The “L” in Question

Lesbian, as an identity category³Lesbian is also a Greek Dialect, see Hodot, ‘Lesbian in Space, Time and Its Uses’, 2018. is rooted in the Greek word Lesbos – an island where the poet-artist Sappho composed her lyrics that frequently involved the topic of intimate relations between women, the creative agency of women, as well as sensual descriptions of the world around her which are in tune with contemporary socially understood female experiences⁴the term sapphic, or sapphist has also been applied to identify ‘women attracted to women’. Lesbos was a place focused on creativity and a place where the profoundly female is centralised (to put it in Adrienne Rich’s ‘lesbian spectrum’ terms⁵Rich, ‘Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence’, 1980.). For some, it is the only word available in English rooted in a historical practice of intimacy between women⁶TED-Ed, ‘The Surprising Origins of the Word “Lesbian” – Diane J. Rayor’, 30 September 2021; Cauterucci, ‘Lesbian No Longer Works for Many Young Queer Women. But Can a Community Exist Without a Name?’, 2016.. Of course, there were other words at other times, the related ‘sapphic’ being an outstanding example of behaviour demonstration women attracted to women.

Suppose you think of this set of gender identifications as having something to do with more-than genitals and gender performance, as Rich or Luce Irigaray explore in their work. In that case, Lesbian is an open-ended field of intimate potentials, not one exclusive to sexuality. I see lesbian, in its contemporary sexualised implications, as an example of how intimate relations between women, intimate relations in general, are assumed sexual. This marginalises forms of connection, viable ways of being, where one’s intimate desires are met in more-than-sexual contexts. Despite how powerful and deeply intimate female friendships, sisterhoods, or other emotionally intimate connections are felt (and sometimes recognised), there is still no term to describe intimacy between women. While the consensus may be that lesbian implies sexual, many, many lesbians over the decades have defended the position that lesbian is, and has always been, more than sexual, and implications otherwise are a result of conditioned homosociality and compulsory heterosexuality⁹Irigaray1985; Rich, ‘Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence’, 1980; Wittig, ‘A Lesbian Is Not a Woman’, 2000..
 
This brings me to another point: Lesbian, sexual connotations or not, implies a link to women and females. It does work that queer and homosexual cannot – “L” clarifies and implicates the other components of the acronym towards the profoundly female. As such, perhaps excluding the “L” opens the space to those who sexually identify otherwise, who are not comfortable with the term¹⁰Cauterucci, ‘Lesbian No Longer Works for Many Young Queer Women. But Can a Community Exist Without a Name?’, 2016. or are concerned with what “L” might open up or shut down. Lesbian remains a provocative, perhaps even political term that raises questions like ‘why do they always call us lesbians’ and an implication made by many that ‘lesbian’ is synonymous with TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) given the historical adaptation of the word by feminists already mentioned here such as Wittig and Irigaray.

I see two problems here. The first is related to sexualised intra-female intimacies. This raises issues around male exclusion and perhaps an underlying fear that the visibility of intimacy between women generates a felt experience of male exclusion (if I am intimate with a woman, then I cannot or will not be intimate with a man). Second, relating the associations lesbian has with radical feminism raises some concerns about how tensions within gender debates are addressed. Close readings of Wittig, Irigaray, and similar self-identified, foundational radical feminists tend to focus their work on advocating and describing the generative capacity of lesbian spaces rather than the frequently implied transphobia and trans-exclusion factors.

When “L” is not present or left the borders between FLINTA, as gender, and queer, as a mix of gender and sexuality, are muddied. Sexual practices and sexual differences are conflated in ways that neglect the nuance of both. This does not preclude the agency of individual/communities to determine their own acronyms and parameters. However, in playspaces, for example, where the “L” is most frequently removed, the example set resonates with previous generations’ complaints regarding lesbian erasure and denial of existence. In other words, FINTA and FINTAQ imply that lesbians are included because they align their gender identity separately from their lesbian identity/affiliation. This means ‘butch’, ‘femme’, ‘boi’ and other historically lesbian gender identities are now conflated with more contemporary ones. ‘Lesbian’ offers a range of gender identities without linking it to a specific sexuality (for example, you could be a butch lesbian who is also asexual or aromantic). In her Compulsory Sexuality essays, Adrienne Rich, for example, commented that women who show independence from men, present masculine and/or exhibit any form of intimacy with other women are assumed lesbian – in this instance, ‘Lesbian’ refers to a sexual act. ‘L’ is excluded because lesbian means sex between women, therefore excluding other possible gender identities. As a result of this, by default, many folx who identify as lesbian are increasingly encountering prejudice and assumption that they are cis-gendered, trans-exclusionary, and/or impossibly uninterested in any set of genitals other than vaginal. ‘FINTA’, I believe, as a term, perpetuates the violence of sexualising women and not recognising ‘lesbian’ as a viable identity.