Geographies of Sexualities
Geographies of Sexualities
Geographies of Sexualities
Edited by
KATH BROWNE
University of Brighton, UK
JASON LIM
University of Brighton, UK
GAVIN BROWN
University of Leicester, UK
© Kath Browne, Jason Lim and Gavin Brown 2007
First published in paperback 2009
Hardback edition reprinted 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.
Kath Browne, Jason Lim and Gavin Brown have asserted their right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editors of this work.
Published by
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2006103151
Section I: Theories
3. Health/Sexuality/Geography
Vincent J. Del Casino Jr. 39
12. Between Transgression and Complicity (Or: Can the Straight Guy have
a Queer Eye?)
Phil Hubbard 151
15. HIV+ Bodyspace: AIDS and the Queer Politics of Future Negation in
Aotearoa/New Zealand
Matthew Sothern 181
16. Autonomy, Affinity and Play in the Spaces of Radical Queer Activism
Gavin Brown 195
Bibliography 225
Index 259
List of Figures
By permission of the Out There! A New Zealand Queer Youth Development Project by Rainbow
Youth Inc (Auckland) and the New Zealand AIDS Foundation / Te Tuuaapapa Mate Aaraikore o
Aotearoa. The image contains Nathan Brown and his parents Jaye and Russell.
Figure 16.1 Queer Bloc on Anti-Fascist Action in den Haag, June 2004 198
David Bell is Senior Lecturer in Critical Human Geography and leader of the
Urban Cultures & Consumption research cluster in the School of Geography at the
University of Leeds, UK. His research interests include sexualities, cultural policy,
hospitality and science and technology.
Jon Binnie is Reader in Human Geography and Director of the Institute for the
Study of Social and Spatial Transformations at Manchester Metropolitan University,
UK. He is the author of The Globalization of Sexuality (Sage); co-author of The
Sexual Citizen: Queer Politics and Beyond (Polity) and Pleasure Zones: Bodies,
Cities, Spaces (Syracuse University Press). He is also co-editor of Cosmopolitan
Urbanism (Routledge).
Hanna Hacker is a sociologist and historian. She has widely published on sex/gender
transgressions in European history. Her recent research focuses on transnationalities
and on New Media cultures. Having mostly worked as an independent researcher,
she currently holds a post as Visiting Professor for Gender Studies at the University
of Vienna, Austria.
Jin Haritaworn lectures and presents on sexuality and power, Whiteness and
gender, race and trans awareness, and the politics of alliance. Jin's publications span
topics such as intersectionality, racialised sexualities and gender identities, anti-
racist feminism, queer and trans of colour theories and sex radicalism.
RDK (Doug) Herman received his PhD in Geography from the University
of Hawai‘i at Manoa in 1995. He is currently an Associate Professor at Towson
University, part of the University of Maryland system, USA. His interests include
indigenous geographic perspectives, Pacific Islands, critical theory, food and culture,
and sexuality and space. Among his publications is ‘The Aloha State: Place Names
and the Anti-Conquest of Hawai‘i’ in Annals, Association of American Geographers,
1999.
Larry Knopp is Associate Dean of the Graduate School and Professor in the
Department of Geography at the University of Minnesota-Duluth, MN, USA. His
research interests include feminist and queer geographies, sexuality and space
studies, and urban, social, cultural and political geographies.
This collection owes its existence to a Philly cheese steak sandwich during a break
from the Philadelphia AAG conference in 2004. It has been a long and interesting
journey since then and we owe a number of people thanks for ensuring the existence
of this edited collection. We would like to thank all the authors for their exciting and
innovative contributions. The support we have received from ‘senior’ academics
has been invaluable. We are indebted to the academics who initially discussed
sexualities within Geographies. It is their bravery and efforts that have enabled not
only this collection, but also wider discussions of queer and sexualities within this
once hostile discipline.
We would like to thank Ashgate and, particularly, Valerie Rose for her patience,
support and work on this collection.
We each, individually, would like to make the following acknowledgements:
Kath: I think the majority of my gratitude goes to the other two editors of this book.
Our various skills and time commitments have all be used in producing the volume.
This work would not have been possible without the support of my department, and
I am indebted to the Hove women’s rugby team and close friends for their personal
and social support.
Gavin: I owe Loretta Lees and Tim Butler a debt of gratitude for their inspiration
and encouragement, as well as for their patience with this book when it distracted me
from my doctoral studies. Juggling this book, a part-time PhD and a demanding job
would not have been possible without the love and spirited support of JoJo, Lauren
and Tallulah.
Jason: I would like to thank my co-editors for their hard work, support and inspiration.
I would also like to thank Dawn Robins for her help in getting the typescript ready.
I owe a debt of gratitude to all those friends and colleagues who have lent their
support during the process of putting this book together, but most of all, I would like
to thank Ruth for all her unstinting love, understanding and patience.
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Introduction, or Why Have a Book on
Geographies of Sexualities?
Gavin Brown, Kath Browne and Jason Lim
While geographies of sexualities emerged in the 1980s and 1990s, the past decade or
so has witnessed an increase and diversification of writings on sexualities, space and
place. This proliferation has not only occurred within the boundaries of the discipline
of geography, but it has also taken place outside it, as sociologists, anthropologists,
cultural theorists and others have started recognising the importance of spatial and
temporal context and fluidity (Hunt 2002; Kuntsman 2003; Conlon 2004; Eves 2004;
Jacobs 2004; Skeggs et al. 2004; Taylor 2004; Grosz 2005a; 2005b). The central
theme of this explosion of work has been the exploration of the relationship between
sexualities, space and place – questions about the ways in which sexualities are
geographical, or the question of how spaces and places are sexualised. There are,
of course, many such ways in which sexualities are geographical, but here we will
discuss a few examples that show a number of important themes and that highlight the
importance of thinking about both politics and practice in order to understand these
themes. The first set of examples draw attention to how, in various ways, everyday
spaces are produced through embodied social practices – that is, we are starting with
bodies and what they do. In turn, it is often through these practices that the norms
regulating such spaces – and the sexualised relations between bodies, selves and
others that constitute these spaces – become enacted. The second set of examples
suggest how sexualities can usefully be understood through the institutionalisation
of spaces at a variety of scales, from the national to the transnational.
The norms regulating acceptable sexual behaviour in public or shared spaces
are an example of how everyday spaces are sexualised. Public spaces are normally
governed by unspoken understandings, enforceable by both official authority (for
example, the police) and by the verbal interventions or looks of passers-by. These
constrain displays of sexual desire: a kiss might be acceptable on a busy street,
but rolling around on the ground with a lover might not be. As Gavin Brown
(forthcoming; Chapter 16, this volume) considers, however, participants in sex
parties at Queeruption1 gatherings attempt to constitute different understandings of
what is acceptable in shared and public spaces.
different to the rest, responding to the possibilities offered by its location and to the creativity
of the community of people who plan it and who turn up to make it happen.
4 Geographies of Sexualities
only to end up in a sham marriage in order to stay in the US and other ‘safe’ countries
(Poore 1996).
What these examples demonstrate is that sexuality – its regulation, norms,
institutions, pleasures and desires – cannot be understood without understanding
the spaces through which it is constituted, practised and lived. Sexuality manifests
itself through relations that are specific to particular spaces and through the space-
specific practices by which these relations become enacted. The example of ‘queer’
immigration to the US suggests how sexualities are both lived and regulated through
a contested moral economy that becomes expressed as an imagined geography: a
centring of heterosexuality as ‘American’ and a positioning of ‘queer’ subjects as
a moral threat from abroad. Such a sexualised imagination of the US and abroad
becomes instituted not only in national and international laws, but also in how
it is practised and enacted. It is this institutionalisation of sexualised imagined
geographies (the centring of heterosexuality and the ‘moral threat’ of queer) that
becomes contested politically. What is at stake in such political contestations
is the power to define who belongs and to define what bodies are allowed to do,
when and where. This example, then, suggests how imaginative, representational
and figurative spaces become related to material effects that make a difference to
people’s lives (e.g. whether people can enter a country or not; whether they can
be safe in particular spaces; what they can and cannot do in safe or unsafe spaces;
what channels of immigration are open to them; what tactics they might employ to
negotiate the policing they are subject to). This relationship between, on the one
hand, the figurative, representational and imaginative and, on the other hand, the
material also pertains to other kinds of sexualised spaces. On one level, ‘closet
space’ might be thought of as a metaphor for the concealment and denial of lesbian,
gay, bisexual and/or transsexual (LGBT) lives and desires, yet ‘closet space’ is also
lived in very material ways through countless practical and political acts and through
experiences of threat and marginalisation (Brown 2000).
The consideration of the ‘everyday’ spaces of sex parties and of the home
also points to the ways that participants’ experiences of spaces are regulated by
norms regarding what is acceptable or expected sexual practice. These norms and
expectations are not set in stone, but can be challenged and renegotiated. The spaces,
whether sexualised, heterosexualised or even homosexualised, are constituted
through the enactment, negotiation and contestation of norms of appropriate sexual
conduct, even where the sex act itself may seem to be ‘irrelevant’. What we do
makes the spaces and places we inhabit, just as the spaces we inhabit provide an
active and constitutive context that shapes our actions, interactions and identities.
A consequence of this set of ideas is that we can never take a given space or set of
practices for granted or assume that they are fixed. A home, a nation, a bathroom, a
workplace – no space exists in a timeless state. Each is created in particular ways,
often associated with sexualised and gendered norms and conventions that are
historically and geographically specific. Not only are the places we inhabit made
through our repeated actions such that we take their normality for granted, but these
places produce us precisely because we so often do what we are supposed to do
– what is ‘common sense’ in a given place. Nonetheless, although, for example,
there are a set of hegemonic gendered and sexualised norms about what to do in
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 5
a public lavatory, activities such as cottaging (that is public sex in toilet spaces)
suggest that it is always possible to follow the desire to do something differently. In
(repeatedly) doing something differently, this can become established as ‘the norm’,
even if temporally.
Some of the earliest work that sought to understand the relationship between sexualities
and the creation and uses of space were studies of the residential concentration of
gay men in inner city areas of American cities (Castells 1983; Lauria and Knopp
1985). This work attempted to map these gay residential and commercial clusters in
the tradition of American urban geography at the time and, by so doing, legitimise
the study of gay lives as an appropriate topic for geographical research (Knopp
1987). Although clusters of gay bars and other businesses had existed in many major
European and Australian cities for some time, by the mid 1980s the co-presence of
residential concentrations of gay men with these businesses was most visible in the
United States. Initially, this was read as a result of gay men moving from rural and
small town America in search of more liberal environments that would offer some
respite from the pressures of heterosexist society. As geographers explained at the
time, this appropriation of territory in major urban centres served as a defensive
base where gay men could feel safe (Castells 1983; Knopp 1987; 1990; Warren
1974). However, the structures of the American political system also encouraged
the residential concentration of gay men as a means by which they could exercise
political power in pursuit of civil rights (Lauria and Knopp 1985; Knopp 1987; 1990).
The urban geography of gay space in British cities throughout the 1980s was more
uneven (Bell and Binnie 2000), although the dominance of ‘municipal socialism’ in
some British cities throughout the period (Cooper 1994) offered a limited political
voice to gay people against the vicious homophobia of the Thatcher government. It
was not until British local governments began to take a more entrepreneurial and
competitive approach to place-marketing in the 1990s, most notably in Manchester
(Quilley 1997; Whittle 1994a), that significant gay centres in Britain’s major urban
centres began to be studied by British urban geographers.
The majority of the early work on gay space was focused on urban enclaves (in
North American cities) and primarily analysed fixed territorialisations in the form of
gay bars and other businesses as well as (gentrified) residential clusters. Podmore
(2001) has argued that this focus is problematic for the study of lesbians’ uses of
urban spaces because although specific places might be identified as ‘lesbian’,
these sites are less likely to utilise the visible signifiers that usually mark an area as
‘gay’.
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 7
(Re)placing Lesbians in Geography
The approach to lesbians within gay male geography can perhaps be summarised by
Quilley (1995, 49) who states “[b]y gay community I refer mainly to men.” Castells
(1983) and Knopp (1990), amongst others, argued that lesbians were less likely to
be able to afford to concentrate their homes in a given neighbourhood and were less
likely to achieve local political power (again, in an American context). Castells (1983)
believed that the power relations between women and men visible in society were
reproduced within gay spaces. He believed that these were due to men’s essential need
to claim space, an innate need that women did not possess. Similarly, although they
acknowledged that it was easier to live as ‘gay’ if you were white, male and middle
class, Lauria and Knopp (1985) contended that gay men appropriated urban space
more than lesbians did because gay men were more oppressed as men in relation to
heterosexual men and consequently had a greater need for ‘safe’ spaces in the city.
There are, however, an increasing number of explorations of lesbian appropriations
of urban space in North American cities that contest these assumptions. As early as
1978, Ettorre’s work challenged the assumption that lesbians were not involved in
urban politics. Geographers have also contested the assumption that lesbians could
not or did not wish to appropriate urban space at a neighbourhood level (Rothenburg
1995; Winchester and White 1988).
In a British context, Valentine (1993a; 1993b; 1993c; 1995b) demonstrated how
women living in a small English town created lesbian spaces, ranging from more
materially grounded spaces at a neighbourhood level to the temporary appropriation
of heterosexual spaces such as bars and clubs. For Valentine, ‘lesbian landscapes’
incorporated more than just appropriations of space; these geographies consisted of
complex time-space relations where different places took on different meanings over
time. This work recognised that space could not easily be categorised as either ‘gay’
or ‘straight’, but that particular groups made differential uses of space (for example,
when an occasional lesbian night is held in an otherwise straight bar). Building on
ideas about the temporal constitution of spaces, lesbian geographies broadened the
focus of the geographical study of sexuality and space beyond the inner city and
incorporated discussions of home, work and street (Johnston and Valentine 1995).
These geographies recognised the sexualised construction of particular spaces,
such as home, as well as considering the complex negotiations of public spaces by
lesbians. Moreover, this work opened up a discursive space for the study of rural
sexualities (Bell and Holliday 2000; Kramer 1995; Phillips et al. 2000), although
this is an area of work that is still under-developed.
More recently, Podmore (2001) and Peace (2002) have contended that it is how
urban space is analysed and understood that excludes explorations of lesbian uses
and appropriations. They critique (gay) urban geography for its narrow focus on
territoriality and on singular identities and for an over-investment in the importance
of ‘visibility’. Podmore suggests that lesbians have very different means of making
themselves visible (to each other) than gay men and that to properly explore
these practices, geographers need to (re-)integrate the domestic sphere into their
interpretations of urban space (see Jay 1997). Furthermore, both Podmore and
Peace both argue that the artificial separation of public and private space from each
other masks the multiplicity of different identities that can be found within a given
8 Geographies of Sexualities
neighbourhood. Instead of the concentration on residential clusters and commercial
premises that has typified much gay geography, they propose that geographies of
lesbian space can only be advanced through an attention to women’s social networks
and their daily circulation through quotidian urban space. We believe such a project
would not just enable a better understanding of lesbian space, but would also reveal
the complexities of the everyday geographies of queers of colour, gay men who do
not participate in the commercial gay scene, and others who are rendered invisible
through the focus on fixed territories (see Casey, Chapter 10, Nash and Bain, Chapter
13, this volume).
Although what we now call ‘queer theory’ was largely developed by academics
working in humanities departments in US universities, this diverse set of ideas was
first taken up within geography by British rather than American geographers of
sexualities (Bell et al. 1994; Binnie 1997). Knopp (1998) has suggested that this
was partly a reflection of the more conservative outlook of American geography
departments, but also a measure of the different political and cultural traditions
of gay ‘communities’ on either side of the Atlantic – a British ‘cultural politics of
resistance’ versus American attempts to spatially consolidate gay economic and
political power. As Binnie (1997) noted, the work of Knopp, Valentine and others
had successfully added lesbian and gay concerns to the pot of geographical analysis,
but there was still a considerable amount of ‘stirring’ needed in order to challenge
the heteronormativity of space and the many ways in which everyday spaces
reinforce the invisibility, marginalisation and social oppression of queer folk. Queer
is a highly contested term, one that has a variety of uses, applications and, some
would argue, misuses. Throughout this introduction and in the conclusion, we (the
editors) will take the position that queer is not just synonymous for lesbian and gay.
We therefore challenge one use of queer, which is as an umbrella term for LGBT.
Instead, we consider queer to question the supposedly stable relationship between
sex, gender, sexual desire and sexual practice. This challenge to the supposed
correspondence between desires, identities and practices consequently disrupts
the stability of heterosexuality that this correspondence shores up. Queer theories
do not only understand sexuality as varying historically and culturally, an insight
arising from historical studies of the invention of the categories of heterosexuality
and homosexuality in late nineteenth-century Western societies. Queer theories also
challenge heteronormativity – “the set of norms that make heterosexuality seem
natural or right and that organize homosexuality as its binary opposite” (Corber
and Valocchi 2003b, 4). Heteronormativity allows heterosexuality to go unmarked
and unremarked upon – to be thought of as normal – by making homosexuality
operate as heterosexuality’s binary opposite. Homosexuality is made to function as
the marked, abnormal Other of heterosexuality. The categories of ‘heterosexuality’
and ‘homosexuality’ are, thus, mutually constitutive and cannot be understood
autonomously. The intelligibility of the categories of ‘heterosexuality’ and
‘homosexuality’ is also reliant upon the opposition between ‘male’ and ‘female’ and
upon the supposedly natural sexual desire between these two sexes.
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 9
Throughout this book it is clear that the term ‘queer’ is not used homogenously.
Here, in focusing on how ‘early’ geographies of sexualities have developed into
‘queer geographies’, one can see how this diversity begins to emerge. These
initial queer geographies initiated a discussion about how sexed and gendered
performances produce space and, conversely, how spatial formations shape the
ways in which sexual dissidents present and perform their sexualities in public
spaces. This discussion drew on theories of performativity developed by Judith
Butler (1990; 1993a; 1997), which suggested that identities, for example the gender
identities ‘male’ and ‘female’, are not simply ‘there’, always-already existing as an
expression of natural sexual difference. Rather, it is through the reiteration of social
and discursive conventions that our actions (speech, practice etc.) transform bodies
so that they become recognisable as male or female. Building on this performative
approach, geographers have contended that space is not simply the vessel in which
things happen, but is actively constituted through the actions that take place. Work
on sexualities in this mode challenged how the everyday repetition of heterosexual
relations becomes normalised such that quotidian space is not assumed to be sexual
at all (Bell et al. 1994; Binnie 1997). Geographers have sought to explore not only
how spaces come to be hierarchically sexualised, but also how racialised, classed and
other forms of social hierarchies come to structure seemingly unitary categories of
sexuality such as ‘gay’ or ‘lesbian’ (Nast 2002). This most recent queer geographical
work looks not just at the hegemonies of heterosexuality, but also at the multiple
diversities between those who identify as ‘gay’ (see Haritaworn, Chapter 8, this
volume).
One of the first geographers to publish an extended consideration of an
appropriate epistemology for the analysis and understanding of queer geographies
was Jon Binnie (1997). He argued that the production of geographical knowledge
had excluded sexual dissidents and that the (then) ‘new cultural geography’ was as
marked by heterosexism as earlier positivist strains of geography within the discipline.
Binnie advocated that sexual geographers should place a greater emphasis on the
lived experience of sexual dissidents, but that, in doing so, their work should also
“include a greater critical awareness of the material conditions for the production
of ‘knowledge’ about sexuality” (1997, 224). To achieve this awareness, Binnie
proposed that a queer geographical epistemology would need to have at its centre a
renewed commitment to an honest acknowledgement of the embodied positionality
of the author-researcher and “a recognition of the value of camp” (1997, 228). ‘Camp’
works because it is simultaneously knowing and innocent. It resists fixed and definite
interpretations. In this respect, camp operates in similar ways to much queer space,
where the delineation of identity boundaries and gender roles is constantly blurred
and in flux. In Chapter 2 of this volume, Binnie revisits, extends and interrogates
some of the ideas from his earlier paper.
A related approach to the fuzzy distinction between gay and straight space has
been offered by Hemmings’s (1995; 1997; 2002) work on bisexual spaces. To her,
bisexuals occupy both lesbian/gay and straight spaces and have played a role in the
construction of both. Bisexuals may think of either gay or straight spaces (or both)
as ‘home’, but a bisexual identity is never predominant in either set of spaces, and
although the presence of bisexuals may be acknowledged, it is seldom fully included.
10 Geographies of Sexualities
For Hemmings, this posed several theoretical challenges as, by implication, bisexual
space is neither gay nor straight space, and the presence of bisexual identities in space
is always partial. Her solution to this problem was to focus on witnessing the spatial
enactment of embodied acts and desires, although she accepted that these seldom
easily correlate to a self-identified bisexual identity. She examined the production of
bisexuality and the negotiation of bisexual desires in relation to other queer bodies
in particular queer spaces. By taking this approach, it was Hemmings’s intention to
re-emphasise that desire is “enacted through our bodies” (Hemmings 1997, 149) and
is site-specific.
In attempting to write queer geographies, these authors drew both on queer theory
and on broader social theory. In doing so, they produced an interpretation of queer
that was quite distinct from that in other disciplines. In particular, their concern with
the production of space, everyday social relations and the materiality of embodied
queer performances differed from other forms of queer theory that relied heavily on
more discursive analyses and metaphorical understandings of space (Brown 2000).
Nevertheless, this body of geographical work still remained primarily concerned with
the performance of lesbian, gay and bisexual identities. It seldom followed through
the logic of the concern with the site-specific embodiment of desires to offer a more
thoroughly queer critique of the production and performance of all sexualities.
Although feminist geographers have long examined the ways in which patriarchal
social relations are seen to reinforce and be reinforced by heterosexist relations within
the home, the work-place (McDowell 1997; Gregson and Lowe 1994; WGSG 1997;
Domosh and Seager 2001) and elsewhere, it took geographers of sexuality some time
to turn their attention to the spatial production of heterosexual identities and desires
(Nast 1998; Hubbard 2000). Latterly, however, these geographies of heterosexuality
have highlighted the heterogeneity of different forms of heterosexuality and have
demonstrated that these too are contextually specific. This work has recognised that
heterosexual space is variously sexualised or desexualised by and for different people
at specific times, with heterosexuals caught up in various modes of self-production
and self-surveillance. In using queer theory to deconstruct normative heterosexuality
(see Hubbard, Chapter 12, this volume), there has been a recognition that some
heterosexualities are ‘queerer’ or more dissident than others and can themselves
pose a challenge to established heteronormative power relations.
‘Prostitution’ and the vilification of ‘red light districts’ have been used to highlight
the diversity of heterosexualised spaces, the ways in which these spaces are regulated
and the moral panics that play a pivotal role in these processes of regulation (Hart
1995; Howell 2000a; 2000b; 2003; 2004; Hubbard 1998; 1999; 2002; Hubbard and
Saunders 2003; Tani 2002). The internationalisation of spaces of sex work, including
sex tourism, points to the geographical complexity and multiple forms of power that
constitute the ‘sex trade’ (Brown 2000; Law 2000; Hall 1994; Nagle 1997). Central
to these discussions have been the complexities of agency, coercion and processes
of regulation by which ‘moral’ and ‘immoral’ heterosexual geographies become
differentiated (Hubbard and Saunders 2003). However, the focus on more dissident
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 11
forms of heterosexuality, such as sex work and prostitution (Hubbard 1998; 1999),
sex tourism (Law 1997), BDSM (Herman, Chapter 7, this volume) and ‘dogging’
(Bell 2006), means that much work still needs to be done to understand the mundane
processes by which everyday expressions of heterosexuality are (re)produced in
social space. This is particularly important for the study of all sexualities because, as
Blum and Nast (1996) have suggested, the construction of heterosexuality is central
to the construction of all forms of alterity and difference.
The ‘unremarkable’ hegemonic status of heterosexuality is beginning to be
remarked upon and deconstructed. Like lesbian and gay geographies, most of
this work focuses on urban and suburban space, with little attention paid to the
construction of rural heterosexualities (although see Little 2003). As the cracks of
heterosexuality begin to become investigated, exposed and considered, Hubbard
(Chapter 12, this volume) argues that there has been a proliferation of work on
heterosex and he argues that “straight geographies have gone queer too”.
The social and political terrain on which geographical critiques of sexualities take
place has changed significantly over the last fifteen years. There have been significant
advances in civil rights for some lesbians and gay men in Britain, many other
European states, Canada and elsewhere (with, some might pointedly argue, a decline
of such civil rights in the US). The commercial gay scene has grown in size, scope
and location in these countries and others too (for example, see Matejskova, Chapter
11, this volume). Positive representations of gay people are now far more common
in the mainstream media as well. However, this progress has not been uniform or
universal; it remains uneven within and across national borders. Queer theorists and
activists have interrogated such apparent achievements. They have suggested that
such rights are only granted on the condition that lesbians and gay men conform to
the normative model of a monogamous, long-term, consumerist (and, more often
than not, white and middle class) relationship. The price paid for such rights is the
reproduction of these norms, hence delegitimising those whose sexual lives do not
conform. In this context, geographers have recently engaged critically with these
changes in sexual citizenship (Bell and Binnie 2000) and the uneven spread of a
‘global gay’ identity across the world (Binnie 2004). Such work has questioned who
benefits from these changes and at what cost.
As Boellstorff (2003) demonstrates in relation to the Indonesian context, this
questioning considers the specific articulations in local and national spaces of the
transnational circulation of ‘queer’ discourses and discourses about ‘lesbian’ and
‘gay’ identities. Boellstorff notes that many men he encountered during his research in
Indonesia identified as ‘gay’, their initial exposure to such understandings reportedly
occurring through globalised mass media. Despite identifying as gay, most of these
men retained an expectation of getting married. Unlike in many contemporary
Western contexts, this expectation of marriage was not understood to conflict with
a ‘gay’ identity or lifestyle. Indeed, it was seen as a source of potential fulfilment.
The expectations held by ‘gay’ men in an Indonesia context need to be understood as
a specific articulation of various contemporary globalised and local norms. Indeed,
12 Geographies of Sexualities
these discussions, along with others that explore nationalities and sexual practices
(Lambevski 1999), illustrate that although the terms ‘lesbian’, ‘gay’ and ‘bisexual’
often connote ‘common sense’ ideas about desire, relationships and gender, the links
between actions, identities and labelling processes are far from homogenous and
are not easily definable. Questioning the transnationalism of identities such as ‘gay’
or ‘lesbian’ (see Hacker, Chapter 5, this volume) exposes the construction of these
sexual identities and illustrates their historical (Faderman 1981; Weeks 1985) and
geographical specificity.
Whereas ‘queer’ is used by some as a short-hand, umbrella term for all lesbians,
bisexuals, gay men and transgendered people, it is increasingly being used as an
appellation for sexual positionalities that contest not just heteronormativity, but also
homonormativity. As with ‘queer’, the concept of ‘homonormativity’ has a range of
meanings and is used to understand how homosexuality is constructed within class,
racial and ethnic norms. As Nast (2002) has stressed, some white, middle class gay
men have achieved a certain degree of ‘liberation’ because of their inclusion into
more mainstream capitalist social relations, whilst many working class gays and
queers of colour are still denied access to these privileges. Homonormativity, in this
sense, has been used to extend the queer analysis and contestation of the practices
and privileges of those gays and lesbians (in the main) who are prepared to assimilate
on the basis of largely capitalist and heteronormative values.
Queer activisms can explore a distinct set of politics, and these can conflict
with those who seek to advance lesbian and gay rights claims (as they are currently
formulated). Queer’s emphasis on deconstruction and the desire to question
heteronormativity calls into question the tenets of these rights arguments. Whereas
mainstream gay politicians may seek formal equality with heterosexual institutions
(such as marriage), queer questions the uneven application (even amongst straight
people) of the ‘rights’ that gay rights activists want equal access to. It asks ‘equality
to do what and with whom’? In contrast, queer political projects can be productive,
experimental and utopian. They are often associated with creativity, fun, playfulness
and the contesting of gendered, sexualised and racial norms in order to produce
new forms of sociality, practice, desire and affect (see Gavin Brown, Chapter 16,
this volume). This does not, however, mean that contemporary queer activism
never deploys rights claims nor ever utilises more established identity categories
to advance certain strategic causes (for example, to enable ‘queers’ from the Global
South to claim political asylum in the European Union by asserting ‘gay’ identities
that may have little currency or meaning in their countries of origin (Luibhéid and
Cantú 2005)). It does, however, mean that, in contesting normativity, queer politics
can be strategically deployed and that certain activities once seen as ‘queer’ can
become mainstreamed.
In parallel with queer activism’s turn towards a more productive and utopian
politics that transcends straightforward civil rights claims, queer geographers and
others have begun to engage with queer theorisations of becoming. Knopp (2004)
has re-evaluated conceptions of gay migrations through the ontological lens of
actor-network theory and more-than-representational geographies. He considers
queer movements and placelessness to be part of an on-going quest for belonging
and identity, which offers the opportunity to continually experiment with alternative
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 13
modes of being and to engage in active processes of reinvention (see also Knopp,
Chapter 1, this volume). Such queer movements and placelessness reveal the perpetual
incompleteness of a queer identity. It is this continual process of becoming that
challenges essential or pre-determined bodies, identities or spaces. It also prompts
questions about how things come to be materialised and about the regulation of such
materialisations. More broadly, then, these theoretical engagements with ideas of
becoming explore how bodies come to take shape and the importance of emotions
and affects in these constitutions (see Lim, Chapter 4, this volume). In challenging
the rigidity of gender and sexuality, academics have explored how categories of
gender are enacted and reiterated in a plethora of ways that move, for example,
between pleasurable playing with drag through to the painful policing of gender
ambiguous bodies in toilet spaces (Browne 2004).
The queer interrogation of gender and sexual difference not only problematises
the idea that one’s gender identity should match up with one’s biological sex (male
or female), but problematises the very idea there are (only two) immutable and
natural biological sexes. This interrogation of gender and sexual difference is in
contrast to the rigidity of dichotomous conceptions of gender within earlier lesbian
and gay geographies. The queer problematisation of the relationship between sex,
gender and sexuality is important, for instance, in understanding the relationships
‘trans’ subjectivities, bodies and practices have to prevailing ideas of sexuality.
Queer understandings of gender in such contexts have been complex and far from
homogeneous. Trans theorists and activists have argued for the right to be recognised
as their chosen gender (McCloskey 1999; West 2004) and have simultaneously
deconstructed the idea that gender must be embodied within a man/woman binary
(Halberstam 1998; Hird 2000).
Here is Queer?
The narrative so far might suggest that all sexual geographers have been enthusiastic
adopters of queer theory. This is not the case. Many scholars, both inside and outside
geography, have pointed out the limits of queer or have affirmed the value of other
political and theoretical stances (Jackson 1999; 2003; Jeffreys 2003; Witz 2000).
The value placed on these other political and theoretical stances often arises in the
context of a broader appreciation of the longer histories of sexual dissidence and the
movements that have agitated for rights for those who are othered by the dominant
norms of heterosexuality (Nash 2005; see Gavin Brown, Chapter 16, this volume).
Given that queer theory is a body of work that has largely, although not exclusively,
been developed within the humanities, its adoption within a predominantly social
science oriented geographical arena has presented both problems and interesting
points of departure. A focus on discourse and an inheritance of poststructuralist
conceptions of power has added depth to the analytical tools available to geographers,
but has by no means supplanted social science concerns with how institutions
regulate social relations in material ways. Some of the major challenges, then, faced
by sexual geographers over the past decade or so have been how to materialise and
spatialise the insights of queer theory and how to combine the insights offered by
14 Geographies of Sexualities
queer theories with considerations of power that focus on institutions, practices and
material social relations.
Indeed, the development of queer theory and its adoption and furtherance by
geographers can only be understood within a much wider political context. Queer
activism arose from older traditions of sexual dissidence, traditions that continue
to be important today. Elsewhere around the world, the globalised circulation of
queer understandings of sexualities and of other Western discourses by which
lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans identities become comprehensible has intersected
with many other local, national and regional understandings of non-normative
sexual desires, practices and identities (Boellstorff 2003; Blackwood 2005; Collins
2005). To say we are all now ‘queer’ would be to dismiss the complexity of queer,
its uneven use across geography and those geographies of sexualities that contest
and challenge assumptions about the wholesale adoption of specific discourses and
concepts. Throughout the book the diverse uses of ‘queer’ are apparent, as is the
non-linearity of geographies of sexualities, which continues to engage with concerns
that were originally brought to the fore in the 1980s, albeit now with a wider range
of theoretical tools at its disposal.
Geographies of Sexualities
This book encompasses both queer geographies and other approaches to the
geographies of sexualities. The work presented here not only explores lesbian
and gay identities, lifestyles and embodied practices, but also seeks to question
heteronormativity and other modes of sexualised power relations. What is also
apparent is that the authors’ research and insights cut across the distinctions we have
elaborated in this introduction. We think that this crisscrossing is important because
it illustrates that categories are not finite but fluid and that there are potentially
important intersections, overlaps and crossovers between distinctions such as
heterosexual and homosexual, gay and lesbian, or gay/straight and queer.
In reflecting upon and intervening in current theoretical debates, as well as
examining contemporary issues and historical manifestations of sexuality, this book
offers accessible insights into ‘desire’ and the spatiality of both heterosexualities and
homosexualities; yet, it also seeks to move understandings of sexualities beyond these
tropes. One of the goals of this book is to show how geographers’ efforts to address
the challenges and potentials offered by queer theories have modified the theoretical
terrain on which studies of sexualities take place. Not only have geographers shown
how queer theory can be applied to social scientific questions, but they are starting
to show how queer theory might be taken forward, enriching the theoretical terrain
shared with others outside of the discipline. There are four chapters (those by Bell,
Knopp, Hubbard, and Michael Brown) within this book in which the contributor
has responded to our request to reflect upon developments over the past decade or
so in the parts of geographies of sexualities in which they work.2 Not only do these
2 It is with regret that, despite our efforts, there are no contributions by female
writers amongst these reflective pieces. Please see the Conclusion for our discussion of this
problem.
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 15
chapters provide a succinct overview of these parts of the sub-discipline, but they
also provide a number of contrasting insights into the impact that queer theory has
had on geographies of sexualities during the past decade. They offer a view of how
queer theories have posed new questions and new problems for geographers and of
how geographers have contributed to the development of new queer ideas and of
ideas at a tangent to queer. Most interestingly, these chapters ground these insights
in the context of particular sets of research questions and concerns.
Defining the structure of a book is a necessary evil. We have chosen to divide
the contributions to this book into three categories – theory, practices and politics.
As editors, we are conscious of the artificiality of these categories and recognise the
overlaps and intersections between them. We chose to define this book in terms of
these three broad areas because they offer specific foci that enable an exploration
of the breadth and diversity of contemporary geographies of sexualities. The
themes also intersect with other divisions that might have been chosen to structure
the contributions to this book, such as spatial scale or specific substantive issues.
However, the division into theory, practices and politics allows a flexibility enabling
the authors to work with and through different spatial scales and enabling us to
include diverse issues within each section.
Theories
The ‘Theories’ section of the book comprises two reflective chapters that engage
with a wide breadth of theoretical developments within geographies of sexualities
and four chapters that offer more specific and focused explorations of theoretical
debates both within geography and in cognate disciplines.
Larry Knopp’s chapter starts off this section by suggesting some nascent
theoretical developments that might be pursued by sexual geographers. He calls for
a further queering of the geographical imagination, envisioning such a queering to
involve a move beyond the divides that oppose materialist view of the world to
discursive ones and that oppose emotion, affect and desire against the rationality of
the mind. Knopp also explores the possibilities for queer spatial ontologies. Rather
than offering fixed ideas of place, such ontologies stress ephemeral connections,
movements and gatherings.
Jon Binnie’s chapter explores the political and erotic relationships between sex,
sexuality and knowledge. In the chapter, Binnie raises questions about the relationship
between sexuality and ‘the field’. He revisits his 1997 paper on queer epistemologies,
problematising the earlier interrogation of heteronormativity and also extending his
analysis to considerations of homonormative relations to the field. The chapter also
challenges the ethnocentricity of queer knowledges and debates, and the sexualised
assumptions that surround teaching and other pedagogic practices.
In his chapter, Vincent Del Casino Jr. seeks to bring together ideas from sexuality
studies and those from health and medical geographies. By doing so, he attempts to
open up space for questions about how heteronormativities shape and are shaped by
issues of morality and constructions of various disabilities. Del Casino attends to the
construction of HIV+ bodies and the effects such constructions have on HIV policies.
16 Geographies of Sexualities
He also explores how biomedical discourses construct abilities and disabilities in
relation to the pregnant body and to erectile dysfunction.
Jason Lim attempts to bring into conversation two bodies of theoretical thought:
queer theories and (Deleuzian) theories of affect. He examines ways in which
theories of affect might offer insights into the politics of events and encounters, and
might offer insights into embodied memories of how to desire. He also considers the
implications of theorising affect for thinking about the nature of political change and
for fostering ethical and reparative stances alongside our critiques of heteronormative
practices and institutions.
Hanna Hacker’s chapter problematises the ways in which development discourses
frame what counts as acceptable desires, a framing that has the effect of globalising
Western ideas about sexuality. In the context of development funding for community
organisations or HIV projects, for example, the desires of those who are deemed to be
‘less developed’ are compelled to orient themselves to the identities and categories
offered by Western development discourse. Against this, Hacker explores the
potentials for transnational enjoyment or jouissance that resists such development
discourse. Such jouissance offers a way of thinking about how to form transgressive
zones and networks of connections between cultures, while also acknowledging,
tapping into and unsettling the potential for violence and domination that arises in
the context of such transnational connections.
David Bell finishes off the ‘Theory’ section of the book with his retrospective
look at how geographies of sexualities have fared over the past decade and a half and
at how the influence of queer theories have spread within geographies of sexualities
in that time. In particular, he writes of the continued need to queer the discipline of
geography and to transgress the sexualised norms of enquiry. These moves are of
particular importance given the ongoing difficulties in getting material on sex and
sexualities published.
Practices
This section focuses upon empirical research regarding how sexualities are practised
and policed, and how these practices and processes of regulation (re)make sexualised
spaces and spaces of sexualities.
Douglas Herman’s chapter explores BDSM (bondage and discipline, sadism/
masochism, although Herman explores the problems of this term) in the United
States, arguing that these practices can be considered queer in the sense that many
of these practices lie outside of the mainstream. He follows Hubbard in arguing
that queer is not solely located within LGBT lives, experiences and identities. In
exploring the spatialities of BDSM, Herman explores the regulation and performance
of the ‘perverse’.
Jin Haritaworn offers a critique of Butler’s (1990) ‘Gender is Burning’ –
specifically Butler’s exploration of interracial desire – and uses this critique in an
exploration of the experiences of people of Thai decent who had non-Thai social or
biological parentage. Jin shows how for racialised queer bodies being identified as (or
mistaken for) heterosexual does not offer privilege and how queer is not necessarily
Introduction, or Why Have a Book on Geographies of Sexualities? 17
a ‘safe’ site. Jin’s examination of the complexities of Thai multiracialities in the UK
and Germany shows how specific hegemonies are created that belie the possibility
of a single ‘queer’ space.
Kath Browne explores the (re)constitution of femininities, arguing that rendering
sex fluid contests the very tenets of sexualities. She uses an incident at Dublin
Pride 2003 (in the Republic of Ireland) to examine the hierarchical deployment and
deploring of diverse forms of femininities across sexed embodiments amongst those
who define as lesbian and gay.
Mark Casey examines the differentiation and hierarchies within the use of ‘the
scene’ in Newcastle, UK. His contribution complements Matejskova’s by arguing
that other forms of difference than de-sexualisation work to produce, marginalise and
exclude those who might be termed the ‘queer unwanted’ from increasingly visible
and hegemonic ‘gay’ scenes. In this way, Casey offers insights into the effects of
operationalised power relations for those who are deemed undesirable with respect
to strategies of capital accumulation.
In examining the negotiation of heterosexualities within the Groover bar
in Bratislava, Tatiana Matejskova offers a critique of the literature that solely
problematises the presence of straight women in these gay bars. She argues instead
for a more nuanced conceptualisation of the negotiation of such presence and for a
diverse understanding of how heteronormativity can be contested.
Phil Hubbard’s reflections conclude this section by examining how queer
has become ‘a game for all the family’. He argues that using queer to explore
heterosexualities renders the boundaries between straight and LGBT problematic
and contestable.
Politics
Conclusions
The conclusion offers a polyvocal exploration of how this book has come together
in the way that it has. It also offers some thoughts about possible future directions
for geographies of sexualities. It comprises three sections each written by one of
the three editors, and it represents an attempt to highlight the diverse writing styles,
opinions and theoretical orientations that are often hidden in co-authored pieces of
work. In offering divergent and potentially conflicting narratives, the conclusion
finishes a book that does not seek to prescribe or dictate but rather attempts to
embrace the possibilities of multiple ways of thinking about and doing geographies
of sexualities.
Bibliography