Trans Day of Remembrance

Some of my closest friends are trans and/or genderqueer. A handful of my lovers have been trans and/or genderqueer. I can't imagine what I would do if one of them was violently attacked, or worse, killed. My heart hurts, just thinking about it.

It happens all the time, though. I can't imagine the fear many of them feel when trying to navigate the simplest of tasks -- putting down a credit card for a meal (which is a nightmare when your name doesn't match your gender); using a public restroom; even walking through the French Quarter alone. Their fear is justified. Whether the persecution, criticism, or harassment comes from strangers, the police, the media, family members, or partners... it's equally damaging and unnecessary. 

My heart goes out to all those we've lost, whether by murder or suicide. My heart goes out to the families, friends, and partners of those we've lost. 

I want to live in a society where no one is harassed, persecuted, or killed for their gender expression and gender identity. I want to live in a society where no one feels like suicide is a better option than life. 

A commenter on Autostraddle made a really great point that I want to emphasize here:

"A few years ago at a Trans Day of Remembrance event I attended, someone I knew gave a short speech about what it means to be safe–not just physically but also in your own relationships, bodies, communities, etc.–and about how queer people have to look out for each other. We have to stand up for each other and protect each other, because clearly it can be a dangerous world for some folks, especially trans women of color. We have to fight for laws that respect and protect ALL of us.

What does safety mean on a personal level? If your trans* friend is heading home from a bar or party or somewhere, you could offer to drive or walk them home. If someone discloses that they’re trans, honor and use their preferred names, pronouns, identities–but also ask which words to use in which contexts, so you don’t accidentally out them or put them in difficult situations. If you’re dating someone new, respect their boundaries and identities and find out what’s okay with them. If someone uses transphobic language–even a queer person–call them out on it.

Those actions may not make up for the sad losses of any trans* people being remembered today, but they might help protect someone else from facing the same fate."

I would add a few -- offer to go with a trans friend to a doctor's appointment, if they are feeling nervous. Offer to escort them to the bathroom, and stand protection outside the door if you're in a public place. If you know someone who is coming out, offer to introduce them to other queer and trans people in the community who can provide support and community. Connect them to resources or people who can provide resources. Model appropriate language. I find that many people want to be respectful, but don't know how to ask what pronoun someone would prefer, or don't know that "transgender" is an adjective, not a noun.


See also: This Advocate piece.

As a friend posted on FB, "In the words of Mother Jones, 'Pray for the dead, but fight like hell for the living.'"

Pretty Is as Pretty Does

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend, Jamie, at a birthday party. (I have to set the stage a bit for this story to make sense.) The party was a mix of people -- around 10 queer women and the birthday girl's family, including her sister, cousins, parents, nieces and nephews, and others. Jamie and I were sitting on a swing in the back yard, overseeing a game of beer pong and shooting the shit over some beers. Jamie is thin, about 5'4, and more androgynous than me. I don't know if she identifies as butch, but she'd definitely be masculine-of-center. That day she had on jeans and a t-shirt, nothing fancy. I was dressed up for the St. Patrick's parade that morning, wearing a low-cut pastel green cotton dress and green eyeshadow, and I had beads from the parade around my neck and a green silk flower in my hair.

We were talking about having children and our own families when a young girl, around six-years-old or so, walked up to us. She had a t-shirt and shorts on, and her long hair pulled into a side pony tail. She sat down between us, looked at Jamie, then looked at me. She turned back to Jamie and asked, "Are you a boy or a girl?"

Jamie didn't hesitate. She replied quickly, "I'm a girl."

"But you look like a boy," the child insisted.

I don't remember Jamie's response, but I don't think she had one. The child got up, ran off, and found someone else more interesting to play with. Jamie turned back to me and began to talk about how much she hated when children asked her that question. "Can't they see that I have breasts?" she asked me, and then she got up to find another beer.

A minute or two later, the child returned. I invited her to sit down next to me on the swing, which she did. I gifted her some of the beads I wore from the parade, and she reached out to touch the flower in my hair.

"You're really pretty," she said.

I found myself choking. I wanted to say a thousand things. I wanted to rewind her gender education. I wanted to offer her an answer that didn't replicate the binary she had so succinctly recognized between her interactions with Jamie and I. I wanted to show her that I appreciated the compliment, but at the same time, offer her a space that didn't equate beauty with femininity. I wanted her to know that "pretty" isn't what she should aspire to, and that worshiping femininity as an ideal for beauty is dangerous and masochistic. I wanted her to know that my gender expression isn't the only valid one.

By then, she had run off. I wondered... who am I to decide what this child should believe about gender? Should I try to influence the way she looks at gender, when she's not my child? I tossed this question around for a few days in my head until I found an answer I was satisfied with.

Yes, we are influenced and educated by our parents. But we're also socialized by friends and family, by strangers, by teachers, by social structures and pervasive beliefs held by the dominant majority. We're educated by TV and the internet, books, movies, music. My thoughts would probably be but a drop in the bucket compared to how much media influences her ideas on beauty and gender. This child could one day be my neighbor, my child's friend, my co-worker... who knows. She'll be a voting citizen who decides if those who don't conform to the gender binary deserve rights and respect. She'll possibly be a parent, a teacher, an influence on another child. She's not yet old enough to truly decide if my opinion -- or anyone's -- is valid. But she's making these decisions every day, accepting and rejecting and buying in to beliefs and opinions. She's affected by those beliefs every day. Any and all influence matters. Her beliefs affect mine, my recognition in this society. So yes, it's a careful and thin road to walk, but I do think I should talk with her.


*******

I remember, as a child, feeling fat. I was five, maybe six, years old, and I would sit on the toilet or in the bathtub, staring at my stomach, and hating it.

I remember my neighbor, Miss Susan, telling my mother that if her daughter, Jessica, didn't fit in a size four dress for homecoming, then she would make her lose weight or she couldn't go to the dance.

I remember the girls at summer camp making fun of me for not plucking my eyebrows when I was in 6th grade.

I remember my high school teacher, Mrs. W, catching me in the hallway and telling me that ladies don't wear clothes that show their shoulders. Instead, she said, I should learn to dress like a lady.

I remember dance class, as a child, when the leotards didn't fit me right and I couldn't move my feet and arms gracefully like the other girls. I was distinctly aware of how everything I did was ungraceful. I remember taking another dance class, at 15, at it was like those years of controlled movement suddenly sunk in all at once -- my body could do things it couldn't, years before. But in my mind, I still didn't have the talent, and sometimes, I still hear my teacher telling me that I'll never be any good at ballet, tap, or jazz.

I didn't do femininity right.

There are a thousand moments in my life that are and have been a lesson in gender. For me, for many women, most of those are negative. Girls shouldn't go barefoot or yell too loudly or wear pants with holes. Girls shouldn't have sex, because that's what sluts do. Girls shouldn't wear low-cut clothing or date boys with piercings or smoke cigarettes. Women shouldn't be single. Women shouldn't be childless. Women shouldn't hold the door for men. Women shouldn't walk alone at night.

That's not to say that men don't get lessons in gender -- of course they do! -- or that lessons for men aren't negative -- some definitely are.

The ideals for girls are extremes of femininity. Models. Princesses. Beauty queens. It's how companies sell make up and clothing, cars, beer, and just about every product on earth -- put a "sexy" woman on an ad, and you'll sell it. Women want to be her, men want to be with her. But what does she want? Does anyone care?

I'm reminded, every day, that I carry a certain privilege due to my gender expression. No matter how carefully I walk that line, no matter what my words and actions and beliefs are, my body is marked by gender cues and clothing, and those cues are read and responded to by people who believe strongly in a gender binary. I'm reminded that I face different risks, but more often than not, my gender identity is unquestioned and therefore, less marked and less risky. I'm reminded that the terms we use as compliments -- pretty, beautiful, charming, handsome, gorgeous, cute -- are gendered in a ways that make me profoundly uncomfortable. (I'm still learning how to create my own language out of what is available and to reject using these terms). I'm reminded constantly of my gender expression in queer bars that question my sexuality, and in heterocentric spaces where I pass but still get sexually harassed or feel extremely tokenized and isolated.

At the base of all of this, my experiences and those of many others I've talked to, I find that there's a very harmful ideal of who/what is feminine and who/what is masculine. No one -- trans or cis, male or female, queer or straight, genderqueer or androgynous -- can live up to a binary system of ideals. No woman will ever be "pretty" enough. Yet so many will do anything to achieve that. No queer community which defines its members as only gender normative (like some of Los Angeles bars) or gender non-normative (like places here where I get static) will provide a safe space for all those who are queer. Yet we define and identify those in our community by using gender cues.

If I have a child, I couldn't shield hir from media and strangers, from family members, from all the influences that teach us what gender is and isn't, what's acceptable for hir gender, and how to "properly" express gender. But I know that there are studies showing that adults respond differently to infants depending on their perceived gender. Our ideas of gender start at -- if not before -- birth, and those influences are so very persuasive and strong on young children who can't evaluate and reject opinions and ideas the same way adults can. If I have a child, I would want hir to understand and respect gender expressions of all types. I would want hir to embrace any -- or reject any -- aspect of gender ze wished. I would try my best to make sure ze doesn't feel crushed by a beauty norm ze can't live up to. I would want to offer more than two options, but instead, endless possibilities.

I would want my child to keep having conversations, keep questioning those ideas that we are told to assume.

What I know about gender, my own expression and gender as a social norm, comes from years of experiences and much unlearning. It is an ongoing process. I hope my understand of gender continues to evolve and change as I age, and yet, I hope having these kinds of interactions someday becomes less taxing.

I can imagine a world that doesn't operate within a gender binary. I can. I want to live to see it.

Us versus Them.

Got a call from the LGBT political organization I have been working with, FFE. My boss told me she had plans to go out of town this weekend, but the organization wanted to send someone to Baton Rouge on Saturday to talk with people in the bars about the a recent resolution that was shot down. The resolution, a loosely worded statement on the importance of diversity and the city’s support for people of all races, religions, abilities, and sexual orientations, was on the table for the Baton Rouge City council to vote to pass this week. Currently, no state or city protections exist for Baton Rouge LGBT people in any capacity. FFE wanted to pass a local ENDA, but felt the first step would be to pass a non-binding resolution celebrating diversity as a way to test the waters. The resolution was already sponsored by a coalition of Baton Rouge groups, so FFE was simply invited to join. Though FFE’s board likes the idea of the organization as a “statewide” group, the truth is, it’s a NOLA-based group who has some very specific ideas of what they think the rest of the state should be doing. They’ve had turf wars with several Baton Rouge-based groups and political organizations, so their track record on collaboration is pretty low.

To put it nicely, this resolution resoundingly backfired. First, an advocate for imprisoned LGBT youth wrote an article on Bilerco skewering FFE for not including gender identity in the resolution. Granted, FFE didn’t write the resolution; they were only asked to join in support AFTER the resolution was on the table. But, still not an excuse – they should have said no on the grounds that gender identity wasn’t included. Well, FFE’s managing director and political director wrote a resounding letter on why they chose to support the resolution even though it wasn’t inclusive. Dumb move for an organization that has a) no trans board members (or board members of color), b) possibly no trans members, and c) a history of ignorance bordering on contention toward trans people. Way to further divide the community and claim you are an “LGB-T” organization when really, you’re a “LG” and sometimes, possibly “B” organization that thinks “T” is sort of unnecessary.

Next, the Family Forum, a right-wing org, decided to get a group of pastors together and take out a huge ad in the Baton Rouge newspaper including the usual language about protecting children and not endorsing alternate lifestyles. You know how it goes. Well, that, along with some robo-calls and a nice PR campaign, sparked the council to drop the resolution before voting and the mayor to issue a statement against the resolution.

So, here we are now. A lot of LGBT people are pissed in Baton Rouge, understandably, and probably feeling very unsafe and alone right now. FFE decides they want to use this opportunity to pick up members and talk to people and get a better accounting of what the calls and PR said, which is what they need to be doing. BUT no board members want to commit to driving a fucking hour and giving up their Saturday night on short notice to do this.

So they call me. And offer up some money.

A part of me wants to be there to listen. I remember feeling that way when Shreveport, my own hometown, had the same reaction to LGBT issues. It is horrifying to feel alienated and hated in your hometown. It sinks to the bone to realize your neighbors are the ones who don’t really care if you get fired from work for being gay or trans. It’s awful. I want to be there to comfort, to connect, to listen.

But I can’t justify why gender identity wasn’t included in this resolution, whether it passed or not. I can’t justify why gays and lesbians feel justified in their anger at being excluded when they have just excluded others. I can’t justify being a member and a spokesperson for an organization which thinks trans people should take a backseat to gays and lesbians.

Amid my thoughts about whether to go to Baton Rouge this weekend or not, I saw a Facebook post by our lovely Southern Political Director. He posted, out of the blue, “Oh, you are just so progressive with that "Q" on the end of your LGBT. You are just so damn special. Aren't you so goddamn fashion-forward?” Underneath, the comment trail was just as divisive and offensive. I wanted to scream back… I AM THE Q.

And that’s when I realized, I’m done. I can’t. I won’t. I won’t be a part of any group that feels division is more important than inclusion. I won’t stand next to people who see trans people and people of color as tokens, side items, back seat passengers, or break-out groups. I want nothing to do with a group that sees queer, trans, and genderqueer people as ridiculous and messy and unimportant. There is no “they” and there is no “us.” It’s all us.

I can go to Baton Rouge, and I can comfort, and I can listen. But I won’t represent FFE. I’m learning to carve my lines in rock and not draw them in sand.