The word utopia itself is an interesting one, which translates loosely from Greek to “no place,” and sounds extremely similar to the word for “good place.” Writers and philosophers have fused these definitions, conceptualising utopia as some mythical, paradise-like island; it’s a tease which represents a vision of perfection, one that remains ever so slightly out of grasp. In this sense, it helps to think of utopia as a motivating factor or driving force, something to actively strive towards.
More recently, queer academia has refashioned utopia into political praxis, a powerful tool in the arsenal of marginalised communities. Society feeds us the lie that today’s cruel world is fixed and unchangeable, that we should keep our heads down and just be realistic. We’re told to keep our heads down, to be happy with the crumbs we’re given. These lies are told tactically, to drill into us that there’s no point in imagining a better future. Thankfully, queer trailblazers have seen through these myths, especially over the last few decades.
Artists and scholars like Cuban-American José Esteban Muñoz have leaned into the possibilities of utopian thinking. Back in 2009, Muñoz released his game-changing book Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity, a wild ride through queer nightlife, performance and theory. Building on his past work on ‘queers of colour’ politics, Muñoz argued that queer theory had lost its bite; that the revolutionary politics of the ‘60s and ‘70s had been replaced by beige, capitalist thinking. No longer were we fighting to dismantle capitalism, fuck freely and abolish the police. Instead, we were campaigning for gay marriage and inclusion within lethal systems of injustice, like the military industrial complex. Muñoz’s core thesis was that the “utopian function” of queer theory had been lost, that we were being too pragmatic with our goals.
Cruising Utopia isn’t quite as horny as the name suggests, but it’s no coincidence that Muñoz looked to queer nightlife and culture for his source material. Already, we can – and do – build temporary havens, where we can briefly experience euphoria on sweaty, jam-packed dance floors. Culture and community can offer us the tools we need to build our own versions of utopia, complete with drag, dark-rooms and spaces to express ourselves without fear of judgement.
As well as nightlife, photography can be a tool for creating a queertopia. With nothing but a camera and a concept, artists can carve out images which embody their dream worlds. Even this process can be utopian. It’s a chance to gather queer friends and communities together, building temporary sets drenched in ethereal beauty, free from the chaos and the hatred of the outside world. There’s also the joy of being viewed through a queer lens. Too often, we’re reminded that mainstream society views us as an aberration, our identities as an affliction to be cured –– as exemplified by the government’s longstanding refusal to ban conversion therapy.
Photography and visual arts can give us autonomy. They can create a safe space for us to express ourselves however we choose, and have the beauty in that expression drawn out. Sometimes, there’s no better feeling than looking yourself up and down, smiling broadly and knowing in that second that you are the moment. It’s a magical feeling to be truly understood, to be seen and uplifted. In these dreamy bubbles of queer arts and community, that utopian dream can be realised.