Gone to Texas: New York Native Finds Pride and Acceptance in The Queer South

By Josh Watkins

For a long time, I blocked out my grade school memories. On the bus, in the locker room, in front of teachers—I was bullied. It began before I even knew that I was different—that I was queer. How did these people know that I was gay before I did? It was nonsense. Slurs would be thrown, and my few friends would run to my defense—but it still hurt. In small-town New York, I was ashamed of who I was.

But who could I blame? Myself? I couldn’t possibly do that. I blamed my sisters for “making” me watch America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway with them. I blamed the only out kid in school because he would look at me with knowing eyes. I would blame my parents for not forcing me to play sports like all the other boys.

In the Northeast, we’re raised to believe that the region is the most liberal, open-minded, accepting place in the country (outside of California, at least). I thought to myself—if this whitewashed, racist, homophobic, heteronormative place is supposed to be liberal, then what is the South considered? Hell? But for some reason, through living in this strange cookie-cutter cornfield community—and through depression, eating disorders, confusion, and extreme anxiety—I learned to fight for myself.

Fast-forward a few years. On a complete whim, I found myself moving to Austin, Texas. I never thought I’d end up living in a state that’s the poster child for the Republican South, but I just couldn’t stand the bottled-up anger and stress of being a closeted queer kid in a farm town any longer.

I visited Austin for the first time for a theater intensive program. The experience was like opening a door and being greeted by the person I’ve always wanted to be. It was transformative—a chance to reinvent myself, to be 100 percent me. By the time I departed—and before I could talk myself out of it—I had already booked a one-way flight back to Austin. I embraced my instincts, stumbled into the unknown, and told myself that everything would be okay.

What was most intriguing about Austin was the lax acceptance. At first glance, it’s eccentric. But taking a closer look, the Austin queer community is familiar. And by familiar, I definitely don’t mean common—Austin is anything but that. I mean familiar in a familial respect. The Austin queer community became my new family—I developed friendships that will last lifetimes; I found love that will cross oceans; and I’ve found who I am truly supposed to be.

It became very clear once I visited other cities—Houston, San Antonio, New Orleans—that the queer South is alive and thriving. The queer South has no fear, no shame, and no remorse. As I found pride in my own queerness, I also found pride in becoming a southerner. When someone asks where I’m from, I now answer with a sense of prestige—I am humbled to be a representative of the queer South.

However, what I found most significant in my newfound queerness and pride was my voice—and the realization that I had one. As a queer individual, a voice is vital. If you speak, people will listen. The voice of the queer South is one that sings with soul, truth, and strength.

Today, I don’t block out those grade school memories. I look back on them not with shame, but with understanding. So to all you queer boys, girls, and gender nonconforming kids who are struggling in today’s America—you are not alone. You are valid. I see you. We see you. I will fight for you. I will celebrate you. And I know I’m not the only one. So embrace your queerness, be fearless, and be you.