous
I specify so
I’ve had people
I’ve had people
I’m a lesbian when
I’m straight when
I’ve had people
I’ve had it assumed
I’ve been to a
I’ve been to the social
I prefer to just
I find bi spaces
I have rejected
I’m very vocal
I feel many people
I think my own
I think it’s
I think they are
Dianna presents herself as a knowledgeable woman (thinking and knowing each appear
four times) who is constantly analyzing, identifying and discovering (“I know,” “I realized,” “I
identified it clearly,” “I was aware”). This knowledge includes self-knowledge, as Dianna is
aware of her feelings (“I feel,” “I like,” “I don’t like”) and able to act on them by pursuing or
120
ending relationships, and attending or not attending groups. Her sense of herself as informed
enables her to control her relationships and improve their functionality (“[n]ow that I’m more
knowledgeable about it I feel better able to make it work overall.”)
Coming out as bisexual is not a story for Dianna. She relates no early crushes or periods
of identity exploration. Instead, her bisexuality emerges out of a shift in perspective that is
mental rather than relational. She reports initially mislabelling her attraction to women as
admiration. Once she corrects this misidentification (“discovered I was bisexual”) she assumes a
bisexual identity unproblematically (“adopted it immediately” “a good fit for my attractions”).
No explanation is given as to what caused this realization. For Dianna, identifying as bisexual
predated sexual experience with women. She reports seeking female sexual partners (“actively
sought” “very enthusiastic”) but felt rebuffed by lesbians, who were “were closed to the idea of
sex with a person identifying as bisexual.” Unwilling to change or hide her identity (“I didn’t
want to lie,”) she resigned herself to waiting for the right female partner (“it took a long time”)
and continuing her search while she was partnered with a man. Like Modholly, she notes that
her motivation in seeking female partners has changed over time. “I was looking for a sexual
experience at first but eventually I was looking for a partner.”
Also like Modholly, Dianna’s practice of polyamory predates her adoption of a
polyamorous identity. She writes, “I didn’t know that what I do is called polyamory when I
started to participate in it.” Unlike her view of herself as bisexual, which is a quality she
“discovered” herself to possess, Dianna feels she has “consciously chosen to be polyamorous,”
although she reflects that she used to think of it as a given (“the natural way for me to be.”) She
rejects the stigma ascribed to multiple relationships, instead prioritizing truth-telling as a
measure of ethical value. “I used to cheat,” she acknowledges, “but now I’m open about all
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relationships in which I’m involved.” Later, she reports feeling unconflicted about polyamory
“[o]nce I was able to do so ethically.”
Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading for Connection
In keeping with her theme of openness, Dianna met her partner while appearing on a
television show.
I met my partner when her (male) partner of the time was on a panel
discussion on a television show that I was invited to participate in as well.
She had come as company for him. I mentioned through the course of the
discussion that I’m a bi switch.222 She was off-camera and
enthusiastically bounced in her seat, raised her hand and said, “Me too!”
We made eye contact and exchanged phone numbers after the show based
on that simple information and the fact that I was attracted to her. It took
a while for us to start dating but we clicked very quickly.
Dianna’s increased interest in kink community is partly because of her ability to share this
interest with her partner. She writes, “[w]e spend a lot of time going to kink events, attending
parties with members of the kink and bi communities….” Although BDSM is associated in the
popular mind with dominance and submission, Dianna views her relationships as based on
equality. “Any relationship where there is a major power differential won’t work for me,” she
writes.
Women’s relationships are often devalued, particularly if one of the women also has a
male partner, and Dianna’s emphasis on being visible with her partner may be an attempt to
counter this de-legitimation. They celebrate the anniversary of their first meeting and that of
their handfasting, both events in which their relationship was in the public eye. Her description
of their celebrations has a bourgeois domesticity to it: “we have a nice supper and spend the
222
A switch is a person who enjoys both the top or dominant role and the bottom or submissive
role in BDSM. A bi switch is additionally versatile in that they could assume these roles with
either a male or a female partner.
122
evening together.” Their authenticity as a couple is bolstered by the activities they share (“going
to cultural events, shopping in antique stores, tooling around the countryside”), each of which
involves being seen to be together.
Dianna assesses her relationships in terms of functionality and compatibility. She notes,
“my ideal relationship would be very similar to the one I have except that we’d be compatible for
living together, which we are not.” This statement reflects both her openness about the practical
problems of living together, and a sense that she is open to finding a more ideal or compatible
partner in the future. Rather than attempting to change her needs or her partner, she accepts this
incompatibility, but does not let it taint the ways in which their relationship does work.
Dianna describes her relationship as having good communication. “We talk about just
about everything,” she writes. Their skilful communication may be necessary given the
limitations on their time together (“[s]he spends a lot of time working, taking care of her family,
and with her other partner.”) Dianna writes that “people think we’re cute together but drive each
other crazy, which is quite right :P” There is a playfulness present (particularly in the use of the
emoticon) but this playfulness serves to cover what might be significant differences. Dianna
sometimes has her therapist hat on when it comes to examining her relationship. She describes
arguments as indicative of differences in “values or styles,” requiring communication and
negotiation. When faced with a conflict she and her partner “discuss things and come to an
agreement,” even if only temporarily. “As long as I’m able to work through a problem,” Dianna
writes, “it’s possible to keep the relationship going.” This language underscores a shadow that
passes through Dianna’s text—the image of herself as the partner who is seeking relationship
(rather than being sought) and as the one who must “make” things work. In terms of her present
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relationship, Dianna might need to ask herself whether her needs are being met; in short, whether
being “cute together” is worth driving one another crazy.
Another significant presence is the image of failed relationships. She writes, “any
relationship that involves dishonesty or deception will go badly and must be ended before I get
hurt too badly.” If communication is poor, difficult, or “useless (because of lies)” she must
decide if the “the opportunity cost of the relationship is too high.” She may be writing with a
specific past relationship in mind, or she may be slowly processing deficiencies in her present
relationship. Either way, the reiteration against lying is significant, since it undercuts the
openness and honesty that makes polyamory possible. Lying is a threat to her ability to enact her
sexual identity, rather than simply a character fault or a barrier to communication.
In What Societal and Cultural Frameworks? Reading for Social Location
Dianna examines social pressures from a feminist perspective, and this analysis forms the
basis by which she rejects heterosexual norms. “I’m very vocal about women’s sexual freedom,”
she writes, “because I feel many people have been hurt by having to suppress their own desires
to meet the societal expectations.” She counts compulsory monogamy among these expectations
arguing that “wanting more than one sexual partner” conflicts with a woman’s expected role as
“dedicated wife/mother” and is therefore labelled as “selfish and slutty.” She likewise notes the
double standard by which “it’s accepted for men to be promiscuous but not for women.”
Polyamory makes Dianna’s bisexuality visible to others. “I often feel more at peace
when I have both a woman and a man in my life,” she writes. “I have spent long periods of time
with one or the other but in those situations I feel that part of me is invisible, and I don’t like that
feeling.” Being visible as polyamorous and bisexual means being out about both. Dianna notes
that she is “out to most people as polyamorous, unless I feel it’s not useful information for them
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to have about me (like people I don’t know well or people I work with).” This separation of
work identity from sexual identity is common, and reinforces social constructions of sexuality as
personal and work as an asexual (although heteronormative) space.
Dianna’s identity as a bisexual is shaped by feminism and queer politics. Her use of the
term “bi-dyke” aligns her with lesbian politics, while distancing her from heterosexually aligned
forms of bisexuality, such as swinging. She describes monogamous and polyamorous bisexuals
as having much in common (“prejudice and discrimination from both queers and straights,”
“interests in rights relating to same-sex partnerships,” “invisibility, and fear of being rejected for
our sexuality”). In contrast, she feels less connected to polyamorous heterosexuals. Although
the practice is similar, she notes “the context is different because heterosexuals do not have the
issue of homophobia to contend with as well.” She explains that polyamorous heterosexuals
“hide within the straight world,” seeking “societally accepted avenues to explore external
relationships.” While she recognizes that such invisibility is possible for bisexuals, she does not
view it as desirable or fulfilling.
Finding community has not always been easy for Dianna. Although she aligns herself
with lesbian and queer politics, she reports experiencing biphobia in gay and lesbian space, being
told that “bisexuality doesn’t exist” or that “I’ve just not realized that I’m a lesbian yet.” Dianna
notes that the assumption beneath this behaviour is that “bisexuality is a part of a journey but not
a final destination.” She points out that gay and lesbian space has tended to be shaped by
compulsory monogamy, writing, “it’s more prevalent for the belief to be that one is monogamous
unless stating otherwise.” She particularly associates lesbians with monogamy, writing that they
“get attached pretty quickly.” She reports coming out as bisexual as a strategy by which she
prevented lesbians from viewing her as “a potential long-term monogamous partner.”
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Polyamorous space has likewise felt limiting to her. She recalls attending the Ethical
Lover Polygroup and some poly socials, but found them “dry and kind of one-way-ish about
polyamory.” She rebels against attempts to codify polyamory into a single universal model.
“It’s like bisexuality,” she writes, “in that it’s very individualized in terms of how to make it
work to one’s own satisfaction.” Dianna prefers bisexual space, which she describes as
supportive and lacking group norms to which individuals must conform:
I’m comfortable and not judged. People accept both of my partners (when
I have more than one and/or more than one gender) and take joy in my
joy…it’s not assumed I’m monogamous unless I specify so.
As a reader, I found myself affirming of Dianna’s vision of a bisexual community which is not
only tolerating of diversity, but which celebrates it, taking joy in love found and shared. Yet this
description of our community is not complete. Although she relates her shifting priorities (less
time with TBN, more time with kink groups), she does not identify any weaknesses in the groups
that have become less significant to her. This reluctance to denigrate may explain an otherwise
confusing statement about her relationships. She wrote, “I define my relationships as being
significant or less so but not less important.” Dianna does not elaborate on what this means, but
given the parallel with her treatment of groups it seems that “significance” describes its place
within her priorities, while “importance” refers to qualities unique to itself. TBN has become
less significant in her life as she spends more time at kink events, but she is reluctant to portray it
as lacking in itself—that is, as less important a group than the kink events she now attends.
Diane: My life, My Decisions
Diane grew up in a rural community in Western Canada and now lives in downtown
Toronto. She is thirty-three, and has been in a polyamorous relationship with a bisexual man for
the past six years. She has no children and does not plan to have any. At the time of the
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interview her father had recently died. I selected Diane’s interview because of her vast
experience as a bisexual activist and because her partner was a bisexual man.
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
The title of this interview came from Diane’s pursuit of independence and freedom,
exemplified by her self-determination. Diane first came out as lesbian at age twenty-one, and
began to identify as bisexual three years later. Since moving to Toronto she has been a key
organizer in the bisexual community. She identifies herself as an activist in the first line of her
interview—an identity reinforced by the degree to which her life is public. She writes, “We are
out to our bi and queer friends as poly. I’m out to all my other friends, at work, and have come
out as poly in a national women’s magazine article.”
Diane’s interview has a large cast but few named individuals. The exceptions are her
partner, her father, an ex boyfriend, and her therapist. Most cast members are communal figures,
either generic friends (“my circle of friends”), specific groups of friends (“friends who are
monogamous,” “queer friends,” “bi friends”) or organizations (TBN, BiWOT, and a poly
discussion group). This may reflect a distancing from others in the wake of her father’s death.
Diane writes, “I feel like it’s a time that I should be able to focus more on me and my feelings.”
Three themes are evident in Diane’s interview. First, the text is heavy with strategies for
negotiating a heteronormative world, such as selecting bi-positive social networks. She writes,
“I preferred to date other bisexuals if possible. I come out to people right away, because I didn’t
want to spend time on someone who was biphobic.” A second theme is her desire to balance the
creation and maintenance of relationships with her strong sense of (and need for) individual
freedom. She writes, “I like to have some time to myself at home or spend some time out with
friends and involved with activities that he [her partner] is not part of.” A third theme is the
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shifting emphasis on freedom and control. The strategies she uses to negotiate her social world
are mechanisms for controlling her environment. Her time alone or with friends, for example,
reinforces her autonomy from her partner. These manoeuvres suggest she must fight for space to
be herself.
Diane’s interview contains three conflicts, all of which are relational. The first is
between freedom and support. Diane finds that her need for emotional support conflicts with her
partner’s desire for unscripted interacting. Diane writes, “when I tell him what would help, he
says that he can’t just do it because I just told him to do it and it would feel fake.” The second is
a similar conflict between her high level of sociability (as evidenced by the many group
characters in the interview) and her dearth of intimate support. The final conflict is between her
standards for social relationships—in which she chooses social groups to avoid oppression—and
the gender dynamics she reports in her primary relationship.
In What Body? Reading for Self-Representation
The voice presented in Diane’s I-poem is dominated by the present (65% of the verbs are
in the present text). This may reflect a present that is especially demanding, given the recent
death of her father. It may be that things simply feel radically different now than they have been
before, leading her verb choice to reflect a sense of breaking with the past. Another possibility is
that the heavy use of present-tense verbs may reflect a sense of disconnection between her
current sexuality (long-term relationship with a man) and her relationship history (which
included lesbian identity). A significant percentage of her verbs are in the future tense, showing
her ability to imagine different circumstances. This flight to imagined futures might be a coping
strategy during times of stress. Diane’s text contains more feeling verbs (57%) than thinking
verbs (43%), reflecting her particularly raw emotional state.
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I am
I’m in
I grew up
I identify
I first came out
I was 21
I started feeling attracted
I decided
I first heard
I had used the term
I had been practicing
I think
I have come to see
I ever would have
imagined
I was 18
I felt like quite a freak
I think
I preferred
I came out
I didn’t want
I met
I found out
I dated
I met
I am currently
I was interested
I got to know
I found
I liked
I also found
I do like
I like
I think
I like
I generally talk
I talk
I avoid talking
I don’t feel
I’m always getting
I’d like
I tell him
I just told him
I think
I bring it up
I’m usually feeling
I feel
I could sense
I also really value
I like
I have
I guess I’d like
I’m not sure
If I’d ever say
I have ‘enough’
I like
I can rely
I trust
I wish
I have support
I’m very involved
I take part
I can’t imagine
I am
I feel very included
I think
I view
I don’t consider
I’m not that invested
I want monogamy
I currently have
I’m out
I felt
I had reached a point
I are each comfortable
I’ve had poly
I only came out
I like
I like to know
I can give
I don’t like
I still feel
I was monogamous
I do notice
I seem to get
I don’t know
I try not to
I am poly
I don’t like
I’m monogamous
I’ve been
I think
I think
I have sex
I don’t actually know
I have had
Overall, she presents herself as an autonomous individual, determining the course of her
own life, rather than being influenced by others. The text describes her as taking the active role
in defining and naming her sexual identity (“I ...came out as lesbian” “I started to use the term
bisexual” I had used the term nonmonogamy”). A few years after coming out as lesbian Diane
recalls that she “started feeling attracted to men again.” She begins to identify as bisexual only
when she is interested in a relationship with a man (“not just sex”) suggesting that her identity
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labels describe a relational orientation rather than simply a sexual one. For Diane, “lesbian” was
able to include being sexual with men, but forming relationships required a shift.223 Her sexual
identity does not emerge in response to a pre-existing relationship, but reflects an inner quality—
in this case, her openness to relationships with men.
She present herself as the decision-maker in her relationships, having preferences which
both determine her dating pool (“I preferred to date other bisexuals”) and which make particular
individuals preferable over others (“ I was interested in him” “I got to know him...I found...I
liked”). Her texts presents a unified self with the power to affect change, rather than an
equivocating self affected by forces beyond her control.
Yet her interview is not without conflicts. There is a contradiction between the “really”
statements in the text (ex: “being reliable and sharing trust are all really important,” “he’s really
solidly there for me”) and her statement that “I don’t feel like I’m always getting the support I’d
like.” She also uses the distancing term “really” in relation to her partner’s opposition to
discussing a previous boyfriend of hers (“my partner really doesn’t want to hear about him”).
The text shifts from “I” language to “you” language only when Diane represent the stereotypes
poly women face (I think that being a poly woman sometimes means one gets slapped with the
slut label, or people think that you must be doing it to please a man”). This may mean that these
stereotypes are particularly hurtful to her (thus requiring emotional distance) or that she wishes
to distance herself from them as she reports them.
223
This was also the case for Danielle, whose lesbian identity could contain “actively dating
men” but not a partnership that included emotional attachment or future commitment.
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Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading for Connection
Diane met her partner through the Toronto Bisexual Network. She was drawn to him
because he seemed “gentle and respectful.” She found him “down to earth, straightforward,
emotionally open, mature,” and felt that he had “good boundaries,” traits that separated him from
other men. She adds (in a shift from the formal to the colloquial tone), “I also found him very
sexually attractive and fun in the sack!” His bisexuality was “a plus,” which enable them to
share bi community. Diane and her partner live together, and enjoy activities that make them
visible as a couple in queer space. They “go for walks in the [gay] village, go out to eat, spend
time with bi friends.”
Although resistant to heterosexual scripts, some of Diane’s statements suggest these
scripts are still present. Her wish that her relationship had more “affection and romance,” and
was “a bit more exciting” evokes traditional images of other-sex relationships. She mentions
that talking about an ex-boyfriend has led to arguments, which reads like male territoriality.
Diane’s independence may be, in part, a defence mechanism against this kind of gendered
relationship scripting. She describes time away from her partner as “healthy,” enabling her to
cultivate her own interests. “I also really value a high degree of independence,” she writes, “and
don’t do well in a controlling relationship.” She reports having her own circle of friends and a
therapist, is “very involved” with both TBN and BiWOT, and has attended the poly discussion
group.
Polyamory is not an identity for Diane (“I’m not that invested in it”), but is simply “an
option for structuring relationships.” She reports enjoying the “freedom and ability” to form
sexual and emotional relationships with others, and describes this openness as a gift she can give
to her partner. She notes that she “still feels jealous sometimes,” but describes this feeling as
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“part of the experience for me.” While her past relationships often involved multiple concurrent
male partners, her current relationship is open to “secondary casual relationships with same-sex
partners only.” Being polyamorous in principle—that is, feeling free to pursue sexual and
emotional relationships—may be more important than the actual practice of having multiple
relationships. At the time of the interview, neither Diane nor her partner had any additional
relationships. This may signal a retreat to monogamy during periods of stress. This theory is
supported by her past behaviour, in which her poly relationship was negotiated “after a period of
monogamy,” when she had “reached a point of comfort” that enabled her to “feel really
supportive of my partner having sexual experiences with men.” Monogamy functions as a
strategy to establish trust and emotional security.
In What Societal and Cultural Frameworks? Reading for Social Location
Her interview revealed two main social forces at work: negotiating social status, and
sexism/heterosexism. Although polyamorous and between two bisexuals, their relationship may
appear heterosexual to others. Some of the words Diane uses to describe her relationship (“longterm,” “primary”) can be read as simply descriptive, or as labels of status. Her efforts to be out
suggest that she values visibility over the privilege which seeming “normal” might accord. She
chose nonmonogamous relationships, for example, before she found a community that found
them valid and named them as polyamorous. She uses judgement words when discussing
polyamory (“acceptable,” ‘freak,” “valid”) but is willing to be on the “wrong” side of them.
Similarly, she notes that she “came out to people right away” precisely because she was aware of
biphobia. While she is aware of the social mechanisms of stigma and labelling she does not fear
its impact. She reinterprets an encounter with stigma in her own terms, as “I didn’t want to
spend time [with biphobic people].”
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The second cultural force evident in Diane’s interview is her awareness of sexism and
heterosexism. She resists definitions of sexuality that naturalize polyamory for men but
associate women with monogamy. “Some people,” she writes, “seem to think that men just can’t
help wanting to have sex with multiple partners, but don’t think that women could possibly want
the same thing in a healthy positive way.” Although her interview shows strong individuality,
her political analysis includes group-based oppressions such as heterosexism, even if the practice
of the oppression impacts an ally rather than her as an individual (“[t]here is often more
acceptance of female same-sex sexuality than of male same-sex sexuality. And I have no
patience for that”).
Much of Diane’s life involves the countercultural space of Toronto’s bisexual
community. She writes, “I take part in support, social and educational activities. I can’t imagine
being any more involved that I am, and I feel very included.” She sees monogamous and
polyamorous bisexuals as having much in common, particularly relational experience and social
stigma (“all the biphobic crap that we often have to deal with”). Diane describes bisexual and
polyamorous space as similar “in terms of being open and accepting of various combinations of
people and genders in relationships.” She reports that bisexual spaces have been “very
supportive of me being poly,” but hasn’t found the same support during her periods of
monogamy, writing, “there were a few times that people…couldn’t understand why we would be
monogamous.” She notes that bisexual spaces often assume she’s polyamorous, “which is true
right now, but I don’t like it being assumed.”
Awe: Facing Her Fears
Awe is twenty-nine, polyamorous, and married to a man. She describes herself as “a
biologist by day and a pastry chef wanna-be by every other time.” She is Polish, and immigrated
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to Canada eighteen years ago after living in Italy. She does not have children, but plans to in the
future. She identified as polyamorous. I chose Awe’s interview because her story was joyful
and uplifting for me to read.
Who is Speaking? Reading for Narrative
Awe’s interview tells the story of her emergence into polyamory, after having been in a
monogamous relationship with a heterosexual man. This shift was initiated by her partner. Awe
writes, “He explained that he wished to have emotional and physical intimate connections with
other women. That he wanted more love in his life, more people that would care for him and he
could care back for.” Initially, this change is frightening for Awe, who fears that the quality of
their relationship will suffer. Fear is a key theme of the interview. As she faces her fears and
explores polyamory in theory and then in practice, she begins to distinguish between fears
“passed on to me by my culture” and those she fears as an individual. Awe presents two options
for addressing her fear—the first is her “instinct or habit” to withdraw from fear and to “run
away.” The second option (which she ultimately chooses) is to “test,” “face” “understand,
befriend and overcome” her fears. This second option results in a sense of “clarity, security and
joy” for Awe, and is the perspective from which she answers the interview questions.
A second theme in Awe’s interview is discovering and being herself. The first of these
discoveries has to do with gender. Awe reports having felt “genderless” and “boyish” for much
of her life. Since her mid twenties she has begin to embrace a sense of womanhood that she
defines differently than traditional codes of femininity. Awe’s second discovery is her adoption
of bisexual identity. She recalls having heard of bisexuality but notes she “didn’t really connect
with it until I came out to my male partner. In saying that I was attracted to women I realized
that I must be ‘bi.’ Perhaps it was even him who called me bisexual for the first time and I just
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took on the label.” The third and final discovery involves her shift from monogamous to
polyamorous identity, and includes the integration of her polyamorous identity with her
bisexuality. Having experienced both identities, Awe concludes that monogamous and
polyamorous bisexuals are very different.
At first, when I wanted to remain strictly monogamous, I wanted to learn
ways to celebrate being bi without becoming involved in relationships
with women. However, I found it lacking. In becoming poly I am able to
more fully embrace my identity and celebrate who I am more fully.
Awe’s polyamory enables her to express her bisexuality, which she experiences as concurrent
dual attraction.
Her interview has a medium sized cast and includes her family, her partner (who despite
his strong influence remains unnamed throughout the interview), poly friends, a friend whose
words initiate a paradigm shift in Awe’s thinking, three women she is currently dating (also
unnamed), and friends from BiWOT. Conflicts in the text include the balancing of freedom with
loss and the split between private and professional life.
In What Body? Reading for Self-Representation
Awe’s interview portrays her as consciously present in the moment. The voice in this Ipoem is dominated by the present (64% of the verbs are in the present text). This reinforces the
image of her shift to polyamory as a break with the past. Her text is heavy on statements of
being (“I am”) and lacking in future conditional verbs (ex: “I would be”) suggesting a hesitancy
to imagine herself in different circumstances. This may be the result of a focus on the present, as
she adjusts to her new relationship structure. It may also reflect her discomfort with English,
which is not her first language.
I am 20 years old
I am married
I am a biologist
I am Polish
I am enjoying
I have begun to identify
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I have discovered
I had heard
I came out
I was attracted
I realized
I must be “bi”
I just took on
I thought
I felt
I liked/loved
I shared
I have wanted
I wanted
I sensed
I worked
I was having trouble
I was terrified
I didn’t want
I wanted
I knew
I had to test
I was really afraid
I reached out
I finally had a break
through
I officially called
I am dating women
I am open
I have not had
I find it easy
I meet
I am attracted
I find
I spend time
I begin
I am dating
I met
I am still very new
I enjoy
I’m not sure
I am still learning
I are married
I am living
I know
I’m making my life
I am following my heart
I feel
I am taking
I feel
I wanted
I wanted
I found
I am able
I am more fully
I view
I am mutually
I have
I think
I am out
I consciously chose
I think
I like
I can learn
I like being able
I’m only allowed
I enjoy sharing
I like feeling
I don’t like
I’m straight
I’m married
I’m out
I’m out
I’m gay
I have participated
I find
I think
I think
She uses a relatively equal number of thinking (19) and feeling (17) verbs. This is
reflected in the content of her text as well, where she presents herself as both a thinker (biologist,
exploratory, reflective) and a feeler (nurturing, passionate, creative). Her text presents some
decisions as being made intuitively (“I sensed that peace lay beyond that acceptance”) rather than
intellectually. The text presents her as playful (ex: she is twenty-nine but is “turning 50 by
choice”) and expressive (ex: she refer to her anniversary dinner as “a feast we co-create;“ most
women used the phrase “a nice dinner”). The text is characterized by a sense of optimism
originating in an accumulated wisdom (“I have discovered that being “me” simply means
tapping into my strength and feeling powerful and happy”) rather than in a sense of control. The
lack of defensiveness in the text is itself noteworthy. There is a general emphasis on exploration
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and openness to discovery, even if this process entails discomfort, rather than an approach that
attempts to avoid pain at all costs.
Her text uses distancing terms such as “really” when discussing her view of herself as a
gendered person. She explains that “over the past three years I have began to identify as a
woman having felt genderless or slightly boyish for much of my life before that.” She writes, “I
have discovered that being “me” simply means tapping into my strength and feeling powerful
and happy. That doesn’t really require any particular gender.” Although she uses really in this
sentence, I find it difficult to read anxiety into her text. Awe resists reifying her gender into an
identity (such as Femme, for example), instead seeing her authentic self as rooted in an
experience that is behind, or beyond gender. A second use of “really” occurs in her initial
encounter with the term bisexual (“...didn’t really connect with it until I came out to my male
partner”).
Telling What Story About Relationship? Reading for Connection
Her text presents a socially connected self, in touch with family, friends, bisexual
community and polyamorous community. She shows a familiarity with gay and lesbian space,
yet mentions her relationships are “viewed as freakish” there. This issue has been echoed in
other interviews, with women describing their bisexuality as being invisible or misinterpreted in
gay and lesbian space, which they also report seeing as shaped by monogamous assumptions. In
keeping with the sense of independence running throughout the text, she describes BiWOT as a
source of friendship and support, rather than as an authority to which she must conform. She
presents her sexual self as emerging from within these relationships (ex: “it takes me a while to
develop attractions”), rather than having sexual attraction being the impetus for establishing
connections.
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The focus on the present indicated by the verbs (mentioned above) is also reflected in the
content of the text itself. She does not, for example describe in detail meeting her current
partner; he appears in the text as a feature of the present, as a relationship without a past. When
faced with her partner’s announcement that he wished to have an open relationship, Awe relies
upon her social network for support:
I reached out to some poly friends and asked for their support in helping
me understand the good things about it for myself and my partner. I
finally had a break through when a friend said, “think of poly as the
freedom to explore yourself in relationships with other people.” That was
a paradigm shift for me. It made sense, gave me clarity, security and joy.
Shortly after that acceptance my partner and I officially called ourselves
poly and began to experience life with new intimate friends and
encounters.
She mentions that she and her male partner are married, and describe her relationships
with women as “friendships where we are free to express our affection sexually with each other.”
Many of the women I interviewed had established parameters to their relationships along gender
lines. The majority of these women used terms such as “secondary” and “primary” partners.
Since she is connected with the poly community, it is interesting that these terms do not appear
in her text. Instead, she discuss the qualities of her partners and relationships, rather than
focussing on setting boundaries and safeguards. This may emerge from an egalitarian
worldview, in which men and women are not valued differently, or it may reflect an openness to
shifts in commitments and priorities.
In What Societal and Cultural Frameworks? Reading for Social Location
In general, the voice dominating her text is that of an idealist, driven by a sense of selfdiscovery rather than conforming to external expectations. Despite this, some authorities do
appear in the text. There is a sense of having to reach a particular state or level of commitment
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before coming out (“officially called ourselves poly”). This idea of there being an “official”
element to identity labels is reflected in many of the other interviews, in regard to both
polyamory and bisexuality. Her separation of private life from work life (“I find it easy to come
out to people I meet right away as long as they are not associated with my professional life”)
serves to reinforce the public/private distinction.
Her initial fears about polyamory (“a drastic change to the connection I shared with my
partner”) hint at a previously held view of monogamy as focus. Almost all of the monogamousidentified women I interviewed described monogamy in this way, as an intense and deep focus of
each partner upon the other. These women frequently described polyamory as “scattered” or
“unfocussed.” In contrast, the polyamorous women I interviewed tended to emphasise their
sense of freedom and openness toward growth in different relationships. Awe’s text shows a
shift from a definition of monogamy as focus to one of polyamory as freedom. I would be
interested to know if one view replaces the other, or if she continues to view monogamy as a
type of focus even after coming to see polyamory as freedom. Although she describe herself as
choosing polyamory, she describe bisexuality as a given which was discovered and named,
rather than an option chosen. Although she describes these identities as “integrated parts of my
life,” they are defined very differently in the text, with polyamory serving as a strategy by which
she lives as a bisexual.
Her text shows an awareness of how gender expectations affect men (“Men are always
seen as fishing for that threesome”) but she says little about how she experience gender
expectations in relation to herself. The use of anxiety flags (“really”) in relation to her gender
may indicate that she is not ready to explore this issue. As a woman working in science, some
emotional distance may enable her to function with less stress in an environment that tends (at
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least from an outsider perspective) to have rigid gender expectations and conservative sexual
views. A certain amount of feminist suspicion arises around the initiating role played by her
partner in both her coming out as bisexual and as polyamorous. Awe’s shifting identity could be
framed as accommodations made to her partner’s desires. Yet this view is undercut by their
polyamorous practice, in which Awe is open to additional male partners, undercutting the image
of polyamory as a male pathway to additional women.
Research Summary
There is enormous diversity among the forty bisexual women who participated in this
study. Each interview raises a number of unique issues, but there are also many commonalities.
Below I outline ten themes emerging from the interviews and describe how these themes impact
bisexual women’s community building.
Relevance of Bisexual Identity and Community Involvement
The women in this study disagree on the significance of their bisexual identity.
Participants range from women such as Diane, Geekgirl, Ally and Liz, who describe themselves
as activists, to those like Syd Ryan, Betty and Elèna Dubois, who do not see their sexuality as the
basis for a social or political identity. Betty writes, “I'm not interested in having my bisexuality
be a focal point in my life. There are so many other elements to my self, and I have so many
other interests...my sexuality is important, but its not everything.” Despite the fact that I sought
participants within Toronto’s bisexual women’s community, 63% felt they have little or no
involvement in the bisexual community. Kiera is a 21-year old student writing her thesis on
biphobia, yet she has withdrawn from what she perceives as the demands of queer politics. She
writes, “I don’t really include myself in bi culture…sometimes the amount of politics in the
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queer community become overwhelming and you just want to live your life without having to
deal with it all the time.”
Thirty percent of the participants express a desire to be more involved in bisexual
community. They name barriers to participation including distance, time, money, nervousness,
shyness, and previous disagreeable experiences. Carrie, a 35-year-old book publisher, views the
community as made up primarily of younger women. “I’ve come to think that a sizable portion
of people under 30 aren’t in the same headspace as I am,” she explains. Julia S. feels her
bisexuality is not well-represented in the bisexual community. She writes, “Most of them have
male primary partners and seem to have difficulties finding women. This is not where I’m at.”
Some name other communities as of greater importance to their sense of self—these included the
lesbian community, swinging, and non-sexual communities organized around interests such as
horses, theatre, film, and metal music. A few feel that sexual identity is not enough commonality
to form a community. At the other end of the spectrum, 33% report feeling involved or very
involved—some to the point of over-work and exhaustion. Lola, a long-time organizer, writes,
“I've spent a lot of time volunteering, I've gotten a little burnt out. I like occasional socials, but
I'm not ready to put too much time back into organizing.”
Relations with Lesbians
The women in this study are split between those who affiliate themselves with the queer
community and those who do not. Forty percent of the women report spending time in lesbian
and gay space. Of those women, 54% feel accepted there, and several attend queer events, such
as the Toronto Women’s Bathhouse, the Dyke March, Inside/Out, Pride Week, or Michigan
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Womyn’s Music Festival.224 Several women felt that bisexuality was not taken as seriously as
other identities in these spaces. Adelle writes, “Bisexuality seems to be pushed to the sidelines
as a “less real” (or less important, less oppressed) sexual identity.” Chloe Forrester reports
feeling “not queer enough.” Judith feels pressured to choose same-sex relationships, “as though
that's the most legitimate way to be a good queer person and we have to do our part to advance
queer visibility in that way.”
The expectation that lesbians would be biphobic was a recurring theme in the interviews.
Most women gave the example that lesbians would not date bisexual women. May explains that
this expectation makes it difficult for her to be comfortable being visible as bisexual. She writes,
“I still have a hard time publicly proclaiming myself a bisexual in a lesbian space. There is a
definite faction of lesbians who will not consider dating a bisexual women.” The image of
lesbians as rejecting abides even when it conflicts with the participants’ experience. In practice,
33% of the women with female partners were dating lesbians. Liz writes, “many of the bi
women I did date identified as more lesbian than bi,” and Chloe Forrester adds, “in fact my last
few female partners have identified as primarily if not entirely lesbian.” Paradoxically, the “bifriendly lesbian” was also a recurring image, although these relationships are presented as
unexpected by the women who report them. Dinah, a 34-year-old masters student writes, “I did
have a great female lover who was a lesbian and didn’t care a bit, but that’s the exception rather
than the rule.” One strategy that bisexual women use for avoiding lesbian biphobia (real or
expected) is to date other bisexual women. Of the women in same-sex relationships 42% are
partnered with another bisexual woman. Liz notes that she feels “more comfortable dating other
224
The Dyke March is a women’s protest and celebration that is held on the Saturday of Pride
Week. Inside/Out is an annual festival of gay, lesbian, bisexual and trans films. The Michigan
Womyn’s Music Festival is an annual week-long feminist music festival for “women-bornwomen” (i.e., non-transsexuals), held in Hart, Michigan.
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bi women,” This is echoed by Chloe Forrester who writes, “Bisexual women seemed to
understand and accept me more.”
Lesbian visibility sometimes eclipses bisexual visibility for those participants who are
dating women. They report that people of all orientations assume they are lesbians. Some, like
Modholly, find this annoying. Others report passing as lesbian by choosing not to correct the
assumption. Jenna, a 40-year old university professor writes, “I just let people assume what they
will. I do get the sense that if it was known that I was bi, that some would believe I was a
lesbian who hadn't admitted it to herself yet.” Similarly, those women with male partners note
that in gay and lesbian space it is often assumed they are heterosexual. Judith, a 31-year old
researcher writes, “I think that people usually assume that we're a straight couple. I'm not very
comfortable with this and feel invisible as a queer person.”
Being Out as Bisexual
While seventy-three percent of the women in the study are out to their friends and family,
a considerable number (13%) are leading relatively closeted lives. Although most of these
closeted women are out to some people (usually close friends, sometimes also queer), they are
usually closeted to their partner’s family, and at work. Some feel that their sexuality is “not
relevant” to certain environments, such as work or family life. Others are concerned about the
effect being out would have on their careers. Teasha is a 35-year-old mother and a writer of
children’s books who also volunteers as music director and Sunday school teacher for her
church. “I tend to keep it hush hush,” she writes. “Would I tell my mother, good God no.
Would I let it be public knowledge, not likely—it might result in my books not getting sold. How
good would that sound: Bisexual swinging lady writes and sells kids books.” Adelle, a 21 yearold undergraduate student, reports that her parents told her to “keep it [her bisexuality] quiet
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while I'm living with them during summers and breaks because my dad teaches at a prominent
seminary and it wouldn't look good for his reputation/career to have a bisexual, atheist
daughter.”
The degree to which coming out is seen as possible is highly contextual. Jenna reports
permitting people to assume she is heterosexual, and writes, “I feel no need to correct them as
they never come right out and ask.” In explaining her choice to remain closeted she associates
being out with youth:
Younger people like yourself do have a lot more freedom coming out as
society has taken great leaps in understanding, in part due to organizations
like PFLAG and in part due to those in our past who stood up and were
seen. Television shows such as Queer as Folk or the L-Word could not
have aired ten years ago.
Although she associates me with “younger people,” I am actually three years older than Jenna.
How the culture of acceptance impacts younger women but not their older contemporaries is not
addressed, but what is clear is that Jenna carries the invisibility of her formative years with her
and allows them to shape her sense of what is possible in the present.
Negotiating Compulsory Heterosexuality
Participants report difficulty maintaining bisexual visibility while in relationships with
men. Some report feeling pressure from family or partners to identify as straight while in such
relationships. Some of the strategies by which these women negotiate invisibility and
compulsory heterosexuality include: refusing to be closeted (73% of the women with male
partners are also out as bisexual), dating bisexual men (16%), and using non-traditional gender
cues or what Ally calls having a “dyke aesthetic.” Polyamory can also be seen as a strategy in
this way, since it enables women to form relationships that affirm their bisexuality and can
counter concepts of male sexual ownership. All the polyamorous women in relationships with
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men were open to dating women. One third of the polyamorous women in relationships with
men were also open to dating other men. While this does not reduce male sexual access to
women, it does undercut notions of women as the sexual property of individual men.
Some women, like Ally, Liz and Megan, report living immersed in queer culture with
their heterosexual male partners. Megan explains how her partner’s familiarity with queer culture
attracted her:
I didn’t have to explain queer culture because he had already dated queer
women. In fact his most significant relationship was four years with
another queer women. I wouldn’t be interested in committing to somebody
who was on the outside of my community in that way.
Although their male partners may not be accepted in all queer contexts, this choice enables them
to support their visibility and cultural identity in a way that helps counter the effect of appearing
heterosexual to the world at large.
Several of the women in monogamous relationships with straight male partners find it
difficult to maintain the relevance of their bisexual identity over time. Violet is 37, married to
her male partner, with a two year old son. At the time of the interview she was a stay-at-home
mom planning to return to her work as a mental health counsellor. She writes, “it is harder to
hold onto a bisexual identity in a long term monogamous relationship,” and notes that her
bisexuality “seems to become more theoretical as opposed to lived over time.” These women are
not ceasing to identify as bisexual but their bisexual identity is reduced in importance as other
identities become more central. Rather than over-write or redefine their former selves these
women redefine their time as visible bisexuals as a utopian past, which is not a place they can
occupy in the long term.
Heterosexual relationships offer some women a sense of safety from homophobia and
biphobia. Liz, married to a male partner, writes, “heterosexism seems easier to manage than out
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and out biphobia.” Straight males are described as accepting of bisexuality, and relationships
with men are frequently described as “easy.” Marissa describes her partner as “not
complicated,” and explains, “I kept dating a lot of complicated people when I was dating in the
queer world. I was tired and wanted something simple and romantic. I wanted to be wined and
dined for a bit.” Her statement echoes Danielle’s remark about wanting to be treated “like the
girl.” In both cases, this kind of relationship is portrayed as requiring less effort than
relationships with same-sex partners. Even Kiera, in a monogamous relationship with a female
partner (and could easily access lesbian community) writes, “My group of friends are prevalently
heterosexual males, who know I am gay or bisexual, (as well as my partner) and they are okay
with it, and we never really talk about it. Its just accepted as it is, and that’s sometimes a much
better and relaxing way to live.”
This acceptance may come at the cost of alienation from queer community and feminist
politics if these relationships fall into patterns of heteronormative relating. Violet struggles with
her partner over issues of jealousy, the power to name her relationship history, and her access to
bisexual community. She writes, “negotiating time away from the family has also been hard for
me and my husband sees it as abandoning him and out son, rather than an opportunity for
rejuvenation and self-expression for me.” The women who enter these heteronormative gender
roles identify their situations as sometimes oppressive, but like Danielle, see themselves as
empowered to make changes if they deem them necessary. They show no difficulty, for
example, in envisioning other possible futures, which may include leaving their partners. At the
same time, they are distanced from many of the social supports (financial independence,
community involvement, bi-positive friendships, etc.) that would make this choice likely.
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Negotiating Gender Norms
Most women report difficulty negotiating gender norms. Liz reports struggling with
social expectations of male supremacy. She writes, “I’ve encountered assumptions that I have to
go to my partner for permission for things, like he’s a parent rather than an equal.” Several
women object to the inequitable division of labour. Jenna feels “pressure to fall into gender
roles,” and notes that even in relationships characterized by mutuality, “there is still a tendency
for the female to take on the majority of the child-rearing and household responsibilities.” This
view is echoed by Violet who observes:
There is nothing like having a child with a man to crystallize the unspoken
baggage of gender stereotypes, gender tyranny and female oppression that
is alive and well in your relationship. The division of labour—there is a
lot more labour when a child arrives—is a major and ongoing source of
arguments.
Dinah, who was single at the time of the interview wrote, “I see many women struggling in their
monogamous hetero relationships, however, especially in terms of expected gender roles (cook,
cleaner, child-minder).” One of the side effects of this struggle is that it shapes participants’
vision of what other negotiations are possible (or not). Violet allows that polyamory might be
more possible in lesbian community, where gender roles are not as reified. She writes, “I feel
especially suspect of the success of women negotiating for their sexual and emotional pleasure
within the domain of straight male dominated relationships.” Violet may be correct; participants
in relationships with other women report enjoying a fluidity of gender norms. The queer
community could be a valuable resource for models of alternative gender roles in relationships.
Promiscuity Stereotypes
Both monogamous and polyamorous women report that stereotypes of bisexuals as
sexually promiscuous shape their own behaviour. Women in my study report that the threat of
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being labelled as a slut causes them to curtail their sexual activities, or to be less out. Terms of
derision such as slut, the association with disease and with moral concepts such as “dirty” still
hold significant power to affect the participants’ self-image. Adelle recalls the silence around
bisexuality when she was growing up, writing, “it was unspeakable and taboo in the same way as
sexual practices like incest, paedophilia or bestiality—a ‘sexual perversion.’” Cultural Studies
professor Christian Klesse argues that charges of promiscuity “establish a disciplinary regime of
control and self-control,” and serve as “an effective form of social punishment.”225 A certain
amount of scapegoating is also at work, as women identify particular pockets of bisexuals as the
source of the stereotype, in effect confirming the stereotype as true rather than recognizing it as a
mechanism of domination. Adelle reports feeling “a little resentful towards polyamorous
bisexuals for ‘fulfilling the stereotype’” and adds that she thinks this stereotype is “the main site
of friction” between polyamorous and monogamous bisexuals. This dynamic may also be at
work among those who mention swinging only to distance themselves from the practice. A
higher level of feminist conscientisation around this issue is necessary if we are to avoid
reinforcing the disciplinary use of this stereotype.
Polyamorous and Monogamous as Strategic Identities
As mentioned earlier, participants were evenly split between those identifying as
polyamorous and those identifying as monogamous. Yet this is but a momentary snapshot,
which does not reveal the strategic importance of these identities. Of particular interest is the
tendency to transition from one identity to another. Of the monogamous women, 23.5% had
previously identified as polyamorous. Three of the women in monogamous relationships
indicate they would prefer a polyamorous one, and two monogamous women report having been
225
Klesse, “Bisexual Women, Non-Monogamy,” 449-450.
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in polyamorous relationships while still identifying as monogamous. Among all the participants,
12.5 % had shifted more than once from monogamous to polyamorous or vice versa. The
conclusion I draw from this is that while behaviour and identity are connected, they are not
equivalent; behavioural preferences can lead to the adoption of identity labels, but these labels do
not accurately predict behaviour.
What a monogamous or polyamorous relationship entails is also flexible. Most of the
polyamorous women (78%) were not dating multiple partners at the time of the interview.
Several describe their relationship as polyamorous in theory rather than practice, although most
attribute the lack of additional partners to happenstance. My analysis of the interviews
concludes that polyamory enables women’s bisexuality to be visible and enables them to have
greater access to their own bisexual identity. Just as polyamorous women may not be actively
dating multiple partners, monogamous identified women may not be as monogamous as the term
implies. Those monogamous women who report having threesomes, do not feel threaten their
monogamous identity. Adelle is currently involved in several casual sexual relationships, but
identifies as monogamous. She explains “monogamy only applies to ‘serious’ relationships, for
me.”
Monogamy is not an important identity feature for most of the women in my study. The
majority describe it as simply their preference, or as an aspect of their personality. Elèna Dubois
writes, “I am loyal by nature,” suggesting her monogamy is an ontological identity. Carrie calls
her monogamy a “sub-identity to my orientation. Or a footnote.” Only 21% of the monogamous
women feel they belong to a “monogamous community,” while 53% are certain they do not, or
that such a community does not exist since, as Adelle writes, “monogamy is so mainstream that
there’s no real ‘community’ which fosters discussion and support, etc.” One third of the
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monogamous women feel their practice of monogamy is similar to that of heterosexuals. This
group contains women such as Anonymous, Danielle, and Marissa, who are struggling with
bisexual visibility and heteronormative gender expectations. Two thirds of the monogamous
women feel their practice of monogamy is unlike that of heterosexuals, differences include
having chosen monogamy rather than having uncritically accepted it as a social norm, having a
more flexible or adventurous understanding of monogamy, lacking rigid gender roles, and having
a different sexual history.
Polyamory as a Norm Shaping Bisexual Space
Polyamory not only makes bisexuality visible, but also acts as a norm shaping bisexual space.
The achievement of a critical mass of polyamorous bisexuals makes polyamorous women feel
welcome and included in bisexual space, but is experienced as alienating by monogamous
women. Marissa writes that she had more bisexual friends when she was polyamorous but adds,
“since swearing off polyamory, I feel a bit uncomfortable and not included, because the majority
of people are into this.” Violet feels polyamorous women find it “easier to identify with bisexual
culture.” She reports feeling as if she must “defend or explain” her sexual choices to other
bisexuals, adding “it sometimes feels like the defining line for being bi has been constructed as
being poly.” Monogamous women report feeling “less evolved” (Carrie), “square,” (Marissa), or
“not cutting edge queer” (Violet) in comparison with polyamorous bisexuals. Marissa reports
feeling pressure to be polyamorous, but adds, “l don't know if it comes from them or me.”
It is possible that a marginalized group—in this case, polyamorous bisexuals—might take
the opportunity to “lord it over” those usually accepted by the mainstream, such as monogamous
women. Nevertheless, based on my analysis of the interviews and on my experience as a
monogamous woman, I believe this sense of polyamorous hegemony emerges from the
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conflation of bisexuality and polyamory in the popular mind rather than from assertions of
superiority by polyamorous bisexuals.226 Supporting this belief is the fact that even those
women who identify themselves as inherently monogamous define bisexuality as a concurrent
attraction to men and women, which tends toward assuming polyamory as its expression. Adelle
writes, “my bisexuality makes me tend towards polyamory for my sexual desires, since I like the
idea of both men and women, but relationship-wise I prefer monogamy.” Elèna notes that
polyamory doesn’t fit her personality, but she allows that it “would make being bisexual and
always somewhat missing the other gender easier.”
Possible solutions to this perceived division would be to make the strategic use of
monogamous and polyamorous identity explicit in bisexual discourse, replacing language which
implies such practices emerge from an innate orientation. Another option is to promote multiple
models of bisexual identity to counter the dominance of the concurrent attraction model. Finally,
by affirming perceived differences between bisexual monogamy and heterosexual monogamy,
we could not only attempt to counter monogamous women’s sense of invisibility as bisexual, but
begin to reflect in a more systematic way about what monogamy means for bisexual women, and
how it ought to be practiced.
Early Motherhood as a Competing (Non)Sexual Identity
As mentioned earlier, one in four of the participants are mothers. Over half the mothers
identify as polyamorous, indicating that these identities are not incompatible. However, the
polyamorous women tend to have older children, and an older child’s independence may enable
226
The alternative model is that of gender blindness, in which bisexuals view all potential
partners as individuals rather than representatives of their sex. This model helps undercut the
conflation of bisexuality with polyamory, but has other political problems, not least of which is
its glossing over of the social effects of sexism. Only one woman in the study described her
bisexuality this way.
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their mothers to claim a greater sexual freedom. By contrast, the monogamous mothers are
parenting young children, and report having little time for themselves. Faced with the heavily
gendered demands of mothering, sexuality is often sacrificed as non-essential or selfish. The
inability to integrate a bisexual identity (or any sexual identity) with motherhood undermines the
sexual and romantic partnership of the couple relationship, reducing lovers to partners in a childproducing business. Violet echoed Danielle’s statements about the decreasing significance of
her sexuality. After emphasising the importance of an “erotic connection” in relationships she
adds, “post-baby, I would say that the sexual connection is not as important as I thought—who
has time to “do it” anymore!” The asexual voice permeates Violet’s interview as it does
Danielle’s. She writes, “raising a child has made me more conventional. I especially do not
want to seem sexually perverse or wild.” She adds:
I think both men and women give up sexual freedom to get other things –
especially security and cooperation when raising young children… The
whole idea of being sexually driven or motivated to find other partners for
self-expression and companionship is laughable when you are consumed
with meeting the physical survival and emotional needs of young children.
The sacrifice of sexuality reinforces the distinction between love and sex, and characterizations
of women as either mother or whore. This promotes stereotypes of both bisexual women and
mothers rather than recognizing women as complex sexual beings with many social identities.
In some cases, their identity as mothers overwhelmed their sexual identity. Violet wrote,
“I don’t register on lesbian gaydar anymore. Especially with a kid and no time or panache for
cultivating an alternative look.“ Research on lesbian mothers suggests that they feel unsupported
by the queer community and invisible as lesbians.227 Others report closeting themselves for fear
227
Kathleen A. DeMino, George Appleby, and Deborah Fisk, “Lesbian Mothers with Planned
Families: A Comparative Study of Internalized Homophobia and Social Support,” American
Journal of Orthopsychiatry 77, no. 1 (2007): 170; Jen Skattebol and Tania Ferfolja, “Voices
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that social stigma would be transferred to their children.228 Both lack of support and fear of
transferred stigma could make it difficult for bisexual women to integrate mothering with their
sexual identity. Pressure from extended family to conform to heteronormative roles and
identities in exchange for recognition and status may also be a factor.229 This shared problem
highlights the need for queer women’s communities to respond to “the gayby boom,” by creating
resources such as queer-positive childcare, which support women’s identity as queer mothers.
Long-Term Social Supports
Remaining visible as bisexual is difficult, since bisexuality is often rendered invisible or
unrepresentable, is misidentified as lesbian or heterosexual, and is not automatically evoked by
gender nonconformity. Visibility is further complicated in cases where bisexual women have
heterosexual male partners. As bisexual activist Pepper Mint notes, “Bisexuality is difficult to
perform.” He attributes this in part to the “invisibility of sequential bisexuality.”230
From An Enclave: Lesbian Mothers’ Experiences of Child Care,” Australian Journal of Early
Childhood 32, no. 1 (March 2007): www.earlychildhoodaustralia.org.au/australian_journal_of
_early_childhood/ajec_index_abstracts/voices_from_an_enclave_lesbian_mothers_experiences_
of_child_care.html; Anne M. Prouty Lyness, Lesbian Families’ Challenges and Means of
Resiliency (New York: Haworth Press, 2007), 27; Joretta L. Marshall, Counseling Lesbian
Parents (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997), 113.
228
Jan Hare, “Concerns And Issues Faced By Families Headed By A Lesbian Couple,” Families
in Society: Journal of Contemporary Human Services 42, (1994): 27; Mary Ann Alida van Dam,
“Mothers In Two Types Of Lesbian Families: Stigma Experiences, Supports And Burdens,”
Journal of Family Nursing 10, no. 4 (2004): 464; DeMino, Appleby and Fisk, “Lesbian Mothers
With Planned Families,” 170.
229
DeMino, Appleby, and Fisk, found that lesbians experienced increased support from their
families of origin. This, coupled with a loss of support from queer communities makes queer
mothers particularly vulnerable to closeting pressure and to social discourses of desexualized
motherhood. See Demino et al., “Lesbian Mothers With Planned Families,” 170.
230
Pepper Mint, “The Power Dynamics Of Cheating: Effects On Polyamory And Bisexuality” in
Plural Loves: Designs For Bi And Poly Living, ed. Serena Anderlini-D’Onofrio (Binghamton,
New York: Haworth Press, 2005), 71.
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Long-term friendships enable bisexual women a modicum of visibility since these
relationships provide witness to sequential bisexuality. Danielle speaks about the important
support provided by her mother and by a close friend, both of whom have known her during her
identity transitions. Of the friend, Danielle writes, “she knew me as a ‘lesbian’ so she has all
sides of the story.” Similarly, B. describes her work colleagues in a similar way. She writes, “I
used to be a very out lesbian in my field of work, and now I’m with a man. I’ve talked to a few
about the whole story.” Violet mentions having “a few acquaintances and one good friend that
are also bi.” These women also previously identified as lesbian, are now partnered with men and
raising young children. This support circle helps to affirm their validity as bisexual women.
Violet writes, “It is great to know them, since it gives my life story consistency and validation—
i.e. I am not a confused, fence-sitter, but rather a bisexual woman who has made certain life
choices and there are others who have done so, too.”
My research reveals that while most women have access to these kinds of witnesses,
some have insufficient support. Seventy-five percent of participants feel they have support from
friends or family. Twelve percent report mixed support; many feel hesitant to “burden” other
with their problems and thirteen percent report little or no support. Adelle writes, “I certainly
can’t go to my family with relationship troubles, since they’re Christian and don’t approve of my
bisexuality.” Brianna explains, “I have typically had support in my monogamous relationships,
but I am not very out to most people about polyamorous arrangements, and so I don't usually
have the same kind of support.” Ten percent of respondents were entirely dependant on their
partner for support. Jenna writes, “both of us are very much alone in this world.” Dinah, whose
interview details a relationship in trouble, writes “I don’t like to talk about my partner behind his
back (even in a compassionate way), so he and I always tended to be each other’s main support.”
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Concerns for Bisexual Community Building
On the one hand, monogamous and polyamorous bisexuals have some serious complaints
about one another. Monogamous bisexuals accuse polyamorous bisexuals of controlling
bisexual space, being sexually aggressive and making the space feel unsafe. They feel that
polyamorous women denigrate their queerness, making them feel insufficiently political. In
some cases, they project internalized biphobia onto those they feel fit the stereotype of the
promiscuous bisexual. Polyamorous bisexuals complain that monogamous bisexuals are too
often coupled with heterosexual men, and monopolize the discussion with coming out issues.
Here, I think bisexual discourse has insufficiently distinguished coming out from being out, and
more work needs to be done on the challenges some women face in maintaining visibility. There
is a slight defensiveness in this portrayal of monogamous women as new to bisexuality, as if a
secure bisexual identity naturally results in polyamorous relationships. Yet framing the issue as
monogamy versus polyamory creates divisions that do not reflect the reality of the relationships
described by the women in my study. Although these distinctions may be valid at any given
point, they blur over time as women transition from one relationship structure to another. If we
were to recognize these structures for the strategies they are, chosen by individual women for
particular purposes in specific circumstances, then the illusion of two warring factions would be
dispelled and political theory and theology could be built upon this practice.
A second issue emerging from the research is the loss of both experienced and vulnerable
members. The women with stronger bisexual identities feel less in need of organized bisexual
community. They characterize BiWOT as limited to “talking about bisexuality,” and prefer to
socialize with friends in non-structured environments. Several women report burnout from
overwork or, like Dianna, report other identities taking precedence. Bisexual community is also
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alienating to women whose bisexual identity is weakened or unsupported. Women struggling
with bisexual invisibility, and under heteronormative pressure, feel unwelcome in the very
environments that could offer the identity support they need. Bisexual activists and community
builders must decide what responsibility we have to support the identity of bisexual women
outside the queer women’s community, even if some of those women see little commonality with
us socially or politically.
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Chapter Four: Queer Theology as a Methodological Resource
“Moral values” is really a misnomer; it means just the reverse. It means
they think we are immoral. And that we’re dangerous and contaminated
and dirty.” ~Larry Kramer231
This chapter outlines ways that bisexuals can draw upon the theologies of Robert Goss
and Marcella Althaus-Reid, and notes places where we need to develop our own theology in light
of my research findings. These theologians were chosen because of their groundbreaking use of
queer identity as a source of moral knowledge and because they address polyamory within a
queer theological framework. I begin by situating each author and their work contextually. I
then examine five themes in their work which I find useful for bisexual theology: 1) valuing
queer culture, 2) sexualizing theology, 3) reframing authority, 4) taking metaphor seriously, and
5) reclaiming the sacred. These themes appear in the writing of both Robert Goss and Marcella
Althaus-Reid by design. Althaus-Reid describes her work as “in permanent dialogue” with
Goss’s queer Christology, and her concept of bi/Christ serves as a jumping off point for Goss’s
own reflections on Jesus.232
Robert Goss: Eschatological Theology
Robert Goss identifies as gay, but his theology is rooted in queer theory, and informed by a
queer community that includes bisexuals. Two experiences form the foundation of Goss’
231
232
Larry Kramer, The Tragedy of Today’s Gays (New York: Penguin, 2005), 37.
See Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology To Indecent Theology: Readings On Poverty,
Sexual Identity And God (London: SCM Press, 2004), 168-169, and Robert Goss, Queering
Christ: Beyond Jesus ACTED UP (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2002), 170-182.
157
theology—the first is his experience of a loving community of men, and the second is the AIDS
crisis. Goss was raised as a Roman Catholic and ordained as a Jesuit priest in 1976. It was there
that he met his partner, fellow Jesuit Frank Ring. In 1978 they came out, exchanged
commitment rings, and left their religious order. Life with the Jesuits provided the inspiration
for his notion of a loving community of men who would use erotic rituals to celebrate a
communal polyamory.233 He writes, “Jesuits in training, priests, superiors, and spiritual directors
taught me how to love men. They mentored me into human love and justice.”234 This love is not
modelled upon monogamous Catholic marriage, but is communal. Goss outs religious
communities as “erotic communities where men have fallen in love with God and with one
another,” and describes them as “closely akin to openly promiscuous, gay male
communities.”235 If religious orders can survive the Vatican’s attempt to eliminate homosexual
members, Goss suggests that they might offer “some guiding norms” for living in “erotic
communion with Christ and others. ” 236
Also foundational to Goss’ theology is the overwhelming sense of loss, anger and political
conscientisation that emerged during the AIDS crisis. It is difficult to fathom the toll AIDS has
had on queer men’s communities. Before antiretroviral drug therapies were made available in
the late 1980s, patients diagnosed with AIDS had a life expectancy of six months.237 Six years
into the epidemic, New York Times reporter Jane Gross wrote: “Over and over, these men cry out
233
Robert Goss, “Proleptic Sexual Love: God’s Promiscuity Reflected in Christian Polyamory,”
Theology and Sexuality 11, no. 1 (September 2004): 58; Goss, Queering Christ, 88-89.
234
Goss, Queering Christ, 15.
235
Goss, “Proleptic Sexual Love,” 58-59, 63.
236
Ibid., 63.
237
Hung Fan, Ross F. Conner, and Luis P. Villarreal, The Biology of AIDS (Sudbury,
Massachusetts: Jones and Bartlett, 2000), 101.
158
against the weight of so many losses—not just a lover dead, but friends and friends of friends,
dozens of them, until it seems that AIDS is all there is and all there ever will be.”238 In Queering
Christ Goss estimates that he has lost “hundreds of friends to HIV.”239 This loss was
compounded as organized religion responded with judgement and rejection rather than support or
solace. “Some churches,” Goss recalls, “refused to celebrate funerals of gay men who had died
of AIDS,” reinforcing a “culture of shame and repression,” that further stigmatized the dying and
the grieving.240 While living in St. Louis, he was an activist with ACTUP and Queer Nation, an
experience that taught him to integrate his passion for God with his passion for social justice. In
1992 his spouse of sixteen years, Frank Ring, died of AIDS—a process he describes vividly in
Queering Christ.241
Goss’s encounter with the cultural and personal ravages of AIDS resulted in an immediate
and radical eschatology as the threat of personal death (and perhaps even the death of the entire
gay male community) shifted to the foreground. In the light of so many dead friends, dead
lovers, and ones own mortality, the social expectations of the closet and of “polite” society
became less significant for many gays. As Larry Kramer put it, “It’s 1983 already guys. When
are you going to come out? By 1984 you could be dead.”242 In this regard, the gay community
during the beginning of the AIDS crisis had many similarities with the eschatological vision of
238
Jane Gross, “AIDS: The Next Phase: An Ever-Widening Epidemic Tears At The City's Life
And Spirit,” New York Times, March 16, 1987.
239
Goss, Queering Christ, 28.
240
Robert Goss and Dennis Klass, Dead But Not Lost: Grief Narratives In Religious Traditions
(Lanham, Maryland: Rowman Altamira, 2005), 271.
241
242
Ibid., 24-29.
Larry Kramer, “1,112 and Counting,” in Come Out Fighting: A Century of Essential Writing
on Gay & Lesbian Liberation, ed. Chris Bull (New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press 2001), 220.
Originally published in the New York Native (March 1983).
159
the post-crucifixion Jesus community, which freed his disciples from the social norms of both
Jewish and Roman society. Like the gay community, the Jesus movement was also denounced as
anti-family, anti-religion and anti-government.
These two aspects of Goss’ theology—his experience of a male community that is both
sexual and religious, and the freedom from social expectations enabled by the AIDS crisis—form
the foundation of his theology. Within Goss’ work, I find five elements that offer promise for a
bisexual theology.
1) Valuing Queer Culture
Goss rejects views that posit the Church as having a monopoly on religious experience, or
its correct interpretation. Instead, he upholds queer culture as mediating revelation and
empowers queers to interpret religious experience for themselves and for their community. His
definition of queer community includes same-sex couples, but also bisexuals, transgendered and
transsexual people, those in BDSM relationships, and those who practice leather spirituality. As
I argued in the previous chapter, how we define our community—the people we see as belonging
and to whom we have a responsibility—is important if we are to claim it as a source of
revelation.
If one accepts God’s immanence—that is, the concept that divinity pervades the world—
then the claim that God is present in queer community is obvious. Yet the claim itself is an
important part of theological counter-discourse given the traditional treatment of queers as an
Evil Other by mainstream theology. Just as the claim that queer culture is a site of revelation can
counter the negative theology built around homosexuality, it can counter the theological
invisibility of bisexuality by placing bisexual women’s community at the centre of theological
reflection.
Valuing queer culture requires reassessing mainstream judgements of our practices and
160
traditions. Goss argues that heterosexual assessments of gay male promiscuity have been
mistaken in reading their own individualism onto the practice of having multiple or unfamiliar
sexual partners. He cites the research of Kathy Rudy who concluded that while members of the
gay community might have sex with individuals they do not know personally, such sex is not
anonymous “since partners are chosen because they belong to that community or because they
communicate non-verbal signs and cruising that they participate in that world.”243 The correct
context for understanding gay male promiscuity, or any sexual behaviour, is the context in which
it occurs, in this case, a connected community.
This framework could be of use in examining queer women’s sexual traditions which are
also community building—that establish or reinforce social bonds among members and foster a
sense of belonging to a distinct culture. I would include in this category events such as the
Toronto Women’s Bathhouse events, sexual play parties such as Bent, and activities such as
puppy piling, which have been a frequent feature of TBN parties.244 Sexual interaction in these
contexts is not simply (or even necessarily) about “getting off.” Rather, these experiences build
networks of friendships in much the same way that lesbian serial monogamy has built networks
of ex-girlfriends who function as a surrogate family for women who are often rejected by their
family of origin.
Since Goss values queer community for its innovating strategies to resist heteronormative
domination he is concerned that our inclusion in heterosexual institutions, such as marriage, will
negatively change queer practice and culture. He asks whether we can obtain the legal benefits
243
Goss, “Proleptic Sexual Love,” 62; citing Kathy Rudy, “Where Two or More Gathered,” in
Our Families, Our Values: Snapshots of Queer Kinship, ed. Robert E. Goss and Amy Adams
Squires Strongheart (New York: Haworth Press, 1997), 205.
244
Bent is a monthly kink event held in Toronto. A puppy pile is a group of people engaged in
(usually) non-sexual snuggling.
161
of marriage without losing our advances in redefining partnership, family and friendship. “Can
we,” he asks, “adapt the model of marriage and retain mutuality, equality, flexibility and
sometimes the openness of our relationships?”245 My research suggests that the answer is both
yes and no. Possessing a different sexual identity label is not sufficient to counter
heteronormative pressures (such as gender expectations) that we see in interviews like
Danielle’s. To counter heteronormative pressure one needs the additional resources of visibility,
long-term social support, and access to a queer community with alternative or countercultural
values and traditions. Polyamory was also a strategy by which some women in relationships
with men countered the pressures of compulsory monogamy and heterosexuality. As the
example of the women in my study show, one can be in what appears to be a heteronormative
relationship—partnered with a man, monogamous—without necessarily losing the resources that
make resistance to these norms possible.
2) Resexualizing Theology
At the heart of heterosexist theology, Goss argues, is the image of Jesus as a man without
desire, arousal, or sexual relationships. A de-sexualized Jesus allows authorities to reject queer
readings yet still enables heterosexual assumptions to be overlaid on the text. This asexual Jesus,
Goss argues, has “blinded us to the erotic and polyamorous reality of Christ as bridegroom; it has
also contributed to the split of sexuality from the sacred, contributing to a Christian history of
erotophobia and sexual shame.”246 Goss sees Jesus’ sexuality most clearly in his relationship
with Lazarus, who Goss suggests is the beloved disciple of the Gospel of John. Theologian
245
Goss, “Ephesians,” in The Queer Bible Commentary, ed. Deryn Guest, Robert Goss, Mona
West and Thomas Bohache (London: SCM Press, 2006), 638.
246
Ibid., 61.
162
Robert Simpson argues that the Lazarus story is interwoven with Goss’ own story “of loss, grief
and hope.” What emerges, Simpson suggests, “is a sexual story that is uniquely his own, and yet
at the same time is the story of thousands of gay men who have nursed their lovers through
illness and watched them die.”247
I agree with Goss that the promotion of Jesus as asexual serves to enable heterosexuality to
uncritically inform textual readings. The same mechanism was visible in the interviews of those
women with young children who struggled to negotiate the heterosexual assumptions that their
asexual mothers’ identities could not resist. Such asexuality is particularly visible in Catholic
depictions of women’s sexuality, which is not a type of sexuality at all, but rather a divinely
ordained orientation toward reproduction.248 By defining orthodox (hetero) sexuality as unitive
and procreative, Catholic sexual ethics removes the erotic from the equation. Where, in this
vision of companionship and family life, is there space for what actual women finds arousing?
Asserting a sexualized theology not only rejects the demonic caricature theology has painted of
same-sex sexuality, but requires a dismantling of the heterosexual assumptions which asexual
theology has promoted, creating space for a more realistic sexual theology for all of us.
Rejecting the split between the sacred and the sexual means that religious communities
and sexual communities, often seen as antithetical to one another, can in practice be the same.
Goss argues that the early Christian community was characterized by “promiscuous love,” which
does not adhere to the rules of social boundaries or conventional laws of purity. This love
247
Robert Hamilton Simpson, “How To Be Fashionably Queer: Reminding the Church of the
Importance of Sexual Stories,” Theology and Sexuality 11, no. 2 (2005): 104. Citing Robert E.
Goss, “The Beloved Disciple: A Queer Bereavement Narrative in a Time of AIDS,” in Take
Back the Word: A Queer Reading of the Bible, ed. Robert E. Goss and Mona West (Cleveland:
The Pilgrim Press, 2000), 206-18.
248
Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, "Feminist Theology as Critical Theology of Liberation,"
Theological Studies 36, no. 4 (December, 1975): 622-623.
163
decentres heterosexual familial relationships—men leave their families of origin to join the Jesus
circle. Jesus himself decentres familial relations in his response to his mother.249 As Goss notes,
it is from queer communities like this—simultaneously religious and sexual—that “new
Christian sexual theologies are emerging.”250 The image of Jesus as a sexual person puts a
different meaning on his lifestyle and his friendships. Goss’s approach reveals how far Jesus’
life is from the standard for sexuality presented by Christian churches. This forces an
acknowledgement that the biblical image of Jesus is closer to the portrait of a gay man than it is
to the heterosexual ideal. That such a love is furthermore not limited to one “special someone” is
also productive. Jesus’ love for his church has traditionally been portrayed as a monogamous
pairing, yet Goss is correct that Jesus’ practice was inclusive rather than exclusive. The
promotion of a promiscuous sexual love as the sexual imitation of Christ is shown to be a
reasonable biblical reading rather than a creative re-imagining.
Since Goss’ vision is based on his own experience, it is not surprising that his description
of such communities is androcentric. Women are simply absent from his stories of promiscuous
love because they were not in the Jesuits or in his gay men’s community. Parallels to gay men’s
sexual communities could be found among women’s religious orders, among queer polyamorous
women, and in sexual traditions such as women’s bathhouse events.251 Creating women’s
249
Mark 3:31-35, for example, reads, “And his mother and his brothers came, and standing
outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting around him, and they said to
him, ‘Your mother and your brothers are outside, seeking you.’ And he answered them, ‘Who
are my mother and my brothers?"’ And looking about at those who sat around him, he said,
‘Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of God, he is my brother and
sister and mother.’” Mk 3:31-35, ESV.
250
251
Goss, Queering Christ, xiv.
Women’s Bathhouse events, which rather than mimicking male bathhouse culture have
instituted their own traditions. For a more critical perspective see Catherine L. Nash, and Alison
Bain “Reclaiming Raunch? Spatializing Queer Identities At Toronto Women's Bathhouse
Events,” Social & Cultural Geography 8, no. 1 (2007): 47-62.
164
versions of male institutions has freed us from the cultural oppression embodied in traditions
deemed more feminine. But we must seriously question if queer women are ultimately well
served by judging ourselves by a male standard. How such polyamorous promiscuity would
function in a mixed sex community is also unclear. Such a community would need to be
critically examined to see the impact of its practice on women’s sexual oppression.
Whether polyamorous women’s communities and women’s bathhouse events are
“religious” as well as sexual communities would also require greater study. It would almost
certainly require a redefinition of religion outside of doctrinal lines. If religion were defined as
humanist author Anthony Pinn does, as “that which provides orientation or direction for human
life,” or as Protestant theologian Paul Tillich does, as our area of “ultimate concern,” then we
could reclaim its meaning from sectarian monopoly.252 We could therefore paraphrase the
slogan “the personal is political,” arguing that the personal is also (perhaps even always)
religious.
3) Reframing Authority
Goss takes a critical approach to the Bible, seeing it foremost as a product of faith,
embedded in the patriarchal cultural values of its time. In Goss’ reframing, the queer community
is not bound to obey Scripture—rather, its authority lies only in its ability to establish a
relationship between the faithful and their God. Goss’s position on authority is particularly
252
Anthony Pinn, “On Becoming Humanist: A Personal Journey,” Religious Humanism 32, no
1/2 (Winter/Spring 1996): 9. Citing Gordon Kaufman, In Face of Mystery: A Constructive
Theology (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 225; Paul Tillich, Systematic
Theology, Volume One (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), 15.
165
compatible with previous feminist work that portrays Biblical authority not as a quality
possessed by the text, but as a quality ascribed to the text by a community.253
Goss advocates queering the Bible, a form of textual interpretation that “turn[s] the text
inside-out,” and asks us to “read at the seams of the text any messages that might be meaningful
to twenty-first century queer Christians.” This reading does not reflect the intention of the
Biblical writers, but he notes “there is always a surplus of meaning in the text that the author
may not have consciously intended.”254 Despite their origins in a patriarchal culture for example,
Biblical texts do not always cooperate easily with patriarchal readings. Goss argues that a queer
reading can reawaken the subversive and liberating potential in the text.
Goss’s approach to Scripture emerges from the historical process of its creation. Far
from being a single unit, the Bible represents years of oral tradition, later set in words (writing
itself being a process of selection and interpretation), selected by various communities from
among other, similar works, and after much disagreement finally accepted as Scripture by a
religious institution.255 Goss asserts that no work is Scripture on its own merits, but becomes
such because it is identified as revelatory by a community—in this case, the queer community is
infused with its own authority to assess religious experience, discern the just and the liberating,
253
Lydia Neufeld Harder, for example, argues that Biblical authority “arises out of the …power
of the text to form community tradition,” and that such authority “must be adjudicated by a
responsible community capable of naming those biblical passages that reflect a community in
tension with the dominant patriarchal culture. This community consists of those in solidarity
with the marginal and oppressed in society.” See Obedience, Suspicion and the Gospel of Mark:
A Mennonite-Feminist Exploration of Biblical Authority, Studies in Women and Religion 5
(Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier Press, 1998), 7, 82; See also Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, Bread Not
Stone (Boston: Beacon Press, 1995), 65.
254
255
Goss, “Ephesians,” 631, 634.
The Cambridge History of the Bible estimates that the Biblical canon was set by the middle of
the second century. Peter R. Ackroyd, Christopher Francis Evans, Geoffrey William Hugo
Lampe, et. al., ed. Cambridge History of the Bible, Volume 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1970), 308.
166
and to weigh the good and the evil. This changes the dynamic between the Bible and the queer
community, undercutting the power of the “texts of terror,” and eliminating the need for
torturous apologetics.256 It also opens the possibility for the development of new Scriptures as
texts are identified by particular communities as connecting them with the divine or as oral
traditions about queer spiritual experience become embraced by a community of readers.
To a certain extent, gay men have already begun identifying new scripture, such as the
writings of Walt Whitman and a canonizing process can be seen in the veneration of victims of
homophobia such as Matthew Shepherd and iconic theorists such as Michel Foucault.257
Lesbians have adopted the writing of poet and author Audre Lorde as theological/Scriptural work
(particularly her essay “Uses of the Erotic: the Erotic as Power”).258 Within bisexual women’s
community, the first bisexual anthology, Bi Any Other Name, has functioned as a kind of
Scripture, since bisexual women have looked to it for confirmation of their identity, used it as an
authority to argue points of politics, and as an inspiration for building bisexual communities.
When the locus of authority is shifted from external (Bible, Church) to internal (community,
individual) then many Scriptures become possible.
At the root of the differences between Goss’ perception of Scripture and more traditional
approaches lies a disagreement on the nature of revelation. The closure of the canon, agreed to
by most Christian traditions, assumes that God’s direct revelation has ended (having reached
256
“Texts of Terror” refer to biblical texts traditionally used to oppress women. See Trible,
Texts of Terror, 1. Building on Trible, the term has also been used by queer theologians to refer
to passages used against queers. See Goss, Jesus Acted Up: A Gay and Lesbian Manifesto (San
Francisco: Harpersanfrancisco, 1993), 88-89.
257
Rollan McCleary, A Special Illumination: Authority, Inspiration and Heresy in Gay
Spirituality, (London: Equinox Publishing, 2004), 179; David M. Halperin, Saint Foucault:
Toward A Gay Hagiography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997).
258
Audre Lorde, “Uses of the Erotic: the Erotic as Power,” in Sister Outsider: Essays and
Speeches by Audre Lorde (Freedom, Ca: The Crossing Press, 1984), 53-59.
167
fullness in Christ), and can be encapsulated in a collection of authoritative texts. Goss’ work
assumes that revelation is a continuing process, which may require the embracing of new works,
or the abandonment of previously revelatory work as their partiality, shortcomings or even
toxicity are revealed over time.259 In the words of the Hebrew prophet Isaiah, God is “doing a
new thing.”260 Goss advocates continuing the process by which Scripture was originally
produced—fostering an oral tradition, writing about our experiences, and testing their worth
through community use and ongoing assessment.
Such a move would not be without serious consequences, particularly for ecumenism—
the ability of different denominations to work together. Peter R. Ackroyd warns that to “add to
this canon or subtract from it nowadays would break bonds which unite modern churches and
would make the historical development of the Christian tradition incomprehensible.”261 Of
course given the relationship many queers have had with their religious traditions of origin, it’s
not unreasonable to ask why we should care.
4) Taking Metaphor Seriously
The image of Jesus as bridegroom and the Church as bride has functioned as a formative
image for hierarchical power relations within the church.262 It serves as the archetype for
259
Other Christian traditions with an open canon include the Mormons and the Quakers.
260
“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new
thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” Isa 43:18-19, ESV.
261
Ackroyd, et al., ed., Cambridge History of the Bible, 308. Despite general agreements, the
official canons of Catholic, Protestant, Greek Orthodox, and other traditions differ as to content.
262
“Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife
even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Saviour. Now as the church
submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands. Husbands, love
your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her,
having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church
to himself in splendour, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and
168
Christian marriage, it has justified women’s submission and exclusion from ordained ministry,
and it has buttressed the submission of the laity to the ordained. Many feminist theologians have
asked how this metaphor might change if we view marriage not as a master-slave dynamic, but
as a communion between equals.263 Goss goes one step further and asks how the metaphor
might change if we acknowledge that “the Church” to whom Jesus is wed is not a singular
feminine unit, but rather a multiplicity of individuals.264
Christians have used the image of the marriage of Christ and the Church as symbolic of
God’s love and faithfulness. As Goss explains, “Christ is faithful to his church, justifying
monogamous fidelity in marriage. One’s marital partner becomes a window to God, reflecting
divine love, fidelity and grace.” While Goss allows that Christ’s fidelity may parallel that of
monogamous pair bonds, whether same-sexed or other-sexed, it is not the whole of the story of
Christ’s relational practice. If we acknowledge the collectivity of the Church, Goss proposes,
“Christ becomes the multi-partnered bridegroom to countless Christian men and women.”
Christ’s faithfulness to the Church is therefore more accurately described as polyfidelitous than
monogamous. In practice, this could shift the self-understanding of Christians in such a way as
to realign Christian sexual ethics at their root. Goss argues for example that the formation
without blemish. In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He
who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and
cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body. "Therefore a
man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and he two shall become one
flesh.” This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church.
However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her
husband.” Eph 5:22-33, ESV.
263
See for example, Daphne Nash, “Women’s Liberation and Christian Marriage,” New
Blackfriars 53 (May 1972): 198-199, 203; Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, 269;
Elizabeth G. Dominguez, “Biblical Concept of Human Sexuality,” in We Dare To Dream: Doing
Theology As Asian Women, ed. Virginia Fabella and Sun Ai Lee Park (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis
Books, 1989), 85;
264
Goss, “Proleptic Sexual Love,” 60.
169
process of monks and priests, in which men “were taught to pray and live as the brides of the
male Christ,” has “contributed to a polyamorous atmosphere. ” 265 I would imagine it could have
interesting affects upon gender identity as well, which if foregrounded could help counteract
heteronormativity.
Objections to sexual licence often appeal to sexuality as a “one flesh union” between
husband and wife.266 If we acknowledge that the concept of “one flesh union” does in fact
describe the experience of particular straight couples, does it necessarily follow that such a
bonding experience is limited only to heterosexuals, or to couples? As Goss notes, other biblical
body images such as “the body of Christ” are in practice images of multiplicity, including all the
faithful. Trinitarian language also reveals that multiplicity need not be seen as the destructive
opposite of singularity.267 William Countryman notes that Genesis uses the concept of “one
flesh” as a way of elevating the marriage bond to a position “equivalent in power and importance
to that of the natal family.”268 A similar theological move could elevate the queer community to
a position of equality with the natal family, recognizing the importance of chosen family in queer
lives.
While Goss’ emphasis on religious polyamory is promising, I question the wisdom of
naming this form of love “promiscuous,” as Goss does. The meaning of the term (a mixing forth)
265
Ibid., 60, 58-59.
266
Germain Grisez, The Way of the Lord Jesus, Volume 2, Living A Christian Life (Quincy, Il:
Franciscan Press, 1993), 575-586. Dominican priest Gareth Moore has noted, “it is marriage
which is the true one-flesh union in the Christian tradition, not sexual intercourse….” Gareth
Moore, A Question of Truth: Christianity and Homosexuality (New York: Continuum, 2003),
258.
267
Jay E. Johnson, “Trinitarian Tango: Divine Perichoretic Fecundity in Polyamorous
Relations,” Paper presented to Gay Men’s Issues in Religion Group, American Academy of
Religion Annual Meeting Atlanta, Georgia, (November 22-25, 2003).
268
L.William Countryman, “New Testament Sexual Ethics and Today’s World,” in Sexuality
and the Sacred, 47.
170
reflects the concept Goss wishes to communicate, and it has a certain appeal if one aims to reclaim
terms of abuse by which the gay men’s community has been oppressed. Yet as a concept,
promiscuity carries gendered meanings in its historical use (such as women’s sexual
objectification) that are glossed over in Goss’ reclamation project. Moreover, promiscuity does not
capture the element of openness, knowledge and full consent that I feel are necessary for a just
sexual ethic.269 Polyamorous is a term already in use that contains both the positive meaning (in the
sense that God has many lovers) and carries the feminist and democratic value systems which
promiscuity lacks. Furthermore, I suggest that two images of God’s love (monogamous and
polyamorous) are not adequate if they replicate hierarchical binaries. A fully adequate theology will
include a sense of dynamic movement reflecting the strategic transitions of bisexual women
themselves. Our relationship with the divine may be at times monogamous and at times
polyamorous. Such a reframing would revolutionize sexual ethics, but also influence other areas of
theology that have traditionally taken up the monogamous model. Divine polyamory could be a
positive concept for reframing the Christian view of the legitimacy of God’s covenant with the
Jewish people, too long denied by a monogamist supersessionism. Polyamory allows the
recognition that God has many lovers. Such an approach also holds promise for ecological
theology, which has struggled with notions of human supremacy and anthropocentrism. A God
whose polyamory includes all living creatures does not place our capricious and avaricious desire
above the basic needs of his other lovers.
5) Reclaiming the Sacred
Goss argues that the Christian tradition has tended to gloss over the “transgressive eros” of
its own history—the Song of Songs, the unusual gender and sexuality of mystic visions, and the
promiscuous love of Jesus. Christian life has been portrayed as a choice between opposing
binaries: “Celibacy versus marriage, approved monogamous marriage versus forbidden
269
L. William Countryman, for example, defines promiscuity as “personal gratification at
whatever expense to others.” Countryman, “New Testament Sexual Ethics,” 49.
171
polyamorous relationships.”270 We can reclaim the transgressive eros and overcome this false
binary, Goss proposes, by rediscovering Christ the sexual outlaw. Goss bases this image on the
Gospel portrait of Jesus as a man with the wrong friends—prostitutes, tax collectors, lepers, and
the ritually unclean. The authority of Jesus—his Christ nature—is rooted in this “practice of
solidarity with the oppressed,” as well as in traditional christological elements such as his
crucifixion and resurrection.271 Jesus the sexual outlaw functions as a sacred symbol for Goss by
acting as the ideal male lover, mediating the love of God and revolutionizing human relations.
Yet for women, far from being transgressive and erotic, the image of Jesus as lover may
reinforce heteronormative gender relations and concepts of male hegemony.
Goss argues that Jesus’ “promiscuous” love and his particular friendships render the
differences between monogamy and polyamory “slight.” 272 On this point I disagree with Goss.
Strictly speaking, he has not addressed monogamy, but moves quickly to embracing polyamory
and polyfidelity. He has not adequately critiqued the divinization of exclusivity or the
underlying concept of sexual ownership. Instead he redefines monogamy as fidelity, which is
not necessarily synonymous with sexual exclusivity. This is the way the women in my study
speak about monogamy; 28% dislike the lack of sexual freedom, the element most people think
of as defining monogamy itself. Strictly speaking, these women value monogamy as an
instrumental practice by which they achieve a sense of fidelity. Closeness, trust, security,
intimacy, and focus: these are the features of relationship which monogamous women name as
important—perhaps even sacred.
My primary objection to Goss’s work it is that he is overly comfortable with theology’s
270
Goss, “Proleptic Sexual Love,” 62-63.
271
Goss, Queering Christ, 160.
272
Ibid., 63.
172
androcentrism. It seems too easy for gay men to take comfort in the masculinity of the Jesus
circle and in the camaraderie of all-male communities such as the Jesuits. For white gay men
like Goss, the experience of anti-gay discrimination is an exception in lives that are otherwise
privileged by race and sex. Lesbian and bisexual women experience heterosexism and
homophobia, but also share the experience of being oppressed by patriarchy. Since sexism
expresses itself economically, lesbian and bisexual women may also experience class oppression.
As a result, queer women may be less likely to feel that mainstream theology, gay theology, and
gay politics need only a few adjustments. As I will now show, Argentinian theologian Marcella
Althaus-Reid brings a critical feminist lens to queer theology, which is a significant lacuna in
Goss’s work.
Marcella Althaus-Reid: Postcolonial Outrage[ous]
Marcella Althaus-Reid was born in Rosario, Argentina, in 1952 and died in February of
2009. She described herself as a “Latin American woman brought up in the poverty of Buenos
Aires,” and as a “queer amongst queers.”273 Rather than multiple perspectives (woman, poor,
colonized, queer), these identities function as an interconnected web emerging within relations of
power (in which, for example, poverty and the colonial body are both feminized, and woman and
queer are both defiled and defiling). The result is a theology that is attuned to relations of
power—the sexual, the political, and the economic—yet is also concerned with the mundane
experiences of daily life.
273
Marcella Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology: Theological Perversions in Sex, Gender and
Politics (London: Routledge, 2000), 9; Marcella Althaus-Reid and Lisa Isherwood, The Sexual
Theologian: Essays on Sex, God and Politics (London: T&T Clark, 2004), 104.
173
Postcolonialism is foundational to Althaus-Reid’s work.274 She recognizes that the Bible
and Christian tradition are not neutral. Rather, Christianity has been an integral piece of the
colonial project. She argues that much of mainstream theology is permeated by a sense of
nostalgia for Christendom, but notes that women “have little if anything to look back on with
nostalgia when it comes to Christian theology.”275 Instead, women (particularly marginalized
women) are still in the beginning stages of theologizing their experience.
From the sexual dreams and fantasies of poor women in Latin America we
hear about the desire to love other women, and how fulfilling it is, how
peaceful an experience it is for women harassed in the machista’s Latin
American system. Dreams of having more than one man, of loving
different men, also express the need to cease to be sexual property and
grow sexually with different experiences in their lives. 276
For Althaus-Reid these visions form a counter-discourse to a colonial theology that has
historically defined descent women as sexually passive, socially subordinate and maternal. She
describes her work as a “process of de-hegemonisation,” in effect reclaiming Scripture, tradition
and theology particularly for poor queer women.277
Althaus-Reid acknowledges that new traditions of Biblical interpretation will not be
easily embraced. “To read from a different perspective,” she writes, “does not sound
‘legitimate.’” Yet theological illegitimacy is precisely Althaus-Reid’s goal. Terms such as
legitimate, she argues are instruments of patriarchal ideology. Her work seeks to “rescue
elements of illegitimacy and subversion” in Biblical readings, in religious ritual and tradition,
274
See Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, 7.
275
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology, 61.
276
Ibid., 93.
277
Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, 7.
174
and in sexual and social practice.278 This illegitimacy is not reducible to an adolescent
contrariness—rather, it is a transformative illegitimacy, which cuts to the root of social
expectations of the good, the proper, the right, and the holy, revealing that God’s values are not
the same as hegemonic human values. In short, the “illegitimacy” that Althaus-Reid seeks to
recover is akin to Jesus’ birth status, to his form of ministry, and to his messianic claim.
1) Valuing Queer Culture
Traditional formulations of theological method, such as the Wesleyan Quadrilateral, posit
reason as a key element of reflection. In practice, this has sometimes included fields such as
sociology or anthropology.279 Yet as Althaus-Reid argues, the experiences which get included
are often predetermined by concepts of decency. Liberation theology has followed this same
path, tending to theologize only the presentable within the life of the poor—the value of
solidarity, the humility of the poor, or the political and social suffering which easily parallels that
of Jesus. By contrast, Althaus-Reid’s is a theology after dark, revealing the hidden and
suppressed experience of the poor and claiming that this too, is sacramental. Her portrayal of
queer culture in Latin America is peopled with bisexuals, gays, lesbians, cross-dressers
transsexuals, and prostitutes. Her definition of queer also includes the poor and socially
marginalized, and those straights who fall outside of the socially approved model of
heterosexuality.
278
279
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology, 18.
The Wesleyan Quadrilateral refers to four sources of theology: experience, reason, Scripture
and tradition. See Albert C. Outler, “The Wesleyan Quadrilateral—in John Wesley,” Wesleyan
Theological Journal 20, no. 1 (Spring 1985): 9; Catholic feminist Lisa Sowle Cahill
acknowledges that both the sciences and personal witness can “serve as correctives to biblical,
traditional, and normative accounts that simply do not correspond to the realities of human
experience.” Lisa Sowle Cahill, “Sexuality and Christian Ethics: How to Proceed,” in Sexuality
and the Sacred, 25.
175
Although Althaus-Reid’s books shares many stories of Latin America, her own story is
conspicuously missing. Apart from identifying as “queer,” her sexuality remains unnamed and
unexplored.280 By remaining in the shadows while placing the experience of the poor of Buenos
Aires centre stage, she replicates the hierarchical research relationship, which some feminists
have identified as exploitative.
Althaus-Reid claims that a “critical bisexuality” and a “full queer presence” is a
prerequisite for doing theology.281 She is not arguing that to be a theologian requires one to be
bisexual or queer. Rather, she used the term “bisexual” to describe a method in which the
theologian embraces subversive readings, instability, and fluidity of meaning over fixity.282 This
method is familiar to readers of queer theory, and it is against this tradition that her
understanding of bisexuality as a critical method must be set. Althaus-Reid positions the
bisexual theologian between the closet, on the one hand, and “transcendence via the instability of
God, sexual identity and humanity” on the other.283 The image of the closet is not as pervasive
for me as it is for Althaus-Reid. For her it is a constituting element of queer experience. For me,
its end is the beginning of queer experience. This may be an effect of our differing
environments. Althaus-Reid was part of several diverse queer communities but does not seem to
280
Some sources name her identity as bisexual, but this identity is not made clear in her written
work, where bisexual is supplanted by queer, and bisexuality is instead used to name her critical
methodology. See Robert Goss, “Some Reflections in memory of Dr. Marcella Althaus-Reid:
Out of the Closet Queer Theologian and Dear Friend,” MCC in the Valley: A Church Alive
(2009):www.mccinthevalley.com/0903MarcellaAlthaus.htm; “In memoriam Marcella AlthausReid,” in Holy Vignettes: Fatth, Theology, Passion, Rants, the Everyday (February 26, 2009):
http://holyvignettes.blogspot.com/2009/02/in-memoriam-marcella-althaus-reid.html.
281
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology, 108-109. Citing Thomas Bohache, “To Cut or not to
Cut. Is Compulsory Heterosexuality a Prerequisite for Christianity?” in Take Back The Word: A
Queer Reading of the Bible, ed. Robert Goss and Mona West (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 2000),
235.
282
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 16-17
283
Ibid., 15.
176
have been part of a bisexual community. Moreover, few countries in the world offer the sexual
freedom and human rights available to queers in Canada. The majority of the women in my
study were also not living lives in the shadow of the closet. Instead, they faced problems such as
achieving and maintaining visibility, countering heteronormativity and sexism, building a
support network, and having access to bisexual culture.
For Althaus-Reid, bisexual theology means resisting the compartmentalization of the
religious into hierarchical dyads such as confessor/confessant. This resistance is achieved by
bisexuality’s association with threes; the possibility of changing partners or of unseen others
interrupts the heterosexualization of theology. “Critical Bisexual theologians,” she argues,
displace “the politics of mono-loving.” Faithfulness becomes synonymous with premature
closure of the theological circle, with a stubborn adherence to narrow perspectives, and with
reified views of sex and sexuality.284
I have several reservations about defining bisexuality as co-terminus with fluidity and
polyamory. First, bisexuals face real consequences when bisexuality is conflated with
polyamory. Monogamous bisexual women already face challenges maintaining their identity
against heteronormativity; equating bisexuality with polyamory only marginalizes them further.
Second, while I agree with Althaus-Reid that bisexuality “cannot be pinned down in a stable or
fixed way,” this is also true of other sexualities; their fixity is an illusion. 285 The reason that an
identity such as lesbian cannot function in this way is because promiscuity accusations do not
figure in the history of lesbian oppression in the same way they do for bisexual women. AlthausReid’s concept of bisexual theology makes use of this association with promiscuity, but does not
examine it with sufficient critical depth, instead seeing only value in reclaiming denigrating
284
Ibid., 19.
285
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 16.
177
discourses such as “indecency.” Finally, since Althaus-Reid argues that one need not be bisexual
to perform bisexual theology, I have concerns about bisexuality being appropriated by nonbisexuals who may use it abstractly to represent whatever they please, regardless of its effect on
real bisexuals.286
2) Resexualizing Theology
It not strictly accurate to describe Althaus-Reid’s work as a re-sexualization, since for her
there is no theology that is not sexual.287 “[E]very theology,” she writes, “implies a conscious or
unconscious sexual and political praxis.”288 Traditional theology, she argues, has based its view
of sexuality on an androcentric and misogynistic anthropology. Queer theology, she argues,
must begin from a “more realistic” view of the nature of the human person. This anthropology
will be a feminist one, “where women are in control of their desires and pleasures, and in
complete freedom to express themselves sexually with their own bodies, with other women, with
men, or both.”289 This anthropological project must begin, as the hermeneutical circle of
liberation theology does, with a reflection on women’s lived experience. This would be a
welcome and necessary change for women oppressed by mainstream sexual theology. As
heteropatriarchy defines it, female sexuality is naturally passive, receptive, and directed toward
reproduction. Women are expected to conform to this “natural” sexuality or be labelled as
defective.
In contrast to abstract sexualities to which we must conform, Althaus-Reid affirms the
286
For the danger of the abstract negating the concrete see Hewitt, Critical Theory of Religion,
37-38, 57-58, 60-61, 121, 134, 140, 215.
287
Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, i.
288
Ibid., 4.
289
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology, 88-89.
178
sacramentality of our sexual lives—that our sexual lives mediate God, however imperfect they
might be. She argues that queer theology “is a materialist theology that takes bodies seriously,”
and as such needs to begin with the experience of women’s pleasure.290 An anthropology rooted
in women’s experience of pleasure is a prerequisite if concepts such as justice are to be
meaningful. “If people cannot honestly incorporate the sexual aspect of their lives into their
experiences of the divine,” Althaus-Reid asks, “then how can they possibly hope to live with
integrity and in right-relation with others?”291
I find the idea of a theology that emerges from women’s reflection on their own sexual
experience very promising. It avoids replicating the pattern whereby real women must conform
to the abstract category of woman and become trapped trying to replicate an idealized femininity.
Instead, it begins from what is, and empowers women to discuss what could and should be. My
only caution here would be to remember the multiplicity of women and the diversity of women’s
experience. Even within my sample of 40 women in one city, there was great diversity in
identity labels, gender expression, and the cultural milieu in which they live out their sexuality.
This diversity must be preserved or this new feminist anthropology will simply propose a new
abstract norm against which Others (women of colour, for example) are measured.
In a key departure from gay male theology Althaus-Reid stresses the need for an analysis
of the way women’s sexuality has been constructed by heteropatriarchy. Heteronormative
portrayals of women’s sexuality have conflated love with sex. This approach has
underemphasised the importance of sexual fulfilment for women, redirecting them instead to
expressions of love that have been self-sacrificing and submissive. Building upon the
Christological maxim that what is not assumed by Jesus is not redeemed, Althaus-Reid insists
290
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 19.
291
Simpson, “How to be Fashionably Queer,” 99-100.
179
that Christology must include the insights from “female sexual research, done among ordinary
women in the USA and in Argentina.”292 This critique of heteronormative sexuality, coupled
with its re-assessment of Christology, holds promise for women who are struggling with
gendered expectations of sacrifice.293 But as my research suggests, reaffirming the importance
of sexuality for women means reassessing numerous gender expectations, including the image of
the ideal mother as asexual.
3) Reframing Authority
Hegemonic Christian traditions delineate theology as an unbroken transmission of
sameness, in Scripture, doctrine, and practice, and define any deviations from this uniformity as
heresy. Althaus-Reid redefines those that the Church has stigmatized as sacrilegious as people
with a tradition. There is, she argues, “more than one history of biblical interpretation” and these
multiple histories form the backdrop for “the power struggles fought for the world and the
Word.”294 In short, theological traditions are not simply “given,” but are sustained by relations
of power.
292
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology, 88-89. She names specifically Nancy Friday and
Susana Finkel. The maxim referred to originates with St. Gregory of Nazianz. See “Letter of
Gregory to Cledonius the Priest, Against Apollinarius,” in The Faith of the Fathers: A
Sourcebook of Theological and Historical Passages, Volume 2, ed. and trans. W. A. Jurgens
(Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1979), 40-41. For more on the feminist implications
of this Christological maxim, see Rosemary Radford Ruether, “Christology: Can A Male Saviour
Save Women?” in Sexism and God-Talk: Toward A Feminist Theology (Boston: Beacon Press,
1983), 116-138.
293
Joanna Manning argues that Catholic images of good motherhood are overwhelmingly selfsacrificing. She notes Pope John Paul II’s beatification of Gianna Beretta Molla, who declined a
life-saving operation to save her fetus, and Elisabetta Canori Mora, who remained in an abusive
marriage. Manning, Is the Pope Catholic? 148-149.
294
Marcella Althaus-Reid, “Review Article: The Bible, the Empire and the Other,” Reviews in
Religion & Theology 9, no. 5 (December 2002): 399.
180
Althaus-Reid describes queers as a people who have been “condemned to be outside the
gates of the church and away from the presence of God. ” From this position of the outcast, they
find agency in their search for holiness and justice in the sexual, political, and social arenas.295
They have discovered that God is not only to be found in Church, but in the messy details of
their daily lives. With this praxis comes a new sense of authority as quality we ascribe to others,
not a power to which we submit. The Church is named as one of the “sinful structures ” to which
decolonized queers “do not give authority or recognition. ” 296 In this sense, queer spirituality is an
affirmation of agency and a de-colonisation process in itself.
Drawing upon Marxist analysis, Althaus-Reid also emphasises the interconnectedness of
the sexual and the sacred with the economic. The Church has claimed a monopoly on the holy,
controlling access to God. God’s love is then a commodity, to be exchanged for political and
social submission. This sexual theology, she argues “is shaped by market forces and alienates us
from God.”297 Images of the divine are marketed in ways that sanctify their secular parallels.
Althaus-Reid observes, “the jealous God who supports monogamous, life-exclusive relationships
does not support socialism, nor even the pre-capitalist economies of the Incas.”298 Althaus-Reid
challenges us to imagine what sexuality might look like if it were separated from capitalism’s
individualized and hierarchical profit structure. What if the body were no longer treated as
property to be possessed, leased or sold? What if love and sex were no longer portrayed as being
in limited supply, but were instead recognized as present in abundance among the people.299
295
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 165.
296
Ibid.
297
Ibid., 40.
298
Ibid., 132.
299
Dossie Easton and Catherine Liszt make a similar analysis of the economy of sexuality,
calling limited supply perspectives “starvation economies.” See Dossie Easton and Catherine A.
181
In contrast to the hegemonic Christianity of the Church, introduced to Latin America
through military conquest and aligned with an oppressive political regime, Althaus-Reid
proposes a theology based on a “consensual relationship…with God.”300 Adopting a consensual
relationship shifts the distribution of power from the Church—the controller of access to the
holy—to the people in whose marginal and messy lives God is at work. Consensuality also
means adopting a radical suspicion toward the Scripture and tradition as it has been received.
The first step is recognizing that the content of these categories has been essentially foreign to
Latin America. Althaus-Reid proposes a theological reassessment of Scripture and tradition
based on the religious experience of Latin Americans themselves—in short, not an adaptation of
the Bible for indigenous cultures, but a new theology built from the ground up. She writes:
This is the theology which ‘makes people blossom’, because it restores the
principle of the authority of the believers, and respects their right to
express their particular experience of God in their lives, according to their
cultures, traditions and political circumstances.301
This rebuilding includes suppressed stories and practices that have been dismissed by Church
authorities as garbled, childish, or heretical. Althaus-Reid points out that this erasure of heresy is
never fully achieved, instead, religious discourse hides this “suppressed knowledge in exile” and
people remember and recreate counter-knowledges through “symbols and mythological
contradictions of the official versions.”302
I find more personal resonance in Althaus-Reid’s radical suspicion than I do in Goss’
queer textual hermeneutics. I tend to see more structural decay in both the ecclesial structure and
Liszt, The Ethical Slut: A Guide to Infinite Sexual Possibilities (San Francisco: Greenery Press,
1997), 125-132.
300
Althaus-Reid and Isherwood, The Sexual Theologian, 107.
301
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology To Indecent Theology, 116.
302
Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, 20.
182
its “good news.” In refusing to adopt the perspective of the colonial church, Althaus-Reid enacts
G.W.F. Hegel’s insight that the master needs the slave more than the slave needs the master.303
To affirm consensuality as a desirable quality for one’s relationship with the divine seems to me
to not only encapsulate the theological essence of free will, but to hold out hope that such a value
could, through being divinized in this way, come to norm all human relationships. An emphasis
on consent would greater reflect the experience of the queer community, for whom even the
relationships most taken for granted as not chosen, such as family, have been redefined due to
neglect, abandonment or expulsion.
Reclaiming the power to speak authoritatively about the mysterious and the holy in queer
lives also means the identification of alternative texts as revelatory, including writing which
emerges from the queer community, traditionally secular literature, and even (perhaps especially)
the text of our own lives.304 The Holy Spirit, Althaus-Reid maintains, does not limit itself to
operating only within channels approved by Church bureaucracy. She proposes a more flexible
Holy Spirit, whose presence is saving not only in a soteriological sense, but also in present
concrete ways, removing our internalized oppression (such as the colonial mindset) and
empowering us to voice our dissent.305 She notes that for some, this struggle may mean “leaving
the church and its alliance with the oppressive state.”306 While a Christianity that is outside the
church is possible and even desirable, as I will show in the section below, if our theology
changes and those authorized to do theology changes, then our God changes.
303
G.W.F. Hegel, The Phenomenology of Mind, trans. J.B. Baillie (New York: Harper, 1967)
237.
304
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 34.
305
Ibid., 127.
306
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology, 81.
183
4) Taking Metaphor Seriously
Althaus-Reid applies her hermeneutic suspicion not only to texts, but also to the content of
the message—that of a monotheistic male divinity. Traditional theology, she argues, has
constructed women as the Other to all that is normative, including God. She recalls a key
realization that it was not women who were estranged from God, but it was “God himself who
was a stranger for women, black people, the poor and the sexual marginalized. Reflecting upon
the history of women in Latin America, she notes that “other divinities are not only more
friendly, but that there is a ‘god’ who is one of us: for women she was the Goddess.”307
She is not simply adding to the traditional image of God—emphasising God’s feminine
side. Her proposal is nothing short of a complete rejection of the authenticity of the God of the
patriarchal colonial heterosexist Church, which constructed him in its own image. To discover
the divine apart from patriarchy, apart from the violent dominance and submission of
colonialism, and apart from the sexualized violence of heteronormativity, is in effect to be
discovering a different God than the one most Christians would recognize. This other divinity is
not simply a female version of God—God in a dress, as it were. Instead, she is as Althaus-Reid
describes her, “the Other goddess, the Goddess who reads Capital and understands the need for
agrarian reform.”308 At this point Althaus-Reid seems to exit Christian theology, a concern that
bothers her not at all, if her choice is between Christian orthodoxy and an authentic God. “We
must be proud to be called betrayers,” she writes, “if our unfaithfulness to patriarchal ideology
307
Marcella Althaus-Reid, “From the Goddess to Queer Theology,” Feminist Theology 13, no. 2
(2005): 267. Citing Marcella Althaus-Reid, “A Woman’s Right of not Being Straight: On
Theology, Church and Pornography,” in Concilium 5 (2002): 88-97.
308
Althaus-Reid, “From the Goddess to Queer Theology,” 268.
184
opens up the possibility of discovering God anew.” 309
The prospect of intimacy with a female deity offers intriguing possibilities for bisexual
women’s theology. Such a relationship, particularly if accompanied by ritual, could be a
resource for those monogamous women in relationships with men, who find long-term bisexual
visibility a challenge. It could also ground celebratory expressions of women’s polyamory as
reflective of divine love. One example of such a celebration is the Goddess room which has
been set up at some of the women’s bathhouse events—in which a pagan priestess offers sexual
encounters, promising none will be turned away. Friends have reported this experience to
mediate both divine love and community acceptance. At the same time, it seems specific to
queer women’s community—due to endemic mainstream sexism the aspect which makes it
sacramental would, I think, be lost if men were included. The psychic effect for women of
seeing their own humanity imaged as divine has not yet been fully explored. While the potential
is revolutionary, the history of Mariology within the Catholic tradition ought to make women
concerned about what elements of the “feminine” are identified with deity.
Mary Daly has famously written, “if God is male, then the male is God.”310 Althaus-Reid
likewise argues that representations of God as singular—that is the monotheistic tradition
itself—has effectively baptised other mono-traditions: the monotheistic deity in an exclusive
relationship with his chosen people; Jesus as the bridegroom to the Church; the priest as
representative of Christ to the laity; the Pope as head of the Church; the king as head of a
Christian empire; and the husband as lord to his submissive wife. Each of these dyads is a
hierarchy, rather than a partnership of equals, and each further legitimates reflections of the
309
Althaus-Reid, From Feminist Theology To Indecent Theology, 3-4
310
Mary Daly, Beyond God the Father, 19.
185
divine master-slave dynamic.311 What radical re-ordering might result if God is removed from
the monotradition, revealed as multiple, and as blessing multiplicity? Bisexuals ought not to feel
smugly prepared for such a revolution; bisexual community too, has its monotraditions, as
Dianna’s complaints about one-right-wayism highlight.
5) Reclaiming the Sacred
Traditional Christology claims that the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus have
universal salvific—that is, saving—meaning. Althaus-Reid proposes that we reassess this
assumption, asking not how Jesus’ birth, life and death are relevant to our experience of Christ,
but asking instead, are these elements relevant? We must, she argues, allow for the possibility
that other elements may be more important to women dedicated to constructing a critical
Christology. Such elements include Jesus’ “practices of solidarity…love and…social justice,”
which Althaus-Reid names as sexual practices.312 An important part of reassessing Jesus is
acknowledging that his life and teachings are limited by their historical setting. Althaus-Reid
writes that Jesus “may have been advanced for his time, but not necessarily for ours.” She
observes that given the choice between Jesus and [Paolo] Freire, “many of us would like to
choose Freire, who had more awareness, consciousness and critical strategical thinking than the
un-dialogical Christ of current theology, in spite of the fact that Freire was not a messiah.” 313 As
a solution to the historical limitations of Jesus, Althaus-Reid proposes moving “beyond the idea
of an individual messiah,” focussing instead on a “discourse about what we experience as
311
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 54-55.
312
Ibid., 168-169.
313
Ibid., 80, 86, 45, 48.
186
saving.”314 In this sense, Christ is being used in the tradition of Carter Heyward’s use of God, as
a verb to describe the salvific presence that emerges among and between lovers of justice.315
This research project has highlighted the salvific nature of particular relationships for
bisexual women.316 Although I avoided asking the women in my study questions about religion,
17.5 percent of them mentioned spirituality as playing a role in their attachment to their partners.
Brianna mentions that she and her girlfriend “had some similar spiritual experiences and
explorations,” and Dinah feels that she and her boyfriend “had a very strong spiritual or even
karmic connection right from the start.” The elements of monogamy which women identified as
liking (closeness/intimacy, loyalty, security, focus) also tell a story if read against the grain.
Those who enjoy monogamy’s security, for example, could be said to feel they need securing;
and indeed, the world is not a safe place for queer women. Likewise, the most common feature
named as positive by polyamorous women—the freedom to pursue relationships with many
different people—suggests that these women have felt constrained within heteronormative
relationships. That these women move from one category to another over time opens the
possibility that these values are community values, which address strategic needs through
particular relationships. By naming freedom, intimacy and security as saving, these women
make a contribution to a bisexual soteriology that traverses categories such as polyamorous or
monogamous in the same way they do.
314
Ibid., 52.
315
Carter Heyward, Saving Jesus From Those Who Are Right: Rethinking What It Means To Be
Christian (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1999), 20.
316
Salvific in this sense does not refer to individual salvation in the afterlife, but to a communal
salvation in the present. See Letty M. Russell, Human Liberation In A Feminist Perspective—A
Theology (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1974), 61- 62. She cites liberation
theologies use of the Hebrew concept shalom (peace), which she defines as “wholeness and total
social well-being in community with others.”
187
In place of Jesus as the archetypal outlaw, Althaus-Reid develops the idea of the “queer
God,” whose face has been hidden and suppressed by heterosexual theology.317 This God is not
a reformer of the current Church in all its sins (hierarchical, misogynistic, heterosexist, monoloving) but is an alternative to fixed structures of any kind. Instead of the monotheistic father
God, which sacralizes compulsory monogamy and male domination, the Queer God is a diverse,
and dynamic deity whose presence is felt among the marginalized, among the outcast, and within
intimate human relationships. The queer God is able to be moved, and far from being absolutely
independent and transcendent, “depends heavily on our intimate relationships to configure
Godself.” 318 In short, the Queer God needs us, and thus sacralizes the extent to which we need
each other.
Bisexual Theology: Moving Forward
The incorporation of queer theory into theology has led, in the case of Robert Goss and
Marcella Althaus-Reid, to an inclusive theology with a critical conscience. Bisexuals must
harbour a healthy suspicion of queer theory’s use in theology. Although it positions itself as
theoretically inclusive of many marginalized sexual identities, in practice queer theory has
reinforced stereotypes that define bisexual as compromised, treacherous, and heterosexuallyaligned.319 Although the move to an inclusive theology is an important one, I believe that for
317
Althaus-Reid and Isherwood, The Sexual Theologian, 5.
318
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 53.
319
See Christopher James, “Denying Complexity: The Dismissal and Appropriation of
Bisexuality in Queer, Lesbian and Gay Theory,” in Queer Studies: A Lesbian, gay, Bisexual and
Transgender Anthology (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 217-240; Mark A
Gammon,” Troubling the Canon: Bisexuality and Queer Theory,” Journal of Homosexuality 52,
no. 1-2 (2007): 159-184; Stacey Young, “Dichotomies and Displacement: Bisexuals in Queer
188
bisexual theologians this move is premature. We still have many issues to explore, including our
conflation with polyamory. Until the theological implications of bisexuality are fully explored
queer theology will suffer from an insufficient comprehension of the categories they aim to
destabilize.
Robert Goss has observed that transgendered theology is “further along” than bisexual
theology and he speculates that this may be “due to insufficient bi activism within communities
of faith or to bisexual not experiencing the degree of exclusion and hostility that transgendered
folks do.”320 I see the slow development of bisexual theology as having other causes. First, the
bisexuality movement has been dominated by women, and bisexual women have been alienated
from traditional faith communities. The theology we inherit from our communities of faith has
been a theology by and for men, despite its claims to universality. Too often the real “norma
normans non normata” has been male experience.321 Even the biblical texts that Christians hold
in common have been selected by men as those that best reflect their understanding of the divine.
Elaine Pagels has suggested that some texts were excluded from the canon specifically because
of the status they accorded to women.322 This “malestream” theology has, as Althaus-Reid
points out, resulted in a God that is a stranger to many of us—queer women particularly. Darren
Sherkat’s study suggests that bisexual women feel more alienated from their traditions of origin,
exhibit low participation in religious ritual, and hold conservative beliefs about the Bible. 323 If
bisexual women see religious reform as unimportant or as unlikely, it stands to reason that they
Theory and Politics,” in Playing with Fire: Queer Politics, Queer Theories, ed. Shane Phelan
(New York: Routledge 1997), 51-74.
320
Goss, Queering Christ, 252.
321
The “norm of norms which is not itself normed,” used to refer to Scripture.
322
Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Random House, 1979) 70-83.
323
Sherkat, “Sexuality and Religious Commitment in the United States,” 318.
189
may be reluctant to participate in reform movements or to devote their energy toward creating a
sustained critique or alternative.
A second factor slowing bisexual theology is the fact that, in most cases, bisexual women
do not have their own communities. This is in part an effect of injustice, since bisexual women
have worked to create inclusive queer women’s community only to be excluded by lesbian
hegemony and separatist politics. Communities provide security and breathing space where
people can reflect on their experience, and begin the hermeneutical circle which, done
communally, produces theology. Our first step in making bisexual theology possible is to build
communities where such activity is possible. Marcella Althaus-Reid’s lack of bisexual
community, coupled with her reticence about her own sexuality and sexual life, prevents her
theology from being widely embraced by bisexuals. In the following chapter I will relate the
building of bisexual communities more explicitly to the development of bisexual theology, and
make some recommendations for both these projects.
190
Conclusion
This dissertation has aimed to highlight the invisibility and distortion of bisexual
women’s experience, and to affirm this experience as a foundational resource for nascent
bisexual theology.324 In the process, I have paid particular attention to the relationship of
bisexuality to polyamory, aiming to understand the social, political, and theological role played
by the conflation of the two concepts. My methodology emerges out of the amalgamation of
critical theory, radical bisexual feminism, and queer theology.
This chapter picks up the five common themes in the work of Robert Goss and Marcella
Althaus-Reid from Chapter Four325 and relates them to the four elements of Catholic sexual
ethics I outlined in Chapter One.326 I emphasise the importance of building bisexual women’s
communities and I relate this project to the development of bisexual theology. Finally, I make
recommendations for both bisexual women’s community building and for the development of
bisexual theology.
1. Valuing Queer Culture
I agree with Robert Goss that the Church (any church) does not have a monopoly on
religious experience or on its correct interpretation. At the root of the theological projects of
Goss and Althaus-Reid is the immanence of God, which provides free and radical access to the
divine, in and through human experience. It must be this experience—our own encounter with
the divine as queers—from which we determine the authenticity of theological claims. As
324
Lather, “Feminist Perspectives,” 295.
325
These themes are: 1) valuing queer culture, 2) sexualizing theology, 3) reframing authority, 4)
taking metaphor seriously, and 5) reclaiming the sacred.
326
These elements are: 1) sexuality is foundational, 2) sexuality is sacramental, 3) sexuality is
social, and 4) sexuality is moral.
191
Sharon Ringe, a professor of New Testament, puts it, “theological criteria concerning the nature
of God are invoked as the fundamental authority, on which the authority of Scripture itself
depends.”327
Goss and Althaus-Reid’s assertion that all communities are sexual is a principle that can
also be deduced from mainstream theology. As I mentioned in Chapter One, Catholicism has
traditionally emphasised the social nature of sexuality, defining it as our capacity for
encountering the Other in love. As such, sexuality is the foundation from which community
grows. As a social constructionist, I also view community, and the power relations shaping it, as
the locus of identity construction. The cultures we create make particular identities possible.
Reflecting upon this research project, I assert that community building is essential for the wellbeing of bisexual women. It provides the willingness to listen that makes their narratives
possible, creates a space for counter-practices which challenge compulsory monogamy, and
carries the memory that makes sequential bisexuality visible.
As I have argued, sexuality forges connections of attraction, intimacy, sexual history, and
relationship among individuals. Our sexuality made our queer communities by creating a web of
relations that have been variously described as a community, culture, nation, tribe, and chosen
family. These communities are not only an effective mediator of the divine, but for queers of all
kinds, are a more effective mediator than traditional communities such as the Church because
they provide freedom from sexual oppression (albeit limited and partial), and the resources to
combat oppression both internally and externally. Valuing queer community theologically
means that instead of placing the burden of proof upon queers to justify counter-cultural
327
Sharon H. Ringe, “Reading From Context to Context: Contributions of a Feminist
Hermeneutic to Theologies of Liberation,” In Lift Every Voice: Constructing Christian
Theologies From the Underside, ed. Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite and Mary Potter Engel (San
Francisco: Harpersanfrancisco, 1990), 289.
192
practices and traditions, we must assume that God works in and through our cultural traditions.
The question then becomes where and how is God at work in our traditions? What plan do we
discern at work for the promotion of justice and human flourishing, and how can we participate
in its realization?
2) Sexualizing Theology
Both Goss and Althaus-Reid reject asexual portrayals of the divine and emphasise the
necessity of unmasking the hidden sexuality at the root of mainstream theology.328 As Goss’s
work shows, reasserting the sexuality of Jesus reveals aspects of his relational praxis that can
function as new Christian norms. Goss argues that the Jesus community was characterized by
“promiscuous love,” which repudiates social boundaries and purity laws, and mirrors the
polyamorous love of God, embodied in the image of the trinity and in Christ’s role as
bridegroom to the Church. This offers a Scriptural critique of monogamous and heteronormative
institutions, such as marriage, and undercuts Biblical prohibitions of homosexuality, which gay
theology has traditionally framed as a reiteration of the holiness codes. A final criterion for
authenticity emerges in Goss’s assertion that simultaneously religious and sexual communities
are fruitful, producing “new Christian sexual theologies…”329 The assertion that sexuality is
productive queers the Catholic tradition of sexuality’s procreative nature.
When the sexual and the sacred are no longer relegated to a hierarchical relationship of
spirit over flesh, the value of the embodied human spirit can be affirmed. Pastoral, feminist and
328
They are not alone in this. Carter Heyward concurs, arguing that since the Council of Elvira,
Christianity “has (often secretly) put sexuality at the centre of its doctrine, discipline, and
worship.” See Carter Heyward, “Jesus of Nazareth/Christ of Faith: Foundations of a Reactive
Christology,” In Lift Every Voice, 191.
329
Goss, Queering Christ, xiv.
193
disability theologies have found a fruitful dialogue with current science in examining the body’s
role in cognition, rejecting previous models of the mind and the body as essentially distinct.330
Althaus-Reid describes her approach as materialist, rather than situating herself within
embodiment theology, yet her emphasis on concrete experiences as the locus of revelation
highlights the theological importance of our psychosomatic nature. Whereas Goss begins with
the experience of promiscuous love, Althaus-Reid begins with women’s pleasure, asserting it as
the foundation of a new Christian anthropology.331 The assertion of the goodness of the body,
and of its sexual impulses, acts and pleasure as a locus of divine revelation undergirds the
resexualized theology which Goss and Althaus-Reid envision.
Yet our experience of sexuality is not unleavened by oppression and social sin.
Patriarchy, misogyny, biphobia, and other forms of injustice are internalized and form part of our
psyche. We need saving from these internalized discourses—both those that are expressed in
internal relations of abuse (such as the self-critical voice found in Danielle’s interview) and those
that manifest themselves within queer relationships. Polyamory activists suggest that we also
need saving from jealousy and other behaviours stemming from dynamics of power-over, which
disguise notions of patriarchal ownership as love.
Rather than a theology that is blind to social sin, bisexual feminism needs a theology
where sexual decisions are made with a conscientized awareness of the social, political, and
moral context. Mujerista theologian Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz defines conscientization as “a
330
Andrew D. Lester, The Angry Christian (Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), 5466; Christine M. Smith, Preaching as Weeping, Confession, and Resistance (Kentucky:
Westminster John Knox, 1992), 38-61; Beth Felker Jones, Marks of His Wounds: Gender
Politics and Bodily Resurrection (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 22-26, 44-49; Amos
Yong, Theology and Down Syndrome (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2007), 182;
331
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 19.
194
moment of insight which creates a suspicion about oppression.” 332 This critical awareness
enables the oppressed to grasp the cause of their oppression and the praxis required to oppose it.
Like coming out, conscientisation is an ongoing process, “not something that happens once and
for all.” 333 She views this shift in thinking from naïve to critical awareness a prerequisite for
mutuality, for only if we correctly understand the nature of our relationship with another (and
whatever oppression it might involve) can we relate authentically. A commitment to
conscientisation as a process is therefore an essential prerequisite to sexual relationships that are
based on authenticity, justice, and love.
3) Reframing Authority
Christianity has traditionally held that the authority of the Bible derives from its
inspiration by God. They have named it the Word of God, claimed that one encounters God
within its pages, and some have asserted its inerrancy—that it will not lead the believer astray in
matters of faith and practice.334 This has not been the case for women, or for bisexuals and other
sexual minorities. Rather than encountering an authority within its pages that invokes my assent,
I have found the Biblical inheritance to be, in Phyllis Trible’s words, texts of terror.335 My
commitment to freedom for myself and other bisexual women demands that I assert not only that
our personhood is equivalent to that of others, but that I prioritize our freedom as the starting
point of our theology and as the norm by which we assess authority. Following feminist
theologian Elizabeth Farians, I agree that “[e]ither religion promotes human development and
332
Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz, “Solidarity: Love of Neighbor in the 1980s,” in Lift Every Voice, 36.
333
Isasi-Diaz, “Solidarity,” 36.
334
See Norman L. Geisler, Inerrancy (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1980).
335
Trible, Texts of Terror, 1.
195
well being or it is destructive and cannot be representative of the true God.”336 As Rosemary
Radford Ruether argues, the affirmation of women’s full humanity must be the “critical
principle” of women’s theology.337
As I have argued, Catholicism views sexuality as a foundational element of our
personhood rooted in our embodied way of relating to others in the world. Our sexuality is not
therefore an add-on to our theology, but lies at the heart of our being. It is not only included in
our relationship with God and the world, it is the quality we possess—the impulse to
connection—which makes these relationships possible. A theology that assumes the full
humanity of women will not leave our sexuality behind, but will foreground it as an authentic
lens through which to speak about our freedom and personhood.
As a critical principle, the norm of bisexuals as fully human serves not only to assess
traditional authority claims, but to reveal the authoritativeness of non-traditional sources of
theology for bisexuals. Robert Goss and Marcella Althaus-Reid empower queers both
individually and collectively, to name the good in their lives. For Robert Goss this means
claiming the freedom to queer Scripture and tradition. For Althaus-Reid this means exploring
and creating new Scriptural works, and creating canons, however tentative, that embody our own
experience of the sacred, evoke the assent of our community, and serve as the rule by which we
measure our actions. Carter Heyward warns against reifying our own perspective on the holy by
336
337
Elizabeth Farians, "Justice, The Hard Line," Andover-Newton Quarterly (March, 1972): 199.
Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk, 18-19. See also Letty M. Russell, Feminist Interpretation of
The Bible (Kentucky: Westminster John Knox, 1985), 15-17; Letty Russell, Household of
Freedom (Kentucky: Westminster John Knox, 1987), 71; Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza, “A
Feminist Biblical Hermeneutics: Biblical Interpretation and Liberation Theology,” in The
Challenge of Liberation Theology: A First-World Response, ed. L. Dale Richesin and Brian
Mahan (New York: Orbis Books, 1981), 108.
196
shutting this process down prematurely. “It is wrong,” she writes, “to close the canons at the end
of one’s own story or that of one’s people.”338
Key to reframing our concept of religious authority is Althaus-Reid’s notion of a
consenting relationship with God. Consent is generally taken to mean a voluntary agreement; in
Althaus-Reid’s case it asserts the ongoing free will of people relate to God without coercion.
She names as sadistic relationships with the divine which do not permit consent, or which allow
violence as an acceptable means of spreading the Gospel.339 Feminist theologian Marie Fortune
distinguishes consent from submission, which she defines as “the absence of non-consent, of
acquiescence.”340 Consent is not giving up our authority because we are overpowered or
threatened. Fortune identifies relationships that do not feature consent as predicated on control,
and names them as battering.341 Jesus could be seen to invite a consensual relationship when he
asks, “who do you say that I am?” a question which womanist theologian Jacqueline Grant
describes as “posed a new in each new generation and in each context.”342
Fortune writes that “authentic consent presupposes a peer relationship in which both
persons have the capacity and resources to exercise moral agency and choice.”343 Are we then,
to think of ourselves as God’s peers? Such an idea seems rife with hubris, yet is also hinted at in
the scene of The Last Supper, when Jesus says, "No longer do I call you servants…but I have
338
Heyward, “Jesus of Nazareth/Christ of Faith,” 197.
339
Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, 154.
340
Marie M. Fortune, Love Does No Harm: Sexual Ethics For The Rest of Us (New York:
Continuum, 1995), 86.
341
Ibid., 94.
342
Jesus’ question to Simon Peter, Mt 16:15 ESV; Jacquelyn Grant, “Subjectification as a
Requirement for Christological Construction,” in Life Every Voice, 202.
343
Fortune, Love Does No Harm, 86.
197
called you friends.”344 The alternative is a theory of consent that recognizes power differentials
are ubiquitous in human relationships, and are therefore not necessarily a barrier to relationship
with a God who mediates Godself through incarnation.
Some clues to theologizing a consensual relationship with God may lie in the experience
of grace. Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite and Mary Potter Engel define grace as a “freely given
power by which God moves the world toward wholeness (shalom) through justice and mercy.”
In its very nature, they claim, this empowerment is freely given and freely received. Their
addendum is particularly interesting: “To be grace at all it must be accepted by a partner capable
of participating in this work of salvation.345 Drawing on feminist work on rape and on medical
ethics, I suggest that authentic consent is free, informed, and a process of communication and
exchange rather than an act per se.346 If authentic consent requires that we be free and informed,
then it requires our liberation from oppression as its prerequisite. Not only is our ability to freely
assent deformed under oppression, but knowledge, and our ability to comprehend is shaped by
the power relations in which we are embedded. Holding the feminist work on consent in tension
with Thistlethwaite and Engel’s work on grace, it seems to me that the colonized cannot
authentically consent to the relationship Althaus-Reid envisions without first being freed from
the colonial mindset. Perhaps by exploring the economy of grace within queer communities (and
other oppressed communities) we can discover how our empowerment by God toward mercy and
344
Jn 15:15 ESV.
345
Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite and Mary Potter Engel, “Healing, Liberating, and Sanctifying
Grace,” in Lift Every Voice, 165.
346
Allison Moore and Paul Reynolds, “Feminist Approaches to Sexual Consent: A Critical
Assessment,” in Making Sense of Consent, ed. Mark Cowling and Paul Reynolds (Aldershot:
Ashgate Publishing, 2004), 29-44; Varda Muhlbauer, and Joan C. Chrisler, Women Over 50:
Psychological Perspectives (New York: Springer, 2007) 69; Gill Allwood, French Feminisms
(London: Taylor and Francis, 1998),130.
198
justice (grace) becomes possible if we are not yet in a fit condition to fully consent to our
participation in it.
Richard Gula’s writing on conscience has much to offer here. He defines conscience as
our capacity to “discern good and evil,” the process by which we discover “what makes for being
a good person,” and the judgement by which we decide “what particular action is morally right
or wrong.”347 This capacity develops over time, is formed in community, and resides in the
heart. Conscience expresses the desires of our “truest self,” and endorses actions that express the
values that we own. It “includes not only cognitive and volitional aspects but also affective,
intuitive, and somatic ones as well.” 348 Could Gula’s model of conscience serve as a model for
consent as a capacity that likewise develops in community, engages us on multiple levels, and
develops over time? Such a model might enable us to view our consensual relationship with God
not as an all or nothing proposition (either consensual or tyrannical), but as a relationship that
grows in proportion to our capacity, never violating us, but gently prodding us toward a greater
capacity. Perhaps then we will be close to answering Kwok Pui-Lan’s question, “How do
postcolonial intellectuals [or any of us who have internalized dominating discourses] begin the
process of decolonization of the mind and soul?” 349
4) Taking Metaphor Seriously
Christianity has traditionally used the image of Christ as the bridegroom of the Church to
reinforce their claims that heterosexuality, and monogamy, are normative for all Christians. The
words of Jesus on marriage in the Gospel of Matthew connect monogamy with the creation of
347
Richard M. Gula, Moral Discernment (New York: Paulist Press, 1997), 18.
348
Ibid., 14, 18.
349
Kwok Pui-lan, Postcolonial Imagination and Feminist Theology (Louisville: Westminster
John Knox Press, 2005), 30.
199
humanity as male and female.350 Taking metaphor seriously requires exploring the meaning of
these and other images from all their perspectives, including their queer and bisexual meanings.
Pope John Paul II connects love’s sacramentality with the creation of humans in God’s
image.351 Goss argues that the actualization of our likeness to the divine may be found not in
monogamy only, but also (perhaps even primarily) in a polyamorous practice. He reveals that
the marriage of Christ and the Church is a polyfidelitous model when one acknowledges that the
Church is not a single individual. This polyfidelity is echoed in the action of the Holy Spirit,
who anoints a multitude of disciples, rather than remaining faithful only to a single Christ.
Trinitarian formulations of God further suggest that Godself is internally relational with more
than one person. Taking our creation in the image of God seriously means asking whether the
traditional limits placed on our relationships by heteronormativity and compulsory monogamy
are justified. To answer no, as Goss and Althaus-Reid do, requires a realignment of Christian
sexual ethics at their root.
Polyamorous theology allows the recognition that God has many lovers. Fully actualizing our
likeness to God could come to require an embracing of all God's beloved, especially the
marginalized. Such an approach also holds promise for ecological theology, which has struggled
with notions of human supremacy and anthropocentrism. Concepts of monogamy, rooted in values
of ownership and exclusivity make this message particularly difficult for some to hear.
Let me be clear, lest this be read as a denouncement of the sacramental quality of the
relationships of monogamous women. Our problem is not monogamy per se, but rather the
350
Mt 19:4-6 reads “He answered, "Have you not read that he who created them from the
beginning made them male and female, and said, 'Therefore a man shall leave his father and his
mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh'? So they are no longer two
but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate.” ESV
351
John Paul II, “Familiaris Consortio: On The Role of the Christian Family in the Modern
World,” (1981), 11.
200
compulsory nature of monogamy, the double standards emerging from heterosexism which posit
monogamy as natural for women, and the oppressive nature of its practice within economies of
sexual oppression and starvation. Althaus-Reid denounces monothinking, but not the
faithfulness, focus, commitment or intimacy of monogamy.352 The prophet Isaiah wrote, “For
behold, I create new heavens and a new earth. ” 353 In the same spirit of renewal and liberation,
bisexual women need a new monogamy and a new polyamory in which our choices are not
necessarily placeholders in a hierarchy of women. Kwok Pui-Lan puts it well: “In the end, we
must liberate ourselves from a hierarchical model of truth which assumes there is one truth above
many. This biased belief leads to the coercion of others into sameness, oneness, and
homogenaeity which excludes multiplicity and plurality.” 354
5) Reclaiming The Sacred
Drawing on the previous five themes, many elements go into our reclaiming of the
sacred. We must reclaim our embodiment as sexual, and as sacramental. We must recognize
that our bisexuality is a fundamental part of our humanity, and affirm it as part of the creation
that God identified as good.355 There is a positive value in being out as bisexual and an adequate
sexual theology must facilitate this visibility. Affirming the social nature of our sexuality
highlights the critical role of bisexual communities in women’s identity development and
requires a commitment to building and supporting such communities. This is not a separatist
enterprise, but occurs amidst webs of relationships with lesbians, transsexuals, gay men, the
352
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 19, 54-55.
353
Isa 65:17 ESV
354
Kwok Pui-Lan, “Discovering the Bible in the Non-Biblical World,” in Lift Every Voice:
Constructing Christian Theologies From the Underside, ed. Susan Brooks Thistlethwaite and
Mary Potter Engel (San Francisco: Harpersanfrancisco, 1990), 281.
355
Gen 1:31.
201
polyamorous, and non-conforming heterosexuals. Finally, we must reclaim the authority to
determine the moral content of our world using our own methods and sources. This authority
finds its ground in the immanence of God and in our ability to discern this presence and respond.
Carter Heyward puts this in pneumatological language when she writes, “the sacred liberating
Spirit is as incarnate here and now among us as She was in Jesus of Nazareth.” 356
To be adequate to the task of meeting bisexual women’s needs, theology must facilitate
and support a raised consciousness. A key resource for this project of reclaiming the sacred in
our lives is the imagination of conscientized women. This element has been named as critical by
numerous feminists. Kwok Pui-lan writes about the “post-colonial imagination,” which can
“envision a different past, present, and future.”357 Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza has written about
“creative actualization,” which reiterates and amplifies liberating elements of tradition.358
Althaus-Reid names this process as decolonisation.359 Approaching the familiar in a new way,
embodying our insights in new rituals and scriptures, and envisioning new ways of living out our
Christian vocation all require the capacity to see beyond what is to what could be. It may be that
an authentic bisexual theology is no longer identifiable as Christian. Feminist theologians such
as Althaus-Reid have been willing to follow God out of Christianity if that is where God leads.
Mary Hunt was quoted at the 2003 Re-Imaging conference as saying, “Whether it is Christian or
not is frankly, darling, something about which I no longer give a pope."360
356
Heyward, “Jesus of Nazareth/Christ of Faith,” 197.
357
Kwok Pui-Lan, Postcolonial Imagination, 30.
358
Fiorenza, Bread Not Stone, 21.
359
Althaus-Reid, The Queer God, 165.
360
Quoted by Peter Steinfels in “Cries of Heresy After Feminists Meet,” New York Times, New
York Edition, Saturday, May 14, 1994, sec. 1, p. 24.
202
As I argued in the previous chapter, a bisexual theology can only authentically emerge
from hermeneutical circles of reflection that take place within bisexual community. As social
justice teacher and advocate Maurianne Adams and others have argued:
Our communities are where our moral values are expressed. It is here that
we are called upon to share our connection to others, our interdependence,
our deepest belief in what it means to be part of the human condition,
where people’s lives touch one another, for good or for bad.361
To be a bisexual woman in mainstream culture is to be constantly navigating both our invisibility
and our oppression as bisexuals and as women; this is compounded exponentially if we are also
women of colour. To be a bisexual woman within lesbian community requires navigating
invisibility and lesbian biphobia. While the latter does not possess the resources of
heteronormativity, it is discursively powerful when it comes to delineating queer women’s
authenticity. Only in bisexual community can bisexual women relax in space where they need
not defend and explain themselves.362 In light of the importance I attach to bisexual community
as a prerequisite for bisexual theology, I have four recommendations for bisexual activists and
community builders.
361
Maurianne Adams, Warren J. Blumenfeld, Heather W. Hackman, Ximena Zuniga and
Madeline L. Peters, Readings for Diversity and Social Justice: An Anthology on Racism, AntiSemitism, Sexism, Heterosexism, Ableism and Classism (New York: Routledge, 2000), 454.
362
For more on bisexual space as a place where bisexual women escape challenges to their
authenticity, see Robinson, “Becoming Who We Are,” www.margaretrobinson.com/scholarly/
building bicommunity.html`
203
Recommendations For Community Building
1) Be Attentive To The Kinds Of Community We Create
The U.S. Catholic Bishops write that all people have “an obligation to be active and
productive participants in the life of society,” and that society is obligated to enable our
participation. They name this contributive justice, “for it stresses the duty of all who are able to
help create the goods, services, and other nonmaterial or spiritual values necessary for the
welfare of the whole community.”363 I agree with the U.S. Catholic Bishops, that human life is
essentially communal and responsible. As they explain in their letter, “Economic Justice for
All,” the communities in which we live shape human dignity and our capacity to grow. The
Bishops frame the Christian directive to love one’s neighbour in individual terms, but also in
communal terms, as “a broader social commitment to the common good.”364
The implication of this for bi women’s community is that the structures we create, the
ways of doing things that we establish, and the alliances we form all influence the kinds of
bisexual women we become. My sexuality, which emerged in the queer community of Halifax
and developed within Toronto’s bisexual community, is different from the bisexuality of women
in the lesbian community, and different still from that of women within the heterosexual
mainstream. In creating community, we are making particular kinds of bisexuality possible. The
community we have now offers many resources for identity development, but more are needed.
By defining the boundaries of this community we are naming our allies, and prioritizing some
goods over others. In doing so, we must be attentive to those who are most affected by the
363
U.S. Catholic Bishops, “Economic Justice for All: Pastoral Letter on Catholic Social
Teaching and the U.S. Economy,” (1986): 71. www.osjspm.org/economic_justice_for_all.aspx.
364
Ibid.
204
drawing of these borders. The women in my study were unclear on whether the borders of
bisexual community included swingers, people labelled promiscuous, and those whose
relationships appear heteronormative.
2) Provide Identity Support to Monogamous Women
The VCRA analysis reveals how monogamous women with children and husbands
shuffle layers of their identity to bring heterosexuality (or what appears to be heterosexuality) to
the fore again.365 These women frequently discover that a model of sexual identity failure
(through labels such as “hasbian”) is the only one offered to them. The bisexual community has
been at fault in failing to offer them another way. We must create spaces in which monogamous
bisexual women can develop the kinds of long-term social support that makes their bisexuality
visible. This includes individual friendships, but also communal networks of women who form a
community of listening for one another. Since my research also reveals that the categories of
monogamous and polyamorous are not clearly demarcated, and in fact are frequently traversed,
the creation of these resources will be of benefit to the entire community, as it provides greater
support for the monogamous periods in every woman’s life.
Further work also needs to be done into the resources used by monogamous women who
are not struggling with invisibility and heteropatriarchy. Women in my study find support in
being out, dating bisexual men, immersing themselves and their partner in queer culture, and
using non-traditional gender performance. More research could help delineate a bisexual
monogamy that is distinct from heteronormative understanding of the men and women, their
365
For more on the concept of layered identity see Sara Bleiberg, Adam Fertmann, Christina
Godino, and Ashley Todhunter, “The Layer Cake Model of Bisexual Identity Development,”
National Association for Campus Activities Programming Magazine 37, no. 8 (April 2005):
www.nyu.edu/residential.education/pdfs/article.bisexual.identity.pdf
205
sexuality and their social responsibilities. While there may not be any woman who can claim to
lead her life entirely outside of the heteropatriarchal matrix, there are those of us who are
exploring its margins and constructing counter-practices. These strategies need to be more
clearly researched to enable us to offer them as supports to others.
3) Promote Practices That Counter Heteronormativity
My research suggests that by making space within bisexual culture for other-sexed
couples, we provide women in these relationships with necessary resources for combating
heteronormativity and compulsory monogamy. Greater attention must also be paid to the
difference between coming out and the challenges of being out, which may different for women
based on their gender presentation, relationship structures, and self-perception. Those women
who are raising young children could likewise be served better by developing community
resources which enable them to better integrate their identity as mothers with their identity as
bisexual women. Such resources could include bi-positive childcare, discussion and support
groups and child-inclusive social events. More effort must also be made to promote those
services already available for queer mothers.366
Both polyamorous and monogamous women felt that polyamorous norms shaped
bisexual community. This creates a vital nurturing space for women whose sexual practice is not
supported by the mainstream. It also aligns us with polyamorous activism, as issues such as
group marriage or decriminalization come to be seen as bisexual issues. If this association is to
have positive effects for all bisexual women, we must be certain that the polyamory we are
366
Family Services Toronto, for example, offers a queer-positive prenatal class and workshops
such as Dykes Planning Tykes, a 12 week course on family planning and The Parenting
Exchange, a discussion group. http://
www.familyservicetoronto.org/programs/lgbt/workshops.html
206
supporting—and which we permit to function as a norm in bisexual community—is heavily
informed by bisexual feminism. Too often, sexual liberation movements have increased men’s
sexual access to women, increasing women’s sexual “work,” without challenging the context,
quality or content of sexual encounters. Polyamory has the potential to undercut this double
standard while also avoiding the trap of replicating existing sexual dynamics. One of the ways
that polyamorous women in my study prevented their sexuality from being over-determined by
sexism and heteropatriarchy was to have their relationships open on both “sides” of the gender
divide. Of the polyamorous women partnered with men, one third were dating additional men as
well as women. This helps undercut notions of women as property. Still an issue, however, are
constructions of polyamory which construct sex with women as an add-on to a primary
heterosexual relationship, devaluing women’s sexual connections as unthreatening play or sport.
Unlike previous sexual liberation movements, polyamory has been heavily informed by
feminism. Rather than being the sexual goods over which males compete, polyamory assumes
that women are sexual agents in their own right who will have equal access to sexual
relationships. When bisexuality is added to polyamory, compulsory heterosexuality is decentred.
Women need not choose from among a pool of male partners. The existence of other options,
and the experience of other relationship dynamics, radically alters both the options available to
individual women and the kinds of relationships women are willing to accept.
4) Offer New Roles for Women with Developed Identities
One of the disheartening findings of my study was the degree to which women with
strong bisexual identities disassociated themselves from bisexual community. While support
groups are essential for women coming out or dealing with a crisis, they are less useful to women
who already possess strong bisexual identities. Bisexual community lacks a structured role for
207
these women and as a result we risk losing them to membership drift, burnout, and disinterest.
Some of the women in my study enjoyed bisexual social events; creating a regular series of these
would help maintain their sense of connection with the community, and with one another.
Losing women with secure bisexual identities also undercuts the development of bisexual
theology, since it is out of their life experience that theological reflection will develop.
Recommendations for Bisexual Theology
Marcella Althaus-Reid wrote that women have traditionally been “consumers, not
producers of theology.”367 This has been particularly true for bisexual women, since bisexual
theology is still in its infancy. This is the subject to which I now turn—our bisexual theology—
with four recommendations for this developing discourse.
1) Be Open To The Wisdom Of Multiple Traditions
Kwok Pui-Lan argues that “truth claims must be tested in public discourses, in constant
dialogue with other communities.” 368 Many have rebuffed queers as inappropriate dialogue
partners. One need only look at the example of the example of the Universal Fellowship of
metropolitan Community Churches (UFMCC), which has been able to attain only observer status
at the World Council of Churches, and which has been denied even that by the National Council
of Churches since it first applied in 1981.369 Since our communities are made up of people from
diverse religious traditions, the dialogue that Kwok envisions is possible to have as within queer
367
Althaus-Reid, Indecent Theology, 176
368
Kwok, “Discovering the Bible in the Non-Biblical World,” 281.
369
Nancy Wilson, Our Tribe: Queer Folks, God, Jesus, and the Bible (New Mexico: Alamo
State Press, 2000), 49; Troy Perry, Don’t Be Afraid Anymore (New York: St. Martin’s Press,
1990), 238-239, 267-268.
208
communities. For this reason, as much as the desire for truth, bisexual theology must be an
ecumenical and multi-faith conversation. Thus far it has been: Blessed Bi Spirit included
contributions from Catholic, Presbyterian, Unitarian Universalist, Twelve-Step, Buddhist, Native
American, Pagan, Wiccan, and Jewish writers.370 We must avoid beginning from the outset with
a definition of theology that is already set by mainstream traditions, such as Christianity. This
type of thinking will alienate many women before a conversation can even be started. As lesbian
theologian Mary Hunt observes, “A pluralistic religious context requires that what it means to be
religious cannot be reduced to one approach without the serious risk of homogenizing what are
finally very different experiences.”371 An inclusive theological conversation is particularly
appropriate to our Canadian context. The religious makeup of Canada is diversifying, with a
marked increase in non-Christian traditions, and bisexual theologies need to reflect this if they
are to make sense of our Canadian context.372 Increasingly, Pagans are joining the theological
conversation. Wiccan and other Pagan women are particularly visible in the bisexual community
here in Toronto.373
370
Debra R. Kolodny, ed. Blessed Bi Spirit: Bisexual People of Faith (London: Continuum,
2000).
371
Mary Hunt, “Just Good Sex: Feminist Catholicism and Human Rights,” in Good Sex:
Feminist Perspectives From the World’s Religions, ed. Mary E. Hunt, Patricia Beattie Jung and
Radhika Balakrishnan (Piscataway, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 2001), 165.
372
The 2001 reported significant growth in Muslim (128.9%), Jewish (3.7%), Buddhist (83.8),
Hindu (89.3), and Sikh traditions (88.8%). Census Canada, “2001 Census: Analysis Series:
Religions in Canada,” (May 13, 2003) Catalogue no. 96F0030XIE2001015. www12.statcan.ca/
English/census01/Products/Analytic/companion/rel/pdf/96F0030XIE2001015.pdf
373
See Margaret Robinson, "Queer Wiccans 101: Not a Course at Hogwarts," Xtra no. 491, vol.
21 (August, 2003), 13.
209
2) Offer Alternative to Heterosexist Constructions of Sexual Morality
I agree with Marcella Althaus-Reid that theology has too long been operating from a
distorted or partial picture of what constitutes human sexuality and human flourishing. This does
an injustice to gay, lesbian and bisexual people, but to heterosexuals as well. In a worldview
where women are fully human, all sexual relations change. Yet a movement or culture that
forms within structures of domination, and is constructed by women whose identities are shaped
within discourses of oppression, must necessarily offer partial, tentative, and temporary
solutions. We have no spot outside of compulsory heteropatriarchy from which to critique it; yet
such a critique is necessary if our theology is to be anything other than mainstream theology with
a bisexual twist.374
Some insights have already emerged from the fecund meeting of queer feminism and
polyamorous politics. We know that patriarchy fosters animosity and division among women by
constructing them as competitors for male sexual attention. This competition overvalues
heteronormative gender and values such as feminine passivity and submission. Such
competition contrasts sharply with the connection expressed by friends who have been lovers in
a polyamorous context. The discourse of polyamory redefines jealousy as a learned behaviour
and introduces new terms such as compersion, the experience of taking joy in a partner’s
happiness.375 Such concepts are necessary if we are to construct a counter-discourse to
heteropatriarchy that is rooted in women’s experiences of sexual freedom. Our aim must be to
create a monogamy and a polyamory that is outside of heteropatriarchy, but also, as Althaus374
375
Hewitt, Critical Theory of Religion, 105, 114.
Psychology professor Jorge N. Ferrer, connects with Buddhist concept of “mudita,”
sympathetic joy, one of four qualities associated with the enlightened. See Jorge N. Ferrer,
“Monogamy, Polyamory and Beyond: Spirituality and Intimate Relationships,” Tikkun 22, no. 2
(January/February 2007) 37.
210
Reid emphasises, outside of capitalism, where monogamy is not tied up with male ownership of
women, and where polyamory is not modelled on accumulation and consumption.
3) Theologize Bisexual Experience
The Catholic Magisterium has not heard the call of J. Giles Milhaven, to learn from the
sexual lives of loving couples.376 But perhaps the bisexual community can hear this call
ourselves. To do so we must become a listening community, where people feel empowered to
speak honestly about their sexual experience, both good and bad. The experiences we need to
hear will come from many places. They will come from single women, who are too often
portrayed as existing in an asexual state, waiting to respond to the sexual interest of another
(usually a male). They will come from polyamorous women in a variety of relationship
configurations. Too often we expect that women in polyamorous or open relationships will have
much to say about sex, but little to say about love and intimacy. They will come from
monogamous women in relationships with men, women, or other genders not represented in this
study. Too often monogamy is defined by what it is not, rather than what it is. Monogamous
women can tell us what monogamy means if we listen to them. We must also hear from the
women whose stories are usually marginalized as peripheral to the norm: older women, women
of colour, disabled women, and transsexual women. These women are part of our community
and our theology will suffer to the degree that we refuse to hear them.
376
J. Giles Milhaven, “How Can The Church Learn From Gay and Lesbian Experience,” in The
Vatican and Homosexuality: Reactions to the “Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on
the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons,” ed. Jeannine Gramick and Pat Furey (New York:
Crossroad, 1988), 216-223.
211
4) Foster And Promote Bisexual Resources For Spiritual Development
If bisexual theology is to join the queer theological conversation it will be good to begin
with the five theological trends I identified in the theology Robert Goss and Marcella Althaus
Reid. The valuing of our culture is a basic requirement for bisexual theology; we must be
unafraid to claim that our experience can serve as the foundation for fruitful theological
reflection. AIDS activist Larry Kramer asks, “how do we claim the God that they have gobbled
up for their own private reserve?” 377 Goss and Althaus-Reid answer by reframing the issue, and
reasserting that we already are in relationship with God. Whether it is Goss’ Jesus the sexual
outlaw, or Althaus-Reid’s Queer God, they assert queer people’s access to the divine. Bisexual
women must recognize that we too have this access. The methodologies laid out in the writing
of Goss and Althaus-Reid are not only useful for examining the text of mainstream theology
(both their Scripture and the text of their tradition) but can also be applied to other forces
affecting bisexual women, such as the writing of biphobic lesbians such as Sheila Jeffreys.378 By
daring to unmask and queer the most sacred texts around us, we reframe our authority as
bisexual women in ways it has never been framed before.
Early Church apologist Irenaeus writes, “the glory of God is humanity fully alive.”379
Bisexual women must begin to reflect upon those experiences in which we have felt fully alive.
This must be done on an individual basis in the form of articles, poems and books, since these
perspectives, are the bones upon which a body of discourse is built. But theological reflection
upon bisexuality cannot remain limited to a collection of personal perspectives. If we are to act
377
Larry Kramer, The Tragedy of Today’s Gays (New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin, 2005),
83.
378
379
Jeffreys, “Bisexual Politics: A Superior Form of Feminism?”
Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses, 4.20.6. Similarly, in the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I came
that they may have life and have it abundantly.” Jn 10:10, ESV
212
justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly with the divine we must do so as women in connection
with others.380 We must have community discussions, debates, and reflections, for it is out of
community that a living theology emerges. It is a community that identifies and authorizes
Scriptures. It is a community that celebrates the rituals that express and reaffirm its insights into
the nature of holiness. Drawing on my research, such rituals might include recognition of the
transitions of identity that many bisexual women undergo during their lives.
Some resources for theology are already apparent. Many of our bisexual anthologies
have sections devoted to spirituality. Christian perspectives are notably absent from our early
anthologies, present only in the background, as a sex negative-cultural force from which
bisexuals must escape or heal. A benefit to this has been that discussions of spirituality in the
bisexual community have not begun with a Christian framework already in place. These works
tend to incorporate spirituality into politics, personal development, relationships and community
building rather than treating it as a separate discourse in conversation with mainstream churches.
Althaus-Reid warns that to write theology from a different perspective will not seem
legitimate, and she embraces this illegitimacy. I see such audacity as emerging from Catholic
theology itself. Catholic natural law posits that due to divine immanence, the world is
sacramental—that is, mediating the divine.381 God’s creation bears the marks of its creator’s
fingerprints in its shapes and structures. As the poet Gerald Manley Hopkins describes it, “The
world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.”382
This sacramentality applies not only the animal world, to which humans undoubtedly belong, but
380
This line paraphrases the quotation “And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly
and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Mic 6:8, ESV.
381
382
Pope Paul VI, “Humanae Vitae,” I, 4.
Gerald Manley Hopkins, “God’s Grandeur,” in Gerald Manley Hopkins: The Major Works,
ed. Catherine Phillips (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 128.
213
also to the cultural world, which is definitive of our species. Bisexual culture is not outside the
divine purview. Further, we can assert that there is something to learn about the divine from all
our human relationships. These relationships—including (perhaps especially) the sexual—tell us
something about ultimate reality. By fully exploring the theological content of bisexual
women’s experience we proclaim the embodiment of the divine within human love and reveal
the bisexual face of God.
214
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Appendix
Document 1: Email Introduction
Hello.
My name is Margaret Robinson. I am a doctoral student at Regis College, at the University of
Toronto. I am a bisexual activist and writer, currently doing research for my dissertation.
My dissertation will study bisexual women’s choices between polyamorous and monogamous
relationships. The purpose of this study is to gain insight into the impact of these decisions on
their sexual identity. I work from the assumption that both monogamy and polyamory are
legitimate relationship choices.
I am seeking bisexual women (including bisexual transwomen), over the age of eighteen, in the
Toronto area who are willing to discuss their relationships in email interviews. The time
commitment will vary, depending on the detail and length of your answers, and your willingness
to answer follow-up questions. You may choose to disregard any question that makes you feel
uncomfortable.
The interviews will be stored on my personal computer and password protected. Your responses
will be identified by a pseudonym of your choosing.
I am doing this work from a feminist perspective, which attempts to enable greater mutuality
between researcher and participant. You will have the opportunity, should you choose, to
receive my analysis of your interview, and to respond to this analysis. If you wish, you may see
my answers to the same interview questions you have answered. You may also choose to
receive an electronic copy of the dissertation when it is completed.
If you are interested in being interviewed, or you would like more information about the study
please reply by email to [email protected]. Additional information about my work
and me can be found on my website, http://www.margaretrobinson.com.
If you have concerns about this research, you may contact me, or my supervisor, Dr. Ron
Mercier.
[Contact information omitted.]
237
Document 2: Informed Consent
You are being invited to participate in this research study because you identify as a bisexual
woman connected with the Greater Toronto Area. The category of “woman” in this study
includes transwomen.
My name is Margaret Robinson and I am a doctoral student at Regis College, at the University of
Toronto. I am a bisexual woman living in the Toronto area. I am conducting a study on the
relationship decisions of bisexual women, and the impact of these decisions on their sexual
identity.
While you may not benefit directly from this study, societal benefits of this study include 1) a
better understanding of the sexual identity development of bisexual women in the Toronto area;
2) a clearer sense of how these women view monogamy or polyamory in relation to their sexual
identity.
You will be asked a series of questions about your life and sexual relationships. The time
commitment will vary, depending on the detail and length of your answers, and your willingness
to answer follow-up questions. You are not required to answer the questions. You may choose
to disregard any question that makes you feel uncomfortable.
Your name and other identifying information will not appear in the dissertation or in future
publications. You will be identified by a pseudonym of your choosing. Interview responses will
be kept in a locked filing cabinet, or if stored electronically, will be password protected. The
interview material will be destroyed after five years. I encourage you to take whatever
precautions are necessary for you. This might include ensuring that emails are not left in your
computer’s recycling bin, on your server, or in draft or sent email folders. If your need for
anonymity is strong you might choose to create a web email address (such as hotmail), just for
use with this survey.
I may quote your responses in my doctoral dissertation and in future papers, journal articles and
books. If you like, my analysis of your responses and an electronic copy of the dissertation will
be provided to you when they are available. If you wish, you may receive a copy of my own
answers to the interview questions after you have responded. There is no financial compensation
for participating in this research.
Your participation is voluntary. You have the right to withdraw from the study at any time. If
you choose to withdraw from the study you have the right to request that all information you
provided be destroyed and omitted from the research.
Since these interviews are done through email, it is not possible to have you sign a consent form.
By responding to the questions below with your chosen pseudonym you consent to participate in
this research. I encourage you to print or save a copy of this consent form for your records.
If you have any questions about this research, please contact me at the address below. If you
have concerns about this research you may contact me, or my supervisor, Dr. Ron Mercier.
Thank-you for your help with my research project.
[Contact information omitted.]
238
Document 3: Email Questionnaire
Section 1: All participants. Please answer the following questions. Your answers may be as
short or as long as you like.
1. You will not be quoted by name in this study. What pseudonym would you like to use?
2. Tell me a bit about yourself. (ex: I am a 32-year-old doctoral student. I don’t have any
children. I work in a video store. My background is Micmac and Scottish and I come
from Nova Scotia. I’m currently working on my dissertation research.)
3. Tell me about your sex and gender identities. What words do you use to describe
yourself? Do you identify as transsexual, transgendered, or bigendered?
4. Tell me about how you came to identify as bisexual.
5. Tell me how you first heard about polyamory. How did you feel about the idea?
6. Have your views toward polyamory changed over time? If so, how have they changed?
What do you think caused this change?
7. How did being bisexual affect your dating choices? Ex: did it affect where you met
people, how and when you came out to them, or what types of partners you sought?
8. Tell me about your current relationship(s). Please describe how you met. What
interested you in your partner(s)?
9. How do you spend your time together? What activities do you enjoy sharing? What do
you prefer to do alone?
10. Describe your communication style. What subjects do you enjoy talking about? What
subjects do you avoid? What topics lead to arguments?
11. How are decisions made in your relationship(s)? How do you resolve conflicts?
12. What are the main differences for you between a good relationship and a bad one? How
can you tell if a relationship isn’t going to work for you?
13. Do you celebrate any relationship anniversaries or milestone? If so, describe them, their
importance to you, and how you celebrate them.
14. Describe your ideal relationship(s). How is it similar or dissimilar to your current
relationship(s)?
15. How do you think others view your relationship(s)?
16. Do you have support when you are having difficulty in your relationship(s)? If yes, who
supports you?
17. Describe your relation to bi culture, community or social groups in Toronto. Are you as
involved as you would like to be? Do you feel included? Why or why not?
18. Do you feel that monogamous and polyamorous bisexuals have a lot in common? Or does
their relationship structure make them very different?
239
Section 2: Polyamory questions. Please answer the following questions if you are in a
polyamorous relationship. If you are in a monogamous relationship, please skip to the next
section.
1. Tell me about being poly. Do you view it as an activity, an identity like bisexuality, or as
something else?
2. How do you describe or define your relationships? Are you out to others as polyamorous?
If yes, to whom, or in what situations are you out?
3. Do you feel you consciously chose a polyamorous relationship? If so, what led you to
make that choice? If not, how did it come about?
4. Discuss how you see your polyamory and your bisexuality in relation to one another. Do
you feel they are distinct, related, integrated, or something else?
5. What do you like about polyamory? What do you not like?
6. Describe how your relationships are treated in gay or lesbian spaces (ex: discussion
groups, bars). How about in bi spaces (discussion groups, social events)?
7. What kind of assumptions about your relationships have you encountered? Were these
assumptions accurate? If not, why not?
8. Have you participated in poly communities or poly spaces (ex; discussion groups,
socials)? If so, how are they similar to bi spaces? How are they different?
9. How is polyamory different for women (including transwomen) than for men? What
stereotypes, expectations or issues do you encounter as a poly woman? If you identify as
a transwoman, what does this perspective reveal for you? Do you feel your experience of
polyamory is unique, similar to that of other women, or something else?
10. Describe your relation with polyamorous heterosexuals. Do you feel that you have a lot
in common? Why or why not?
Section 3: Monogamy questions. Please answer the following questions if you are in a
monogamous relationship. If you are in a polyamorous relationship, please skip to
Section 4.
1. Tell me about being monogamous. Do you view it as an activity, an identity like
bisexuality, or as something else?
2. How do you describe or define your relationship? Have you ever found yourself having
to come out as monogamous? If so, when?
3. Do you feel you consciously chose a monogamous relationship? If so, what led you to
make that choice? If not, how did it come about?
4. Discuss how you see your monogamy and your bisexuality in relation to one another. Do
you feel they are distinct, related, integrated, or something else?
5. What do you like about monogamy? What do you not like?
6. Describe how you relationship is treated in gay or lesbian spaces (ex: discussion groups,
bars). How about in bi spaces (discussion groups, social events)?
240
7. What kinds of assumptions about your relationship have you encountered? Were these
assumptions accurate? If not, why not?
8. How is your practice of monogamy similar to or different from mainstream views on
monogamy? Do you feel you belong to a monogamous community? Why or why not?
9. How is monogamy different for women (including transwomen) than for men? What
stereotypes, expectations or issues do you encounter as a monogamous woman? If you
identify as a transwoman, what does this perspective reveal for you? Do you feel your
experience of monogamy is unique, similar to that of other women, or something else?
10. Describe your relation with monogamous heterosexuals. Do you feel that you have a lot
in common? Why or why not?
Section 4: All participants. Please answer the following questions yes or no.
1. Would you like to see the way I analyse your answers to the interview questions?
2. Would you like to respond to any conclusions I draw from the research?
3. Would you like to be emailed a copy of the dissertation when it is finished?
4. Would you like to see my responses to the interview questions?
5. Would you be willing to answer follow-up questions once your interview is analysed?
Thank-you for participating in this research.
241
2-Spirited People of The First Nations, 68
519 Church St. Community Centre, 68, 61,
63 n. 169
9ICB, 17, 55, 67
Ackroyd, Peter R., 167
Activism, 1-3, 6, 12-14, 17-18, 27, 31, 3435, 37-39, 57, 60, 64-67, 98, 105, 116,
126, 139, 152, 155, 158, 184, 193, 202,
205, 211
ACTUP, 158
Adams, Maurianne, 202
Adelle (participant), 141-142, 147-148,
150, 153
Africa, 4, 43-44
Agency, ii, 2, 37, 88, 97, 105, 180, 196 88
AIDS, 49
Aitcheson, Rachael, 11
Ally (participant), 64, 73, 139, 143, 144
Althaus-Reid, Marcella, 18, 21, 156, 172193, 195-197, 191-193, 195-197, 199,
200-201, 207, 209, 211
American Academy of Religion, 52
Ana (participant), 73, 76
Anglican Church, 40, 42, 43 n.115, 44,
Anonymous (participant), 89-97, 149
Anthropology, 23, 174, 177-178, 193
Antiracism, 66
Apartheid, 2
Arco Iris, 68
Armbruster, Roger, 34
Asexuality, 29, 98, 100-101, 113, 124,
151, 161-162, 179, 192, 210
Ault, Amber, 60
AVANTI, 68
Awe (participant), 63, 132-139
B. (participant), 63, 77, 153.
Bailey, J. Michael, 66
Bampton, Roberta, 70
Bathhouses, 33, 66, 140, 163-164, 184
Baum, Gregory, 41, 45
BDSM, 18, 38, 117, 121, 159
Bedford, Terri-Jean, 33
Being out, 3, 87, 123, 142-143, 144, 154
200,
Bent, 160
Berger, Peter L., 38
Berlin Wall, 2
Best of Both Worlds, 67
Betty (participant), 139
Bi Any Other Name, 27, 55, 166
Bi flag, 64, 65 n. 174, 55, 166
Bi/Christ, 156
BIACT-L, 17
Bias, 1, 10, 21, 78-80, 85, 88, 200
Bible, 8, 45, 53, 164-166
Bi-dyke, 117, 119, 124
Bigamy, 35
Bigendered, 73-74
Biphobia, 59, 60, 66, 86, 118, 124, 126,
131-132, 139, 141, 144-145, 154, 193,
202, 211
Bisexual Men of Toronto (BiMOT), 62
Bisexual theology, 2, 9, 18, 21, 38, 51 5355, 156, 159, 175-177, 187-190, 201202, 207-208, 211
Bisexual Women of Toronto (BiWOT),
10, 11n. 16, 60 n. 16, 61-64, 66-67,
104, 107-108, 115-117, 119, 126, 130,
134, 136, 154
Boswell, John, 48
Bower, Jo, 27
Brayton, Jennifer, 14
Brennan, Thomas J., 9,
Brianna (participant), 74, 77, 153, 186
Brown, Lyn Mikel, 77-78, 80, 85
Buddhism, 55, 208, 209 n. 75
Buddies In Bad Times, 61
Buenos Aires, 172, 175
Butch, 74
C. (pseudonym), 90, 93-94
Callan, James, 7 n. 21
Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops,
18, 35, 36 n.93
Cardinal Aloysius Ambrozic, 9
Carrie (participant), 140, 148-149
Cassandra (participant), 64, 73, 81
Catholic Church, 3, 4, 5 6, 7, 8
Catholic Civil Rights League, 34
Catholic sexual ethics: four qualities, 2223; Foundational, 22-23, 195;
sacramantal, 22, 23-24, 26, 44, 178,
242
200, 212; social, 22, 24-25, 191, 200;
moral, 22, 25-26;
Cathro, Sister Christina, 9
Celebrate Bisexuality Day, 66
Central Toronto Youth Services (CTYS),
67
Chesnel, Brigitte, 33
Chesnel, Denis, 33
Children, 37, 44, 75-76, 87, 89, 115, 125,
150-153, 162, 204-205
Chloe Forrester (participant), 141-142
Christianity, Social Tolerance, and
Homosexuality, 48
Christology, 156, 171, 178-179, 185
Class, 29, 38, 83, 85, 103, 172
Closet/Closeting, 89, 86-87, 101, 142-143,
151, 158, 175-176
Club Eros, 68
Coalition of Lesbian and Gay Rights in
Ontario (CLGRO), 67
Come As You Are, 63
Coming out, 63, 84, 86, 102, 106, 109,
111, 113, 120, 124, 128, 138-139, 143,
154, 194, 205-206
Committee on Lesbian Health Research,
59
Compromise theology, 42
Compulsory heterosexuality, 50, 114, 143145, 206
Compulsory monogamy, 3, 28, 47, 83,
123-124, 161, 187, 191, 199, 205
Cone, James, 18
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith
(CDF), 4 n.9, 5, 6 n. 15, 7 n.21, 13
Consent, 12-13, 37, 69-70, 182, 196-198
Countryman, William, 169
Courage (organization), 19, 40
Cowton, Christiopher J., 68
Craigslist, 68
Crawford, Mary, 58-59
Criminal Code of Canada, 35
Curran, Charles, 7 n.21, 41
Currie, Wendy, 17
Daly, Mary, 154 n.150, 184
Danielle (participant), 16, 97-105, 145,
149, 151, 153, 161, 193
Decree on Apostolate of the Laity, 4
Deep insider, 10
Democracy, 4, 8-9, 41, 170
Diamond, Lisa, 30, 60, 112,
Diane, 125-132, 139
Dianna, 116-125, 154, 185
Dignity (organization), 7
Dinah (participant), 74, 141, 146, 153, 186
Dobinson, Cheryl, iv, 17, 63-65, 68
Doll, Lynda, 59
Doucet, Andrea, 2, 15, 77, 82, 85, 91, 93
Dunne, Sister Cathleen, 8
Dyke March, 65, 140
Dyke, 73-74, 117, 119, 124, 143
Ecole Polytechnique, 2
Edwards, George R., 44-45
Elèna Dubois (participant), 16, 139, 148
Ellison, Marvin, 52
Email: exchanges, 14, 17, 111, 116;
interviews, 1, 16, 20, 62, 64, 67-72, 89,
96-97; Security issues 71-72
Engel, Mary Potter, 197
Ethical Lover Polygroup, 63, 125
Ethnicity, 76
Expert/subject dynamic, 14, 57, 59
Exposure, 13-14
Exxon Valdez, 2
Facebook, 64, 68
Fall, the, 25
Familiaris Consortio, 24 n.37, 25, 199 n.
351
Farajajé, Ibrahim Abdurrahman, 18, 38-39
Farians, Elizabeth, 194
Faust, Drew Gilpin, 84
Federal Justice Department, 36
Feminism, 2, 5-6, 10, 12, 14, 17-20, 25,
28, 34, 37, 54-57, 60-61, 66, 77-79, 82,
88, 93, 104, 123-124, 139, 145, 147,
165, 168, 170, 172, 175, 177-178, 190194, 196-197, 201, 206-207
Fidelity, 168, 171, 199
Fiorenza, Elisabeth Schussler, 18, 201
Fluid (group), 63
Focus On the Family, 19
Fortune, Marie, 196
Foucault, Michel, 166
243
Fox, Matthew, 7
Freire, Paolo, 8, 185
Fruit Market, 65, 66 n.176
Gay men, 3, 7-9, 17-18, 20-24, 26, 32-33,
38-42, 44, 46-53, 59, 62-63, 65-68, 86,
90, 92, 118, 124, 130, 136, 140, 142,
156-1160, 162-163, 166, 170, 172, 174
178, 192, 200, 209
Gay Men’s Issues in Religion Group, 52,
169 n.267
Gay theology, 46-53, 172, 192
Geekgirl (participant), 139
Gender, 16-17, 23, 29, 38, 60, 62, 72-74,
85, 95, 98, 103, 113, 115, 117-118, 125,
127, 130, 132*133, 136-139, 143, 145146, 149-152, 161, 169-171, 178-179,
204-206, 209-210
Genesis, 41, 69
George, William, 42
Getting Bi, 65
Gilligan, Carol, 19, 77-81
Glaser, Chris, 18, 86
Goddess, 183-184
Good For Her, 68
Goodhandy’s, 61
Goss, Robert, 18, 21, 156-172, 181, 187188, 190-193, 195, 199, 211
Gramick, Sister Jeannine, 7
Gross, Jane, 157
GTAParty, 68
Guindon, André, 7
Gusfield, Joseph R., 62
Gutiérrez, Gustavo, 18
Gwendolyn (participant), 31, 73-74, 87
Hamid, Kazi, 36
Hanks, Tom, 47
Happy Hedonist, 68
Haraway, Donna, 20
Harvey, John F., 19, 40
Harvey, Stephen, iv, 17
Hasbian, 204
Hegel, G.W.F., 182
Hemmings, Clare, 62
Heschel, Susannah, 18
Heteropatriarchy, 3, 177-178, 204-206,
209
Heterosexism, 20, 25, 131-132, 144, 161,
172, 183, 187, 200, 209
Heyward, Carter, 18, 49-52, 186, 195, 201
HIV, 59, 158
Homophobia, 19, 51, 53, 68, 91, 124, 144,
166, 172
Homosexuality, 3-8, 19, 26, 39-40, 42-43,
47-48, 53, 157, 159, 192
Hopkins, Gerald Manley, 212
Horgan, Philip, 34
Hornick, J.P., 11
House of Bishops, 40, 41 n.106, 42, 43
n.114, 44
Hunt, Mary, 52, 201, 208
Hunter, Shona, 81
Hutchins, Loraine, iv, 17, 55
Identity labels, 23, 30, 75, 101, 129, 138,
148, 178, 204
Images of God, 24, 170, 180
Imagined community, 11
Immigration, 77, 136, 132
Imprimatur, 7
Infidelity, 22, 28, 103
Informed consent, 13
Inside/Out, 140
Insider research, 2, 10-15, 85, 87-88
intrinsically disordered, 7
Invisibility, 1, 40, 71, 89, 123, 136, 142,
151-152
I-Poem, 81, 91, 96, 99, 107-108, 118, 127,
134
Irenaeus, 211
Isaiah, 199
Isasi-Diaz, Ada Maria, 193
Jealousy, 87, 102, 130 145, 180, 193, 209
Jeffreys, Sheila, 28-29, 211
Jenna (participant), 142-143, 146, 153
Jesuits, 157, 163, 171
Jesus, 49, 156, 159, 161-163, 167-168,
170-172, 174, 178, 184-185, 187, 192,
196, 198, 201, 211; Asexual/Desexualized, 161-162
John J. McNeill, 7 n.21, 47-48
Johnston, Maury, 48
Journal of Bisexuality, 59
Judaism, 18, 46, 55, 68, 76, 159, 170, 208
244
Judith (participant), 73-74, 141-142
Julia S. (participant), 140
Justice, 4, 25-26, 45, 50-51, 157-158, 178,
180, 185-186, 192, 194, 197-198, 202,
204
Kahumanu, Lani, 17
Karooz, Carole, 10
Keira (participant), 74, 139, 145
Kiegelmann, Mechthild, 79
Kinsey, Alfred, 45
Klein Grid, 73
Klein, Fritz, 17
Klesse, Christian, 147
Kolodny, Debra R., 18
Kramer, Larry, 156, 158, 211
KrUnK, 68
Kulanu, 68
Kurylowicz, Martin, 9
Kwok Pui-Lan, 198, 200, 201, 207
Labaye, Jean-Paul, 33
Lambeth Conference, 44
Lather, Patti, 1
Latin America, 172-175, 181
Laurel School for Girls, 78
Lavalife, 3 n.7
Lee, I-Ching, 58-59
Leech, Kenneth, 55
Lesbian Polyamory Reader, 28
Lesbian symbiosis, 113
Lesbian theology, 18, 20-21, 45-53, 208
Lesbians, 3, 7-9, 18, 20-21, 23-24, 27-30,
32-33, 37-38, 41-42, 44, 46-53, 58-60,
62-63, 67-68, 73, 84, 86, 88-90, 92, 95,
97-99, 101-102, 104-106, 108-109,
113-115, 118-120, 124, 126-129, 136,
140-142, 145-146, 151-153, 160, 166,
172, 174, 176, 189, 200, 202-203, 208209, 211
Livejournal, 64, 67-68, 117
Liz (participant), 139, 141, 144, 146,
Lola (participant), 73, 140
Lorde, Audre, 166
Loss of non-textual data, 71
Loving More Magazine, 32
LSBN Toronto, 68
Lynch, Kathleen, 18, 57
Lynch, Michael, 52
Machlin, Justice Beverly, 33
MacKenzie, Susan, 114
Marginality/Marginalization, 18-19, 27-28,
31, 47, 49, 66, 79, 105, 115, 149, 173174, 176, 181, 187, 199, 210
Mariology, 184
Marissa (participant), 145, 149
Marriage, 23, 35-37, 43, 94, 102-103, 111,
157, 160-161, 168-170, 192, 198-199,
205,
Marxism, 5 n.14, 25, 180
Mauthner, Natasha, 77, 82, 85, 93
May (participant), 141
McAdams, Dan, 84, 86
Megan (participant), 144
Michigan Womnyn’s Music Festival, 140141
Micmac, 5
Mint, Pepper, 17, 34, 37, 43, 152
Modholly (participant), 105-115, 12, 142
Monogamous community, 148
Monogamy 3, 23-24, 26-28, 30-33, 37, 39,
42-47, 51-52, 56, 74-75, 83, 88-89, 9495, 98-99, 101-106, 108, 110, 112, 115,
119, 123-126, 128, 131-134, 136, 138,
144-151, 153-154, 157, 160-161, 163,
168, 170-171, 176, 180, 184, 186-187,
191-192, 198-200, 203-205, 209-210
Mono-loving, 176, 187
Motherhood, 15, 64, 75-76, 83, 87, 90, 93,
95, 97-98, 101, 103-105, 123, 142, 150153, 162-163, 179, 205
Murray, Stephen O., 66
Mutuality, 11, 45, 49-51, 146, 161, 194
Myspace, 68
Myths, 27, 85, 181
National Association for Research and
Therapy of Homosexuality (NARTH),
19
National Bisexual Conference, 55, 67
Natural law, 212
Nerve.com, 111
New College, 68
New York Times, 157
Newsweek, 26
245
Nicolosi, Joseph, 40
Norms, 12, 28, 39, 43-45, 50, 74-75, 110,
118, 123, 125, 146, 149, 157, 161, 178,
182, 188, 192, 194-195, 198, 205+206,
210
Nova Scotia, 3
Now Magazine, 68
Nugent, Reverend Robert, 7
O’Neil, Cathleen, 18, 57
Oakley, Anne, 10
Ochs, Robin, 17
One flesh union, 168 n. 261, 169, 199 n.
350
Ordination: of women, 5, 7, 49; of
homosexuals 6
Ormando, Alfredo, 8
Other Sheep Ministries, 47
Over-exposure 13
Overwriting experience, 12
Pagan, 18, 32 n.31, 36 n.94, 155, 184, 208,
Pagels, Elaine, 188
Participants: age 72, education, 75-76;
finding 67-69; identity labels, 73-74;
interviewing, 69-72; my relation with
10+15; race/ethnicity 76-77;
relationship structure, 74-75; sex of
partner 77; with chidren 75
Patriarchy, 19, 25, 37, 45, 47, 57, 164-165,
172+173, 183, 193, 209
Paul (apostle), 47
Peel Pride, 67
PFLAG, 143
Philadelphia Eleven, 49
Phoenix (participant), 74
Plaskow, Judith, 18
Playboy, 31
Plows, Alex, 57
Plural Desires, 55, 65
Polyamory, 2, 3, 20+24, 26, 28, 30-32, 3438, 44, 46, 63, 67-68, 74, 87, 92, 94-95,
102-103, 106-108, 110, 113, 119-121,
123, 125, 161-134, 138-139, 143, 146,
148-150, 154, 156-157, 161, 169-171,
176, 184, 188, 190, 193, 200, 205-206,
209-210
Polygamy, 36-37, 43-44
Pope Benedict XVI, 6, 38
Pope John Paul II, 4, 24-25, 199
Pope Paul VI, 4 n.10, 7 n.19, 9 n.26, 24
n.36, 212, n.331
Postmodern subject, 2
Poverty, 54, 172
Prayer, 53
Presbyterians for Lesbian and Gay
Concerns, 46
Pride Week, 11, 62, 64, 140
Promiscuity, 27, 43-44, 49, 52, 123, 146147, 154, 157, 160, 162+164, 169-171,
176, 192+193, 204
Promiscuous love, 162, 171
Proverbs 5:15-20, 48
Pseudonyms, 13, 71-72, 89-90
Puppy piling, 160
Qu’ran, 36
Queer Nation, 158
Queer theology, 21, 24, 172, 177-178, 188,
190
Queering: Christ, 158; the Bible 165
Reader response theory, 80-81
REAL Women, 19
Reclaiming the sacred, 156, 170, 185, 200201
Reframing authority, 156, 164, 179, 194
Relational orientation, 23, 129
Religious Right, 2, 19
Residential school system, 5
Ring, Frank, 157-158
Ringe, Sharon, 191
Robarts Library, 68
Robin (participant), 70, 87
Rogers, Eugene, 86
Roman Catholic Womenpriests, 9
Romans 1:26, 47
Rose, Damaris, 12
Rudy, Kathy, 160
Ruether, Rosemary Radford, 18, 195
Rust, Paula, 29+30, 60
Scholes, Robert, 85
Scripture, 55, 164-167, 179, 181, 191, 195,
201, 211-212; alternative, 165, 182
Sexism, 49-50, 53-54, 131-132, 172, 178,
184, 206
246
Sexual abuse, 6-7
Sexualizing theology, 156, 161, 177, 192
Shaw, Dana, iv, 17
Shepherd, Matthew, 166
Sherbourne Health Centre, 63
Sherkat, Darren, 53, 188
Silence=Death Project, 19
Simpson, Robert, 162
Single women, 31, 77, 176, 210
Siren Magazine, 66
Skewing of participant pool, 71-72
Skoke, Rosanne, 3, 4 n.8
Slut, 123, 129, 147
Socialism,180
Some Considerations Concerning the
Response to Legislative Proposals on
Non-Discrimination of Homosexual
Persons, 4
Song of Songs, 170
South Africa, 4
Stacey, Judith, 11
Standing Committee on Justice and
Human Rights, 34
Statistics Canada, 53
STDs, 59
Steinhouse, Karol, 11, 63, 66
Stereotypes, 1, 16, 27, 59, 74, 129,
146+147, 151, 154, 187
Stuart, Elizabeth, 18, 51
Sumpter, Sharon Forman, 27
Supporting Our Youth (SOY), 67
Supreme Court of Canada, 33
Swinger Date Club, 68
Swingers clubs, 31, 33
Swingers, 15, 30-333, 74-75, 87, 204
Switch, 119, 121
Syd Ryan (participant), 139
Taking metaphor seriously, 156, 167, 183
198-199
Teasha (participant), 31, 142
Telepersonals, 3
The Church and the Homosexual, 47
The Fence, 65
This Ain’t The Rosedale Library, 68
Thistlethwaite, Susan Brooks, 197
Thomas Aquinas Psychological Clinic, 40
Threesome, 3, 103 138, 148
Tillich, Paul, 164
Toronto Bisexual Network (TBN), 62-65,
117, 125-126, 130, 160
Toronto Poly, 63
Toronto Women’s Bathhouse Committee,
11 n.33, 66
Toronto Women’s Bathhouse, 140, 160,
163, 184
Toronto Women’s Bookstore, 68
Traina, Cristina, 42
Transcendence, 24, 175, 187
Transexual Menace, 68
Transsexuals, 8, 60, 66, 68, 73-74, 159,
174, 188, 200, 210
Trevitt, Chris, 10
Trible, Phyllis,54 n.150, 166 n.236, 194
Trinity/Trinitarian, 169, 192, 199
Troster, Ariel, 37
U.S. Catholic Bishops, 203
Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan
Community Churches (UFMCC), 17
University Consortium for Sexuality
Research and Training, 68
University of Toronto Women’s Centre,
68
Valuing queer culture, 156, 159, 174, 190
Vatican II, 4, 7,
Violet (participant), 73, 87, 144-146 149,
151, 153
Voice centred relational analysis, 15, 17,
19-21, 57, 77-80, 84, 89
Weeks, Jeffrey,
Weinberg, Martin, 26
Whitman, Walt 166
Wicca, 18, 36, 55, 64, 116, 208
Women's Alliance for Theology, Ethics
and Ritual (WATER), 18
www.margaretrobinson.com, 68
Yahoogroups, 36 n.94, 64