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hausboy -> RE: what fucking community? (8/12/2011 7:45:09 PM)
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I guess I'm the lone dissent here. While I don't really accept the notion of an online "community"--and I absolutely promise--I will NOT be pulling out the dictionary here, I came into BDSM differently from some of the other folks, and for that reason, I did find a sense of community. Here goes:
For me, It was San Franciso in the early 90's. First--I was different myself--I was a leatherdyke, and I had very little to no interaction with straight kinky folks. In fact, we never used the word "kinky" since that was what "the straight people called it.' Anyway, I did find a sense of community. All of my friends were leatherdykes, leather daddies & boys and such, we socialized at leather bars, ate at leather-owned restaurants where we could go out in our skins and it felt natural. The shops and businesses we patronized were all within our circle. There were street fairs every year (Dore Alley was my favorite--it was small and quaint then...)
My doctor....my barber....my mailstop owners...my landlord--all in the leather/BDSM community. We had our own leather/BDSM newspapers and newsletters--at least three of them monthlies--numerous zines and magazines (I was on staff of one such publication collective) and it seemed like there were so many social events (coffee nights, bar nights, cabaret, motorcyle runs, political groups, civic groups) that it was often hard to choose what to do on any particular weekend. The BDSM/Leather AA meeting got so large, it had to move to a bigger space, and it wasn't unusual to have 30 people or more or any given Friday night. Play parties were frequent, and it was rare that we saw completely new faces. I worked at several of the dungeons, so there were about 200 or so regulars, that I knew and saw on a monthly basis.
If you had no family nearby or noplace to go on Thanksgiving, Christmas etc. you could almost be guaranteed one of the local leather couples would open up their home to anyone who needed a place so they wouldn't be alone. I never spent a single holiday by myself--every single one I spent with my leather families. Every year, my circle got bigger and bigger.
We had groups devoted to education and orientation, connecting seasoned players with novices. We didn't belittle or make fun of people who didn't know anything and asked what on CollarMe get called "stupid questions." --I felt that I was always judged by my actions and how I carried myself. And it was more about gaining respect and earning the trust on a bigger scale. Reputation was important. If you wanted to "flame" someone--you couldn't do it anonymously. You had to have the nads to say it to someone's face--talking badly about someone behind their back often reflected poorly on the source, not the subject.
There were plenty of colors (leather clubs) as well--and it just seemed like you could just as easily make your own niche if you couldn't find your own. I flagged every day--picking my flag probably the way some decide what shoes to wear.
The leather community was large--on Gay Day, there would be so many out and about, it would boggle the mind. It was NOT all kumbaya...we had plenty of rivalries and tiffs. The gay men didn't always welcome the dykes into their space, and vice versa. The transgender folks didn't really fit in anywhere. The only thing we often agreed on what how we didn't like the "straight" folks coming into the dungeons because we didn't like how they played. [No, the irony isn't lost on me. Maybe it's karma. I hate the fact that I'm now a straight man who is now resigned to have to play only in straight leatherspaces, but so be it.]
A good friend (and Master) was hit by a car as she rode her motorcycle to work, the news spread via word of mouth very quickly. (no cell phones then) Within hours, the hospital filled with leatherfolks. Many knew her personally--some knew her from seeing her around in the dungeons, a few just knew her by reputation. We took care of her, round the clock, and split up all of her needs--those of us with medical skills helped change her dressings and check her medication ports; one cooked, one cleaned, one repaired her leathers that we retrieved from the medics; another ensured that her co-workers were kept in the loop. Another handled more delicate family affairs. Even those who didn't know her well, offered whatever help they could. We made sure that everything was taken care of, so that her focus could be on recovery.
This was my community. It was not in my head, it was very tangible, very real and very special to me.
Personally, for me, I blame the internet. While it may have helped millions of people find resources, information and not feel alone--I always felt that it killed the personal connections that made my community flourish. I still get out there and meet people at munches, events, parties and such. But I really don't feel the sense of community that once was such an integral part of my life.
So Hannah, and those who have voiced your disbelief that community ever existed, I can only promise you that in some parts of the country, a goodly number of years ago, it did. It really, really did. I don't know why it's gone, and I don't believe it may ever come back, but it was a wonderful thing at the time. I didn't need to look it up in a dictionary-- I knew what I had.
I've never seen a live dinosaur, but I know they walked the earth. They may not have a place in today's food chain, but they are a part of our history. I'm sorry that so many of you have never experienced this firsthand but please don't be so quick to dismiss as non-existent.
Thanks for reading. Just a different viewpoint on this.
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