When I first moved from suburban Florida to Los Angeles, I was under the impression that — unlike my conservative hometown that practices strict heterosexuality standards — USC would be much more open to reversing the heteronormative traditions due to its location and surrounding influences. Nonetheless, the reality is much more complex than a simple leap into progressive ideologies. 

 “How do you know for certain that you are actually attracted to people of the opposite gender, and not just performing ‘straightness’ to adhere to a certain gaze?” This is a question I often ask myself as I navigate the various social groups at USC, facing pressure to behave in a certain way to conform to my friends, classmates and clubs with which I have decided to closely align myself. I am sure I’m not the only one who feels the emphasis on gender dynamics in daily settings at our University. 

This is a reflection of a phenomenon known as “compulsory heterosexuality” — colloquially referred to as “comphet” — and this prevalent attitude is certainly not new. This concept was first introduced by American poet Adrienne Rich in 1980 through an article titled “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” published in the Journal of Women’s History. This extended scholarly work outlines how individuals perceive binary romantic attractions between men and women as an obligatory norm, even if they intend to resist it. 

As a result, we tend to delegitimize queer, especially lesbian sentiments to adhere to the superficial innate preferences for men. The term “comphet” became more popular in the past few years due to growing digital discourse. However, today, most people who are not immersed in gender and sexuality studies are still unfamiliar with this notion.

Despite my previous hope that USC would be a new start, I noticed that the school still casually permeates “comphet” in many facets of group gatherings. In public spaces like the dining hall, students are more comfortable with male-female pairings being expressed through public displays of affection. In comparison, based on my personal observations, when the same sets of actions take place between a queer couple, the reactions are much different as it is often viewed as “disruptive,” attracting unwanted attention and judgements.

 Although it may not be an intentional choice, our classrooms and the materials presented in our curricula still inherently perpetuate Western, patriarchal, abled, middle-class assumptions about romance and especially familial constructs in modern society. In my sociology lectures, conversations surrounding marriage are often associated with birth rate, generational structure and population control, hence unilaterally building a picture that the matrimony of two people is in conjunction with heterosexual reproduction. 

However, in reality, most students who are entering social work as a profession understand that marriage can be expanded to many different forms beyond the primary objective of fertility, and family planning involves considering nontraditional couples through adoptions and assisted reproductive technology. These nuances are set against the backdrop of polarized facts and figures, and I can’t help but ask, when will they truly come to light? 

As knowledge receivers, we are keen on a style of learning that centers on political institutions that still consider the activities of womanhood in relation to male power. Regardless of the feminist values we preach and the women-oriented focus we bring into “non-discrimination” language, our media, images and literature still encourage us to subscribe to the misunderstanding of male-female transactions in the unspoken social scripts. Even when it comes to the limited sexual education we receive, the health mandates are centered around sexual behaviors and engaging in sexual pleasure between members of the opposite sexes.

Luckily, outside of the scope of these experiences, there are many ways in which students can find comfort and solidarity in their rejection of heteronormativity. We have active student organizations and programming groups such as the Queer & Ally Student Assembly. They recently hosted an event called “Second Chance Prom” to reimagine outdated high school traditions in a new way through ballroom-style dances. Alongside this LGBTQIA+ friendly promenade, they also host other signature programs, such as the annual Drag Show, to promote the electrifying presence of LGBTQIA+ identifying performers. 

To be clear, these events are not only meant to be tailored toward people who are a part of the LGBTQIA+ community; they are open to every member of the Trojan family, and a higher rate of attendance would also facilitate normalizing, discussing and engaging with queerness in daily interactions. These opportunities are crucial for individuals who traditionally do not feel encouraged to take on new challenges. 

Beyond the binary spectrum that masks our campus culture, it is possible to dance against the default and still find much joy in our practices of love and visibility. The doubt of “was I ever straight to begin with?” might as well become a daily dosage of existential debate we ponder as we go through the rest of our defiant journey at USC.