by Alona G.
I’m at a training with my county forest preserves to learn how to identify local dragonfly and damselfly populations.
It’s part of a volunteer program where participants (like myself) collect data on specific species out in the preserves that scientists later use for reports on habitat restoration, climate change studies–stuff like that. Full disclosure: I strongly believe this type of volunteer work takes advantage of people (namely those poor) by not paying them for the labor they do. But I do the work and attend the trainings either way because this is a great way to build a deeper connection to land given the political circumstances.
The only other participants here are a few retired white people—the preserves’ targeted volunteer cohort. And as usual, everyone stares at me extra hard as I walk in and sit down. In my fantasy world, these white folks are looking at me because my smile is so beautiful, my winter apparel is so lovely, they can feel the friendly vibes emitting from my heart. But in the United States, I know that they’re all staring because they’re trying to figure out if I’m a boy or a girl, and why my brown, indigenous and immigrant queer self is at this wildlife training.
BGD accepts writing and video from queer and trans people of color! SUBMIT your work.
There are no introductions of the volunteers here, so I don’t get the chance to tell the folks my name, let alone that I’m what some might call a fourth gender mixture of a “woman” and a “man.” In another setting, far away from this building and deep in the woods, I might have taken my poet-chanter recital stance and shared the first lines of an autobiographical poem I created: “I am both… yet neither…” but I get the feeling that these folks aren’t here to build with me culturally or get to know me.
As expected, none of these folks sit near me. They all talk amongst each other while I stare at the wall. When the instructors pass out handbooks, flyers, maps and photos of insects, they forget to give me some of them. I am the unicorn in the room that no one wants to admit is there. But I’m used to this, and I’m here for the insects, not them.
The presentation begins. And they start off with the usual conversations about the “invasive species” that are threatening “native” dragonflies/damselflies. They talk about how these invasive species are taking up all the resources, damaging the ecosystems, and preventing humans (read: white people) from being able to enjoy their walks in the woods. And all the participants with me nod their heads enthusiastically to a war-call against plants/animals. Their tone felt really angry and they all used language that mimicked what I would hear in hate speeches against Latin@ immigration or the constant frowning against Chinese-made products arriving to the US. The overtone of anti-immigrant and white-settler colonialist racism in their words was hard to miss. The folks here miss several critical analyses. One of them being that not all non-native lifeforms disrupt ecosystems. And two, who even brought all of these plants from around the world into this region of the U.S.? Could it have been the white settler-colonialists who have engaged in war and genocide against all 500+ Indigenous First Nations since Columbus came to this hemisphere?
We then get to learn how to visually identify dragonflies and damselflies. (And yes, I’m irritated at the term ‘damselfly’ but that’s another story.) Photo after photo, we all go “oh” and “ah” at their beauty. These creatures come in so many different colors and designs in each body part and in so many sizes, too. We also get to see photos of them having sex, laying eggs, hatching in rivers, eating each other, fighting with other critters, getting spun in spider’s nest. We even see a photo of a dragonfly accidentally laying their eggs on a car, and as our trainer explains to us, “Dragonflies often lay eggs on the roof of cars, mistaking the shine as water instead of painted metal.” By the end of the training, you’d think we’d heard all the stories there are about these little critters.
But we haven’t. As the presentation wraps up, I sigh and wonder again what fear guides these multiple-degree holding biologists to erase not only political ecological histories from their trainees, but also force these dragonflies and damselflies to embody the same narrow identification category boxes that they place people into.
I’m talking about sex and gender. Everyone, from communities that practice Traditional Indigenous Knowledge to white scientists like Bruce Bagemihl, have spoken about “same sex mating” and “sex and gender diversity” that happens in nearly all non-human (and human) species. I put those terms into quotes because I question the Western scientific language that I’m forced to use to describe the world. For example, search the term “gyandromorphy” and look at all the butterflies, lobsters, moths, dragonflies/damselflies, birds and other lifeforms that are “half male and half female.” Search “same sex animal mating” and look at all of the lesbian, gay, and polyamorous relationships non-human animals have with each other.
In my training, there was no conversations or photos of two “female” dragonflies mating, or a “half-male, half female’’ mating with a “male” damselfly. None of this was mentioned despite the fact that it is widespread and easily observable in the woods and water systems. They exist. They’ve always existed. Just like us. And they aren’t mistakes of creation, or the results of experiments gone wrong. We are as natural as they are. Science is often portrayed as the ultimate truth, though the conversations around its findings are often manipulated for political agendas. In this way, I feel that it can fail to capture the mysteries of diversity that are present within all life forms, not just LGTBQ2I-identifying humans. And for all the certain religious interpretations that place “humans” as superior to “the animal worlds,” I question the basic assumptions driving those claims.
I walk back to my car laughing at the type of spaces I find myself in. Global climate change is forcing more and more people to reconsider all sorts of ignorant and oppressive ideas and systems they have not just regarding how to live with the land in harmony, but how to live with each other, as humans, in harmony. I believe dragonflies/damselflies have something very important to teach us about our own human nature. For those willing to quiet their own prejudices and see without clouded hate, there is a lot of beauty to be found inside of us and around us.
BGD accepts writing and video from queer and trans people of color! SUBMIT your work.
Do not republish anything from this site without express written permission from BGD. For more info, go here.
Alona is a 4th gender Indigenous immigrant cultural worker interested in how Indigenous science and Western science can inform each other and lead to the perpetuation and creation of transformative healing rituals, ceremonies, and ways of being that can better ensure our survival and well being in the upcoming generations.
