According to Vox, queer women were killed off at five times the rate of other characters in series released between 2015-2016. Dead Lesbian Syndrome (or also sometimes known as Bury Your Gays) is a literary and film phenomenon that began in the 1970s and still remains way too present in many storylines involving queer characters. The trope essentially involves killing off the queer character towards the end of a novel or film, thereby withdrawing the prospect of a happy ending for this character. With queer representation already limited, this common narrative technique reinforces the idea that queer characters and individuals are somehow not deserving of their happy ending.
The Hays Code
The story here begins with the Hays Code, one of many (largely unsuccessful) attempts to censor and regulate film and literature in the US. Between 1934 and 1968, the code prohibited (among other things) “obscenities” such as LGBTQIA+ characters but could justify some “immoral” themes if the story had “compensating moral value,” i.e. taught the lesson that these “behaviors” or “choices” are wrong and have consequences. Thus, the Dead Lesbian Syndrome/Bury Your Gays narrative was initially written in the context of a sympathetic character who would nonetheless receive “punishment” for their queerness—which was, at the time, perceived as a sinful characteristic. Killing off characters explicitly because of their queerness is less common today, but the usage of this general trope can still perpetuate a similar message.
Of course, not all deaths of queer characters necessarily fall under this scope, but in instances where the only queer character is killed off or when this exists to reflect some kind of “moral lesson,” we have an issue.
Mixed Messaging
The AIDS crisis also contributes to the narrative, with many films and novels focusing entirely on the tragedy of so many LGBTQIA+ individuals never being able to grow old. Despite time moving on and social taboos around LGBTQIA+ identities eroding, the Bury Your Gays trope has remained. A growing awareness of the mental health crisis—especially prevalent among LGBTQ+ individuals—has resulted in many recent queer storylines ending in suicide after a prolonged time of feeling misunderstood and unheard by the world. It is undoubtedly important to portray the pain and struggles that often come with the queer experience, but if none of the stories involving queer characters ever end up in a happily-ever-after, what is this really telling LGBTQIA+ youth?
In short, it’s telling them that those with queer identities do not end up happy: for whatever reason, they do not deserve to live long lives with the people they love. The deaths of queer characters are often strategically placed towards the end, right before resolution or after the character has finally received their apparent happily-ever-after. This sends a message that even when and if these characters are happy, their hamartia—the “tragic downfall” that is the queer identities—will catch up with them and result in a tragic and often random death.
Positive Representation
Representation matters. A friend once told me that seeing queer adults and older queer people in relationships was a catalytic moment for their personal queer trajectory. Seeing queer characters have their mundane happily-ever-afters—like so many straight characters get—is essential. It can reassure those in difficult times that things can change for the better and that we really can work together to undermine social forces such as compulsory heterosexuality. The killing off of queer characters also often arises in casts which are already limited in LGBTQIA+ diversity, which then frames queer characters as disposable and dismisses the need for any queer representation.
Some recent media—notably the Netflix show Heartstopper, based on the comics by Alice Oseman—have gained a particular following due to their portrayal of queer relationships. Although the LGBTQIA+ identity is a central theme of many of Oseman’s characters, the books and Netflix show are also simply about themes of first love, growing up, and friendships. Homophobia and struggles with identity are present, but they do not crowd out the other themes. The show’s first and second season finish on an optimistic and happy note: these characters deserve to be happy.
Without a doubt, it is critical to examine the messages portrayed in literature and film, including and maybe even especially that in the mainstream. The Bury Your Gays trope is only a subsection of problematic and limited LGBTQIA+ representation which has long marginalized queer experiences. The trope has robbed LBGTQIA+ storylines and characters of the depth and happy endings they deserve. Representation is crucial: it is vital for young and old LGBTQIA+ individuals to see themselves in media which does not disproportionately center the harmful and painful elements of the queer experience but instead focuses also on long-lasting, happy relationships and personal thriving. Moving forward, those writing and directing media—as well as those who consume it—should advocate for a breakdown of this trope and work towards storylines that reflect the broader diversity of love stories and relationships.
Written by Ellen Gisto.
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