The first time I saw Willow and Tara on screen together, I nearly cried. Buffy had just finished its run when I discovered it, and I saved up money from my job busing tables to buy all of the seasons on DVD. I watched the whole series repeatedly, but I watched seasons four through six, the Willow/Tara years, too many times to count. Every time Tara died, I cried. I was heartbroken, largely because their ending played into my fears that my own story could only ever be tragic.
I grew up gay in Mississippi, which is about as much fun as you might imagine. I was lucky that I had a supportive mother who had queer people in her life. I’m also white, which spared me the compounded discrimination a lot of folks face. Still, I felt entirely alone.
Buffy gave me hope. Willow and Tara had friends, and they had each other. They were, until their ending, gay characters who were happy and normal, putting to the side that bit about living over a hellmouth and their truly bizarre wardrobe choices.
As I got older, the number of queer characters on television grew. I watched as many of the shows as I could: Alex and Marissa on The O.C., Callie and Erica, then Arizona, on Grey’s Anatomy, The L Word (oh, The L Word). I left Mississippi, exploring the world and finding my own queer family. I am happier than I ever could have anticipated as a teenager watching Buffy on my living room floor.
Despite the way my world has expanded, I haven’t stopped looking for queer representation. As a gender nonconforming person, I am daily exhausted by stares and questions. I still feel isolated, even when I know I can call any number of people to build me back up after someone makes the kind of comment that used to shut me down for days. It is hard to be visibly queer, and no matter where I am, a small part of me will always be sixteen and alone in Mississippi.
Seeing queer folks on television and reading about them in books makes my life feel less like an aberration. There aren’t many (any?) butch characters on television (love you, Wynonna Earp, but Nicole Haught does not count). There are, however, a handful of loving queer female couples.
Alex Danvers and Maggie Sawyer of Supergirl are one of those couples. I love Supergirl. I have brought many friends into the fandom, raving about the feminist messages. When I watched Cat Grant take Kara for drinks to discuss double standards for women in the workplace, I actually shouted, “Shut the fuck up!” at my television, so shocked was I that they were devoting an entire episode to the issue. They also handled Alex’s coming out and subsequent relationship with Maggie beautifully.
So, what’s the problem? If your social media circles don’t include a subset of lesbian nerds, you’re forgiven. Mine do, however, and that’s how I was alerted to an incident on a Supergirl panel at Comic-Con. Essential background only: there are a significant number of Supergirl fans who ship (nerd slang for supporting a certain couple) Kara Danvers, aka Supergirl, and Lena Luthor. Two of the actors on the show dismissed the ship in a way that many fans feel was hurtful, with a sort of “how ridiculous is that” groan at the largely LGBTQ base supporting the not-actually-a-couple couple. Lots of people have said that it’s unfair of fans to be upset at the Supergirl cast involved.* After all, the show has Alex and Maggie. What more can we expect?
Lena/Kara (SuperCorp, if you will) is a ship built entirely on subtext, but it’s totally understandable. (I’m all for strong female friendship, but when’s the last time a new, platonic friend filled your office with flowers or called you her hero? Looking at you with gay judgment, Lena Luthor.) Moreover, the reality for LGBTQ fans is that they often have to live in the subtext, because it’s so rare for a show to include a queer character or couple, much less to keep one alive.
Unfortunately, LGBTQ fans face homophobic backlash for suggesting that there might be romantic undertones to a relationship between two people of the same sex. There are plenty of people who ship heterosexual pairings that aren’t canon. Harry and Hermione fans abound, as do fans of James and Kara, to return to Supergirl. When LGBTQ fans suggest a ship, however, they are often accused of having an agenda. To be fair, they do: queer representation.
Therein lies the problem. LGBTQ fans are starved for representation. Folks are still pissy with Joss Whedon for killing Tara, one in a long line of dead lesbian characters. (In fact, the bury your gays trope is so pervasive that the killing of Lexa on The 100 sparked an entire convention.) Queer folks will flock to any movie or show that provides them with any kind of queer character or relationship, braving truly terrible films just to catch a glimpse of someone who looks or loves like they do.
SuperCorp fans saw potential and built something for themselves in part because they know the responsibility for creating conversations about queer relationships lies with them. Queer people bear the brunt of the burden of queer representation. They shouldn’t be blamed for finding queerness where they can.
Maybe it’s not fair, but the Supergirl cast is held to a higher standard as a result of their relationship to the queer community. Young queer folks everywhere now look to them for support. SuperCorp will never be canon. That’s fine. What’s not fine is dismissing LGBTQ relationships. I’m disappointed in the cast for failing to understand their influence. LGBTQ people, especially LGBTQ youth, should feel like their relationships are possible, not laughable.
*As a quick aside, a lot of the reaction is totally overblown and inappropriate and folks should be ashamed of themselves.