And One More For the Road.
So it’s been a few days since we announced Just Out ran our final issue, published our last news story, printed our last column, and
posted our final blog. The outpouring of support from readers has been pretty overwhelming and, for the most part, incredibly positive. Major news outlets have managed to sum up Just Out in a handful of words, but, as usual, the readers who relied on and loved the paper have said much more—in emails, Facebook messages, phone calls. Lifelines.
Most want to know how we’re holding up. While I’m no spokesperson, there are a few things I can say with some certainty. Right now, the end of Just Out feels like a divorce, or even a death—there’s a big gaping chasm, a void that’s going to be incredibly tough to fill. The people who came together to make this paper week in and week out worked hard. More than that, our whole hearts were in that work. Writers poured their guts out. We broached uncomfortable subjects. Every two weeks, all of this effort turned into the creation of something—a tangible thing that came from nothing, put out there for all the world to see.
I’ve heard and read many people say a queer-centric publication isn’t relevant or necessary anymore. The OCA is gone (although plenty of that ilk remain); the internet helps us meet each other. You can use Google to find queer things in your city (a real argument I heard). And sure, technology absolutely makes some things easier. There are a variety of ways to meet people. If you know how and where to look, you can find plenty of information—but a lot of it won’t be fact-checked, copy-edited, and wrapped up into neat little newspapers. And, as we so easily forget here in Portland, there’s a strong, well-funded political movement that would like to not only halt our progress, but dismantle it. For that, organization and community will always be key. And it’d be nice to have an exhaustive local resource to have our backs.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend Zach, who goes to graduate school in Spokane, called me in a frenzy. There he came across some stranger in a bar, a random guy who knew him and me from his days in Portland. Based on this person’s (very limited) knowledge us, he assumed Zach and I had, at some point, engaged with one another in sexual tomfoolery. When Zach grilled him as to the whys, this gentleman simply responded, “Well I’ve heard of you, you’re both whores, seems natural.”
While the impressive amount of self-loathing buried in that sort of gay-on-gay condemnation warrants deeper examination on another day, I offered Zach this: haters gonna hate. There’s so rarely a time when you can actually control what people think or say or do, pushing back isn’t worth the energy. Arguing is often a futile endeavor. In the end, we simply put ourselves out there, and we accept the good with the bad. And it is, for the most part, pretty good.
At Just Out, we certainly had our share detractors, just like anything in print does. Just like most any art does. There’s no way anything can be all things to all people. But another thing I can assure you: we tried. Each person there possessed a singular passion for community. We didn’t just make a newspaper, we provided a service. We were a resource, a compilation, a place people came to find some amount of community and familiarity—and yes, comfort. People certainly picked up Just Out for plenty of reasons—the aforementioned ones were always very high on that list. When I was a queer kid trapped in a Pentecostal church in Gresham at the height of the OCA saga, I sought and found Just Out; I felt more normal.
I’m not convinced society has evolved to the point where that kid-in-the-church scenario is implausible—now. I’m not convinced something like Just Out is moot.
So just like the flippant loudmouth who approached my friend at a gay bar in Spokane, haters are certainly gonna hate. And they have every right to. In the end, Just Out was much bigger than any one person or any one incident. We were a collective—of artists, designers, writers, editors, salespeople, publishers—who wholeheartedly believed in the product we created. Regardless of what comes next, the hole Just Out filled for 29 years now becomes a void. A big, empty void.
One of my favorite books in recent years—I’ll refrain from disclosing the title as to avoid ridicule here—talks about how our biggest mistake is getting attached to anything; we should always be prepared for endless waves of transformation. Yeah, it definitely sounds like the author has watched one too many episodes of Oprah. And it sounds a lot better in theory than in practice. But perhaps she’s right—maybe with ends come opportunities.
For now, though, allow us a brief mourning period. Let us maneuver through our break-up. Let us adjust to a life without deadlines, phone calls, emails, leads not followed. Let us take a minute to revel in the good we did. Just Out was many things to many people, and no words or actions can take that away from anyone. And there’s now one less publisher in the world taking chances on new, unproven talent.
We don’t know yet what Portland has in store for queer media. But this much I know: my colleagues have far too much talent to simply disappear; you’ll see our work and hear our voices again. You haven’t seen the last of this group. But pardon us for a moment while we lament the end of a pretty significant era.
(Hint: blog commenters, capital letters don’t make your arguments more persuasive.)
