Author’s note: This paper, which was presented in April at Historical Materialism Istanbul 2026 at Bilgi University, was written in the context of both a series of seminars on liberatory psychoanalysis and ongoing study with the TDSA Trans Rights & Bodily Autonomy (TRBA) reading group. I am deeply grateful for the dedicated participation of the members of this reading group, and look forward to what our study continues to yield.
In what ways are war and resistance, revolution even, gendered and raced? What work does an economy of war require of the bodies and psyches of those subject to it? (How) can logics of domination be interrupted via the labor of (transing) gender, or the lens of blackness? That is to say, how do we critically engage race with gender against logics of marginalization? How do we approach race and gender as axes and sites of hegemonic ideological production — as well as the sites for the possible liberation from supremacist hegemony?
Paul Preciado, writing in his epilogue to Guy Hocquenghem’s Homosexual Desire, and assessing the conditions of feminist and gender-revolutionary movements in the prior half century in Europe, highlights a warning in Hocquenghem’s text — “Hocquenghem alerts us,” he writes, that “’it is possible that revolutionary politics are in themselves repressive processes.’” The “provisional lesson” that Preciado derives from this is that revolutions may not be just what they seem, raising the possibility that “causes capable of becoming logics of power are not really the most revolutionary ones” and that “revolutions also construct their own margins” (AT 130-131).
For Preciado, the “micropolitics of fags, dykes, queens, and trans people [travesti] are opposed to the traditional model of politics as war… and [these micropolitics] propose a new model of politics as relation, fiesta, communication, self-experimentation, and pleasure” (138). The re-publication of the text of the epilogue as a zine (Anal Terror) by the baedan journal of queer time travel includes an introduction by the baedan collective wondering if Preciado’s portrayal is an overly rosy one. They write that “there is a remarkable elision of violence, perhaps even of force, in Preciado’s text” representing “a kind of historical positivism or optimism that we are not inclined to share” (AT 120-121). This is the tension within which we are reading and working today — just as, for the baedan collective, it is important to “see what in [Preciado’s text] responds still too much to the production and reproduction into which every citizen-subject in a society like ours is interminably seduced and coerced” (AT 121), so too are we investigating the flows, seductions, coercions, into the production and reproduction of hegemonic normativity — even in what are cast and understood as revolutionary or liberatory struggles.
The thesis here, and what is under investigation, is that there are ideological currents which are manifested and projected on, in, and through the body — its ornamentation, its movement, its sound, its relations… and that the apprehension of the functioning of these ideological currents — their utterly real effects on our lives, relations, deaths— is possible through the terms and sites of race and gender. Judith Butler, in a lecture at the University of Cambridge, enumerates that gender has as its topics life and the body, and thus implicates broad “zones of passion and fear, of hunger and illness, vulnerability, penetrability, relationality, sexuality, and violence” as well as “distinct or differentiated modalities of embodiment [including] modes of porosity and closure, dependency, relationality, relations to food, protections from unwanted intrusion, from assault, from exposure to the elements, hunger.” [30:00, LGBTQCam]
Thus treatments of gender and of race illustrate and implicate in a material way treatments and interpretations of other social, political, and economic phenomena, and provide a quotidian lens and context for liberatory political projects— which we delineate here as commitments to life, care, autonomy, and their conditions.
One of the tasks of the hegemon, as the baedan collective’s comment alerts us to, is the production of subjectivities that are conducive to its particular ideological reproduction and expansion. The means by which hegemonic normativity accomplishes this vary — from discipline to propaganda to coercion to medicalization to segregation to force to colonization of the very modes of being, relation, and language that we exhibit to one another. In W.E.B. Du Bois’s Black Reconstruction, he details the confluence of conditions during the American Civil War that resulted in the extension of the legal classification of citizenship to the formerly enslaved black population. He writes:
“It had been a commonplace thing in the North to declare that Negroes would not fight. Even the black man’s friends were skeptical about the possibility of using him as a soldier, and far from its being to the credit of black men, or any men, that they did not want to kill, the ability and willingness to take human life has always been, even in the minds of liberal men, a proof of manhood” (BR 129). This “proof of manhood required of the [black man]” was, in Du Bois’s words, “to seize a bayonet and rush mad with fury or inflamed with drink, and plunge it into the bowels of a stranger” (BR 129). Let us pause on this constellation: the challenge of manhood, as a conditional status to be proved; this proof taking the form of seizure, rush, inebriation, inflammation, plunging, and lack of other relation; the directionality of proof, to white men, already citizens (made such through genocide), who doubt and other the black subject, and thoroughly devalue his labor, autonomy, speech, and care. Du Bois makes clear that it was only through this proof that the black man in Civil War-era United States was able to accede to citizenship — ‘citizenship’ then, too, is manifestly constituted by this gendered and raced constellation.
Du Bois notes that the black man “might plead his case with the tongue of Frederick Douglass” yet “the nation listened almost unmoved” (BR 129). Speech, Du Bois observes, resulted in (almost) no motion; it was madness, fury, the ability and willingness to take human life that had a legal effect. This is another relevant question to our inquiry into the conditions and traits valorized in revolutionary life. What are the conditions required for motion, or a change of motion? What do we do if e.g. speech yields (almost) no motion? What labors in this (almost),
prohibiting motion, or concealing micromotions? Du Bois shows us that the American nation, the status of citizenship, and the gender category ‘man’ are directly related to the failure of Reconstruction via the devaluation of care, the denigration of black life, and the hostility of privileged subjects toward groups which ‘threaten’ to dislodge the superiority and supremacy around which their subjectivity is organized.
Let us turn to the text of Frantz Fanon’s under consideration, from the chapter on “Colonial Wars and Mental Disorders” in Wretched of the Earth. While Fanon lucidly formulates that “imperialism… sows seeds of decay here and there that must be mercilessly rooted out from our land and from our minds” (WoE 181), we also see in the text the difficulty of this task, for these ‘seeds of decay’ labor to invisibilize themselves, to contour the ‘normal’ – and recruit the body and the mind toward their propagation. One of the case studies Fanon writes about concerns a 26 year old Algerian man working with the FLN (Front de Liberation Nationale). When a raid goes wrong, the patient goes “underground… without ever going home” (WoE 186). It takes several months for any news to arrive of the patient’s wife and toddler daughter. After the patient goes underground, French soldiers go to his residence and kidnap his wife for interrogation. She is beaten for days, and then raped, both alone and in front of other soldiers. In the case study Fanon reports, second-, third-, fourth-hand that the colonial soldiers tell her “If you ever see that bastard your husband again, don’t you forget to tell him what we did to you” (WoE 186). Despite the violence to which the patient’s wife is subjected, in this case study, Fanon is concerned with the patient’s “dignity as an injured husband” (WoE 187), and with his inability to have sexual intercourse (it is not detailed with whom, but we infer that it is not the patient’s wife).
How is the act of rape — the epitome of gendered violence— figured here? It is an attack on the husband, who is ‘injured’; it is a medium of communication between the colonial soldiers and the resistance fighter— tell him what we did to you. This attack, then, takes place via the body of the wife as property of or as extension of the husband. Notably, the wife is not considered or referred to as a militant (as the husband is) and her work is excluded from the content of the liberation struggle. Yet the text makes clear that she is a significant material support to this struggle, cooking the meals to which he sits down every night in silence, raising a child, protecting her husband. Indeed, she displays a great commitment to the relations she is imbricated in, refusing to inform on her husband or other FLN associations; which is punished directly with rape. Her body, her marriage, her quotidian routines— as well as those of her young daughter— are the very field of war, and this fact is summarily repressed. The husband, who is legible as a member of the resistance, is protected underground; the wife, who is not legible as such for the extremely obvious reason of her gender, gets tortured. What margins appear here? Who is acceptable collateral damage in the contention of power? Fanon’s case study here illustrates precisely the seeds of decay he muses on earlier — the importation of hegemonic gendered violence into the schema and behaviors of the anti-colonial revolutionaries.
The task before us, to follow another decolonial psychoanalytic theorist, Ignacio Martín-Baró, is one of de-ideologization; of the rigorous rooting out of ideologies that keep us located in the motion of colonial, imperial, supremacist logics of domination. These examples have shown us
how the site of the body is colonized, and violence doled out on the basis of a strict supremacist ordering of race and gender relations. I will now bring in the work of Marquis Bey, and their essay in their book Cistem Failure to look at the work of blackness and transness as radical invention — against the politics of war, which are the politics of gendered and racialized violence, the politics and logics of supremacy and extermination. Projects of liberation worthy of the name cannot include or utilize sexual violence, cannot utilize exclusion or extermination of the ‘other’, we opine.
In their essay “Heart of Cisness”, Marquis Bey interrogates the qualities and behaviors of a cisgender system of bodily regulation, including the co-constitutive racialization of the gender ‘cistem’, and theorizes blackness and transness as “assert[ing] radical invention” (CF, 26). Blackness, for Bey, is “the written name given to an open ‘imagining of things’ that converges astoundingly with the abolitionist imaginatory jailbreak that must include all vectors of violence” (CF 28). Bey goes beyond the epidermalization that constitutes so much discussion of race, and the gender policing that appears even in discussions of transness. Bey synthesizes “whiteness as necessarily subtendant of cisgender” and asserts that “blackness as a critique of [cisgender] [questions] the very notion of cisgender itself” (CF 25). Reflecting on their experience in the American high school football locker room, and the exhortations of their coach toward masculinity as toughness, ability to withstand and dole out abuse, Bey distills that it was “conquest, via violent means, [that] was how we got our currency” as boys-becoming-men. What an echo of Du Bois, writing of events now 175 years past, where conquest and violence was also what made manhood possible and legible, and what permitted subjects to accede to the violent category of citizen (even as the fruits of this category continued to be systematically denied on the basis of race, via the dismantling of Reconstruction through new legal mechanisms)!
Responding to this status, Bey conceptualizes “black and trans, then, as radically non-exclusionary” (CF 26), and invites non-racist, non-cisssexist reconceptualizations of blackness and transness. This “invitational pull of a capacious, ‘inexclusive’ blackness” represents for Bey “an expansion, not a dilution, of its radical abolition of the violent tethers of this world” (CF 27). I follow Bey here in insisting on a “hell-bent liberatory refusal of the violences that have been inscribed into us and that we’ve been told we must perpetuate” (CF 40).
In contrast to what white supremacist organizations of power demand, we do not have to endorse or utilize schemas of domination and supremacy in our struggle toward liberation — in fact, liberation as such depends precisely on being able to interrupt these schemas and on discovering, rediscovering, inventing, reinventing modes of relation that radically include the ‘other’ and refuse power whose engine is marginalization.
By Caitlin Murphy
Works Cited:
- baedan collective & Paul Preciado. Anal Terror: Notes on the First Days of the Sexual Revolution [zine]. Seattle, 2015.
- Bey, Marquis. Cistem Failure: Essays on Blackness and Cisgender. Duke University Press, 2022.
- Du Bois, W. E. B. Black reconstruction in America: An essay toward a history of the part which black folk played in the attempt to reconstruct democracy in America, 1860-1880. Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1935.
- Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. Translated by Richard Philcox, Grove Press, 2004.
- LGBTQ Cam (University of Cambridge). Who’s Afraid of Gender? | Judith Butler’s public lecture at University of Cambridge 2023 [Video]. YouTube. June 2, 2023.
