Craving Bi+ Community in Georgia
On September 23rd 2018, a group of bisexual+ folks (bisexual, pansexual, queer, fluid, multisexual, omnisexual, etc.) came together at the Phillip Rush Center in Atlanta to celebrate Bi+ Visibility Day together, get to know each other, and build community. We all came into this space with some shared experiences; with at least one common thread of identity: attraction to more than one gender. We were surrounded by other folks who just got it and that relieved a number of social anxieties I normally go into any space with. It also left me craving more. I’m craving a lasting community that does more than meet once a year for Bi+ Visibility Day. I need a community where I can just be myself, without judgement or debate.
This need became apparent when I was in the process of coming out to myself. At the same time that I was coming to terms with my sexuality, I was seeking spiritual community because it was and continues to be a source of comfort and stability for me. But once I started really trying to dig in and figure myself out beyond “not straight”, a different kind of community was needed in order for me to figure out what a bisexual man could look like and what to do with that reality if I was one. I needed to see that another bi guy even existed because no role models had ever been presented to me. I scoured the internet for answers to my one million questions.
The first bisexual man I ever encountered online through the larger progressive faith community was Eliel Cruz, a faith organizer and bisexual advocate. From there, I was opened up to a larger internet community of bisexual+ folks that informed my decision to come out publicly for the first time. After tweeting about it and later posting on Facebook about it, a few people, men particularly, came out to me in turn and I discovered I had more bi+ friends than I realized. To this day, almost every time I post about being bisexual, another person comes out to me.
A couple years later there was still a bi+ shaped hole in my heart. Some queer spaces were great overall but I always questioned whether those spaces were for me. It felt like my bi+ friends and I were always screaming into the void and we didn’t really have space to talk about or even just live fully into our identities without feeling judged or out of place. It also felt to me like there was a lot of LGBTQ advocacy going on locally without any real consideration for the “B”. It was difficult to want to be invested in LGBTQ advocacy that I couldn’t speak my personal experience into. I felt like I was constantly being put into the role of “ally” despite knowing that there are specific LGBTQ issues that are relevant to bisexuals at large and to me personally.
In June 2018, Pride Month, my friend Grae and I started talking about these things. With their encouragement, I started a local Facebook group for bisexual, pansexual, queer, fluid, and other multisexual people and overnight we had an influx of 50+ new members. As of writing this, it has almost 170. As it turns out, bi+ people crave community that’s specifically for bi+ people, just like Grae and I do. I put together a small group of my friends to administrate the group and they added some of their friends to administrate as well. The group as it is today was an effort we all put thought and work into. I couldn’t have done it alone and didn’t want to because my sole vision of community will ultimately fail if it’s only my vision.
Something that struck me about this group and in noticing who came into it is that closeted people need space to dip their feet into identity. When I was closeted, apart from attending the occasional gay bar and talking to almost no one, I explored my identity mostly through an anonymous Tumblr blog. It was such a lonely experience outside of the support I got from my wife and a select few queer friends I trusted. A feature of this group is that it’s “secret”, meaning no one can see that you’re in the group but other members of the group and no one but members can search to find it. Unfortunately, this also makes it difficult to find because you have to be invited by someone you already know in order to join. But the number of closeted folks that have joined is proof that the decision to make it this way was absolutely worth it.
Word spread about this group and in Fall 2018, I was brought into a meeting with bi+ activists, organizers, and even elected officials about possibly putting on a Bi+ Visibility Day event for September. While I came into it nervous because I had never done anything like this before, I was overcome with a sense of belonging in the meeting room. There were walls I usually put up in both queer and straight spaces regarding my identity that came crashing down. While an online community offers space and connection, being online in general allows me to filter and carefully parse words in a way that I usually struggle with in person. Online there’s always plenty of time to make sure I’m saying exactly what I intend to say, so as not to offend the folks who may be uncomfortable with me and who I am. But this real life gathering was something else. In many ways, I didn’t have to filter myself or worry about misrepresenting myself like I always do. I could relax because these were people that understood where I was coming from in at least one major way.
Since almost the beginning of the Facebook group, the topic of meeting up and socializing in person has been discussed. Like others, I wanted that real life space to let go and be myself. The last 2 years, around Bi+ Visibility Day, I’ve looked for any kind of Bi+ event or gathering and never found one. When I was invited to help put on this Visibility Day event, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to make this space we all wanted finally happen.
I ended up taking on a role in the logistics of the event, coordinating with a local LGBTQ advocacy organization, Georgia Equality, who offered support, commissioning an artist for the flyer, and getting the event page up and running. It was beyond anything I had ever really done and to be fair, I had direction from the more experienced people involved and wasn’t the only one working on it. Despite being out of my comfort zone, I felt like I was being the leader I needed when I first came out or even back when I was closeted. It was a sense of greater purpose in meeting not only my own needs but needs beyond mine.
The turn out of the event, about 40 people, was pretty good for a relatively last minute endeavor. The event was mostly centered around conversation. We had a Bi+ 101 presentation by local activists, Beth Sherouse and Carter Ture, which broke down issues and statistics about bi+ people. There was a large group conversation about our personal stories facilitated by Khafre Abif, a bisexual AIDS activist from Atlanta, and from there we broke out into small group discussions about different topics where we tried to create actionable solutions to the issues we identified. While I’m not great at public speaking, I felt so much more comfortable talking to this group than any group I had ever encountered. I felt so at home in a room full of people, a majority of whom I didn’t know, who were actually seeing me in a way that I frequently choose not to show people or most people just ignore. It was an incredibly validating experience.
So where do we go from here? For my part, I’d like to see us create spaces where not only can we be ourselves, but we lift up the most marginalized among us; where we create specific space for bi+ people who are femme, people of color, transgender, non-binary, and all of those identities at once. I want bi+ folks in Georgia to be each other’s support system emotionally, materially, and otherwise. I want us to organize locally around issues that affect us and collaborate with others outside of our community to make change. That’s the kind of community I crave and want to fight for. It may seem like a pipe dream but it’s worthwhile if we want it. I do. Do you?
If you’re with me, send me an email at danwthebi@gmail.com and I’ll clue you in to our next organizing meetings about what’s next for us.
