xbn .

Queer, I think, should remain different, differing, dissonant, and plural. It shouldn’t contract or calcify into anything singular or solid.

What follows are fragments. They form a partial, piecey exploration of queer. That feels right. A monolithic unity doesn’t feel very queer. At least it doesn’t to me.

This throuple of fragments sketches different, sometimes dissonant, senses of queer. (I like the word sense. When you read it, I hope you’ll keep in play “a sense of,” “sensing,” “making sense” – maybe other things, too.)

Queer, I think, should remain different, differing, dissonant, and plural. It shouldn’t contract or calcify into anything singular or solid.

But I worry that it has. I worry that queer has become a static identity, rather than a provisional positionality. And I worry that queer has become too tethered to non-normative genders and/or sexualities.

I’m all for non-normativity, in all kinds of ways. But I don’t think queer should be tied down, or up. Queer, I think, should keep moving and morphing. It should persist as, in Judith Butler’s words, “never fully owned, but always and only redeployed, twisted, queered from a prior usage and in the direction of urgent and expanding political purposes.”

That’s how queer can continue to be critical, in multiple senses. And, I think, queer should remain critical for political theologies. So I offer three fragments. Each fragment engages a particular text, as an opening for queer involvement and movement. I hope they’ll keep queer unmoored, and on the political theological move.


For Cathy Cohen, the radical potential of queer politics remains a question. Will queer realize it? Cohen isn’t sure. It’ll depend on which directions queer moves in. And it’ll depend on who or what could count as queer – and who or what wouldn’t.

Cohen’s intersectionally queer counting would include marginalized genders and sexualities, but not only them. Queer would be more a matter of norms and survival.

Survival isn’t about a way of life. It’s about staying alive.

That would make queer a question of power. And power might be political, theological, political theological, biopolitical, necropolitical, private, public, individual, institutional, erotic, troubling, divine, human … the list goes on. (I hope you’ll continue it.)

To realize its radical potential, queer would need more nuanced senses of power, in and across identity-categories. They would let queer move, and build movements, based on politics and positionalities, instead of exclusively on identities.

Then queer could move differently. It would counter-move in resistance to dominant and dominating, heteronormative and heteronormalizing powers. And the question “who or what could count as queer?” would morph into “who is truly on the outside of heteronormative, heteronormalizing power?”

Maybe, Cohen suggests, most of us?

But who is us? And how could queer remake us?

(It’s a question of “how,” not “whether.” Queer’s radical potential is its transformative potential.)

Us is always collective. So, for Cohen, is queer. It’s not an individual matter. It’s not a matter of personal freedom. It’s not a matter of categorical freedom: liquifying categories in the name of individual fluidity. Queer enacts a deconstruction, not a destruction, of categories.

So queer becomes a matter of collectivities and liberation. Queer brings together, in Cohen’s words, “all those deemed marginal and all those committed to liberatory politics.” That makes queer room for punks, bulldaggers, and welfare queens—among others.

What, I wonder, would a queerly political theology of or for punks, bulldaggers, and welfare queens—among others—look like? What political theological moves might it make? How might it queerly move what we call, or how we do, political theology?


Queer, for Juana María Rodríguez, is social. It’s a sociality. It involves fantasy, futurity, and failure as potential, queer openings.

For Rodríguez, they’re sexual openings. That makes them social openings. Sex and sexuality are social. They involve sociality at its most intense.

And they involve, and happen through, bodies. Queer sociality, as Rodríguez imagines it, becomes “a place where bodies not only touch but are pushed and pulled into one another, a coming undone predicated on a coming together.”

In this queerly social place, bodies and acts can disentangle themselves from prescripted significations. They can make meaning and pleasure, together, differently (even if they can’t completely free themselves from racial and colonial formations stuck to embodied queer erotics).

They can do so interactively. They can, for example, unmake and remake our senses of submission and service. They can do so, for example, according to a Latina femme experiential epistemology.

That’s powerful work. It can unmake and remake how power works.

So queerly corporeal sociality can critique existing social relations. It can also imagine creative, collective possibilities. It can imagine, and perform, possibilities other than “ideal citizen-subject.”

That’s promising, especially for marginalized communities threatened by violent erasures. It invokes and involves the promise of fantasy. Queer sociality, for Rodríguez, is fantastic – in multiple senses.

And fantasy opens futurity. It opens possibilities that futures might be different from pasts and presents. Fantasy animates, and is embedded in, queerly utopian longings for what might yet be. Fantasy can fashion an elsewhere. This elsewhere can act as, in Rodríguez’s words, “a utopian nexus of critique and potentiality, available to everyone, where sex and recognition touch and cum together.”

Such a fantasy might never be. And it might never be fully understandable, fully epistemologically metabolizable, even for its fantasizers.

Fantasy can fail. It probably will fail if it’s driven by queerly utopian longings. But failure can still be useful. Failure can offer opportunities for new, critical interventions.

What critical, creative opportunities can queer sociality—even if fantastic, even in failure—offer political theologies? (What would sociality, queer or otherwise, be without fantasy and failure?)


What about other animals? What if we count them as queer, too? What if we let queer go beyond humanisms? What might queer feel like unconfined by anthropocentrisms?

For Harlan Weaver, these questions are pressing. They’re questions whose urgency Weaver feels in animal shelters, especially when working with pit bulls. Animal shelters might not be where we’d expect to feel queerly political pressures of kinships, racializations, and sexualities. But there they are.

Do they feel differently in these spaces? Do they feel differently queer?

They do for Weaver. Weaver senses there “a different kind of queerness, an inhuman queerness, and another way of doing kin.” Particularly across species lines, kinship is something fabricated, not found.

An interspecies kinship is definitely a doing. It’s done by practices (which are done by bodies) that make ties. In Weaver’s case, they’re ties among humans and pit bulls. And they’re ties among humans in relation to pit bulls.

(It matters that they’re pit bulls, and not just dogs. Pit bulls, especially in U.S. contexts, pose categorical and genealogical problems. And they’re linked to problematic processes of racializing and gendering particular humans.)

These ties aren’t heteronormative or homonormative. They’re not anthroponormative, either. Because they’re not, they expose ways that many queer kinships remain exclusively human – and tied to historical, human sexualities, genders, races, classes. These ties expose ways that kinships among queer humans don’t automatically make kinship queer.

They do so by letting go of “kinship.” These kinships aren’t about “kinship.” They’re about intimacies and relations. They’re specifically about what Weaver calls “intimacy without relatedness” and “relatedness without kinship.”

These practices are nonheternormative, nonhomonormative, nonhumanistic. They’re queerly inhuman. And they happen by inhuman touches.

These touches make way for interspecies intercorporealities. They remind us to take cross-species corporeal interactions seriously – because corporeal interactions can, queerly, do things.

They can also undo things. And these inhuman touches undo us. They undo us as human. These touches reveal that a human us always, inevitably, constitutively, necessarily, queerly includes what we (decide to) call the inhuman.

What other ways of worlding might they make possible, and then make? What roles might these worldings play in political theological projects of multispecies justice?

I’ll stop there. That’s enough fragments from me. (I’m out of space anyway.) Now it’s up to you.

Annotated bibliography

Karen Barad, “On Touching—The Inhuman That Therefore I Am,” differences 25, no. 3 (2012): 206–23.

An article that uses quantum field theory to explore radically queer inhuman touches that complicate identities and intimacies. See also Barad’s “Transmaterialities: Trans*/Matter/Realities and Queer Political Imaginings,” GLQ 21, nos. 2–3 (2015): 387–422.

Judith Butler, “Critically Queer,” GLQ 1, no. 1 (1993): 17–32.

A classic article in queer studies, calling for queer to continually queer itself and attending to gender, sexuality, performance, and their interpellating interrelations.

Mel Y. Chen, Animacies: Biopolitics, Racial Mattering, and Queer Affect (Durham: Duke University Press, 2012).

A book that refigures queer through improper affiliations and extrahuman exceptions to conventional norms of sex, reproduction, and intimacy.

David M. Halperin, Saint Foucault: Towards a Gay Hagiography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995).

A book that formulates queer as whatever is non-normative or non-dominant, detaching queer from any necessary tethering to gender and/or sexuality.

José Esteban Muñoz, Cruising Utopia: The Then and Now of Queer Futurity (New York: New York University Press, 2009).

A book that figures queer, in intersectional ways, as always futural, always horizonal, always not yet. See also Muñoz’s posthumous The Sense of Brown, ed. Joshua Chambers-Letson and Tavia Nyong’o (Durham: Duke University Press, 2020).

Nic John Ramos et al., “Twenty Years of Punks,” GLQ 25, no. 1 (2019): 137–93.

A multi-authored forum (including a piece by Cohen) on the ongoing effects and significances of “Punks, Bulldaggers, and Welfare Queens” two decades after its publication.

Siobhan Somerville (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Queer Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020).

A “state of the field” collection, including essays on queer genealogies and politics, queer kinships and ecologies, queer of color and queer indigenous critiques, disability and trans* studies.

Kent L. Brintnall, Joseph A. Marchal, and Stephen D. Moore (eds.), Sexual Disorientations: Queer Temporalities, Affects, Theologies (New York: Fordham University Press, 2017).

A collection of essays that use theological and temporal perspectives to demonstrate the kinds of questions queer thinking can address to theology.

Laurel C. Schneider and Thelathia Nikki Young, Queer Soul and Queer Theology: Ethics and Redemption in Real Life (New York: Routledge, 2021).

A co-authored book that, beginning by reexamining “redemption,” uses queer lives to reimagine and revalue queer virtues, ethically and epistemically.

Linn Marie Tonstad, Queer Theology: Beyond Apologetics (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2018).

A book that unfurls a creative, constructive, queer theology, attending to corporeality and mortality and, especially, to theological interconnections of sex and money (and engaging Cathy Cohen, among others, along the way).


Native survivance, in [Gerald] Vizenor’s parlance, is a combination of the words “survival” and “resistance,” and it “creates a sense of presence.” According to him, “The suffix -ance designates a condition, a nature, or a quality that is more than a mere description of survival.”


Where relationality is most productive in critical projects is where it transcends its projects of critique and explores the possibilities—ethical, political, and theological—of its account of subjectivity and community.


Facing the violence of contemporary terror, many intellectuals have spoken in our present times about a return of political theology and religion in its violent forms. Attention to the concept of martyrdom has reappeared due to an increasing interest in religious conflicts.


In autopoiesis, there is no separation between what we do and the particular way in which the world appears to us.


Where state sovereignty as theology would have subjected groups accept their condition with its attending violence and suffering, the micro sovereignty I propose here – not merely as a futuristic idea, but more as a reflection on how subjected groups have dealt with subjection – invites us not to accept that violence and suffering, but to find creative ways out of it through the cracks of Empire.


Abolition is a process of imagining alternatives to the settler colonial, carceral present; it requires modes of kinship and care to replace prisons and policing.

Gratuitous Violence

Signifying a critical homology between the fields of Black studies and political theology, gratuitous violence is an important keyword for interrogating how religio-political concepts can afford unique insights into issues of slavery, race, and the human which continue to inform our world today.  


Asian American literary criticism’s analysis of contemporary orientalisms centered around the figuration of Asian subjectivities reminds political theologians that unconscious (white) fear and fascination with the Orient still guides political and theoretical engagement with the Asian “other.”


Thing as concept can be helpful to elucidate the specific yet ambiguous interaction of the religious and the political. Using recent thingly theoretical work within these two spheres, with an emphasis on body and shape, I will suggest ways through which thing (and things and thingness) both clarifies and challenges that interaction.


Diaspora might be a problem for political progressives for the very reason that it is so alluring. Diaspora promises both freedom and connection: freedom from national borders or the essentialisms of race and language, connection between people who affirm shared memory and heritage.
But heritage is never really free.


If there is one thing that can be said about blackness, it is this: blackness is unruly.

Black Reason

Black reason is propelled by a fantastic imaginary, a changeling animus that aggregates and transmogrifies the desires and fears of whiteness.

Racial Capitalism

The historical and theoretical relationships between race and capitalism are internally contested and in need of further exploration from theologians and scholars of religion.


Sometimes referred to as “population control,” other times “better breeding,” eugenics has been seen as a religious solution to social ills, and sometimes a new religion unto itself.


Gilroy’s “planetary humanism” contributes to political theology by offering more than a critique: in his work, humanism is a starting point, a concept to guide multicultural political projects today.


Official responses to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic have encouraged us to understand risk in individual terms. They’re wrong: risk is all about interdependence.

Food Sovereignty

Food sovereignty represents a refusal of a globally commodified food system in favor of systems and institutions that support self-sufficient communities.


Doxa is a term used in sociology to contend with belief and orthodoxy without reducing either to behavior or cognition. It explores disposition and embodied belief—the gut sense of the world which is acquired through practice rather than discourse.

Settler Colonialism

I propose Decolonial Settler Theology as a contextual political theology that is uniquely the task of the settler, who must face their own complicity in narratives of ongoing colonization and aim at their undoing.


In an era during which police institutions and ideology are so fundamental to our cultural common-sense, how can theologians and critical theorists challenge this form of power?


This essay takes taboo as a critical term to trace the history of our modern present and as a conceptual companion with which to think through the complex entanglement of the ethical, the theological, and the political.


What is still nascent… is an explicit conversation between political theology and critical theories of affect, particularly in a way that might contribute to constructive projects. The sort of political theology that might emerge from such collaboration would consider how affective regimes intersect with theological constructions or religious performances.


While kinship has traditionally held a vibrant conceptual life in anthropological inquiry, more recent studies on kinship as a form of spiritual relationality have opened up a new space of interdisciplinary exploration for political theology.


The modern state form itself is inextricable from the commandement, not just as an emblem for sovereignty in Schmitt’s sense, but also because the exemplary political form of modernity, the nation-state, has racist and exclusionary tendencies that can be understood as political-theological transfers of monotheistic principles.


That structural violence is always also relational, proximate, and personal is, perhaps, one of the core insights that the concept of mourning brings to the fore for political theology.


The conversation about nature’s personhood and rights is always political, often legal, and sometimes theological. Most importantly, it is a localized conversation about the boundaries of a given community – who is part of the community and who isn’t.


For political theology, we might find ourselves compelled by practices that seek to connect us with our ecologies, our communities, and our relations with ourselves – in ways that are more about humility and provisionality than finding cures or solutions.


Queer, I think, should remain different, differing, dissonant, and plural. It shouldn’t contract or calcify into anything singular or solid.


If theorizations of care are to more directly address the current “crisis of care,” we need not only to prioritize the kinds of embodied, particularized care that care ethics has highlighted in the past, but to explore a wider range of caring relationships and their diverse structures.


A preliminary question for political theology is how to understand the meaning and significance of matter. The response to this question shapes how a political theology does or doesn’t engage political economy and theological tradition.


The triangulation of money, sovereignty, and divinity is a good point of entry to study the mutual constitution of theological and political concepts and the questions about ultimate value and social form that they raise.


Refusal is a strong current resisting the structure of settler colonialism. It crashes, churns, and erodes the death-dealing dams of settler knowing. Its path turns away from the settler’s gaze.


Seva lends itself to easy appropriation across political and religious contexts, while also furnishing mutually intelligible tropes of service, welfare, and social betterment.


Political theology intimately understands that given reality teems with forms of life that remain opaque to us.


Spillers, Cheng, and Halberstam provide us with tools to approach the histories of violence, economics, relationships, desires, and contestation that infuse our experiences with flesh in its multiplicity. Flesh is never neutral.


It is not always possible (or advisable) to separate the “political” from the “religious” or “cultural” in Indigenous contexts. Indeed, all of these are concepts developed by outsiders to describe Indigenous life. Instead, Indigeneity invites scholars of political theology and related fields to consider the relationships between these threads of cultural life.


As we watch the illusion that was Man fall apart, we also see these more-than-human worlds that Man called “animal” disrupting and revealing the cracks and fractures in his own divine intentions.

Temporality I: History

William Apess, like Walter Benjamin a century later, sought to shift the paradigms of society with history and theology as orienting poles for colonial critique. Anticipating Benjamin, Apess looked to those who had been wrecked by the advance of colonialism as the grounding site for historical and political theological inquiry.

Temporality II: Futurity

Both Benjamin and Apess discern that historical narratives are imbricated with notions of futurity, that is, which bodies and polities are allowed to inhabit and thrive within the temporality in which the “not yet” and the “always already” co-constitute each other.


In this short essay, written from my perspective as a Jewish feminist, I draw together a plurality of engagements with natality to engender new conversations in political theology.

Critical Race Theory

CRT is a framework or an approach to understanding the way racism is foundational to systems of judicial, political, social, cultural, religious, and theological power.


[S]ituating demonology more fully in its religious and theological contexts furnishes resources that not only nuance understandings of movements for whom demonization is central, but also recontextualize discussions of core political theological concepts, including sovereignty, power, economy, subjectivity, and freedom.


From Myanmar to Mariupol, from the streets of Memphis to the waves and winds of the Mediterranean Sea: resistance to violence takes many forms. So does political protest against precarity. At which point does the unavoidable vulnerability of the living condition come to expression as political agency? Can such precarious politics constitute or configure an alternative community?

Hunger Strike

“Instead of neatly separating the forms of resistance to biosovereignty into life-affirming struggles and necroresistance and mapping them (and life and death) onto the reform/revolt dichotomy, I suggest that we conceive life and death as relational rather than oppositional categories. For every differentiation and intensification of death creates new possibilities of life; and every differentiation and intensification of life entails experiences of “death” that cannot be reduced to the power of one’s death.”

Like what you're reading?

You have Successfully Subscribed!

Share This

Share this post with your friends!