Ungovernable Ghosts

Written by Blaise Riley

Edited by Haley Clarke-Cousineau

In her work titled “My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage,” Susan Stryker (1994) compares transgender individuals to Viktor Frankenstein’s creature, since “[t]he transexual body is an unnatural body […]; [i]t is flesh torn apart and sewn together again in a shape other than that in which it was born” (p. 238). Stryker furthers her comparison by stipulating that, by being thought of as “monsters,” thus “others” and “non-humans,” transgender people express fury against the unjust systems that shape our society. Such a sentiment may resonate with other individuals, namely aromantic ones, which, according to Mardell, is a term that designates people who feel little to no romantic attraction (2016, p. 322). Based on the principles and ideas presented in Stryker’s text, I argue that if transgender people are monsters, then, due to their wandering and flickering nature, aromantic individuals are ghosts who harbour a silent, discreet kind of wrath. I suggest that aromantics are similar to ghosts because they do not feel like they belong anywhere. Firstly, they face hostility from the Two-Spirit, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and intersex (i.e., 2SLGBTQI+) community. Secondly, they keep “haunting” others as a way to be perceived since the limited and surface-level representation of aromanticism that exists—which frequently gets overshadowed by asexuality—does not provide enough recognition, education, and respect regarding aromantic people.   

Transgender and aromantic people are similar, in the sense that “transgender” and “aromantic” are both terms which define identities, not sexualities. Yet, while “transgender” refers to a gender identity, “aromantic” rather pertains to romantic attraction. “Homosexual” and “bisexual,” for example, would be categorized as sexual preferences or orientations; their romantic attraction counterparts would be “homoromantic” and “biromantic.” Curiously enough, in my experience as an aromantic asexual (or “AroAce”) individual, I have often seen queer “allies” use the following bigoted rhetoric to cherry-pick certain identities and push others outside the 2SLGBTQI+ community: “the community is about sexual orientations, and nothing else.” According to such a belief, a panoply of identities, including the transgender and aromantic ones, would therefore be rejected by the 2SLGBTQI+ community. As Stryker (1994) demonstrates throughout her text, this was—and still is—a big issue, specifically because exclusionary groups continue to sprout like weeds. The LGB alliance (n.d.), which advocates for the so-called “[protection of] the rights of same-sex attracted [people],” was created in 2019. Thus, while not necessarily identifying the same way, both transgender and aromantic people still get heavily persecuted for who they are: others, just like Frankenstein’s creature, who evokes immense loneliness and isolation, emotions which fuel its own rage. Only, aromantic individuals are less vocal and more subtle, just like wispy, ashy ghosts. 

I have always felt like a legitimate part of the 2SLGBTQI+ community, especially because, being qualified as a partial or complete lack of romantic attraction, aromanticism is outside the firm societal boundaries which dictate that everyone should share their life with another (or others, for that matter). However, I cannot deny that aphobia, or as the Waterloo community center SPECTRUM (2021) defines, “prejudice against asexual and aromantic people,” is rampant in queer communities, as absurd as it may sound. In fact, I have regularly seen aspec people get bombarded with aphobic remarks from queer people themselves, especially in lengthy Twitter threads. For instance, many members of the 2SLGBTQI+ group remark that we are “too straight” to be part of their ensemble, or even that we want to be “special,” that we are not “ostracized or discriminated against enough” to be considered a minority (SPECTRUM, 2021). These arguments are countered by user “@malloen8C,” participant of an interview project produced by Aromantic-spectrum Union for Recognition, Education, and Advocacy (AUREA) and Queerious Minds, a collaborative project reuniting voices and stories from the 2SLGBTQIA+ community. They mention (2021): “[Queer allies are not helping by saying] [t]hat aromanticism (and asexuality) aren’t LGBT labels/don’t exist. The queer community has way too much infighting for a demographic that’s marginalized in basically every country. We need solidarity, not exclusion”. By being denied entry in queer spaces, both online and offline, aromantic individuals may feel alienated and may perceive the 2SLGBTQI+ community as hypocritical, since it is not as inclusive as it deems itself to be. If we do not belong to either heterosexuality or queerness, where should we go? Where can we prosper and thrive? Do we have a safe place we can call our own? As such, just like ghosts with unfinished stories, we are destined to roam around aimlessly, with no clear destination in sight. Quite similarly to Frankenstein’s creature, as evidenced by Stryker’s (1994) comparison, we are invisible tourists who jump from one place to another, not able to settle down, build homes, and create connections as we are hunted down by our peers. 

Furthermore, as much as we may bellow in the night, tearing our throats open, nobody can hear our cries, as we are but mere wavering vessels of air—in a world entranced by romance, other kinds of relationships—platonic and queerplatonic, for instance—get swallowed by stories à l’eau de rose, thus evaporating our feelings. Though, even when someone miraculously notices our translucent bodies or listens to our whispered worries, asexuality engulfs us. It is important to know that aromantic people can simultaneously be asexual or not, just how asexual people can also be aromantic or not. Yet, “aromanticism” and “asexuality” do not possess the same definition, despite how interchanged both terms are in discourse. While they both share some common aspects (i.e., a partial or complete lack of a certain type of attraction to others), asexuality concentrates on sexuality, not romance. For example, the manga titled Is Love the Answer? (Isaki, 2023) features the asexual flag on its cover, even if the story revolves around an AroAce protagonist. Where is the aromantic flag? Should it not be on the cover as well, especially considering the title of the piece? This may be because queer terminologies and cultures vary from one place to another. Effectively, on the blog The Asexual Agenda, user “queenieofaces” (2013) claims that “asexual” has more than one simple translation in Japanese, and that each term indicates a specific type of asexuality, including AroAce. Then, “asexual” serves as an umbrella term of its own, and commonly means asexual and aromantic in Japanese. Nevertheless, I wish romance and sex were not so intertwined all the time, so that aromanticism and asexuality, while related to some degree, may exist as separate attraction identities, and so aromanticism may shine brighter in all its green glory. By gaining more attention and representation, the aromantic community would finally gain respect and recognition, and allies (queer or not) would properly be educated on the topic. Accurate modes of representation would also enable individuals who struggle with putting a name to their identities to potentially find themselves. When I discovered I was on the aromantic spectrum through the social media application Tumblr, life made much more sense, and it felt as if a whole new world had opened its arms to me. For now, however, asexuals—who were ghosts, but have finally regained corporeal form along the years—unknowingly and unintentionally eclipse the rest of us aromantics, prohibiting people from understanding and acknowledging our existence.

While watching the second season of Heartstopper (Oseman, 2022-2023), I could not help but shed oceans of tears when Isaac Henderson stared at the myriad of love letters that composed an AroAce artist’s work of art; I felt represented, once and for all. The moment lasted mere seconds, but its impact still vividly resonates with me to this day. However, this is only the beginning: there still is a long way to go, as we do not yet have a place to call home, and as our stories remain camouflaged in between dusty romance novels on the bookshelves of this world. 

Article References

AUREA, & Queerious Minds. (2021, July 26). Dear allies, here’s how you’re not helping aros. 

Aromantic-spectrum Union for Recognition, Education, and Advocacy. https://www.aromanticism.org/en/news-feed/dear-allies-heres-how-youre-not-helping-aros. Accessed 5 October 2023.

Isaki, U. (2023). Is love the answer? Kodansha Comics.

LGB Alliance. (n.d.). LGB Alliance Canada. https://www.lgballiance.ca/. Accessed 5 October 2023.

Mardell, A. (2016). The ABC’s of LGBT+. Mango Media. 

Oseman, A. (Writer), & Lyn, E. (Director). (2022-2023). Heartstopper [Television series]. In 

Pigott, Z. (Producer). London, United Kingdom: See-Saw Films. 

queenieofaces [Username]. (2013, February 16). Talking about (a)sexuality in Japanese. The 

Asexual Agenda. https://asexualagenda.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/talking-about-asexuality-in-japanese/. Accessed 26 December 2023.

SPECTRUM. (2021). Aphobia: Common attitudes and expressions. SPECTRUM: Waterloo 

Region’s Rainbow Community Space. https://www.ourspectrum.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/What-is-Aphobia.pdf. Accessed 26 December 2023.

Stryker, S. (1994). My words to Victor Frankenstein above the village of Chamounix: Performing transgender rage. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 1, 237-254.