Teh Portly Dyke has a great post up about honouring the radical feminists and radical queers who made our lives possible by living their lives on the line:
And to those who think those radicals were nothing more than a flash in the pan — to those who think that such radicalism has nothing to do with them, I want to say:
There was a time when being “out” at all (much less considering legal marriage) was not really a choice for any queer — but some radicals made that choice anyway. They chose to be out, even when this might, and probably would, mean complete ostracization by society, severance from their families, and beatings on the street. Or worse.
There was a time when shaving your legs or not shaving your legs, wearing a bra or not wearing a bra, wearing pants or not wearing pants, leaving your abusive spouse or not leaving your abusive spouse — was not really a choice for any woman — but some radicals made that choice anyway. They chose to do things that they knew might, and probably would, mean they would be judged and criticized and fired and expelled and divorced and disowned and beaten. Or worse.
Perhaps those radicals weren’t thinking about you when they did these things — maybe they were only thinking about themselves and what they could stand in that moment — what they felt they must do for themselves in order to make life bearable (actually, in a way, I hope they were) — but I know — I absolutely know — that I walked into a future where I was more free to choose because of what they chose.
They were my bridge to a more liberated future. They stretched the boundaries so that I had a larger place to live in.
Because of them, I had choices that they could barely conceive of — without them, I would not live as I do.
Honor your fucking radical ancestors, already.
Go read the rest.