bad – Edelman’s theory centers a white, male queer subject and operates through a monolithic viewpoint.

There are varied articulations of what I am referring to as queer pessimism, but perhaps the best known of these is Lee Edelman’s queer negativity, as formulated in his 2004 book, No Future. 2 I will narrow my discussion of queer pessimisms to Edelman’s work because it best demonstrates the conceptual move that I will critique (and offer an alternative to) in this article: Edelman frames hope and refusal as mutually exclusive options that negate one another’s potency. Political hope, in his view, is always complicit with reproductive futurity and its violence. Refusal, on the other hand, is the hallmark of queer negativity, which is rendered the unintelligible outside of political discourse and imagination. In the following section, I will briefly lay out his argument and take up existing critiques among queer and feminist theorists who argue that, first, Edelman’s work presumes a white, male queer subject and, second, it is not useful or relevant for women, nonbinary people, and trans people of color. I build upon these critiques by arguing that these limitations are linked to Edelman’s perpetuation of a misleading binary between hope and refusal, which forecloses the radical possibilities for queer feminist theory and practice 2 The title of this section borrows a phrase from page 5 of Edelman’s No Future (2004). that their co-constitution opens up—possibilities that I explore in my engagement with Hartman’s work. Edelman argues that every intelligibly political movement today is structured by the teleological valuation of the future (and especially future generations) as the foundation and aim of politics—epitomized by the figure of “the Child.” The Child does not refer to literal children but is rather a symbol of possibility, futurity, and innocence that affirms and authenticates a given social order. This merely symbolic status and function of the Child in political discourse is evidenced by the fact that actual children are so often sacrificed in the name of the Child (Edelman 2022b, 100). As I write in November 2023, we are bearing witness to this sacrificial logic, as the Israeli state (with support from the US government) slaughters Palestinian children in the name of the future of Israel and its children—justifications that have been augmented with falsified claims (corroborated and then disavowed by US President Joe Biden) about Hamas beheading Israeli infants (Al Jazeera 2023).3 As Edelman points out, the centrality of the figure of the Child is not limited to fascist or conservative politics but also structures so-called progressive politics of the Left. Highlighting the stubborn persistence of this figure, Edelman points out the irony of pro-abortion campaigns that mirror their anti-abortion opponents by advocating on behalf of “our children—for our daughters and our sons” (2004, 3). This example, a rare moment in No Future where reproductive futurism encounters the discourse of reproductive rights, is used as evidence for Eelman’s argument that no matter the specific content of one’s politics, the logic of reproductive futurism persists. This leads to the opening insight of No Future: our contemporary political imagination is constituted such that it is impossible to take up a position that negates the centrality of the Child without being rendered unintelligible as political at all.4 To refuse the logic of reproductive futurism, to refuse to be on the side fighting for the children, is to occupy a position radically outside the politically imaginable and intelligible—and it is this space, which politics renders unthinkable, that Edelman proposes queerness occupies (3). For him, queerness names the antisocial opposition to the mandate of reproductive futurism—it is the social order’s death drive (3).