Category: Community Issues

Methodologies, mentalities, and madness

Cincinnati Pride Continue’s a Tradition of Intimidation and Ignorance

Cincinnati Pride Continue’s a Tradition of Intimidation and Ignorance

Posted on by JAC

I am disappointed to see that even with plenty of strong, capable organizers on staff, Cincinnati Pride continues to value it’s own ‘pride’ over that of the community.

For the second year in a row, the committee finds it appropriate to allowing a religious anti-LGBTQPIA hate group to walk in our Pride parade. Many people have complained, but despite this the Pride committee sees fit to use it’s own judgement, and perhaps the judgement of “other cities” who they consulted, on how to “share” OUR day with those who are responsible for our deaths. This issue is about more than just the parade. It is about Cincinnati Pride’s history of bullying the community it is meant to serve. Cincinnati Pride both allows, and in past years has even condoned, people harassing, insulting, and threatening anyone who challenges Cincinnati Pride’s actions. Over the years, myself and many people of my acquaintance have been targeted for asking well worded, diplomatic questions. There have even been times where LG community members, many of them friends or partners of Pride organizers, and sometimes the Pride organizers themselves have harassed me on the street, cornered me in bars, spammed my email, and even worked their way into my facebook friends list just to troll my wall and try to dig up dirt (only to find none). These actions continue to not only go unchecked, but unrecognized.

Pride organizers have stated that by allowing the hate group into the parade, “show that we do not discriminate and attempt to silence other voices, as has been done to us for so many years.” First, best practice (and common sense) tells us that having a mobile unit of protest has more of an impact than a static one. Cincinnati Pride has assured the public that it is working with the local police to keep the protesters in check as they walk through our parade, but once an act of violence happens it is too late. (I should say physical violence because they are already causing emotional violence). Wouldn’t it be better to not risk our people’s personal and physical wellness for the sake of Pride’s pride? Lastly, and most importantly, PRIDE is a celebration of our people rising up against oppression. To willingly hand over sacred space and air time to our oppressors is as offensive as it is illogical. Pride is a day for our people, especially our youth, to grab a sense of acceptance and normalcy. Today, that will not happen for Cincinnati.

It is important to note that most people do not do community organizing/volunteer work without the best intentions. That being said, intention is not impact and I may be so snarky as to say that good intention is not intelligence. Cincinnati Pride has consistently struggled with accessibility issues, racism, sexism, classism, transphobia, elitism… the list goes on. This is not because the Pride organizers are bad people; it is because Cincinnati is a city with a bad politic. The first Pride was a riot; an uprising to stamp out oppression. In order for our people to rise against our oppressive environment, we have to stand up against it, not lay down in front of it as it walks through our Pride parade.

Cincinnati Pride, remember who your boss is; the people of the LGBTQPIA community. By allowing violence to spread under your roof, you are just as guilty as if you were making the attacks yourself. Whether these attacks are coming from anti-LGBTQPIA protesters or from our own community, you are responsible for the damage they cause. You are responsible for finding the solution.

Ten Reminders for Cis People for when Trans = News

Posted on by JAC

I can appreciate that cis people are interested in supporting Bruce Jenner. I also can appreciate that the attention brought on by Bruce’s coming out brings further visibility to trans people. That said, as the media circus swirled over the weekend, so did my frustrations. Cisgender (cis) people have been doing pretty well with trans identity politics recently, but in the last couple days something went awry.

A cis ally is someone who has some level of knowledge about the trans community and proactively builds solidarity with trans people. We know that there is no right or wrong way to be trans but sometimes our community extends that philosophy to say there is no right or wrong way to be an ally. This surely comes from our people’s desperation for support and recognition. In other words, we take whatever we can get with an obligated gratitude. I rarely abide by this practice which has given me the reputation of being “mean” or “impatient.” (Perhaps those who call me “mean” have not seen me spend hours patiently educating offensive, but well intentioned cis people all with an impenetrable supportive smile.) Contrary to popular belief, it is possible for trans people to appreciate cis efforts for solidarity while also addressing problematic behavior. Supportive education is my general practice, focusing on strengths. I try to avoid value-loaded words like “right” and “wrong” and use strength based language like “a better word would be…” or “a more positive way is…” It’s also to be expected that education will look different depending on who is being taught. If you are brand new to trans stuff, then I’ll be very patient and gentle. If you’ve been working with trans topics for years, my method is going to be more direct saying, “I respect your ability to comprehend this at a higher level so let’s be polite, but real.” Then there are times when an issue is so large, it is necessary to address the cis community as a whole. Every situation requires careful strategy, and sometimes that strategy is simply saying, “No, you’re doing it wrong.”

To help our cis friends along, I have compiled a list of ten reminders for cis people when trans identities become a focal point in the news:

1) You do not have the right (or ability) to comment on or describe the significance of coming out as trans. It is not ok to offer your opinions on how trans people experience ourselves or what it is like to be trans. If you aren’t trans, you don’t know what it is like. You can be supportive without trying to speak for us.

2) Be prepared for trans people to challenge your self-titled allyship or the “trans ally” hashtag in your posts about a white famous person coming out when trans people (namely, trans women of color) are murdered every day and you never say a damn thing about it, with or without a hashtag. #youredoingitwrong

3) There is a difference between following the nice-person-politic internet herd and being an active participant in the trans movement. Trans people do not need cis validation of our joys or sorrows. We need solidarity and cis advocacy. Ask yourself, how often do you read about trans stuff when we are not in pop culture headlines? Are the only trans related posts you make about the death of a trans person? Are you tagging #translivesmatter about white trans people without acknowledging that it is an adaptation/appropriation of #blacklivesmatter? Solidarity requires more than a mouse click or a hashtag; it requires consistent buy-in, socially just education, and speaking out in real life. You do not get extra ally points for every trans post you reblog on tumblr.

4) If you only talk about the trans community when the news is about a white trans person, you are embodying one of the most damaging and pervasive oppressions trans people experience: racism.

5) If you hear yourself say, “The race of a trans person doesn’t matter because trans oppression has nothing to do with race,” just stop because you’re doing everything wrong.

6) Don’t assume trans people are interested in talking to you about trans news or want to hear how brave and magical you think we are. There are ways to honor the trans movement without tokenism and it is cis people’s responsibility to learn how. If you feel the need to bring up an issue, consider whether it is appropriate. “Hey, I heard about that person’s death…” is not appropriate conversation for crossing paths at the doughnut shop. A better statement is, “I appreciate the work you are doing.” Trans people are not responsible for providing unconditional edu-tainment for cis people; We have more important things to do like live our lives, fight oppression, and try to survive past the age of 30. If you blame, shame, or judge a trans person because they chose not to educate you or you felt offended by their response, you’re doing your “allyship” wrong. The first, most important step in allyship is taking a step back.

7) It is not ok to send/post sensationalized trans related articles to a trans person to demonstrate your solidarity. Doing this can not only be a trigger and/or out someone; the article could realistically be about the death or injury of someone we know and your well intentioned “sharing” can create devastating results. Furthermore, do not interpret a trans person’s internet silence as not knowing about or ignoring a news story. Believe me, we know, and probably knew before you did. We may not post about it because the news language may conflict with our values; we could be too angry to speak; we may be grieving. We are likely not posting as part of our self-care and we are often processing the event offline with other trans people. If you are concerned for a friend, a better option is to check in privately and offer support (note that support does not include interview questions – see #6).

8) Do not connect every event about a living trans person to a trans person who has died. It can be meaningful to hear a cis person say, “I care about trans rights.” It may be less meaningful to hear, “I care about trans rights because “person X” died.” When someone says that to me all I can think is, “Well, a lot of people died before that person… and thanks for only caring if we are dead.” Then, inevitably, the trans person becomes responsible for comforting the cis person in their sadness over our oppression. If you want to talk about trans rights, recognize that we are more than headstones and news stories. We live and breathe and some of us have to work hard to ensure we continue doing that. Focus your conversations on our fight, not our deaths.

9) Do not make jokes about us. Do not make jokes about our bodies, our names, our appearances, or our identities. To not claim that it is “all in good fun” and defend transphobic humor by saying you “make fun of everyone.” There is a difference between stating a celebrity is “dramatic” and making a food product represent a trans person’s disembodied genitals. This kind of humor is rooted in the same transphobic oppression that causes us to be murdered. Recognize that your humor is a form of violence, and when you do, educate your peers (or your customers) on why you are changing your behavior. If you apologize for a cruel joke, but do nothing to stop the room from laughing, you’re doing your apology wrong.

10) Listen to trans people. I repeat: Listen to trans people. Many trans people need every ounce of our time and energy to focus on our survival and the survival of our people. If one of us makes an effort to educate you, be grateful that we are offering our precious resources. Be thankful that a trans person trusts you enough to share our feelings. Trans people face harassment and oppression countless times every day. You may only be corrected by a trans person once or twice in your life. Recognize the rarity of what you are receiving; we would not address something if we did not feel it was important. Lean into it and use it to grow. A call out is not an attack; it is a sign of respect and a desire for solidarity. Listen to trans people and respond with humility and gratitude.

No one likes to be told they’re wrong, even as a clever running gag to break up the heaviness of a pretty serious series of call outs. Call outs are hard. You might feel hurt; compare that how much it hurts us to experience the oppression you accidentally embodied. You might think we are being mean; to us, your behavior is beyond mean – it is cruel and exhausting. Is it not fair and just for a trans person to draw attention to behavior that promotes our oppression so it can be corrected? Is it fair for cis people to insult and belittle us for standing up for ourselves? This is not about you; it is about the impact your words and actions have. The most important thing to remember is that intent is irrelevant. When I am teaching classes, I describe privilege like dancing. If you are busting a move with a friend and then accidentally hit them in the face, you friend has a right to be displeased because they just got hurt. They may tell you, “Hey, don’t dance like that because you hurt me.” You can get mad; you thought the move was going to be awesome and you didn’t mean to hit them… You could get embarrassed and run away, leaving your friend alone in their injury. You could ignore it; it’s not your fault they got in the way. Or you can say, “I’m sorry. It was an accident, but that doesn’t stop you from being injured. I’ll rework my dance so it doesn’t hit you or anyone else in the face.” We all make mistakes; no one can do everything right (including us magical trans people). But once you receive feedback on your mistakes, even if it hurts, you can work to do better. It’s time to do better. We have come far enough in this movement that it is fair to expect cis allies to get it right and to take responsibility when you don’t. Until that becomes a reality, expect that sometimes you’re going to be reminded when you’re doing it wrong. Use it, because then you’ll start to do it right.

Drag Culture and the Argument of Transmisogyny

Drag Culture and the Argument of Transmisogyny

Posted on by JAC

I received an “Ask” on my Tumblr page discussing drag as transmisogynistic. Below was my response and since I get a lot of questions about this, I felt it would be useful to cross-post it here.

“There are views that drag is transmisogynistic, yes. I understand why some folks have come to find drag as a weapon against trans people and I feel the reason for this is two fold: abuses from more privileged groups and a lack of historical context. I respect each person’s right to have their own opinions and have no wish to challenge or invalidate anyone. I think that when discussing whether drag is transmisogynistic or not, is important to remember a few things.

History: Historically, “drag” is very significant in the history of communities that, today, we would call trans and gender non-conforming queers. Genderbending is a global theatrical practice, but for sake of time I’ll speak about it in the USA. In the late 19th century until the early-mid 20th cent. “drag” was called female and male impersonation. The sway of theatrical cross-dressing to impersonation came with vaudeville and it included singing and dancing as well as genderbending. M/F Impersonation was seen as a both a way to worship gender as well as a way to play with it and it’s norms. In addition to being fun, the purpose was to make us all question about what truly is a man or a woman and do bodies and cultural expectations really mean as much as we think? Also, drag, as a craft, was the first venue for gender non-conforming people to create lives as their true selves. In the 1920s, for the first time ever people in the USA (as a colonized country) where able to bend gender and dress as they wanted, be who they wanted, and not be arrested or institutionalized. Granted, when the post-war puritanism took hold this was all taken away, but it did happen and it impacted millions of people. The development of the trans community came from two branches: hetero supported transsexualism (started around the 1940s) and queer community gender transgression (started at the beginning of time). Both are valid; both are real; both are equally important. Drag is a part of queer gender transgression and trans people would not have this community as we know it without the power we sized through drag. Drag has played, and continues to play, a very important role in both queer and trans visibility, community building, safer space creation, and artistic craft. To forget this, is to forget our elders who brought us here today.

Drag is a diverse, artistic craft: RuPaul’s Drag Race is not an all encompassing representation of drag; farthest thing from it. Drag is not only DMAB people in feminine expressions for performance (drag queens); It is also DMAB folks dressing in masculine expressions (drag kings); Trans people doing theater, or doing drag as other genders; gender performance art that uses gender to communicate messages (like what I do); uses of hyper femininity and hyper masculinity (such as burlesque and boylesque); and heterosexual people challenging gender norms. Drag is about the conversation of gender and it is queer. It is the ONLY artistic craft we can, without argument, claim as exclusively belonging to the queer and trans community. Even if a hetero person wants to do drag, they have to come into our space to do it; they have to be an ally. We use drag as a form of artistic expression, merrymaking, activism, and beauty to discuss how we are different from hetero people and how there are more similarities than the heteronormative system of power would ever want to admit. There is a disappearing understanding in white gay culture especially of the deep connection between gender and sexuality. Many years ago, our community understood the fluidity between maleness and femaleness and how that impacted our lives as queer people; that is where drag came from. It was a way for us to reflect our realities for our own eyes, out of reach of the hetero cis world that would rather see us dead. There were no gay tv shows, no trans people on magazines. There were drag stages. That was all we had. When I was coming out, it was all I had.

Language: By the mid-late 1960s and 1970s the trans movement was starting to take visible shape. By the 80s, the word “transgender” was slowly gaining more recognition and at its creation “transgender” included not just trans folks as we know them today (women, men, and non-binary folks) but also drag performers, gender non-conforming cis people (butch lesbians for example), and anyone else who transgressed gender. Drag performers, who were trans women and cis men or trans men and cis women, where considered linguistically interchangeable because, at the time, gender was defined by expression, not identity. Back then, it was impossible to draw a line between drag performers and trans people as a group – it could only be done by individuals (a good cultural example of this is Candy, who associated with Andy Warhol). The line did exist, and could be considered to exist as early as the 1950s, but it was squiggly, dashed, and in some points invisible; in some communities it is still like this today. It was not until the mid-2000s (after 2006) that transgender truly became focused on gender identity over gender expression. In addition to this, we MUST remember that trans is not a universal term. There are many folks, particularly in communities of color where gender and sexuality are not as cut apart as in white cultures, where trans is not used. There are masses of people (countless) who from an external view would be called trans (in particular, would be called trans women) but they call themselves drag queens. Many of these people live as women every day, take estrogen and have gender affirming surgeries; they are women, but they never call themselves trans. To rigidly consider drag as transmisogynistic is to erase the identities of people who are a part of our community. This issue of erasure causes significant obstacles in accessing resources, in particular for poor trans women of color who do not use the language doctors and government offices want to hear when asking for resources. We must also remember the role classism plays here. Many trans women, whether they self identity as that or not, make a living from being drag performers. Performing drag does not make a person any less trans or any less of themselves; we are no different from other trans people… except we may be more theatrically talented… :P  Anyway, it is critical that we continue to unpack the word “trans” and recognize that the definition and the experience is not the same for everyone.

Systems of Oppression: The connection of drag to transmisogyny primarily comes from, no surprise here, cissexist systems that refuse the realness of trans people, most visibly trans women. The “men in dresses” issue is very old, but the connection between drag and trans women is relatively new. Trans identities where not generally visible to society until the 60s, and not even by much then. During that time, and as transgender branched from transsexual, drag performers and now identified trans folks visibly populated the same spaces. This proximity lead oppressors (straight and gay) to use drag as a method of attack on trans women, and to a lesser degree trans men (there where no words for non-binary back then). Oppression has also been promoted by cis-gay communities and cis drag performers. A sticking point that is often mentioned is the use of the T-word which we see unapologetically used in drag spaces more than nearly anywhere else (it bothers me too). The reason for this (note I say reason, not excuse) comes from two sources.

1- As I mentioned, trans historically belongs to both what we consider modern trans people AND drag performers which meant that at one time the t-word was owned by both. (When looking at the use of the t-word in porn-exploitation, it is likely that cis people got the t-word from trans people themselves and then began to fetishize it.) This is why so many drag performers, in particular queens, hold on to the t-word with their teeth and aggressively think they can use it/claim it. One would think that people would recognize that language evolves… one would hope folks would understand that what was “ok” 20-40 years ago is not necessarily “ok” today, but unfortunately some people have not figured that out yet…much to our chagrin.  Which leads me to the 2nd primary reason oppression can be found buried within drag culture…

2 – Basic cissexist privilege; Most drag performers feel a deep connection to their drag characters and they were/are unable/unwilling to understand how someone, often who was/is a fellow performer, may be different from them. Essentially, “I’m wearing the same outfit as you and I’m not a woman which means you can’t be one either. So, I’m gonna say whatever I want and invalidate you – but it’s all in good funnnneeeehhhhhh-barf…” Male privilege rears it head in horrific, twisted ways in drag communities, which many find ironic considering that the people expressing this male privilege are men expressing as women – and some folks are actually trans women and trans men. There are many layers of privilege, sexism, racism, (all the isms) in drag culture; to those of us within that culture, it is a never-ending fight and conversation about how we can do right by our people through drag. In order for us to continue this important, historical craft as a method of empowerment, we have to push it to grow in social justice.

One other system of oppression that helped develop concerns of drag = transmisogyny is the heteronormative gender binary. A significant root for the vilification of drag as a weapon upon trans people is from transsexual separatists. Transsexual separatists do not want any form of gender non-conformity present in the community; they feel that if the identities of others do not perfectly align with their own, their personal identities are invalidated. They also feel that any non-binary or genderbending identity or expression will destroy their own legitimacy in the eyes of greater society. When I came out, this was usually manifested in the phrase, “You’re fucking it up for the rest of us.” Many transsexual separatists took an active role in demonizing drag as a threat to trans women and even carried it as far as demonizing any trans woman who where queer or visible trans activist, including people like Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson. The saddest part about this is that many of the people they targeted where trans women themselves, albeit ones who were poor, queer, and people of color who either where no able or did not wish to “transition” in the way power systems saw as legitimate. Sound familiar to anyone? Cause it should.

Again, I feel it is up to the individual to decide their feelings and opinions. I readily agree that there are parts of the drag community that are transmisogynistic and that many cis views of drag and trans women are often transmisogynistic. That doesn’t mean that drag as a cultural practice, or a historical experience, is by default transmisogynistic. And through I have directly experienced a lot of transphobia and cissexism in the drag community (and I mean A LOT), I still speak from my own place of privilege as a DFAB person. The history of trans misogyny has had less of an impact on my experience than it has on my friends who are trans women. All of that said, I still think it is very important that as our community gets younger, we continue to look back at our history. It is critical for us all to understand where we came from, which includes the importance of drag in a historical context as well as a modern craft. Different strokes for different folks, but we are all within the same community.”

For anyone who is curious; yes, I do have two workshop lectures on this subject so that is why this post is so thorough and organized. lol”

Trans Community Disappointed in City's Response to Police LGBT Newsletter

Trans Community Disappointed in City’s Response to Police LGBT Newsletter

Posted on by JAC

Op Ed originally posted on the Cincinnati and Kentucky Enquirer’s website, February 2nd, 2015.

“Last week, Cincinnati Police LGBT Liaison Officer Angela Vance was publicly reprimanded by Mayor John Cranley and Cincinnati Police Chief Jeffrey Blackwell for her inner-department newsletter that addressed the recent death of transgender teen Leelah Alcorn.

In the letter, Vance called her fellow officers to discuss the societal systems that influence transgender violence – specifically what can come from accepting vs. non-accepting religious groups. Of the 1,000 officers that receive this newsletter, four complained. This spurred Blackwell and Cranley to publicly apologize, admonishing Vance. Blackwell assured the public he will “review” Vance’s future writings before publication. Cranley speciously reframed Vance’s words as “the government telling people where to worship.” Whatever hints of support may be laced into these criticisms, there is a larger issue here: When even the slightest pressure is on, city officials aren’t up to the test.

Vance did her job, which is to educate her department about systems that impact LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer) people in Cincinnati. Vance goes above and beyond to support this city, and I am saddened that in turn, the city does not do the same for her. The emotion displayed in her newsletter is proof of how hard she works to draw attention to LGBTQ needs – a job she was asked to do. Now that she has people’s attention, the reaction further demonstrates the lack of LGBTQ cultural competency among city officials.

I was born and raised in Cincinnati. I am also a transgender person. Cincinnati is a very difficult and dangerous place for transgender, gender non-conforming, and non-heterosexual people to live. I founded an organization that serves transgender people, and even as a provider, I struggle to survive here. I met Vance when she was appointed as the LGBT liaison. Like any strong ally to the transgender community, she immediately reached out to collaborate. In the field, Vance and I meet youth whose stories mirror Leelah Alcorn’s every day. We don’t do this work because we are paid for it (which we aren’t). We do it because it is our passion, and passion can inspire as well as intimidate. Vance wrote her newsletter with a passion to inspire good deeds among her colleagues, and people got scared.

City officials have discussed transgender rights more in the last year than in all of Cincinnati’s history, but supporting transgender people also requires supporting those who speak up for us. It is not easy to discuss the transgender community when many people still oppose our right to live, let alone our right for civil inclusion. This is why we need people, especially those in power, to speak out. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “The ultimate measure of a (person) is not where (they) stand in moments of comfort and convenience, but where (they) stand at times of challenge and controversy.” Cranley and Blackwell know that the four offended officers represent a larger anti-LGBTQ population which can, and realistically might, stir controversy. And so, they chose to coddle the feelings of the privileged rather than acknowledge the violence that impacts transgender people every day.

To stop violence, we must discuss how it is manifested as well as what role we may play in its progression. Rather than discipline Vance for starting the conversation, we must urge the city to continue it. We must call for dialogue, education, and acceptance among police officers and city workers. City Hall and Cincinnati Police must work with LGBTQ people to combat oppression. Vance is doing her part to create change. It is time for city officials to follow suit.”

Link to original article. 

COLUMN: The language of the transgender community may be different, but the feelings are the same

Posted on by JAC

Republication of column I wrote for WCPO Cincinnati News as a part of the wider response to Leelah Alcorn’s death. There has been a surprisingly competent and lasting media response and I am hopeful that this visibility will aid our local movement’s growth.

COLUMN: Transgender identities can seem complicated, and when a person is first learning about gender it can feel like you are learning a different language. And in a way, you are.

The transgender community, or trans people as we frequently call ourselves, have developed a variety of words and practices to address our experiences, and each are shaped by a long history of community development.

Before beginning to conceptualize the differences of trans people from non-trans people, let’s consider what we all have in common: Everyone has a gender identity, or a way of knowing ourselves as a woman, a man, neither, both, or something else entirely.

Gender identities exist on a spectrum and we cannot choose what identity we have. A person who is cisgender has a gender identity that aligns to their designated sex; in other words a non-trans person. A transgender person has a gender identity that does not align to their designated sex.

The main difference between a cisgender person and a transgender person is not who we are, but how we are treated. Trans people are disproportionately exposed to discrimination and violence, be it at school, work, a doctor’s office, a public street, or even in our own homes.

If you are seeking to learn about the lives of the trans community, the first step is to understand that society defines our differences; our differences do not define us.

No two people are the same, and this is still the case in the transgender community. One trans person’s experience may be very different from another’s. Other factors, such as racism, poverty, and age will influence a trans person’s experiences.

Language is very important. A trans person’s name, identity label and  pronoun (she, he, they, ze) are decided upon very carefully, and for good reason. My name and pronoun are not my preference; they are a requirement just like yours. No one would like to be called by a name that isn’t their own, or called something they are not.

I trust you to know who you are, I expect you to trust me too.

Because many people are unfamiliar with trans experiences, they may ask about our pasts, how we came out, or about our bodies. All of these questions are extremely personal. If you would not as a cisgender person what they look like naked, you should not ask a trans person. Allow us to volunteer the information we want to share.

It is appropriate to privately ask a person what language you should use. It is also important to ascertain whether it is OK for you to tell anyone about someone’s trans identity. It is advisable to never disclose a person’s trans identity unless you have explicit permission, even if you think it is relevant. This is called “outing.” Outing a trans person can put them at risk of hostility, losing their job, their housing, a loved one, or even their life.

Respecting a trans person’s privacy is a critical act of support.

Google exists for a reason. Before you go ask your trans co-worker to explain every aspect of trans theory, Google it.

Just because a person is trans, does not mean they know everything about being trans, and even if they do, they do not have an obligation to teach you. If a trans person does choose to talk to you about trans issues, listen to them. If I decide to talk to someone about my trans identity, it means I have something important to say.

If a trans person asks you to change your language or behavior towards them, it means we are trusting you to respect us. If someone calls me the wrong pronoun or outs me, I do not assume that person is transphobic. Generally, I assume the person doesn’t know they made a mistake and I want to correct them for next time.

If you accidentally use the wrong word or somehow let it slip that someone is trans, apologize and try to do better. You don’t need to make it an issue, or extensively explain yourself. It’s likely we already know why the mistake happened; what we need is for you to correct it.

As you learn more about trans experiences, it is important to remember that loving a trans person is not the same as being a trans person.

Cisgender people have privileges we trans folks don’t have. You didn’t choose the privileges of cisgenderism, but you can choose to take responsibility for your place in society, and improve it.

There are many ways to advocate for trans people and they range from asking your workplace to host a training, to volunteering, to politely correcting someone when they call a trans person the wrong pronoun.

Every time a cisgender person takes a moment to address trans discrimination and ignorance, they are making the world better for everyone.

You might not think that a two-minute conversation can save the life of a trans teenager, but change is a ripple effect.

One drop can spread to unimaginable sizes.

The more voices we have behind us, the more we can gain the rights we, and everyone, deserve. The more rights we can obtain, the more lives we can save.

You can help make it happen.

Why I Didn’t Jump: What I wish I told Leelah Alcorn

Posted on by JAC

*Trigger Warning* This post discusses suicidal thoughts and suicide. Details are minimal, but I have placed a *TW* in front of a paragraph that may be especially triggering. Please take care of yourself. <3

The last time I saw Leelah, she was smiling. She was a kid who was easy to remember. Cincinnati Trans Community Group isn’t a huge program, but it’s big enough that sometimes I need a minute to remember names and faces. Strangely enough, the people I remember best are the ones who rarely attend. Something in their face burns into my memory; I can see how much they want to there, to meet someone like them… It is a feeling I know very well. So, when those rare-comers come to sit in my black plastic chairs, they get the bulk of my attention, even if the meeting is packed. When I was little, I learned a story that said, “When a shepherd of one hundred loses one, he will leave the ninety-nine to seek the sheep he has lost.” Similarly, a person can be separated from the community and to find us, they must brave the wilderness. I go to find them as I once wanted someone to find me. Leelah braved the wilderness, and that is how I met her.

While running group, I am either watching faces, or listening as I look down at a circle of shoes. Once Leelah wore sneakers, another time she had chunky heels. Her eyes were dark, nearly matching her hair which she swooshed to one side over her eyebrows. Usually I can see the sadness in someone’s eyes, even when they smile. Leelah smiled quite a lot. I could see her sadness and I saw what looked like hope each time we spoke, or as she spoke to other trans people in group. That is what I have chosen to carrying with me. It’s a gift from her. I could not anticipate the rest.

In the trans community, suicide is a common part of the conversation. In fact, suicide has become such a normalized part of the trans narrative that many people, especially youth, consider it to be a probability for them. According to a 2014 study by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, the rate of suicide attempts within the U.S. non-trans population is 4.6%, whereas the rate within trans populations is a staggering 41%. And while most trans people don’t know this exact statistic, we know that suicide and trans identity are well acquainted. And in case you are thinking that maybe this trend is crowdsourced, keep in mind that my organization serves trans kids seeking help for suicidality who are as young as ten years old. These kids have never met another trans person in their life, but once they do meet us, they start to get better. Trans people do not struggle with suicidality because we are trans. It is because we are oppressed; we are exposed to negative things in our lives that make us doubt the safety of the world around us, and doubt ourselves.

*TW*

It is not weak to want to end your life. The desire may even be understandable. At least, I understand it. I am not a spokesperson for all who have practiced self-harm or considered suicide, but I am one of those people. Sometimes I am nervous to admit it, but I am not ashamed. From recent event, one particular instance has been popping from my memory. When I was 16, I sat on a high story window ledge with concrete below. The details are mine to keep, but I will tell you that my dad came in to talk to me. He made me feel loved despite all the things I felt were “wrong” with me. He made me feel accepted, even when I felt like a freak. He left the room, I made it to the next day, and here I am now. When someone dies too soon, especially from suicide, I wonder why I made it when they didn’t. I’ve heard many people say that it is luck. The pills didn’t take. The phone rang. The sun came up. Maybe it was luck that my dad came in when he did, but one thing is certain; if I didn’t know people who make me feel like I deserve to live my life, I surely would have ended it a long time ago. I don’t consider myself dependent on others to survive in a literal sense, but I recognize that my mental and emotional wellness is linked with participating in a loving community. The need to belong is one of the most powerful forces we humans know. It drives us to seek out others for companionship, for affirmation, for recognition, and affection. I used to consider myself weak for needing other people and was fairly certain I could survive well enough without them. Being a radical trans activist who came out some years ago in a hellishly conservative Midwestern city with no visible trans community, one can come to understand the terrorizing impact of isolation very quickly. However, my battle with isolation didn’t start then. It has followed me from my early days as a gender non-conforming, disabled, just plain weird Indian kid. For many years, I thought being alone meant I was strong but I confused isolation with independence. Independence is a healthy state; being isolated is unhealthy or even dangerous. Isolation is not the action of one or even a handful of people, it is a systematic method of violence. Isolation may well have been my first enemy in life, and so it continues to be a primary objective in my work. It’s a violence that can strike anyone, and those who are shunned by society are easy targets. It has the power to rob us of our own sense of humanity and tear our souls apart. Such is the struggle of many trans people. Society tells us we do not belong. We are separated, singled out, and confined to where we cannot equality participate and many cannot meet even our most basic needs. In that rejection, we are told we are not worthy of love, or life. As a result, some of us take our own. Suicide is merely one of the many forms of violence trans people face and it is the result of trans oppression. In order to survive its impact, we as trans people need sources of strength. Without making the assumptive comparison that I know every reader here is going to make about a certain family, I grew up with a consistent source of love and, no matter how faint, the sensation of being loved. I was able to feel accepted on the most basic level which made me able to bear the rejection I find elsewhere. I can’t say I have borne it well, but I made it to adulthood. And as an adult, I was driven to fight that rejection, which turned into activism. My passion for activism gave me what I had been lacking; it wasn’t a will to survive, but a drive to make my survival mean something. That is why I am still here today.

I want to be clear; I do not struggle with self-harm and suicide because I am trans, but the oppression I experience as a trans person has impacted my life and wellness significantly. Fortunately, it is no longer an everyday battle for me to stay alive. That is a privilege. I have seen threats of death, from both inside and outside of myself. I have learned the value of life, and the benefit of love and friendship. And while life holds many obstacles, it brings many opportunities too. The longer I live, the better I am able to comprehend life as a gift, and not a burden. It is possible to light the darkness, and keep it lit. If I had jumped, I would never have learned that. I wish I had said this revelation louder, and to more people. Maybe if I had, one person would still be here. But, one person’s death is not the problem; it is a symptom of society’s attempt at trans erasure. Our community does not need to “come out” – we are already here. We have always been here. Others will try to isolate us, tear us from each other and from our own sense of self. It is up to us to fight, to stay present, and if we can, survive. If we look at the practical elements of the lives of trans people, what happened to Leelah is not hard to comprehend. In the past week, I have brought the same statement to every news interview, meeting, and microphone: Leelah’s situation is not unique. I work with people like her every day; people, mostly youth, that are cast out from their families and communities; are rejected and refused, controlled and destroyed by the wasteland that is my beautiful Midwest. And it is more than geography. It is our inability to access resources, often because the resources do not exist. Those of us on the front lines of trans activism continue to struggle to meet our people’s needs; to combat the transphobia, the racism, the poverty that tries to smother us. Yes, there are trans people on TV, but I am too busy trying to keep the trans kids on the street alive to watch it. I hate the fact that I have to explain the death of a kid as a “reality of our community.” I resent the response of shock from those who I have been begging for help all these years. Each day cisgender straight and gay systems continue to appropriate trans experiences for their own agendas; they ignore trans voices and draw resources away from our community to pad their own. They only notice us when they find it in their best interest. They do not understand that their self-oriented good intentions are contributing to trans erasure. While these outsiders are gaining a sense of freedom in “unity,” I am feeling suffocated by their sudden demands. I know the high road is not to focus on how an ally got here or how long it took, but that they’ve arrived. I truly, honestly am glad to see them. I can’t wait for more to show up. The trans community is speaking, the rest are learning to listen. But while society has been taking its time to get here, I have been scanning the landscape, wondering if those lost people ever made it. I remember every trans voice that never called back, every kid that stopped showing up, every face that has disappeared into the wilderness. I carry them with me and I will always wonder if I could have done more. I know I have the right to feel angry at late-comers, but I am striving to process that hurt into forgiveness, and then friendship. We must do the best we can, as it is all we can do. I am grateful to anyone who is willing to join the trans movement. But even the best efforts can result in failure. I am grateful for what little support I was able to give Leelah. I have few joys comparable to what comes from seeing trans people truly connect with one another; seeing them smile. I saw Leelah smile. In the end, what I had to offer was simply not enough. It is not my fault, but I feel the guilt of this loss. I try to embrace these feelings because in this sorrow is the remembrance of all those we have lost. Each time one of us dies, I see the work I have not yet done. I know I cannot control this society, but I am angry at my failures to protect my people from it. I want to be the shield for the bullet, and I would take a bullet if it meant no one else ever would.

Due to a lot of factors, I’m simply not at my best right now. After Tiff’s death, I felt very helpless, and now I find those feelings returning with the loss of Leelah. When I am feeling powerless, it helps to create something, so this week I have created as many spaces and outlets for my trans community as I can. It wasn’t until I found myself weeping in the grocery aisle, lamenting that no brand of cookie could fill the holes death has left in my community that I fully realized how raw my soul has become. Later that night, I walked a room full of trans people; one after another, people sought me out for comfort. Each time, I am struck with a mix of gratitude and desperation. I am grateful for the chance to help, and I am desperate to be able to give it. In these people, I see myself. Their struggle is mine, and I want to help us all. I am overcome by the desire to better our lives, so much that sometimes it makes me weak. When I am with my people, listening to them and offering support, I am filled with the richness of life. Where I was empty, I am full; where I was broken, I am healed. As trans community of trans people, partners, and family members (chosen and blood), we are strong and whatever strength we are lacking, we can find in each other. And while I am here in Ohio, there is someone in Pennsylvania, in Michigan, and everywhere that trans people are fighting to save each other. And I am slowly finding that we are not alone. In the last week, I have witnessed a greater outpouring of support, encouragement, and activism than I have ever experienced as a trans organizer. After so many years of working for a cause that few to none were willing to acknowledge, I am unsure of how to react to the kindness I have been receiving. It is heartbreaking to me that this surge of attention came at the cost of a kid’s life. It disturbs me that the death of one white young woman is noticed more than the death of countless young women of color. But despite all of that, I am grateful to everyone who is taking action, be it by sending an email after we haven’t spoken for years, bringing me food, making yourself visible for the sake of supporting others, writing to the media, or planning/attending an event. I am grateful to my fellow trans people, locally and around the world, who work to fight injustice. Thank you for sharing your hearts; you are filling mine in this moment of grief.

I will remember Leelah for the rest of my life. I will remember Tiff. They are not the first to be lost and they will not be the last, but I am here to fight for them and for our community. I have been building a beacon for my people to see and I am calling to anyone who might hear me. I am waving the light I so desperately sought when I came out. This light is heavy; it burns my hands and sears my eyes, but I am waving it to you with dedication and desperation. Come find me. Wait for me. I am looking for you. Don’t jump.

 

RELATED FOLLOW UP POST: Fixing Society: Leelah Alcorn, Cis Allyship, and Trans Erasure

 

If you are struggling, remember that it is a sign of strength to ask for help. Talk to the people you love. If you are in the Midwest, you can call us at Heartland Trans Wellness. You can send me an email to talk it out. OR 24/7 call Trans Lifeline at (877) 565-8860, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (800) 273-TALK, or Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386. If it is an emergency, call 911. You are not alone.

If you would like to help the efforts of Cincinnati’s trans community, you can donate to Heartland Trans Wellness Group, offer to volunteer, or share the link and encourage others. Thank you for the support.

Obama Could Do Better, But Better Him Than Me

Posted on by JAC

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.

activists vs politicians

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.

Learning How to Talk Trans

Posted on by JAC

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.

Back to School; Grudges, People, and Progress

Posted on by JAC

I’ve never been very dedicated to school. As a non-traditional learner with typical ‘atypical’ learning (dis)abilities, I was never very adept at the “learning environment” as it was presented to me. I entered grad school with two primary motivations: hope and desperation.  I was hoping to become better; to become more skilled and learn the things I hadn’t been able to teach myself. I was desperate for more; I wanted to do more to help my community. I wanted  more authority over the systems that ruled over me. I wanted more power, and power comes from getting that paper.

I really don’t like my university; And not just because it is an exemplary representation of the corporate college industrial complex; its sick sports obsession; its gross financial incompetence; or its staunch conservatism. I don’t like it because I’ve got a grudge. It was there I first put faith in my ability to change a system, and was first truly let down. I was used to being rejected by the learning process, but this was the first place I actively decided I would do something – not wanted to it or hoped to; I decided I would change it, no matter what.  Contrary to the stories I flung at administrators, I didn’t work for change out of  school spirit. My activism was aimed more at thwarting the institution’s dynamic, rather than supporting it. The institution pushed back, and hard, until I ended up spending all my time doing activism, not studying. The school was a system I was trapped inside and making resources felt like the only way out. Activism was my education, the classes were auxiliary. When I look back, I’m still amazed I graduated; only took me 6 straight years… And when I was done, I prepared my activist projects for new leaders and I got the hell out. I don’t think I thought I would ever come back, but here I am.

This winter, I attended an open house for the campus’ brand new LGBTQ Center. It was surreal for me to walk into the (exact) space that six years ago, I ignited the (long smoldering) fight to get. I came to the event feeling happy about the space being built, but still angry about my own blood in the bricks. But when I walked in the door, all I felt was nervous relief; a mix of retreating anxiety and seething frustrations. The small program started and I listened to the administrators ramble about how great their work was for this space. I wondered if they were really as delusional as they seemed. Looking them in the face, they didn’t remember me as the frustrated student activist in front of their desk. I was just another student they “helped.” I felt even more disconnected from the institution, and just as jaded about the administration. I listened to the last speaker with low expectations. There was a lot of disappointment in our joint past. Years ago, she was both a hurdle and a step in my work to get a queer center. I felt like she could never see past her desk, though perhaps not from a lack of trying. She always loved to compliment the faculty and staff, forgetting to mention the reason they were all there: the students. In my years as an organizer, it was a huge point of contention between us. I respected her for listening to my complaints; I judged her for not acting on them. When she stood in front of the room, I was shocked to see, through the folds of her papers, the names of student organizations. After all these years, she thanked the students first – in fact it was the only thing she talked about. You could tell she was a little out of her element, but her intention was clear. She was the only speaker that day who mentioned students in any context that was not a direct compliment to themselves. She made a point to show the students had done the work, and I made a point to thank her for that. In the after-program crowd, a dean walked past me. I recognized him as one of the many talking heads I had met as an undergrad; another face behind a desk, saying he wanted to help, but mostly powerless to do anything about it. As he came by me, he smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. “Good to see you again.” he said, “I glad you were hear for this.” I have to admit it. I was shocked. I smiled and shook his hand, but I doubt he knew why I was so glad to do it. I was grateful that someone cared enough to remember me. Sometimes we have to be reminded that administrators are people too. I guess I should know that, considering I was one for a short time. And if working in a college environment (as an activist and again as a professional) taught me anything, it was that administrators are not all suits behind desks; there are ones who really care about the students. Being in front of the desk showed me the red tape; being behind the desk made me feel it. An administrator can be a wrench in the gears, yes, but the machine is the real problem. “Higher Education” “Student Life” is a machine; sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. That day, it worked, in more ways than one.

All of this didn’t sell me on the institution. Call me a judgey mcjudgerface if you like, but it takes more than a couple warm fuzzies to win me over – though it is a good start. And though I wasn’t feeling any strong sense of kinship with the admins, I did sense was a bond with the students. I watched them sitting on the floor, smiling, happy to have their own space; a place where they could feel safe and be themselves. They have a LGBTQ center. It isn’t perfect, and I know I’ll soon decide it still isn’t good enough, but it is there – it exists. When I was in undergrad, that was just about all I wanted… Standing there, seeing the reality that I had only dreamed about, it reminded me of how I used to feel: that passion I felt, and the desperation; how tirelessly I worked, how much it hurt every time I was kicked down, and how much stronger I felt every time I got back up. I was filled by a humbling sense that I played a small part in something bigger. It reminded me of how important campus activism can be, how many people it can reach, and how many lives it can change. It may seem like an organizing “small fish,” but when the pond is a puddle, a small fish is pretty damn big.

A reminder: We are not alone

Posted on by JAC

I was just very pleasantly surprised by a fellow human being. This evening I was very suddenly tossed into a resources search for a local community member in need. I called the local YWCA hotline, but honestly was not expecting much. I started to describe what I was looking for and dropped the word “transgender.” The operator gave a long pause, “Can you say all that again?” I repeated my statement, a little slower this time.  She paused again and, to my amazement, she was able to give me an answer, instead of another question.

I could hear the operator flipping through pages of her referral manual. She said to herself, “I’m just not findin’ what I’m looking for. Seems like there should be something for that ’cause everybody deserves help, no matter what they’re like.”

Her language was all wrong, but her warmth and willingness to help was everything that is right about humanity. I am so grateful for the moments when we, the trans* community, are reminded that we are not alone.