I’ve got a new piece running today over at AfterEllen reflecting on what it means to be a young femme in the wake of the death of butch icon Leslie Feinberg.
When word reached me on Monday afternoon that Leslie Feinberg had died, I felt as though the air had been ripped from my lungs. Perched on a couch in the women’s studies lounge after my morning class, I read the text message from my partner and found myself speechless, and then compelled to speech – who could I tell who would understand the depth of loss I was feeling in this moment? While it would seem that a women’s studies department would be an ideal place to mourn the loss of such an important queer writer and activist, instead I struggled to pin down a classmate among those filtering in and out of the lounge who might understand how I was feeling. Even the faculty I spoke to did not know ze had been ill. In what could have been a moment of community gathering, I felt deeply alone. I felt the weight of a significant political shift.