Dr. Ish Ruíz

The presidential election, the anti-trans executive orders, the pardons to the rioters of January 6, the cabinet appointments, and the ICE raids have paralyzed many of us with confusion, despair, and rage. We are feeling the effects of “The Overwhelm.”  I personally wonder: where does a queer Puerto Rican Catholic professor of theology turn to when he is assailed by a political climate that is seeking to erase queerness, banish Latinidad, dismantle Catholic social justice efforts, and discredit the critical thinking skills we teach in our universities?

Perhaps the paralysis is an opportunity – an invitation even – to go inward for a moment. To reconnect with roots and will the lessons that came from the synthesis of queerness, Latinidad, and spirituality. There is an internal wisdom at the heart of these identities, which is informed by each component of our selves, that is worth exploring for it could help us navigate these dark times and even map out a cultural and political response.

As we delve into the liminal space between my queerness, Latinidad, and Christian spirituality, we dwell on our own dignity and the dignity of all persons who are marginalized, we can discern a vision for justice, and we foster hope, which fuels liberatory action.

This process has been explored by some of my favorite scholars, like Gloria Anzaldúa and José Esteban Muñoz, both of whom explored the inner journey at the intersection of Latinidad and queerness. While their scholarship is not theological per se, the spiritual connections are self-evident. Anzaldúa reflects on a new mestiza consciousness whereby her experience of being “neither here nor there” due to her mixed ethnic background and her queerness has imbued her with access to a cosmic consciousness. Being “neither here nor there” has prepared her to be “everywhere and anywhere.” For Muñoz, queerness and brownness operate through a dynamic of disidentification and utopia. Disidentificaiton happens when queer brown persons take measures to survive in a world that was not built for them. Going to a queer bar can be an example of that. In these disidentified places, queer brown persons form senses of solidarity among each other, a brown commons where we can understand each other, our identities, and our longings. Here we begin to dream of a new world, we begin to cruise utopia. A drag show may be an example of an artistic representation of such utopia.

Taking lessons from Muñoz and Anzaldúa, in the face of The Overwhelm, I call upon all queer Latinx persons to find that shelter in that disidentified refuge – whether physical, emotional or spiritual (or all) – and continue to ground ourselves in our culture and communities. Together, we can articulate a utopic vision for tomorrow and generate the energy to make that world come true.

By embarking on this process, in my own journey through various liminal spaces, the different components of my identity learned important lessons from the others. My queerness learned from my decolonial Puerto Rican-ness how to fight for political justice.  My Puerto Rican-ness learned from my transgressive queerness that liberation is as much political and material as it is ideological and sexual. Both identities learned from my Catholic faith that the effort toward political and normative liberation is a transcendental quest to build the Kingdom of God on earth. And my Catholic spirituality learned to be transgressive and liberatory from my queerness and Puerto Rican-ness. This learning took place in the context of a brown commons built by fellow queer Latinx persons who came before me and paved the way for my own disidentification and utopic visioning throughout the past decade.

Facing Trumps Overwhelm tactics, I pray those of us in the line of fire can, for the sake of our spirits, disidentify with this world that we are in but that was not built for us. May we take refuge. May we connect with each other in solidarity by continuing to expand our cosmic consciousness.

May we refuse to be erased, banished, discredited, and further marginalized. May we take advantage of the liminal spaces as refuge. And may we stand in unrelenting solidarity with those who cannot find sanctuary. May we lament and grieve for the lives affected or lost to the impending darkness (Including our own).

And may we dare to dream of a better world for all of us. May we leave our clubs, our homes, our communities and dare to build it. And may God’s perfect justice reign.

—Ish Ruiz, PhD | Coordinator of the CLGS Latinx Roundtable and Assistant Professor of Latinx and Queer Decolonial Theology, Pacific School of Religion