When we lived in Chicago, we were on the social fringes of a community of lesbian separatists, those who came out as lesbians as well as active, political feminists in the 1970s. They had established womyn-born-womyn-only spaces, joined lesbian separatist think-tank collectives, established women's choruses and sports teams, volunteered for lesbian causes such as breast cancer awareness, absorbed women's music and feminist literature, embraced non-traditional spiritual practices, gathered in the same neighborhood in Chicago (Andersonville), often spent time on "the land," and existed as the "family of choice" for their lesbian sisters. All without men. Just like the women described in the article "My Sister's Keeper" in the NYTimes.
And like the lesbian separatists living on rural communes described in that article, they were a diminishing breed. Other, younger lesbians we met in Chicago couldn't fathom the existence much less the reasons behind womyn-born-womyn spaces. They eschewed the music, choruses, literature, etc., of the older generation. Mama, though, who had had what she called an "HQ 75" coming-out, a reference to the Dewey Decimal library classification number of the majority of lesbian studies books and periodicals, was well-versed in the history of the lesbian movement and liked being around its original participants, with whom she more closely identified than her hip, young, bi peers. And so we went to concerts, festivals, parties, parades, coffeehouses, collectives, potlucks, and the like, always as the youngest participants, sometimes by 20 years.
While we knew that their numbers were decreasing, the news has not been good since we left: the coffeehouse closed, the women's bookstore became more mainstream to attract more customers, the neighborhood was gentrified and the lesbians left, the local autumnal music fest seems to have disappeared. The only positive news is that the chorus continues on. And that they all still form a close-knit family, despite deaths, break-ups, and other dramas.
Perhaps we should celebrate that younger lesbians do not feel marginalized by society and no longer need a separate space. Perhaps we should be grateful that we don't have to decide between our separatist friends and activities and our 3 1/2 year old son (who would be too old to be welcomed in official separatist spaces). Indeed, we often wondered if it was the increase in lesbians having children, specifically man-children, that began the disappearance of womyn-born-womyn-only spaces.
Were we separatists? No. While we appreciated the struggles of our lesbian friends and respected their needs for a separate space (and enjoyed those spaces ourselves at times), we could not so easily dismiss people purely based on their gender, just as we asked not to be discriminated against because of our sexuality. As women with male relatives, male colleagues, and even male friends, we liked womyn-only space but believed it was not realistic, practical, or even fair. Now as the mothers of a boy, we even more stridently believe that men can't be rejected purely for being men--it's all about the inherent worth of every individual, even men. Especially our son.
In the end, though, the loss of vitality of that community makes us a little sad, a little nostalgic for what once was, a little adrift in a straight world. For we always loved being in those spaces, with those women, free of the negative effects of the existence of men (including subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle competition, lookism, sizism, sexism, misogyny, power struggles, and other attendant negatives), even while missing the positive effects. Even if we knew it was temporary, even if we knew it was artificial, even if we actually had men in our lives whom we loved. In the end, lesbians love women, are connected to and bonded with women, not just sexually but emotionally, physically, psychologically, and spiritually. And as even straight women know, sometimes it's nice to just hang out with the girls.
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