A Politics of Filth
"a scatological" analysis (cw: politics, transphobia, general filth)
Being alive at this moment feels surreal. The stench of decay fills my nose, and sometimes it’s hard to breathe. But I still coughed out a laugh when I saw Chappell Roan’s homage to “Pink Flamingos” and Divine. I could immediately hear Divine’s character orate her political beliefs in response to a reporter’s question: “Kill everyone now! Condone first degree murder! Advocate cannibalism! Eat shit! Filth are my politics, filth is my life! Take whatever you like.” She goes on to pose for the reporters’ cameras.
“Pink Flamingos” revolves around a struggle between the character of Divine (living under the pseudonym Babs Johnson) and Jenna and Raymond Marble, a heterosexual-presenting suburban couple. The two camps are in conflict over who is the “filthiest person in the world,” a title which comes with press notoriety.
[Spoiler alert1]: The feud escalates throughout the movie, and Divine gives this speech after apprehending the Marbles. She then oversees an ad hoc trial against them and carries out the sentence for “assholism”: death. Afterwards, Divine and her associates move to Boise, Idaho where she embellishes her title as “the filthiest person alive” by eating dog poop. As writer and director John Waters reminds us at the end of the movie, Divine (the actress and drag queen) literally ate dog shit on camera, transcending the fourth wall. It’s not just that the obviously offensive movie is filthy, but its star consumes filth for the audience.
“Filth is my politics” feels like a genuine response to our current moment. We are surrounded by the remains of dying systems which are covered in layer of dirt. We must sift through these remains and decide the best way for us to move forward. In this, the filth is unavoidable. And then there are those who insist that we are the filth. To the people in power who peddle this line for their own benefit, we are simply a distraction from the real filth and a physical embodiment of society’s ills.
The fear of filth runs deep. Humans have been concerned about it for thousands of years because (we now know that) filth can carry disease-causing pathogens. As evidence of this concern, the major world religions all have guidance about the role of cleanliness in spiritual practice.
In Europe, public health and Christian values became intertwined. In medieval times, dirt and filth were to be avoided not only to avoid disease transmission but also to abstain from sin. Moral filth was particularly projected onto women’s sexual appetites to stave off adultery and cuckoldry. This association is also documented in linguistics: the root words for “filth” were gendered feminine in Old English and German. Later, as White Europeans built colonial empires through violence, they projected filth and moral stain onto their non-White subjects. The concept of filth served to validate the moral underpinnings of the patriarchal morality of White Europeans.
Unfortunately, these associations have persisted. The site Risen Motherhood provides guidance to Christian moms who want to incorporate their faith into their everyday lives. I was struck by the article “Order From Chaos: Glorifying God in Our Housework.” As you might guess, the article connects religion to the sexist notion that a woman’s responsibility is to keep her home clean for her family. By the article’s suggestion, femmes and people feminized by society2 bear the responsibility to deal with both material and spiritual filth:
You are pushing back the forces of darkness by even such small measures as cleaning up the family desk in the kitchen by saying that chaos and disorder will not reign forever. You are imaging your Creator by making something out of nothing, by making clean what was once filthy, and by making broken things new.
Perhaps queer people’s subversion of both gender norms and Christian moral teachings is why filth has historically been attached to us too - even by secular institutions. Newspaper clippings from the 1950’s and 1960’s refer to trans people living in San Francisco’s Tenderloin neighborhood as “dirt” and call for police “cleanups” of the neighborhood.3 This association would take on new meaning in the 1980’s as HIV/AIDS spread. For those opposed to queer inclusion, HIV represented a confirmation that queerness is fundamentally filthy and not compatible with a healthy society. This stigma has endured, flaring up again in 2022 with the global mpox outbreak which (in the West) predominately spread among gay and bisexual men as well as trans women.
Ultimately, the function of these hegemonic forces is to attach social and spiritual stigma to behaviors and expression outside of the comfort level of those in power.
Last week, I was a hot mess. On Wednesday, I was in San Jose because I had electrolysis session that afternoon. Despite my feelings of vulnerability, I try to make the most of those days because the train ride is 40 minutes long one-way and the ticket fees add up. My girl math advises me that the train ride is more of a burden than the dysphoria associated with growing out my facial hairs for electrolysis. So, I worked out of the public library, went to my appointment, and treated myself to dinner and a cider at a casual public market.
By the time I was walking home from the train station, I was vaguely intoxicated and covered in both sweat and the open sores of my dying hair follicles. While I was waiting to cross a heavily trafficked street, a car pulled up in front of me. Its middle-aged male driver was laughing. I glanced over and hit the crosswalk button again. The signal didn’t change. Then, the driver leaned over, stuck his phone out of the passenger side window, and took pictures of me. Nervous, I again hit the crosswalk button. That extra tap seemed to do the trick because I got the walk signal. I gave him the finger as I crossed the street.
For the rest of my walk home, I was turning the brief interaction over in my head. It felt violating, demeaning, and disrespectful. I didn’t deserve to be subjected to this loser’s creepy gaze and have my image captured in a moment of vulnerability for this man’s benefit. I will leave it to your imagination what “benefits” he gained from the interaction.
But, the whole thing says more about him than it does me. And frankly, he didn’t even get a good picture. Yes, I was a hot mess. But the next day, I was an even hotter mess.
The podcast series “Slow Burn” released its 9th season last month. The new season tells the story of the so-called Briggs Initiative which was put before California voters in 1978 in an effort to purge schools of queer teachers. The resonance with the ongoing gay and trans panic is obvious. Ultimately, the Briggs Initiative failed because queer Californians mounted a vigorous counter-campaign led by San Francisco Supervisor Harvey Milk. Milk’s assassination just 20 days after the failure of the Briggs Initiative often dominates his mythology, but his legacy as a political strategist that mobilized queer folks remains his most enduring accomplishment.
In the 1970’s, many people were not open about their queer identity because the social stigma against queerness was much greater in that era (in ways that I can barely fathom as a 27 year-old). Yet, Milk and his advisors saw the political potential of a mass coming-out as a demonstration that queer people (in this case, primarily gay men and lesbians) are not threats but rather contribute positively to society. Their organizational focus was not just in the (relatively) liberal bastion of San Francisco but also the more conservative California Central Valley.
In listening to the series, I was struck by a recording of Milk’s 1977 Hope Speech which began with the joke: “My name is Harvey Milk and I’m here to recruit you.” The word recruit is doing the heavy lifting here. Milk was trying to build an open coalition of politically active queer people. But he also subverts the arguments made in favor of the Briggs Initiative, namely that queer teachers were recruiting their students to homosexuality. Through this joke, Milk turned the argument on its head. Instead of using pure logic to rebut the unserious accusation, he repurposed the absurdity toward different ends.
Ultimately, this reframing and the associated coming out campaign were wildly successful. The Briggs Initiative was defeated, and the stigma around coming out as queer has significantly decreased (although not altogether disappeared) since 1978. Interestingly, the current backlash against queer people seems to be in direct response to greater numbers of out queer folks in society. Whereas in the 1970’s queer teachers were largely closeted (and therefore an invisible threat), today’s queer teachers openly share their identities with their students. This a great development! But, it also allows the threat perceived by opponents of queer inclusion to have have a physical representation of their broader negative attitudes toward queerness.
In this way, a coming out campaign is not a suitable solution to today’s backlash. Visibility is not the barrier in front of us. Instead, we are faced with hypervisibility paired with a social policing mechanism that preemptively restricts self-expression to fit within the hegemonic norms and expectations of white cisheteronormativity.
So, the political dilemma facing us is one of hypervisibility. Do we collectively appeal to the reason of our antagonists, presenting as “clean” members of society? Or, do we (continue to) live our gay ass lives to the fullest? This is a false choice. In my eyes, the solution to the dilemma of hypervisibility is to embrace the overexposure. Luxuriate in the visibility you have, and advocate to the limits of your comfort.
Of course, this is not an easy task. It is a constant struggle to remain energized because the crushing hegemony of society seeks to isolate you from your filth. Take care of yourself as often as you need so that you can foster your filth. Ultimately, the reward is luscious. Given the harsh opposition, filthy joy is some of the sweetest available to us. And filth multiplies: seeing someone enjoying their filthy life with reckless abandon is a reminder that joy lies in our filthiest moments.
Filth is contagious, filth is material. It does not apologize, it is proud and it boasts. It does not judge, it is self-seeking, it is authentic, it can be angered. Filth does not delight in bad taste but rejoices. It always subverts, always indulges, always hopes, always perseveres.
Filth never fails.
If this post somehow makes you want to watch “Pink Flamingos,” please first read its Letterboxd review which includes the MAJOR content warnings for the movie.
Here, I am referring to anyone who doesn’t identify as a woman but still has femininity projected onto them. For example, gay men have femininity projected onto them through the use of slurs like “sissy.”
Contemporary followers of San Francisco politics will recognize that this language is still used in reference to the Tenderloin. Today, this dehumanization is targeted toward opioid users and the unhoused.
FILTH NEVER FAILS
Hi Eve. I enjoyed reading this. Lots of layers. Love it. To begin with, I happen to adore Divine. An icon for the ages. Her stubborn defiance of the establishment was epic, especially considering the times she lived in. Now, about the visibility v hypervisibility of the LGBTQ+ community, I don't subscribe to the dichotomy that you describe. Why? Because, in my view, it's about the eyes of the beholder. They see us the way they want to see us no matter what we do or say.