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The Buttigieg Delusion

Once again, dearest motherfuckers, I feel obligated to reprise my roll as ‘that bitch.’ Do I really have to be the queer bummer who smashes the Buttigieg delusion? Are all the other faggot anarchists busy? Oh well, fuck it. Hand me my hammer and I’ll do what I do best, which seems to be pissing off other queer people by interrupting their increasingly statist pride parades with the stone-cold inconvenience of reality. I’m really sorry darlings, but its time for some tough love. This hurts me more than it hurts you but hopefully, it hurts Mayor Pete the most. Because a vote for Mayor Pete may be a vote for the first gay president, but it’s also a vote for assimilation. So, here we go.

I can pretty much sum up every Mayor Pete rally in a single synopsis. The queer wonder-boy takes to the stage looking like a barely pubescent Millhouse duded up for prom. He rolls up his sleeves and drifts into a listless barrage of centrist unity bromides and wishy-washy hopelandic vagaries that sound like twice nuked leftovers from Obama’s 2008 campaign. Just as his predominantly white, elderly, straight and middle-class audience begins to drift mercifully into slumber, Pete wakes them with the only two cards he has left in his deck; “Oh, did I mention I killed brown people in Afghanistan and I take it up the ass…” A wave of oohs and awes brings the geriatric breeders back to life like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. A round of applause breaks out and Mayor Pete appears to be relieved. “A gay who kills Muslims? How novel!” “He speaks so well for one of them!”

Around the country, queer kids are getting emails and Facebook pokes from their grandparents, congratulating us collectively for producing a viable presidential candidate. We must be so proud. Maybe you are but I’m not. I wouldn’t even want a legit queer occupying that glorified porta shitter called the Oval Office, much less one who appears to have been raised by neoliberal wolves. Pete Buttigieg may be gay but he is not one of us. Pete is more vanilla than most heterosexuals. He’s the kind of queer you bring home to mom instead of your black-bear boyfriend to make your rejection of her suburban values more palatable. He’s the kind of queer who tops just so he doesn’t ruin the good linens. He’s the kind of queer who nags his boyfriend into a church marriage and a couple of adopted Guatemalans just so he has something to brag about to his soccer-mom bitch sister in the annual Christmas letter. He’s the kind of queer who has one trans friend just so he can tell his Lincoln Republican friends that he has one trans friend. He’s the kind of queer who really isn’t that queer at all. He prefers LGBTQ. He’s the new queer; domesticated, neat, housebroken, a novel wonder of modern western civilization. “But he’s a sign of progressive inclusion, so what are you bitching about?”

I’m bitching because he’s also the kind of queer who has spent the better half of his young career stumping for Wall Street, the war machine and the police state. You see, dearest motherfuckers, inclusion is a dirty word in the ears of queers like me because it means watching my tribe being appropriated into the very system our identity was built on standing against. Being queer isn’t about genitalia and pronouns and it sure as fuck ain’t about marriage, military duty and hate crime laws. It’s about being biologically designed to appose the oppressive puritanical status quo. We were “everybody else” once. Every tribe had venerated spaces for sexual and gender outlaws once upon a time. But then the normies found Jesus and kicked us to the closet. We held tight to our heathen ways in the shadows. We survived a plague that brought us to the brink of extinction while wealthy breeders sat safe and pretty in their fucking wine caves. Now they’ve decided that we make hip tokens for their globalist agenda and they want us back at the cool table in Washington as long as we don’t bum them out with our body count. I say fuck you. And fuck traders like Mayor Pete for selling our cultural cache to the highest bidder. The only word uglier than inclusion is assimilation because assimilation means genocide.

I don’t want to be like everybody else. I don’t want the state’s hollow constellation prize of equality. I don’t want to be LGBTQ. I want to be queer. Being queer means creating our own genders beyond the fascist jurisdiction of the census. Being queer means building our own families, a mommy dom drag king with 2 1/2 littles and a pet gimp out back. Being queer means abolishing the prison system which continues to thrive on our suffering. And, perhaps most importantly, being queer means standing strong in solidarity as a stateless Third World nation unto ourselves with our brothers, sisters and others fighting the very empire that tried to erase us before asking us back for brunch. Shiites and Palestinians may not be our biggest fans but in the state’s eyes, they’re faggots too, so we owe it to ourselves to make their fight our fight.

I’m that kind of queer, dearest motherfuckers. The kind that would sooner die than be caught voting for an assimilationist Uncle Twink like Pete fucking Buttigieg. Stone me for my sins but let the record get them straight. The road to queer liberation is pathed by anarchy, not the state.

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Nicky Reid is an agoraphobic anarcho-genderqueer gonzo blogger from Central Pennsylvania and assistant editor for Attack the System. You can find her online at Exile in Happy Valley.

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