The good,the bad or the queer: Articulations of queer resistance in The Wire

Introduction

Omar Little: ‘I’m celebrating diversity. I’m thinking now’s the time to start doing that’

(The Wire season 4, episode 12).

Within the study on queer representation in contemporary television fiction, ¹ the drama series The Wire (2002–2008) cannot be disregarded. The critically acclaimed HBO ² series that is set and produced in Baltimore, features quite a few queer characters. Several scholars ³ have already taken an interest in The Wire and have illustrated how the series exposes the ways in which certain ethnic, moral and ethical assumptions are being reiterated through dominant discourses in society. Even though the producers of the series stress The Wire’s authenticity and non-judgmental approach (refer to Simon, 2004), scholars have pointed out how the series presents a critique of the ‘real’ (Cormier, 2008; Parker, 2010; Sheehan and Sweeney, 2009). Most of these critical reviews approach The Wire as a series that reflects on and criticizes neoliberal capitalism (Beck, 2009; Kraniauskas, 2009; Toscano and Kinkle, 2009). However, few of them have touched upon the series’ queer politics, and in particular its relation to the hegemonic discourse of heteronormativity. Queer theorists (e.g. Butler, 1999; Halberstam, 2005; Sedgwick, 1985; Warner, 1999) interpret heteronormativity as the discursive power granted to the heterosexual matrix in western contemporary society. The matrix relies upon fixed notions of gender, sexuality, and identity, and veils its constructedness and anomalies by feigning universality and rendering the heteronormative discourse hegemonic. For that purpose it relies on political, social and cultural institutions to produce and reiterate norms and values that validate the heterosexual ideal, consolidate gender binaries, fix identity positions, and relocate the queer to the margins. Popular (media) culture thus participates in keeping heteronormative practices as standard, and creating a hegemonic image where those who do not comply with the heterosexual standard are excluded from the centre. However, Stuart Hall (2005: 71) points out that popular culture has the potential both to embrace and resist hegemonic discourses. He conceptualizes popular culture as a site where meaning can be made and unmade, consolidated and contested. As such, popular culture has the potential to articulate resistance to the discourse of heteronormativity.

In this respect The Wire can be considered an interesting case, with queer characters that no longer fit the dominant image of the white, middle-class homosexual male. Although we stressed that few scholars have focused on the series’ queer representation, Hillary Robbie (2009) can be considered an exception. She argues that the series subverts heteronormative assumptions by its departure from stereotypes and its depiction of same-sex relationships in a comparable manner to heterosexual relationships. Even though we agree with her applauding the series’ thorough depiction of queer relationships, she mainly focuses on the series’ refusal to represent queers as undesirable, abnormal or deviant. When she concludes by arguing that The Wire is one of the sole examples in presenting normalized homosexuality, she seems to imply that the aim of subverting heteronormativity is to create queer normativity that mirrors heteronormativity. However, from a queer theory perspective, subverting heteronormativity is seen as an act or strategy aimed at destabilizing fixed notions of gender and sexuality and questioning their hegemonic positions from within dominant social and cultural systems. For that reason, the aim of subversion is to renegotiate gender, sexual and other ‘identities’ into ‘alternative cultural intelligible possibilities’ (Butler, 1999: 127, 198–201). Mimicking heteronormative practices does not suffice as resistance as it keeps the heteronormal centre intact and unharmed. However, this does not imply that The Wire does not engage in resistance. To the contrary, with this article we will demonstrate how the series, through its subversive articulations of queer characters, constructs resistant potentialities. This implies that the series can be read as a defiance of an essentialist, hierarchical and oppositional way of thinking in which on the one hand deconstructive practices expose the way heteronormative practices function, and on the other, reconstructive practices offer counter-discourses that transgress societal assumptions about gender, sexuality and identity. To this end, we conduct a thematic textual analysis of 15 episodes that explores and elucidates the resistant potential of The Wire’s queer representations.

Queer resistance in contemporary television fiction

Even though this study mainly focuses on queer resistance in The Wire, this article cannot afford not to have an introductory discussion on the resistant potentialities of contemporary televised queers. Without elaborating on the historical and social contexts that forego the contemporary representation of queers, it can be said that contemporary western television culture has increased and diversified its televised queers (Avila-Saavedra, 2009; Hart, 2000). However, several scholars have urged to be wary for the inclusion of queer characters in popular television fiction. On the one hand, scholars who contend for equality in representations argue that queers are too often being portrayed in a stereotypical manner, or are treated unequally in comparison to heterosexual characters. In this respect, Rodger Steitmatter (2009: 186–188) points out that gay men and lesbians are no longer represented as despicable but nonetheless are represented differently than straight characters, foremost when it comes to the representation of sex. He points out that gay and lesbian sexual activity is largely absent on the small screen. It should be noted that Streitmatter seems to depart from an identity politics’ perspective. He stresses the egalitarian goal of equal representation, departs from relatively fixed gay and lesbian identities, and implies the necessity of having ‘normal’ gay men and lesbians on screen. On the other hand, scholars who depart from a queer theoretical perspective reproach contemporary queer representation for having been ‘normalized’, especially when what is considered normal comes from the invisible but prevailing discourse of heteronormativity. Guillermo Avila-Saavedra (2009: 5, 19) argues that the progressive potential of a queer presence in popular television series is often downplayed. He notes that the hegemonic supremacy of the heterosexual norm remains undisrupted, while queers are merely reiterating and consolidating patriarchal and traditional notions of gender and sexuality.

Yet, Samuel A Chambers (2009: 105–127, 132–169) postulates that contemporary mainstream television frequently engages in queer politics, for instance through the subversion of heteronormative practices (e.g. Desperate Housewives) or through rearticulating what family means (e.g. Buffy, the Vampire Slayer). With a focus on characters who do not necessarily self-define their gender or sexual identity as queer, Chambers stresses that television series do not necessarily need to propagate queer identity to engage in queer politics. Likewise a queer series does not per se subvert practices of heteronormativity. With his analysis of The L Word, he illustrates how an outspoken queer television series can nonetheless reiterate the heteronormative functioning of the closet (Chambers, 2009: 102). Finally, his analyses reveal that even though the cable networks may be considered able to push ethical and moral boundaries and escape certain economic restraints, this does not imply that heteronormativity will only be potentially defied on cable television nor that queer characters and themes on major network productions will be normalized. Moreover, it should be noted that the previously discussed scholars mainly depart from a US American context. In this regard, Streitmatter (2009: 188) argues that audiences who depend on major networks are excluded from certain gay and lesbian articulations on cable television. He has a point when taking the more liberal portrayal of queer sexual activity on cable television into account and is also backed up by Glyn Davis and Gary Needham (2009: 2–3) who point out the larger population of queer characters on cable channels. However, what is not being taken into account are the alternative viewing possibilities created by the national distribution of cable television series on DVD or the legal and illegal proliferation of television series on the internet. Moreover, along with the fact that international audiences also rely on the internet and DVD for watching those series, many US cable shows have become transnational products programmed on public or commercial broadcasting channels instead of pay-TV cable channels. Furthermore, Chambers’s highlighting of the subversive potential of certain mainstream programmes indicates the possibilities of major networks in representing queerness.

Chambers (2009: 21) does underscore the role of audiences in the process of making meaning of the television text, and implies that his analysis should thus be treated as a queer reading. Alexander Doty (2000: 1–10) theorizes that all texts embed a queer potential. He says that he is asked by society to see the ‘straightness’ in the texts, which is often considered as the preferred reading, just as much as he wants others to see the ‘queerness’ in these texts. That is why, for him, textual deconstruction cannot be perceived as ‘queering’ of texts but rather as understanding why a text is queer. This also implies that interpretations of texts depend upon the social and cultural context of audiences, where a reader’s own identity intervenes in the process of making meaning (Meers 2004: 165). Nonetheless, since the preferred reading often aids in the consolidation of the heteronormative status quo, the mechanisms of oppression remain unchallenged. Steven Seidman (2002: 6) illustrates the power of this discourse by pointing out how queers who came out of the closet are now adopting a heterosexual way of life that has, in most nations, no legal, social or cultural recognition. Queer resistance therefore acts against the lingering homophobia and other discursive practices of heteronormativity embedded within political, social and cultural institutions. Consequently, we agree with Glyn and Gary Needham (2009: 3) that despite the increased queer visibility, ‘all depictions of sexual minorities in the mass media require scrutiny and interrogation.’ Therefore, without undervaluing the potential polysemy of a television text, a study that exposes the resistant potentialities of a television series contributes to the emancipatory project of queer theory.

The good, the bad or The Wire

Our postulation that the Wire embeds queer resistance relies on two distinctive features that enable The Wire to be interpreted as a subversive text. First, it should be stressed that the series refuses to embark on a societal analysis from a simplified, linear or black-and-white point-of-view. It thus refuses to keep to certain narrative conventions that typify the crime and police genre, especially the good/bad polarization. Reducing crime, for instance, is shown to be more than just doing good police work. The series dissects the problem from within an institution, for instance, the law (policy towards crime statistics, unpaid overtime, moral amongst officers) and from without (social environment, economic and political decisions of the city). In portraying a society’s complexity, in particular through emphasizing the paradoxical interdependency of urban institutions, the series deconstructs and transgresses the right-versus-wrong story. The narrative that embeds such a binary construction has been heavily studied by structuralist theorists. They urge that meaning rests upon an underlying and homogeneous structure. Drawing on Claude Lévi-Strauss’ conceptualization of binary oppositions embedded in myths, for instance, Will Wright (1975) has analysed the popularity of the western genre by looking upon this genre as a myth that reflects and reveals a society’s social beliefs. He considers that ‘the binary structure enables the images of myths to signify general and complex concepts (nature/culture, good/bad) and make them socially available’ (1975: 194). However, poststructuralists (e.g. Derrida, 1976; Foucault, 1978, 1980) disagree as they consider meaning to be created in a process, and therefore argue that signification can never be fixed. Hence, they argue that hierarchical and binary oppositions that are based on fixed meanings can be deconstructed as false and unstable. In The Wire we recognize similar strategies as the series removes several embedded hegemonic connotations attached to social discourses and practices. The most visible strategy is the retraction of the ‘good’ out of ‘police’ articulating the normal, and the ‘bad’ out of ‘criminal’ signifying the deviant. The first season especially seems to stress the moral diversity on both sides of the law and, as such, deconstructs an archetypal divide. First, conceptions of morality can differ individually and socially. For instance, homicide detective James ‘Jimmy’ McNulty often sets off on a quest for truth. However, in refusing to respect the chain of command, his well-intentioned deeds are often disparaged by his superiors. Besides, the series does not want to redefine the moral poles but rather emphasizes the continuum between them at an institutional, social and individual level. Even more, it addresses the possibilities of moving between right and wrong. The character of ‘corner kid’ Michael ⁴ illustrates this flux. He initially refused, out of principle, to become involved with Marlo Stanfield’s drug trade, but did transform into a drug dealer and a hit man for Marlo, then withdrew from the gang and its ethics concerning murder, and eventually became a thief who stole from other dealers. As such, the series not only deconstructs fixed notions of personality traits, but allows the incorporation of cultural and social factors that could have intervened with the character’s fluctuation. Michael’s social responsibility towards his little brother and a neglectful drug-addicted mother, as well as peer pressure and the role of money and power, are just a few elements that shape his actions. Such a deconstruction also disables a cause-and-effect chain, in which a character’s choice of crime as an activity could not be traced to one cause in the societal system.

Secondly, we want to highlight the way the series deals with identity. The Wire can be shown to represent identity as a poststructuralist construction. Poststructuralist theorists argue that subjects have no core or ‘natural’ identity but rather have their subjectivity materialized by performances and practices. What is considered as ‘the self’ is rather produced in and through the subject’s relations with others and power/knowledge systems (see Foucault, 1978, 1980). Thus, identities are ‘points of temporary attachments to the subject positions which discursive practices construct for us’ (Hall, 2000: 19). Even though this implies the endless possibilities of multiple identity positions, human beings are impelled to embody ‘fixed’ identities that are favoured and rendered hegemonic within a specific discourse. Michel Foucault explains this by pointing out that discourses rely on the compliance with the set of norms that are both proliferated and controlled by human beings. He stresses the necessity to resist, as these norms have been rendered universal and set out to make a distinction between what is normal and what is abnormal. Furthermore, resistance should be aimed at dismantling our self-interpretation as the sole interpretation of ourselves (Hoy, 2004: 64–72). David Couzens Hoy (2004: 72), drawing on Foucault, thus suggests that resistance, ‘flows from the realization that the present’s self-interpretation is only one among several others that have been viable, and that it should keep itself open to alternative interpretations’. Considering that Hoy (2004: 2, 7) sees critical resistance as a form of resistance that is emancipatory and aimed at social change, it can be argued that the challenges The Wire poses to the preservation of fixed identities support such a critical and resistant perspective. For instance, in regard to the representation of blackness in the series, the ethnic identity of the characters functions as a performance, an expression of social and cultural codes that underline a communal bond. Certainly, these codes are often experienced by the characters as an expression of ‘being’ black since they are rooted and reiterated through discourses in the black community. Consequently, ethnicity is experienced as a core identity. But the series not only exposes the functioning of these discourses on ‘being’, it emphasizes their limits and inconsistencies. This becomes articulated in the representation of Namond Brice, another corner boy who tries to perform a required black identity but eventually ‘fails’ to embody this hegemonic interpretation of ‘blackness’ that is expected from his mother and his peers. Interestingly, what encompasses this black identity is not only one’s ethnic origins (Afro-American) but also a specific combination of gender (masculinity), sexuality (heterosexuality) and other identity traits such as, for instance, lifestyle. This discursive formation of a black identity ultimately contradicts itself when its performativity becomes exposed, for instance, when Namond is shown to be lacking a tough masculine attitude required by the street.

Queer deconstructions

Through its subversive strategies and acts of exposing political, social and cultural discourses that regulate societal institutions by concealing its own complexities and contradictions, and holding up fixed identity positions that human beings articulate through their docile bodies, The Wire engages in practices of deconstruction. Drawing on Jacques Derrida, Jonathan Culler (2008) interprets deconstruction as a critical inquiry and dismantling of conceptual oppositions that has once proven fundamental and universal to specific disciplines. Deconstruction aims at revealing how these naturalized oppositions are constructions produced by frameworks and discursive practices, and altering, reversing or rearticulating the value attributed to these conceptual oppositions. Given that queer theory is heavily inspired by deconstruction, Steven Seidman (1995: 125) points out that the significance of both deconstruction and queer theory comes from their ‘rendering of literary analysis into social analysis, of textual critique into social critique, of readings into a political practice, of politics into the politics of knowledge’. Specifically, deconstruction by queer theorists focuses on the binary divide between the heterosexual and the homosexual. Queer theorists argue that this divide creates hierarchies of insides and outsides, where the appropriation of a homosexual identity does not challenge the hierarchical oppressions (Seidman, 1995: 130–131). Since this article further deals with texts that articulate queerness, deconstruction will only be discussed as a form of queer resistance. It defies discourses of heteronormativity and homosexuality by exposing how these discourses construct fixed and oppositional gender and sexual identities and consolidate heteronormative hierarchies. It looks at contradictions and frictions in identity articulations and focuses on the margins to assess critically the centre. With regard to The Wire, we argue that deconstruction should not only be regarded as a reading practice to reveal how the embodied discourses in a given text contradict themselves. Deconstruction can also be a representational strategy, where queer resistance is articulated in the representations of queer themes or characters, and the text itself exposes how hegemonic discourses are embedded in popular television fiction. Therefore, our textual analysis is focused on pointing out strategies and acts that can be considered queer deconstructions. Limiting ourselves to sequences with queer characters, we investigate those representations that unsettle the consolidation of the heteronormal.

Even though issues of queer sexuality do not occupy centre stage, the series’ queer characters are main and recurring characters. Queerness thus becomes continuously articulated through the bodies, actions and expressions of the queer characters. At this point, a preliminary deconstructive strategy or act surfaces since the articulated identity positions of the queer characters do not allow themselves to be fixed. The impossibility and undesirability of fixing gender, sexuality, ethnicity or class is expressed through the various conflicting or indefinite identity articulations. For instance, narcotics and homicide detective Shakima ‘Kima’ Greggs can be read as a middle-class Afro-Asian American lesbian, while the notorious independent stick-up guy Omar Little can be read as a lower-class Afro-American gay man. However, both Kima and Omar steer clear from labelling themselves. Rather, they defy labels by only stressing what they are not. After arresting some fraternity boys who were stopping traffic, Kima underscores her intervention by telling the boys that she is not a lady (season 2, episode 5), while Omar reassures Dante, his boyfriend who is jealous over some women, that he does not sleep with women (season 2, episode 3). In contrast, the series does show how others attempt to label or fix someone else’s identity. Kima’s ethnicity for instance becomes a subject of speculation, when a store clerk addresses her by saying: ‘You look like one of them half-soul, half-Chinese types from Vietnam and shit. Come again now, Mama-san’ (season 4, episode 3). This small encounter is however one of many illustrations of discursive practices that reify the hierarchical and binary oppositions through establishing hierarchical identity positions. As such, Omar’s enemies often refer in bigoted terms to Omar to deal with their own fear for Omar or their failed attempts to avoid getting their money or stash robbed by Omar. Foremost, since their masculinity has become threatened, they feel the need to be re-established as ‘men’ by stressing Omar’s fraught masculinity caused by his queer sexuality. Hence, the discursive practices of Omar’s enemies make clear that what is considered a normative identity does not refer to one identity position (for instance ‘gay’ or ‘masculine’) but to a fixation of many identity positions at once. Considering that within a heteronormative discourse, male heterosexuality is taken as the norm expressed through masculinity, and female heterosexuality through femininity, queer characters are forced to occupy a position within the discourse.

For instance, William Rawls, an ambitious career officer in the police department, can be interpreted as a closeted queer. At the office, he is mostly articulated as a white masculine macho man, with boundless respect for the chain of command. In one short shot in the third season however, William is shown to be enjoying a drink in a gay bar (season 3, episode 10). Few other scenes in the series suggest that William might be experiencing same-sex desire. However, this depiction allows us to reflect on William’s sexuality and to reconsider former scenes in which he featured. In particular, his macho articulations, often expressed through foul language and a tough attitude, contradict a ‘stereotypical’ queer image. As such, William can be read as a deconstruction of that image by incorporating masculinity mostly described as stereotypical masculine heterosexuality. However, a second reading allows us to focus on those elements that represent William as a heterosexual family man, such as references to his son who plays sports or the many family pictures on his desk. In addition, many of his colleagues consider William to be straight. This reading especially illustrates the power of a heteronormative discourse that favours men who are masculine and straight, and in which masculine men will automatically be presumed to be straight. The scene where sergeant Jay Landsman is talking to William about how he masturbated while thinking about the nipples of Leila Kaufman can be considered a poignant example (season 1, episode 4). On the one hand, this scene illustrates a certain homosociality, where Jay is sharing his sexual desires for the same ‘object’ and assumes that William, not only masculine but also higher in rank, is also heterosexual. On the other hand, exposing this ‘assumption’ and reconsidering William’s sexuality as queer allows us to read William’s nodding and approving not only as faking homosociality, but also as fantasizing over Jay’s masturbatory act. However, throughout the series, his queerness remains veiled, almost as a means to secure his masculinity that he considers crucial for getting promotion within the police department.

Next to William, Felicia ‘Snoop’ Pearson ⁵ can be regarded as someone who meticulously performs a prescribed identity. Since Snoop is part of the street scene, she embodies the obligatory and expected street identity, which is articulated through rigid notions of masculinity and blackness. She reifies these notions by wearing baggy clothing, expressing confined emotionality, speaking in a lower tone of voice, and using masculinist language. However, in contrast to William’s supposed queer identity, Snoop does not disavow her biological gender nor is she addressed otherwise. Interestingly, she does engage in performing femininity to deceive male targets (season 4, episode 1 and season 5, episode 3). However, where Snoop’s articulations of performing femininity are rather limited to toning down her masculinity, Kimmy’s and Tosha’s performances tap into a broader range of feminine stereotypes. Kimmy and Tosha, the queer lovers who team up with Omar and his boyfriend Dante to rob the Barksdale stash houses, for instance, deceive the male guards by dressing up to flirt (season 2, episode 3), pretending to be a nurse, bringing an old man (a disguised Omar) to his sister (season 3, episo 2), or a confused mother who has lost her baby girl (season 3, episode 3). Since the guards assume they have the power over the women or the elderly man, they sense no danger. However, as soon as the queer gang members reveal themselves to be armed, the guards are bereft of the power. Furthermore, with each successful robbery the series inverts the notion of powerful masculinity versus subordinate queerness and femininity. Thus, a masculine heterosexual centre, materialized in the bodies of the guards, becomes displaced since the queer characters appear to master heteronormativity through their performances.

Whereas the former strategies are occupied with subverting the way heteronormativity fixes identity into hierarchical oppositions, the series also exposes some heteronormative ‘fictions’. In particular, in its depiction of both straight and queer relationships, the series defies the supremacy often ascribed to the heteronormative domestic ideal. In general, this refers to the creation and consolidation of marriage as the most valid confirmation of a relationship, and to a set of preferred practices, norms, and values that form this institution. However, because western society preserves this institution and assumes a rigid appropriation, impossible situations occur and friction arises. For instance, when both Kima and lieutenant Cedric Daniels agree to work together on a major drug case, they both recognize that such a professional choice will disappoint their partners, underscored by Kima telling Daniels: ‘I’ll tell your wife, if you tell mine.’ Kima’s comparison between her partner Cheryl and Daniels’ partner Marla is repeated in a later dialogue-free sequence that depicts what happens at the dinner table in each household after they both had informed their partners. Intercut shots that switch between the dinner scenes depict the reactions of their ‘wives’. Both Marla and Cheryl are shown to be angry and silent. Even though both Marla and Cheryl try to finish their dinner, they eventually get upset and leave the table (season 2, episode 4). Chiefly, these scenes, on the one hand, highlight the similarities between both households and transgress sexuality and gender to depict a binary opposition where the ‘masculine’ partner has acted against the will of the ‘feminine’ partner. Simultaneously, it evokes a hierarchical difference between both couples. Whereas Cedric and Marla are officially married, Kima and Cheryl cannot. Therefore, Kima’s use of calling Cheryl her wife is both a parody and an empty pastiche, since the queer notion of ‘wife’ does not credit Cheryl the same rights as Marla. This, however, should not be read per se as a plea for same-sex marriage. Rather, a deconstruction reveals how (hetero)normative practices, norms, and values suppress the partners themselves. Kima in particular is shown having trouble with the rules of a monogamous ‘domesticated’ relationship. On top of that, the birth of their child not only compromises the relationship, but polarizes their gender roles. Kima assumes a markedly masculine macho role, while Cheryl assumes a feminine mothering role (season 3, episode 2 and season 3, episode 3). In addition, in the first three seasons, Kima is depicted as non-resistant. She rather flees from the domestic situation by going drinking and cheating on her girlfriend rather than confront and reconsider her relationship. Thus, even though the series deconstructs the discourse of heteronormativity, the character itself endures the oppression of a heteronormative domesticity. However, by queer reconstructions, the series also engages in countering the oppressiveness of heteronormativity.

Queer reconstructions

Deconstruction does not create new theoretical frameworks nor foundations, Culler argues, however, it has no intention of doing so. Nonetheless, through its dismantling and questioning of hegemonic discourses, it ‘does lead to changes in assumptions, institutions, and practices’ (2008: 154). Furthermore, it should also be considered as only one component in the practices of subversion that shape queer resistance. Hence, deconstruction needs to be understood as being occupied with exposing the practices of heteronormativity. Strategies and acts that aim at offering counter-discourses through rearticulations of gender, sexuality and identity can be considered queer reconstructions, which constitute another component of subversion. Queer reconstructions thus depend on and evoke queer deconstructions, since they explore viable alternatives to the dismantled identity positions considered essential to the consolidation of the heterosexual matrix. As with deconstruction, the defiance comes from within the discourse of heteronormativity, where the discursive practices of heteronormativity become rearticulated or ‘queered’. Drawing on Foucault’s argument that resistance against a hegemonic discourse needs to come from within the discourse (1978: 95–96), subversive queer reconstructions need to be formed within a given social reality and its institutions. There, the productive power within these discursive spaces and institutions can be bent to emancipatory goals.

In The Wire, queer reconstructions largely encompass the rearticulation of gender and sexual identities. Whereas queer deconstruction points out how gender and sexual identities are presumed to be ‘fixed’ by discursive practices, queer reconstruction focuses on the embodiment of gender and sexual identities that are defying and transgressing the heteronormal. In relation to gender, The Wire depicts several queer characters who, whether or not deliberately, embody both traits of masculinity and femininity, and move between gendered identity positions and roles. Kima, for instance, can be argued to embody butch stereotypes. She does not disavow her female gender and stresses elements of traditional femininity, for instance by wearing earrings, while her speech and gestures however are more masculine. Throughout the series, she moves toward more femme articulations because homicide detectives have a dress code. She starts wearing suits, make-up and heels and lets her hair hang loose. The suit and make-up, however, do not confine her masculine speech and gestures, nor do they fix her identity as a ‘lady’. Also, these articulations of gender intervene with both her Afro-Asian American and queer identity, as with her professional identity. She is an upright police officer who has the respect and the obedience of her predominantly male colleagues. Neither her queer identity nor her identity as a co-mother are considered an issue at work. Similarly, she does not conceal her same-sex desire, since she frequently talks to her colleagues about her relationship with Cheryl (e.g. season 3, episode 3), and randomly expresses her same-sex desire at work, for instance when talking loud on the phone about a hot woman she met (season 4, episode 13). Thus, in contrast to the non-resistant position she assumes in her domestic relationship (see earlier), her individual identity articulation can be considered as a queer reconstruction. In particular, since she embodies a queer identity that is not continuously labelled as ‘other’ and a gender identity that is not restricted to either the feminine or the masculine, and occupies professional roles that transgress heteronormative stereotypes.

Likewise, Omar rearticulates transgressive identity positions. On the one hand, Omar is represented as a ‘stereotypical’ black macho man. In his relationships, he is not only the older partner but also the more masculine, emphasized through addressing his partners as ‘boy’ or ‘baby boy’. This entitles him to assume a masculine superposition in which he can make the decisions. Furthermore, Omar has his own set of standards, reified as a strict code that he obeys. This holds that he only robs from other illegal drug traders and never uses violence against civilians. In contrast to the major drug traders, he does not flaunt money and instead entrusts it to Butchie, an old confidant of his, whom he asks to distribute it to ‘his people’ (season 2, episode 10). This aligns with the representation of Omar as a caring and emotional character. Throughout the series, Omar is shown taking care of his male partners (Brandon, Dante, Renaldo), Kimmy and Tosha, Butchie, and other minor characters. As such, it seems that Omar presupposes a common identity that is shared with those characters he cares for. However, that identity does not graft onto a stringent notion of a black or gay identity. Rather, it is that the articulation of an identity position that comes forth out of oppression, of being determined to reside in the margins, of being continuously defined as what it is not, or of a refusal to allow self-defining. Even though this remains an identity position without a label, it does embody agency and power. For instance, by publicly displaying his same-sex affection (season 1, episode 4) or openly claiming to avenge the murder of his male lover ⁶ (season 1, episode 6), Omar situates himself beyond a heteronormative convention that (queer) sexuality can only belong to the realms of the private. Last, it needs to be stressed that the series rearticulates, to a certain degree, queer sexual activity. Even though the series features few queer sex scenes, mostly limited to foreplay, they nonetheless confront a heteronormative praxis of desexualizing queer intimacy and sexual activity. For instance, Omar and Dante’s foreplay is concurrently represented by emphasizing the physical intimacy between the men, and stressing the emotional intimacy through humour and play (season 2, episode 3). As such, their queer foreplay is both eroticized and linked to the characters’ subjectivity.

Finally, the series not only deconstructs particular aspects of heteronormative domesticity, but reconstructs them into viable forms of queer domesticity. In particular, aspects of family and relationships are being reconstructed into ‘alternative’ domestic entities. Concerning family, Kima’s relationship to Cheryl and their child Elijah typifies both the issues of submerging into a traditionalist temporality of forming a family, and the potentialities of renegotiating that social entity. Whereas the first four seasons depict Kima’s struggles with Cheryl’s ‘normative’ wishes, the last season opens up spaces for queering family bounds. Even though they have broken up, Cheryl and Kima remain friends. However, it is only in the last season that Kima reconsiders her relation to the child. Toward Elijah, she has been presented as ‘aunt Kima’, since she stepped back and showed little interest. She nonetheless regains an emotional interest in the child and starts reconsidering the child as her own. As such, Kima engages in a ‘parent’ relation without having to be ‘a mother’ nor having to raise her child within the constraints of heteronormative domesticity (season 5, episode 7). Yet, where Kima’s family fits close to traditional assumptions about family, these are transgressed by Omar’s family. As discussed before, Omar surrounds himself with lovers and friends whom he considers ‘his people’ and, to an extent, his family. Because of the instable and dangerous social environment, death and deceit interfere in the family relations that take members and bring in new ones. Nonetheless, Omar’s loyalty toward its members speaks of close family ties, which are stressed in his personal grievances and feelings of revenge. Taking into account that Omar accompanies his grandmother to church on Sundays (season 3, episode 9), Omar thinks of family beyond blood relations. Further, his loyalty to family becomes articulated in how he organizes his ‘domestic’ relationships. With his last partner Renaldo in particular, Omar is engaged in a monogamous domestic relationship. Their relationship is articulated through everydayness, mutual commitment and working together. However, the queerness surfaces, not only in the obvious ‘otherness’ of the profession of stick-up guy, but also in how they organize their domesticity. They inhabit a vacated home that is nonetheless furnished, and perform domestic rituals that are in themselves ‘banal’ but become queer through their performance. For instance when Omar, one morning, discovers they are out of Honey Nut Cereal, he goes out to buy it wearing silk pyjamas. Since he cannot keep his gun in his pants, he leaves unarmed. These elements evoke a notion of fragility that nonetheless is countered by the reactions of fleeting corner boys who warn others that ‘Omar’s coming’. This collision of fragility and power is then reversed back into banality when Omar returns home with Cheerios instead of Honey Nut Cereal, much to the disappointment of Renaldo (season 4, episode 3). In general, what the relationship of Omar and Renaldo mostly represents is a domestic arrangement that on the one hand transgresses rigid notions of ethnicity, class, gender and sexuality, and on the other meets their longing for intimacy, care and stability.

Conclusion

For this article, we have departed from the notion that popular television fiction has the potential to resist to hegemonic discourses that are being reiterated and consolidated in western society. In particular, we have focused on The Wire, since the series has been demonstrated as able to formulate social and cultural critiques of the way the real world is organized. Since several scholars have elaborated on how the series may be interpreted as a critique of a neoliberal, capitalist society, we wanted to underline how the series also subverts the hegemonic discourse of heteronormativity. In particular, we have demonstrated how the series relies on deconstruction as a representational strategy to stress the heteronormative praxis of fixing identity into binary and hierarchical oppositions, to reveal the performativity of identity positions, and to dismantle a masculinist heterosexual supremacy by reversing it. Yet, the series does not limit itself to queer deconstructions that expose heteronormative practices. Through queer reconstructions, the series also portrays queer characters who rearticulate their gender and sexual identity beyond labels and fixed identity positions. In addition, the deconstruction of heteronormative domesticity and its reconstruction into queer domesticity illustrates how queer resistance can envision emancipatory goals. Such reconstructions further open up positions to critically reconsider and rearticulate intimate and family relationships beyond compulsory heterosexuality.

Last, we acknowledge that reading these articulations as challenges to heteronormativity depends upon the ways audiences negotiate meaning. ⁷ Nonetheless, the way The Wire articulates its queer representations can instigate and stimulate queer readings by audiences.