Six years ago today I started taking T. In my moments of reflection on this date, certain things stand out to me. The anxiety leading up to the day, the sleepless night before, driving to the doctor in my best friend’s beat up car… the face of the nurse when she refused my care… crying in the empty waiting room. I was 22. Four months before that I had called the doctor, introducing myself through a thorough history of trans pathologization and why I deserved transitional health care without a gender identity disorder diagnosis or mandated therapy. After sitting through the typical barrage of trans questions asking how I “knew,” when did I know, and why, if I really wans trans, I wasn’t what they expected, I got my script for T. I setup my appointment to get my first shot on the morning of Sept 4th. When the T came in the mail, I left the box unopened, sitting on my dresser, waiting… It was like a creature there to save me, or to destroy me, or both. It was the egg of my body’s phoenix.

I watched the nurse’s face as she spoke awkwardly, “Actually, the doctor said we aren’t going to do this today…”

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the breaking stress from the build up, maybe it was crushing disappointment, maybe it was my exhaustion after a night awake crying and writing… I broke down and cried right in front of her. As soon as I could speak I said, ”I want to talk to my doctor.”

“She isn’t here….”

“Where is she? This appointment has been set for a month. Why didn’t anyone tell me this was going to happen? Get my doctor on the phone.” I said, “I want to talk to my doctor.”

I paced the grey nurse’s break room, clutching the plastic hospital phone. My exhausted despair had given way to my primary defense mechanism: anger. I was ready to fight. “You’re my doctor.” I said, “You’re supposed to help me. I told you I wasn’t going to do therapy. I don’t need therapy because I’m trans. I know who I am and I’m not going to pay some uneducated “professional” $200 an hour to tell me why I’m not normal.”

The doctor’s voice was diffident and anxious. I still remember the sound of her voice as she tried to placate me, saying how GID therapy was for the good of trans people and that she was trying to help me.  ”I don’t want help if it means giving up what I know is right for me.” I said, “I can’t walk around fighting a system that I’m feeding into. I can’t do it and it isn’t fair for you to ask me to do it. This isn’t fair.” I’ll never forget the insulted shock I felt as I heard the doctor say, “Well, maybe you can just not tell anyone…” I gathered myself and said, “What kind of health care is this? You want me to be forced into therapy I don’t need, and now you’re telling my to lie about it – to lie to all my friends, my family, and the people I work to help… I don’t think you understand what you are doing here.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe…”

“Safe? You do know I have this T in my hand right now and I could just go out into the parking lot and shoot up, with no guarantee I’m doing it safely or properly. I’m here, in a doctor’s office, looking for support and education on how to care for myself properly and you are turning me away. I want you to know that if I end up at risk, it is because of you and your inability to rise above the outdated notions you were taught that trans people are mentally unfit. I can respect your professional boundaries, but I can’t respect any institution that would rather put a person at risk than bend to the idea that it might be wrong.”

Obviously, since I am writing this post six years later, I got my shot that day. With the support of friends, and a little help from some bodybuilding websites, I took my first shot. Like most people in the trans* community, I learned as I went and took what I could get. I was privileged to have had access to T in the first place; to have been able to save up money from my shit job to afford it; to have access to a computer where I could get reliable medical information; to have a community of friends who were there for me when I felt like I had no one else. With all that happened, I was pretty lucky. I consider myself lucky to have had it better than a lot of our people, especially those who are affected by racism, poverty, globalization… the list goes on.

I was looking through my pictures to find the quintessential pre/post photos that I (and almost every trans* person) loves to put in their blogs. Instead, I found one of my absolute favorite pictures of me ever. It is from when I was 17, on a high school photography club trip to Red River Gorge hiking the Natural Bridge trail. My disability made it so I couldn’t take the trail as fast as everyone else, it made me feel weak. I didn’t have a lot of friends and I was afraid of socializing with the other kids cause they tended to tease me, so I hung in the back of the group near my teacher, Mr. Ferguson. I remember walking the steep trail, looking up at the trees, and just feeling the energy of the forest. I remember feeling very alone, but it is hard to feel too along when you are in the woods.  I sat in a shady spot near the top of the bridge; I changed my roll of film and got out the same lunch I eat every time I travel: PB&J sandwich and an apple. I watched the other kids goofing off and talking a few yards from me; I felt invisible, but in a mix of positive and negative ways. The leaves were changing. I enjoyed the silence and the view. Mr. Ferguson’s voice broke my thoughts, “Hey, Alice,” he gestured with his wide, closed palm arm wave,  ”Come over here. I’ll take your picture.”

Two weeks ago, I walked that trail again. I looked up at the trees and felt the energy of the forest. I still took it slow, climbing the rocks and roots behind the others, but I had some fast moving company: a 17 year old I’ve had the pleasure working with for a couple years now. He goes to the same high school I did, and is in a lot of the same clubs, but unlike my high school self, he is out as trans*. I didn’t even know what trans* was when I was that age. I see a lot of myself when I see him, but he’s much more impressive. He was much more animated on the trail that I was 12 years ago; he was excited to be with trans* community, racing up the path with other transboys, climbing on everything in sight (much to my anxiety’s displeasure).  I hung back and enjoyed the walk and the views. I get so over-saturated with work now days… or really, I’ve been so over-saturated with work ever since I came out. When I came out, I took to trans* activism and never looked back. Sometimes that meant I didn’t stop to look around either. If I can take a lesson from the me of 6 years ago, it is to use the same care and attention to my process as I did back then. I used to write a lot more; do more photography; I used to dance more. Looking back, though I was afraid and anxious about making the right or wrong move for myself or my life, I did a lot to keep in touch with who I was and what I was feeling. I’m not one for making resolutions based on some event or special date, but I do like to make clear decisions surrounding change. It is important to keep myself in touch with what progress I need to make. When I was 17, I was afraid of most of the world. When I was 22, I was angry with most of it. I don’t know how much progress I’ve made since 22, lol, but I hope it is at least some. At 29, I am hopeful that I am continuing to improve myself, and to know myself. And I am grateful that I have the ability to live as I do, and work as I do, so that the folks that come after me might not be so anxious, or so angry. So, here’s to the continual fight for trans* liberation and the gift of slowing down to see the journey there.

As you may have noticed, this blog hasn’t been as active as it could be. The reason has been grad school, and holy hell has it been tough!

As of just now I have officially finished my grad school program for a Masters in Social Work. This was incredibly hard, harder than I thought it would be… I have never been a good student and school has always been torturous for me. When I started the program, I wrote down all the shit I would have to do, all the classes I would have to take, and at the bottom I wrote “You can make it this far. Do it for them, and for you.”

Community, you are “them.” I did this for you and I promise that I will use it to serve you better, help you more, and do all that I can to get us the human rights we deserve. Thank you for being my inspiration, my drive, and my passion. Without you, there is no such thing as success for me. I think of my people every day and I am grateful to be able to play a small part in our collective journey. You are what keeps me moving forward. You are what drives my feet to lift and land. You are what I am walking towards, and who I am walking with.

To all who love me, support me, and carry me. Thank you is not enough. I could not have survived without your love and care. I also want to say an extra thank you to my classmates and supportive professors. Coming into this, I was afraid of you. I did not trust you to accept me or understand me, and you have. You re-taught me to trust in ways a jaded activist and social orphan tends to forget. You proved that I do not always have to be so afraid. Thank you for demonstrating the side of humanity that is easiest to imagine but hardest to embody.

And as grateful as I am, I know one thing I never, ever want to do again: Complete a full-time graduate program with a 20 hour a week internship while signal handedly running an organization, doing national organizing work, touring, and performing/co-running a drag troupe. If any of you ever catch me fancying to over do this again, throw glitter in my FACE and knock me the fuck out.

love.

I read a quote that really moved me. It said  ”self portraits (selfies) are often such an act of self preservation and resistance.” I take a lot of self portraits, and sometimes I catch myself feeling silly about it. I wonder if it makes me vain, or makes me appear narcissistic, and people often tease me about it. Most of the time, I don’t give it a second thought. I really like taking pictures of myself, and I have a good reason for it.

A special note from me: Most the photos in this post have either never been seen by anyone except me, or haven’t been seen by anyone in years. I ask you, the reader, for kind eyes and minds as you view them.

When I was about 14 or 15, my lifelong best friend Jess and I took our photography hobby to a new place. We were late into a sleepover when, either out of boredom or innovation, we dragged out the big black trash bags of dress up clothes from when we were kids. We found the old slips and used prom dresses of our pretend-time past. Jess had the idea to do a photoshoot; she has always been a fountain of empowerment and I was in awe of her ability to own her body. We tried on the old dresses, clothes, slips, and costumes and posed before sheets covering the old furniture and cluttered boxes of my old playroom. No one ever saw the photographs; they were just for us.

Store dressing room shoot, early 2000. I was deeply embarrassed by this picture because of the cleavage.

We did these shoots for years, and occasionally I would spread the practice among some other close friends. It became a passion, an addiction; especially early on, it was the only time I felt pretty. It was the only time I really felt I was what I was supposed to be: a girl. A pretty girl who could look like the other girls; who had a body like the other girls; who was one of the girls. Looking at the photos now, it is funny to see the tame, sometimes blurry shots I thought were so risque, and others where I think “Holy shit, I had no concept for how sexual that pose was!” It was an amazing experience for body empowerment. Jess and I did these bonding shoots all through high school, roaming all over the city documenting our faces, our bodies, and our lives on film. Attics,  bedrooms, parks, cloudy train tracks, mall dressing rooms, big box store aisles; we would try on everything just to see how we looked in it.  When I was 17, I wrote a poem about my intimate relationship with my camera. From what I can remember, I wrote how I wanted to “sit inside the camera lens” so that I could touch the “frozen perfection” that only film could create. I remember chalking the poem on the cement commons of my high school grounds, spiraling around in a giant drawing of a camera lens. I used to have time to create things like that… I was learning to love myself, and my body, by finding ways to portray it through art.

Spring 2002: Night diner adventures with my oldest friend, Jess. We balanced the camera on a nearby booth and rushed to take the shot before the camera fell. I’m wearing a 1970s party dress and Jess is in a thrifted costume from the Cincinnati Ballet. Everyone in the place was staring. This shot, called “Seasoned Salt,” represents so many memories. Jess, you have given me some of the happiest moments of my life. I am free whenever I am with you.

When I went to college I started doing self-portrait shoots on my own. It’d be late at night in my dorm room and I’d have the urge to create something out of myself. It was around that time I formally fell in love with the “pin-up” and found a huge amount of body love and acceptance through doing pin-up inspired shoots.

Freshmen year of college, 2002: My first solo lingerie shoot. For many years I saw this picture as the key representation of what I like about how I looked.

I started to like myself more. I started to like how I looked. I began to put pictures of myself up around my apartment, and enjoyed talking pictures with people instead of just of them. Sometimes people would say, “You have a lot of pictures of yourself…” I would feel shy and awkward about it, but I secretly responded “It’s to remind me to like myself.” I wanted to like myself, and I did what I had to do. And though I wasn’t going to fully admit the importance of what I was doing, I was also not going to apologize for it. When I came out, I realized that I once again had no idea what I looked like. I wasn’t sure if I had ever really known. I could recognize my face, my body, my eyes… but I did not know what I looked like. My coming out and transition was extremely painful. My mind’s dissonance of what I was and what I wanted to be, of how I looked and how I imagined myself to look, is a torture I have carried for most of my life. It was not JUST about being trans, or of being a boy or a girl, of having a body part, or not having one. It was, and is, the issue of knowing who and what I am for the sake of knowing myself. Coming out as trans was a new avenue of self understanding that brought many things I had never understood to the surface… and it was excruciating.

February 2007: The “Nudes Shoot” was a five hour portrait shoot that was foundational to  how I approach my trans* self portraits. It was spurred by my decision to start T. The photos discuss my feelings about my body (and the “trans requirements” of it) as well as document my body before the effects of hormones.When I did this shoot, I had been out for year, and hadn’t done a portrait in almost as long. It made me feel like myself again. It brought me home to myself. 

I have never been the type of trans* person who wanted something specific for my body. I have gone through times where I thought I might want something in particular; a flat chest, and angular body, a taller frame, a more muscular physique, but over all I could never decide exactly what I was going for. Masculine, feminine, man, woman; this language can be useful at times but I have found that all of it is secondary to the understanding of my own humanness. When I was 18, and newly discovering femininity and “womanhood,” I learned to like the body I had. Over several years I began to own the breasts, hips, legs, waist, and overall form I had. I then went from owning my body, to loving it. When I came out, I was told that I had to change it, and even destroy it. I’ve always been more about creation than destruction. It is why I am an artist. I approach life and art the same way, and I’ve always wanted to be better at both. I went to art school once, for photography and sculpture, but dropped out within a year. I wanted the freedom to make my art whatever I felt it needed to be without someone else telling me it was good or not.  My favorite sculpture medium is clay because of its ability to take shape as anything. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I would spend hours creating forms, primarily of the female body. They seemed so real I felt I was the clay. A couple years ago I wrote a song called “Clay.” It was primarily about my muscular disability and the feelings of powerlessness that comes with it, but as it developed I feel it became a combination piece of how I felt about transforming my body in general. When I started to take testosterone, I approached my body like clay. I realized that my body is malleable,  fluid, and moving. My body is mine. I do not have to fit my body because I can make it fit me. I am the sculptor of my own shape. I do not have to destroy it to change it, I do not have to change it to own it, but I have the option and I can own the changes I make.

December, 2007: In my bedroom, four months on T. This shot encompassed the exact image of masculinity I wanted to embody. This shoot grounded me in an otherwise empty and confusing space.

July, 2008: Newly pink-haired, the “Fuschia Shoot” was a turning point for my self-portrayal as a genderqueer body, though I would not come to think of it in that language until several years later.

This Sunday marked my 7 year anniversary of coming out as trans (or my transiversary, as I like to say). Several friends asked me “Does it feel like it has been that long?” to which I answered “It feels like it was just yesterday, at the same time, it feels like it’s always been this way.” This isn’t about me having it all figured out or that my journey with gender is “over.” Quite the opposite, actually. I spent most of this past year feeling like I was coming out all over again (but that’s a whole other blog post). The difference, I suppose, is how I have been addressing the process. The concept of processing gender, though no less painful, has become somewhat normalized to me. It’s like when you’re a teenager first experiencing heartbreak you have no idea what to do or how to help yourself, but when you’re an adult you’ve been there so you already know what to do. You can say to yourself: “Yeah, I recognize this shit. It hurts but it’ll be over soon enough.”

December, 2008: The “Watermelon Shoot” was about seeking sexual power. This shot was captured accidentally in between poses, which makes it even more significant. My expression reflects the exhaustion I was feeling towards my inner conflict with sexuality (and gender). Trapped in an emotional ice age, I isolated myself causing terrible heartbreak for me and my partner at the time. The shot also conveniently includes framed pictures of me with friends at a simpler (and more butch) time in my life. I dedicate this rediscovered piece of myself to you, Jackie. Thank you for all you went through for me and for being one of the best friends I could ever dream to have.

My transition was a pivotal time for me, but after seven years its significance (in some ways) seems to fade and blur into the rest of my life. What is left is just being me; thinking about it, working on it, and noticing that some of it happens to be labeled as genderqueer/trans. And as “trans issues” fade into the paint, I am left looking at the walls, my walls, that I built a long, long time ago… I might have even been born with them. Walls are not always bad; Walls are needed to protect and manage our inner selves, but they can trap us. Walls, and the need to hide behind them, is so easily enmeshed into the trans experience. For a while, the main reason I was hiding was greatly connected to all the shit that comes with being trans. What I think I lost sight of was that being trans wasn’t my only reason for hiding. I have spent so much of my life hating myself. I have spent so much of my life hiding. In hiding I have found ways to love myself more and protect my self better. Because of hiding I have spent so much time fighting… All of these feelings have been carved into my walls, and as I read the writing on them I have discovered that I am flat out afraid of showing myself to anyone, sometimes even myself. When I do a self portrait, I am facing myself. I am reminding myself that I am ok. By showing these portraits in this post, I am making the decision to face the world.

A couple years ago Kate (Bornstein) and I were goofing off taking selfies, one after another. She laughed and said “We trans people fucking love pictures of ourselves. We can’t get enough!” I smiled and clicked the shutter on the camera, thinking of how right she was. Like anyone, trans* folks work really hard to be ourselves, and we work really hard to look like ourselves. Many of us hide from our own image, sometimes we don’t even know it. I have never been a stranger to the mirror. Throughout my life, I have spent a lot of time looking at myself, especially as a child, because I was trying to learn what I looked like. I would stare deep into the mirror hoping that the image of my eye would swallow me into an Alice in Wonderland hole, dropping me into my mind so that I could see who I was face to face. I would often comb my hair to the side, like my dad does his hair (and ironically similar to how I do my hair right now). I remember  one time, combing my hair over and looking deep in the mirror; for a split second I felt like I saw something real. It scared me so much I jumped off the sink, mussed up my hair, and started pacing the bathroom floor in a panic. I must have been about 12; I remember  writing about it in a prose series I wrote to myself called “Dear Jim.” The poem started with “I saw you today.” I am continually trying to re-capture the image I saw back then. Over the years, I have gotten better and better at it. The result has been more and more pictures of me. The statement ”self portraits (selfies) are often such an act of self preservation and resistance” says more to me than I can really describe. It speaks to the mes of the past, standing alone with a camera, trying to capture my insides in the shape of my outside. I still love to do photoshoots. Every now and then, I’ll spend a few hours finding some form of temporary, personal perfection in my body. In the split second it takes the shutter to engage, I can see myself, and I am real. It is an act of resistance against a world that would rather see me erased. It is an act of self preservation to remind me that I am alive and that I am human. No one ever sees these photographs. They are just for me… and now some are for you.

March, 2012: This shot, called “Bubblegum,” is out of the “Suicide Boy” shoot which was very significant in the processing my genderqueer identity and femme body. I was heartbroken. This shoot helped heal me.

If you find yourself feeling alone; if you are suffering, please know that you are not the only one. I am like you and I promise to try to show that more. There is no shame in hiding, it is something we all need to do sometimes… sometimes for a long while. Take your time. I hope that me taking this tiny step out of my hiding place will encourage you to feel safer in yours, and maybe help you take a step out too someday. I am grateful to all who have been there for me, helping me come out, or stay in: My amazing parents, my beloved sister (and new brother), Jess, Alex, Al, my family and chosen family, my friends, my mentors, my people, and my kitties too. Thank you.

This March I will be the Keynote speaker at ComingOut 2013 Conference in Duluth, MN. Come out and see me!

Here we are again! Winter is on it’s way out, and I’m getting ready to SPRING into action with activisty presentations, performances, workshops, and more. Spots are already filling up, so don’t wait! Visit the Booking Page for more info or reference the ad below. Maybe this year, you and I can tip-toe through the trans* tulips together!

What leading trans* activists and performers are saying about Midwest GenderQueer:

 “I’ve had the great good fortune to attend several of JAC’s workshops and lectures. He is a skilled, knowledgeable, and talented teacher who gets complex ideas across to a broad audience with warmth and a terrific sense of humor. Please do yourself a great big favor and bring this high-fashion genderqueer wonder to you as soon as you possibly can.” – Kate Bornstein

“Midwest GenderQueer should be known as Super GenderQueer because he’s everywhere, doing just about everything… His work weaves activism, boas, art, glitter, humanity, make-up and the biggest smile that just melts your heart.” - Ignacio Rivera aka Papí_Coxxx

 “JAC Stringer is a charming hurricane of glitter and big ideas, so cute you can’t help listen to the smart things he says (and so smart that you can’t help think about them). A brilliantly accessorized example of how flexible the ways of gender can be, and how tender.” – S. Bear Bergman

 Offering Presentations and Workshops Including…

* Trans* & GenderQueer Allyship for students and/or faculty & staff
* Trans-Focused Activism, including policy, bathrooms, all gendered spaces, and pronouns
* Organizing Tools for students, including mediation, campaigning, and project development
* Trans* & GenderQueer 101
* Community Building and Allyship
* Gender Performance and Drag
* Gender Identity Focused Health and Wellness
* Advanced Trans* and Gender Theory
* Make Your Own!

Offering Performance Art such as…

Dance, spoken word, music, and drag, each a poetic romp through Midwest memories and musings of a genderbending femme boy. JAC uses poofy skirts and duct-tape to create adventures through bodies, ability, androgyny, and beyond. His performances have been described as “hilarious,” “mystifying,” and “sparkling.”

Check out the Booking Page today to bring me to your school or organization!

The gay community is a buzz over Obama’s mention of gay rights in his inaugural address, stating he wanted equality for ”our gay brothers and sisters.” My internet feeds are full of “thank you, Obama” posts and happy memes are already flooding facebook and tumblr, but I won’t be reblogging them. Not to be that person who always finds something to pick at, but let’s be real: I am totally that person. At the risk of getting tiny, rainbow-colored USA flags thrown at me, I have to say I don’t think Obama’s speech was the best thing ever. Yes, it was good. I would even call it great, but I can think of at least one way that it could have been a whole lot better.

You all know what I’m going to say, and I am sure most of you already thought of this yourselves. Obama’s quote “gay brothers and sisters” doesn’t include trans* people, among others. I know, I know. I am sure he was using ‘gay’ to represent the big acronym, but still; If you’re gonna talk about inclusion, your language should be inclusive. Obama has used the expression LGBT before, and he has used the words transgender and gender identity and expression. He knows what they are, and based on his work, conceptually understands the difference. Still, he cut corners and said “gay” and that is annoying. I’ve already run into some folks talking down at me saying “well, you shouldn’t negate the significance of this… The language isn’t that important…” But that is really easy to say if you got counted. If you didn’t, you’re gonna be sitting on the sidelines saying “WTF?” Like I said, I understand the significance of what he said. That doesn’t mean it was significant enough to make me feel recognized. Not trying to sound greedy, but he is MY president who is running MY country. I voted for him, so I think I have a right to want more. Gay is a big word and, like Queer, it means a lot. I use Queer to wrap trans* and “gay” together commonly, but if I am teaching a lecture, writing a speech, or promoting an argument, you better believe I am sure to note the differences between the communities. It may sound picky, but it is relevant. Relevance is what counts in an argument  and when Obama did his speech, he was promoting the argument that “gay” rights mattered. He was speaking to the nation, but he was also attempting to speak to our community and say “I see you.”  But for a transgender person who is straight and doesn’t mesh with the LGBT umbrella, that speech did not speak to them. To a person who is genderqueer and the gendered words “brothers and sisters” feels more erasing than embracing, that speech did not speak to them. For a trans* person who sees “gay” as close to their heart, but not a descriptor of their own identity, that speech did not speak to them. I could create the same argument for pansexuals, asexuals, bisexuals, intersex people, fluid folks, the list goes on because there is a lot about our language that is lacking. My point isn’t about tiny details of what isn’t ‘correct’ in his speech. It is that the Trans* community is a separate community from gay, despite how we may overlap. So if we talk about inclusion, we we have to recognize relevant differences. We won’t ever accomplish change if we don’t continue to lovingly push ourselves and others to do better.

Overall, I dig Obama. And when I say I “dig” Obama, that is with the disclaimer that I can never “dig” a president without clarifying that I know that, above all, Obama is a politician. When I was a baby-activist working in the  early 2000s anti-war movement, politicians burned me. I can’t say I ever really put my faith in the governmental system, but there was a time when I was really invested in it, and it broke my heart. I can’t feel mad about it now because the scar I got then spurred me into a lifelong dedication to grassroots, community focused organizing. I learned that while we can technically never trust anyone to do what we know to be right, there are value systems we can work inside to enhance our chances.  I can 100% stand behind a cause or a movement because it is about values, but when you talk about backing a person who is fallible and corruptible, it’s a whole different story. In order to find trust in another person, we must find common values. In activism, the foundational value is making change for the greater good. Politicians are different animal, more dependent on the ebb and flow of society, their political party, and their funders than one would find advisable for a so-called impartial representative of the masses. I’m not trying to outright hate on politicians and say that they are too soulless to be activists. Many politicians are also activists and there are many activists who work in politics. There are also plenty (too many) activists that are really politicians (and are in the wrong field). I find that often we make the mistake of assuming that politicians are by default activists. They are not. Activists and politicians have many shared qualities; Both conceptually work for the greater good by using their intellectual power and social talents to gain resources and accomplish change, and most foundationally, they are serving something larger than themselves. The difference is the end game;  For politicians, the winning goal is look out for #1. Politicians can be bought and sold, they can be controlled, and they can be destroyed. Not every president is an activist, but every President is a politician. Politicians work for themselves, and they work for their party. They can only go as far as their political advisers will let them. Obama surely has his own interests (personal and professional) in supporting the “gay” community, but you better believe that if it started to cause too much trouble he would drop us like a hot coal. It is entirely possible that he purposefully didn’t use the word “transgender” because he considered it to be too controversial. Politicians may have inner ethics, but they have to challenge them to the point of erasing them sometimes. Admittedly, activists are not inherently “good” either. The KKK is an activist organization (shudder). But if we aim this conversation at a drive to succeed for the “greater good” as we, social justice advocates, understand it, then we can talk about activism as a positive force. Now, I am speaking as an activist  so I am without a doubt glorifying the trade, but someone’s gotta do it. Unlike politicians, your average activist goes about their work speaking loudly for about a cause and staying relatively silent about themselves. Activists are not about #1; they are about #10000000000001. It is about making the big see the small, helping the quiet be loud, and showing the weak that weakness is just another kind of strength. Now you might argue that a politician can do all those things too, and you’d be right. But as you can see by my beautiful graph, the differences between politicians and activists are small, but significant. Also, there is a significant overlap between politicians and non-profit organizations, which can result in more positive or negative effects depending on how the organization is run. Politics and activism are woven together, and also placed far apart.

I know I’m giving politicians a hard time here, but there is a reason for it. We all know the saying that politics are dirty, and so politicians, who engage in politics, by default must be even dirtier. And while I would consider (possibly with some self-serving naivete) that Obama is one of the “cleaner” presidents our country has had, I’m not fooled. He is a US President; he is going to kill people, buy weapons, ignore problems; he is going to bargain (healthcare bill), he is going to compromise (troops overseas), and he is going to play games in the fucked up playground that is the international market/war field. No US President is a perfect humanitarian. The way we run the world makes it impossible and until we, the human race, find ourselves able to value humanity over money or power or fear, it will always be that way. Since I have no direct sense of control of how Obama, or any other politician will act, how honorable they will be, if what they say is what they mean, or if they mean what they say, I’ll always be giving politicians the sideways eye unless they can prove otherwise, which FYI a couple folks have. Still, I will never 100% stand behind a true politician, no matter how many vocab words they know. And no matter how much I may work in policy, lobby, campaign, and canoodle in the politics game, I will never be a politician. However, I will vote for one because I understand that in this system, change can not live by activism alone. Someone has to be willing to not only play the politics game, but become an actual political player, and just like anything, it is a balance of gifts and sacrifices. I can, will, and do sacrifice a lot for the sake of activism, and the things I can and won’t do, people like Obama will. And in his own facilitation of the politician craft, Obama has been able to do what no one else has. His inaugural speech, and his administration in general,  have majorly recognized and supported the intersectional LGBTQPIA movement(s). He has been steering his administration far beyond lip-service that other presidents rarely even attempted. He has proven to be more that just a one-trick pony by continuing to promote the conversation and actively participating in significant policy changes as well as promoting cultural changes that make people, including trans* people, trust him. This past year, many trans* organizers, myself included, worked to re-elect Obama, not just because the alternative would set back our movement, but because we actually believe that for the first time a president could realistically help propel it forward.  While I am a realist about who and what Obama is, I appreciate the unprecedented effort Obama has made for us. He does all the shit I can’t and won’t do, and he’s made it to a pretty good place. Now, do it better.

Yesterday I found a quote in my Tumblr feed and was surprised to find that the person being quoted was me. You might be thinking, “oh cool, you’re like, famous… in that ‘I’m on tumblr’ sort of way…” And while I’m appreciative that something I have said has touched people, I’m not excited about it like I maybe could/should be. I’m not ashamed of the quote, but I’m not exactly proud of it either.

“We’re two boys, which makes us gay; and then we’re two female-bodied people, which makes us gay; and then we’re trans, which makes us, you know, a whole other side of gay. And so you have this whole trifecta of queerness working for us. So when someone drives by and screams “faggot” I’m just like “you have no fuckin’ IDEA!”

The quote is sourced from the video GenderQueer in the Midwest, which was filmed in early 2009 by Stewart Productions. Overall, the quote is fine. While I’ve never thought it was an exceptionally clever comment, the only concern I have is that the language isn’t what I would consider the best example inclusive, accessible language.  The video is a nice little project, but it is definitely a portrait of a younger, less educated me. One of the downsides of being a published writer/speaker is that your past blunders are out in the universe, completely beyond your reach for correction or follow-up. I want to jump on this opportunity to clarify my language, and own that a lot of the terms/perspectives I express in this video are what I would now consider outdated and (at some points) kinda problematic. The language I used back then is drastically different from how I speak now. This video is an example of how a person can have the same goals and intentions, but learn to talk about them in very different ways.

Since coming out, I have made it a regular priority to stay up on language and identity politics of the trans* community in order to be as representative and “politically correct” in my work as possible. Doesn’t mean I always have gotten it right. 2009 wasn’t that long ago, but so many things have changed our community in that very short time. With the growth of things like tumblr and heightened media visibility, I think we fool ourselves into thinking that trans* educational resources are easily accessible, and that they have always been easily accessible. My early years out as a trans person were poignantly defined by significant struggles to find information, both for myself and for other people. My situation then was similar to how I live now; I was in the Midwest and wasn’t around a lot of trans* people regularly. The difference was in the greater trans* community environment; what it was talking about and how easy it was to hear what was being said. My learning disabilities make me a weak reader, so I’ve never successfully capitalized on what seems to be an isolated queer’s best ticket to education: books. There weren’t really any major online media sources to spew all the new words and opinions in the trans* community like we have now in tumblr and twitter, and there certainly wasn’t much visibility for voices similar to mine who challenged the binary, gender normalcy, and oppressive systems. I knew that the systems presented to me were problematic, but I hadn’t found the language to talk about it yet. So, I used the old terms I was given, like “female bodied,” all the while knowing there had to be a better option out there. And I wasn’t alone, this is how most of us spoke back then, and a lot of us were frustrated about it. The years around 2008-2010 brought a lot of changes for the trans* community’s language  and more new words started to appear including transmasculine/transfeminine and a wider use of genderqueer. Within a few months of that video being filmed, I had a whole new vocabulary to use different words to describe myself and others. Guess we should have waited a little longer to immortalize me on youtube…

One of the biggest obstacles I run into as an educator and as an organizer is language differences. It is hard to unite a community that can’t even agree what to call ourselves. Most of us are never taught what to say all at once, and even then we may not be satisfied with the lesson plan. No joke, every year or two the trans* community rejects a term or phrase used to describe ourselves, and replaces it with a new one. And as confusing as it may be, this is a necessary process. Because we, the trans* community, are always changing, our language must continue to change too. Since language is subjective, I don’t think I have the right to say that there are certain “bad” or “wrong” words in our community. However, I do strongly feel that some concepts are more useful or inclusive than others, and that a couple words may be better off retired. A lot of our language is based on “old” ideas rooted in gender normalcy and oppression, like the idea that there are only two genders, that being trans* is a mental illness, or the requirements for how we label our bodies and experiences based on a dominant narrative. Language is used to represent the realities of our community, describe our identities, and communicate our needs. If the language is too outdated to accurately describe us, both conceptually and contextually, it becomes useless or even harmful.  Doesn’t mean we have to give up on any “old” words if we like them, but in order for things to change, we must be brave enough to learn new things.

What is especially interesting is that while the language I use in the video may seem outdated to me, for many people in the trans* community, this is still the most common language. Forget 2009. Today, in 2012, I hear terms like “female bodied” or “bio male” more frequently than anything else. Many trans* people I meet don’t think of bodies and sex as socially constructed; they don’t know (or believe) that that gender identity is a spectrum and not a binary; and they never thought that they could or should expand their gender expression outside of gender norms. This is the TRANS* people I meet; don’t even try to guess about the non-trans* folks. This is an understandably frustrating reality for folks who are working hard to support and change our community. An unfortunate result of this is that there is a lot of judgment and aggression surrounding whether or not people use the “right” language. I am a little surprised that the most criticism my quote seems to have gotten is a comment about transmisogyny. I am grateful it hasn’t gotten worse because, yikes, those Tumblr attacks are vicious! (Honestly, part of the purpose of this post is to hopefully circumvent any such thing from happening.) And while I understand the motivation and passion behind strictly calling people out for using the “wrong” language, I think we could adopt some better methods to promote education and accountability. What we see is people trying to promote uphold a safe space in the community and teach people how to speak using inclusive language. What we don’t see is the educational privilege that is being thrown around, and the impact it has on our people when it lands. Maybe this is my Midwestern baggage showing, but no one ever sat me down and told me the right things to say, or explained why it was right to say them. I had to figure it out on my own. This seems to be the majority of people’s experiences, and yet we continue to hold ourselves to unrealistic and unforgiving high standards. The commonly forgotten reality is that our community’s masses are not in San Francisco vegan co-ops or liberal arts college classrooms where talking about misogyny, privilege, and appropriation is the norm. They are hanging out at the local bar, or the hippie coffee shop, or on the massive 50,000 student campus in the middle of nowhere using whatever words they can get their hands on to describe the confusing, often painful experience that is being different, and being trans*.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk about language or correct people when they say something problematic or outdated. If I was saying that, I’d be out of a job. What I am saying is that we must look at language, and its uses, with a broader lens. If you come out and you don’t know what to type into google, the only words you may find are on an outdated geocities website; maybe the only trans* people you know are 40 years your senior so you use whatever words they use. Those “old” concepts will become yours because they are all you have. Maybe going to queer conferences isn’t your thing; maybe you never looked up what gender neutral pronouns were because you didn’t even know they existed. This doesn’t make you a bad person, and it doesn’t make you stupid. It just means you are under-educated due to a lack of resources. I will boldly state that being under-educated or generally isolated is not an excuse for problematic language or a free pass to say whatever you want because it “is not your fault” because you “didn’t know any better.” That is not living responsibly. What I am saying is that the isolation and lack of education our people experience en masse is one of many reasons why language discrepancies occur and why the words we wish would die out continue to survive. Is it reasonable to punish a child for using a swear word when they had no idea what it meant? And if we punish before asking, how do we know what the child was actually trying to say? If we can figure out where a person is coming from, the better we will be at meeting them where they are and it is only by meeting someone where they are, that we can ever hope to bring them to where we would all like to be going.

I make no excuses for myself or the language I use in this video. I am also trying very hard to not punish myself for it either. This video is a portrait of me at a different time when I was still clamoring for the knowledge that others already had, but I couldn’t figure out how to get for myself. I changed the way I speak not because it was easy or convenient, but because I knew the words I was using weren’t enough. I pushed myself to find as much information as I could, where ever I could. I recognize my education to be a privilege I have been afforded. I also know that the knowledge I have obtained it is a right I fought hell and high water to get (and keep). And despite the fact that I did fight for it, I don’t think I have done anything more than what we all should be able to do. Language is so powerful that learning just one word can change you forever. We all deserve the chance to understand ourselves better. Language is a tool. It can be a crutch we cling to for security or a cage that suffocates us; it can be used to punish us, and it can be used to empower us so that we may live the lives we never thought were possible. An old, rusted tool will break when you try to use it; maybe it will injure you; or it might even destroy whatever it is you are trying to build. But language is not like any other tool or object; language is alive and we have to feed it in order to keep it active and useful. And like any living thing, we cannot control it entirely, but we can guide it with the most positivity possible. Language has no body or shape. It exists only in us. Therefore, we are responsible for it. I ask forgiveness for all my past and inevitable future fuck ups that may or may not be immortalized by the internet. I must own the language I use, including apologizing for what was or wasn’t said. I promise to continue to learn without fear, and I will strive to teach without judgement. If we call can do this, we will easily learn all we need in order to improve our community, and our own lives too.

Well, the holiday seasons are approaching, and I have been a very naughty blogger. Grad school + interning at a labor union + running two organizations + managing a drag troupe/performing + national organizing boards + touring + cats + swing time + taking down the man + looking cute + sleep = one very busy genderfucking femme boy. I’ve needed to officially apologize for my sporadic blogging for months now, but I didn’t want to be one of THOSE bloggers who never updated because their life was too busy. Time for me to pony up, and seeing that I look very much like a My Little Pony, I’m going to pay my dues in a very fabulous way. Last night at drag practice, my twin, who also happens to be my very dear friend and fellow genderqueer performance artist/educator Ignacio Rivera, called me up and said, in so many words, “Hey, I’m doing this Blog Hop thing. You’re gonna do it too.” I aim to please, so here is the closest thing to a blog I’ve been able to write in the past several months (though I do promise I have about 6 drafts waiting to be released upon the world at any given moment). ”The Blog Hop,” is a little survey of questions where writers can talk about their work, without having to actually do a lot of work via writing a full blog post. (You’re welcome for my minimal effort which, knowing me, will still be hella long and so not that minimal. So for reals, you’re welcome for this excuse to waste time and avoid your own work).  And for all us folks who are old enough to remember the 90s, this will be very reminiscent of those AOL chain letter surveys that we LOVED because it gave us the opportunity to really express ourselves through listing our current favorite songs and the name of our latest crush. Well, we loved them until they got old… which for me took about a month….

HERE WE GO!

What is the working title of your next book?

Oh, there are several. The big one is something similar to the title of my blog: Midwest GenderQueer, Genderfucked in the Midwest, OR Musings of a Genderfucked Midwesterner (or something like that). I also have two collections of short stories which are usually what I read from when I perform; “Glamboyant” and “Bar Stories.” I also have a partnering adventures collection called “What the Fuck Are You, and Who Are You Doing?”

I have a children’s book series in perpetual draft form that follows a species of critter called the Tradupsi. Their adventures represent the experiences of oppressed trans* communities and their solutions can be aligned to methods of social justice organizing and community building.  The first book is called, “The Tradupsi Went Down the Mountain.”

I also have a couple fiction novels and short stories that I once upon a time started, and sometimes like to revisit for fun. The longest, most extensive one is called “White Horse Dogs.” These book projects are mostly for me, and will likely never be printed or read by anyone.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

The Midwest GenderQueer book, and related collected essays, are coming about because I can’t really avoid it. I have always been big on writing about my experiences and as the passages collect, I figure I’ll need to do something with them.

The Tradupsi series came out of a particularly rough dealing with colleague organizers where the T was not only silent, but completely and outwardly rejected. I wrote the first book as a positive method of venting out the pain and isolation I was feeling as a trans person and how, as an organizer, I felt frustrated and completely unsupported. There is a reason this is a book series… :P<

White Horse Dogs is the combination of several different books which I had been writing since I was about thirteen. When I was nineteen I started to compile the various story lines together into one, organized story. It has no specific inspiration other than bored daydreams. However, it is the book I was writing when I came out, which was not a coincidence. The main characters are two boys, and as the story progressed, the more the lives of these characters blurred into my own sense of self. Working on the book was integral in my process of finding myself.

What genre does your book fall under?

Uh…. genderfuck? What else?

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

The Tradupsi series is illustrated in clay, so it would be a claymation movie.  And…yeah, I think that my book would need to be an anime, cause I already look like an anime character and that’d be the most awesome thing ever. Hayao Miyazaki is standing by. OR Christian Bale OMG. How fucking baller would that be? He already knows how to rock out eye make up and a boa.

And maybe this is me being egotistical, but Christian Bale could totally look like the most handsome, sexy version of me ever. Here’s what I would look like after the sweaty, martial arts scene of my movie. Or perhaps I was just in some sort of explosion and the blast blew all my clothes off.

Right??????????????????????????? Now that sounds like a good movie. And if not Christian Bale, we could just hire Ignacio Rivera, cause again, we are twins (seen here with the fab Johnny Blazes while on our GenderQueeries Tour).

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Furious activist JAC; angsty genderqueer Midwesterner against the world. Now with more candy! – Too dramatic? Well, the one sentence description of my blog is “Queery musings of a genderfucking femme boy” and I think that sums it up pretty well.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Who knows!

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your man­u­script?

Well it isn’t finished yet, and with my rate of creative productivity, possibly a billion years. The dino-space martians of the future are gonna love my historical document.

What other books would you compare this to within your genre?

Writing style-wise, it depends on if I am writing something with an activist bent, or something more like prose. Prose stuff, I think, is a little similar to Richard Brautigan “In Watermelon Sugar” meets Camus meets George Elliot… Or at least, I dare to dream, right? Similar themed works (but not really comparable cause duh, these authors are awesome)  would probably be Kate Bornstein‘s “Gender Outlaw”, Scott Turner Schofield‘s “Two Truths and a Lie”, mixed with bitey activist attitudes like what you find in S. Bear Bergman and Mattilda Sycamore Bernstein‘s works.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Like I said, I can’t not write about what I’m experiencing, so the inspiration is in my life. Sometimes it is awesome, sometimes it sucks, but for whatever reason I find it is worth writing about. All in all, I would like to give some visibility to an experience I have found that many, many people have: being non-gender normative and trans in a conservative environment with minimal resources and community. It is a lot of people’s story. This particular one just happens to be mine.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I have really, really awesome hair. Maybe you think that has nothing to do with the book, but you’re wrong. My hair has to do with everything.

Here are the writers whose work you can check out next:

Well, I have given several shout outs of some favorites already (see above). And while I am able to write, I am not equally skilled at reading. So, the people I’m listing are necessarily “writers,” as they are artists who may also write, but they may do other things too!  I can’t list every activist artist I like, so a short cut is to check out folks on Trans-Genre. Trans Genre is an awesome network of all kinds of artists, activists, musicians, and more who connect their performance to their trans* experience.  It is a “showcase” of amazing folks, founded and run by AJ Bryce.

GenderCast is like an online radio station, talking specifically about gender related news and topics. For all you not-so-good-readers out there, it is a must!

 Kit Yan is a great person, performer, and advocate (especially for youth). He’s recently blown up on the trans* performance radar, which is very exciting. His spoken word ranges from moving, to comical, to down right randy. Definitely a must when exploring trans artistry and activism.

The Lady Miss Vagina Jenkins: a fierce femme activist and burlesque performer. She is savvy, smart, sexy, and everything else that is wonderful. She and I have been friends, and worked together, for years now and she is always in the front when thinking about intersectional work, especially surrounding queer women, femmes, and race issues.

Gina De Vries Femme Dandy GQ activist, writer, and femme extraordinaire. Gina has been published in several queer anthologies and erotica, and has written for some well known queer blogs like the Bilerico Project. She also is a great sex work activist and co-runs a fabulous program series called Girl Talk where trans women and non-trans women get together for spoken word and community.

TransGriot blog, written by trans activist Monica Roberts. Monica Roberts is just as, if not more, no-bullshit about trans stuff in the media than I am. So, obviously, I LOVE everything she writes. She discusses a lot of intersectional topics relevant to our community, often without any sugar coating. She also talks about sports sometimes, a topic I know almost nothing about…

F to eMbody: Athens Boys Choir (Harvey Katz) and Rocco Katastophe‘s collaborative project of music, poetry, and trans* experience. Both Rocco and Katz are awesome folks and very dedicated to supporting the community.

Illdoctrine.com Ok, Jay Smooth isn’t queer to my knowledge. He’s the kind of activist who doesn’t feel the need to talk about it, but I’m pretty sure he is not. Despite this major fail, he is fucking awesome at analyzing cultural and political events with real humor, and real honesty.

Well, there you have it folks. Probably more than you ever needed, or wanted to know about my writing processes and progresses. BUT it is nice to be blogging again! See you in another couple months…. JK! (maybe)

It’s that time of year again! Summer is over and I’m getting ready to bounce out into the world with lots of activisty presentations, performances, workshops, and more. Maybe this year, I’ll bounce over to you! Visit the Booking Page for more info or reference the ad below. Hope to see you this year!

“Midwest GenderQueer, commonly known as JAC Stringer, is a trans genderqueer activist organizer, writer, and performance artist and he is booking for his 2012-13 tour. Bring him to your school this year!

JAC has lectured and performed across theUSAandCanadawith his work focusing trans*, genderqueer, and queer education, social justice, (dis)ability, and trans*/queer artistry. JAC is the founding director of The Midwest Trans* and Queer Wellness Initiative, is a leading activist in the gender identity disorder removal movement, and is a strong advocate for health care reform, sexual assault awareness, and comprehensive sex education. JAC has founded several projects, is an Advocates for Youth Alum, and is member of several organizing boards including TransOhio, The Philadelphia Transgender Health Conference, The Greater Cincinnati Youth Summit, The International Femme Conference, and The International Drag King Community Extravaganza. As a performer, JAC has done genderbending dance, music, drag, and spoken word as a solo performer, as co-manager of The Black Mondays Drag Troupe, he is a national gender performance showcase producer, and is the founder of the Gender Queeries Tour. JAC is a life-long dancer, poet, musician, and rabble-rouser whose work’s purpose is to generate unity, action, and empowerment and achieve rights and recognition for trans* and queer communities through education, art, and other various forms of revolution.

What leading trans* activists and performers are saying about Midwest GenderQueer:

 “I’ve had the great good fortune to attend several of JAC’s workshops and lectures. He is a skilled, knowledgeable, and talented teacher who gets complex ideas across to a broad audience with warmth and a terrific sense of humor. Please do yourself a great big favor and bring this high-fashion genderqueer wonder to you as soon as you possibly can.” – Kate Bornstein

“JAC Stringer is a charming hurricane of glitter and big ideas, so cute you can’t help listen to the smart things he says (and so smart that you can’t help think about them). A brilliantly accessorized example of how flexible the ways of gender can be, and how tender.” – S. Bear Bergman

“Midwest GenderQueer should be known as Super GenderQueer because he’s everywhere, doing just about everything… His work weaves activism, boas, art, glitter, humanity, make-up and the biggest smile that just melts your heart.” - Ignacio Rivera aka Papí_Coxxx

Offering Trainings and Workshops Including:
* Trans & GenderQueer Allyship for students and/or faculty & staff
* Trans-Focused Activism – Policy, Bathrooms, All Gendered Spaces, & Pronouns
* Gender Performance and Drag
* Make Your Own!

Offering Presentations Including:

* Trans & GenderQueer 101
* “You look like a Freak…” Gender and Societal Recognition
* Bending Desire: Sexual Attraction and GenderQueer Identities
* Disorder or Defiance?; Gender Identity “Disorder” and Pathologizing Difference

Offering Performance Art such as:

Spoken word, music, films, dance, and drag – each a poetic romp through Midwest memories, musical flashbacks, body visions, and musings of a genderfucking femme boy.”