Back to School; Grudges, People, and Progress

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.

Ohio to Texas, My sister is awesome

From my sister, to her school paper and student government at University of North Texas, in Denton, Texas:

“October 1, 2009
Dear Fellow Students,
I was recently accepted at UNT as a doctoral candidate in the English department. During a visit to Denton last spring, I was reassured that Denton, and UNT, were “not like the rest of Texas,” or, rather, not like the stereotype of Texas that I might conjure up: repressive, backwards, and rigid.

I was not worried, as I come from a red area in an often red state myself: Cincinnati, OH. And during my time as a master’s student at the University of Cincinnati I saw, thanks in part to the tireless efforts of my brother, Jac, vast changes for the better in University policies regarding the LGTB students and their rights. My brother, who is trans, was in fact elected Homecoming King last year.” [I actually wasn’t, I just ran as an activist statement. Hardly anyone voted for me, but I like that at least in someone’s memory I won. :) ] “…the University is supposed to be a bastion of tolerance and change, dedicated to protecting all of its students from discrimination and, in doing so, serving as a model for larger society…

…It has been brought to my attention that the University of North Texas (UNT) Student Government Association (SGA) has rejected the Homecoming Equality Bylaw, which would allow people to register for consideration as Homecoming King or Queen, regardless of gender. Further, the reasons given for this denial involve sound quite suspicious: LGTB students are not a large enough population to merit “special consideration”. Donors and alumni are uncomfortable with the passage of this basic civil liberty. Fundraising might be compromised.

Pedagogically, this is a nightmare. It says: “change is not possible after all.” It says: “questioning gender? Exploring issues of heteronormativity? Only applicable within the closed sphere of the classroom.” This is not an issue that only effects LGTB students. It effects every person who has embraced critical thinking. It effects every student who hungers for self-expression and holds back, terrified, because their individuality has been deemed “unworthy” of “special consideration” by some shadow majority. If the college years are not a time for self-exploration and individuality, when will these students again have a chance to find out who they could be?

Questioning heteronormativity is a task for every person, every day. Reversing this ruling is a chance to make a change for the better, and to demonstrate that UNT will not stand for policies that compromise the rights of any of its students. This is not a special consideration. It is a basic human right.”

This just further illustrates that even “liberal” spaces don’t always follow through on their progressive promises. They make just enough “progressive” moves to make themselves feel special, still claiming privileges whenever its convenient. Institutions are no different, they do exactly the same thing, pretending to be supporting and inclusive, then cut corners (and communities) when funding, opinion, or reputation is at stake.

Another point shown here is that you don’t have to be queer or genderqueer to get it. Inclusion is not a hard concept to understand and it is up to all of us, not just the freaks and weirdos, to stand up for each other.

I love you, and thank you for loving me.

No More Cincinnati GenderQueers

I have just found out that the radical, genderqueer activist organization I founded almost four years ago has reworded its description. What once described the group as “a radical queer group for all gender identities and sexualities, focusing on queer, trans, and genderqueer issues” now reads that it is a “queer social, support and activist group for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and allied students focusing on gender issues.” In the year and a half I have been gone, GenderBloc has gone from being a genderqueer and trans focused, queer radical organization to a LGBTQ social activist group… and just like the rest of the movement gender has moved from the forefront to an afterthought.

I cried when I read it.

Now the current focus of the group is “LGBTQ rights, inclusion, and visibility” and that it discusses “topics of gender a lot particularly in regards [to] those people who have a non-normative gender identity such as transgender or genderqueer.” Well, at least they talk about gender “a lot.” They wouldn’t want to leave “those people” out. They need our money and our blood to power our movement machine. They need us to die on the front lines because they are too pretty to do it. They need us to stir their souls into knowing that there is more here than what we’ve all been told… but they’ll never tell anyone about it.

I realize that this is an honest attempt to make GenderBloc better. I realize this makes GenderBloc more packagable. I realize that some people feel queer isn’t good enough and need to separate us into an acronym. I realize that there aren’t hoards of genderqueers around Cincinnati so people think we don’t need help. And I’ve finally realized that GenderBloc isn’t my baby anymore…

Someone once said to me, “I love GenderBloc is because its a place to belong for people who have never belonged anywhere.” It was one of the best things anyone has ever said to me, and I’ll always have that.

x-posted Amplifyyourvoice.org

Pink Hair Trumps Human Rights?

An Update on the University of Cincinnati: For over three years we’ve been jumping through administrative hoops trying to get a campus queer center with a staff person. This week we had a rally in hopes of getting some recognition. It was a good turn out, considering it was snowing, and we did get some recognition from the university community. Well, we got our picture in the paper anyway…

Photo by Jamie Royce.

And even though I look fantastically good in the photo, I still have found something to complain about. It’s not the fact that the world “staff” is written twice. Its not even how there was NO article to offer information or explanation for what we are doing.

Its all about the photo caption. The caption above the photo says “Ooh, that’s some pink hair!” Really? Of all the things to write, why comment on my hair of all things? Does it bring any information about the rally? Any legitimacy to the movement? No. It borderline pokes fun at us. Apparently there is nothing more important or interesting about the event than my hair. It should be flattering, instead its just shitty.

We are nothing to the UC community except fringe and furnishings. We are not even a section of “diversity” as has been stated by the University “Diversity” Council. We don’t need resources or attention or even recognition. Its not like we’re getting kicked out of our homes, losing friends, living in hostile dorms, dealing with uneducated professors, or being beaten up on campus. Sure, just leave the queer students to their own devices and make not-even-clever commentary on their appearance. The appearance of equality is all that matters here.

cross-posted on AmplifyYourVoice.org

GIE Policy came through!

It happened!

The University of Cincinnati has officially included Gender Identity and Expression in it’s Non-Discrimination Policy. Now anyone who’s transgender, genderqueer, gender-variant, or queer is now protected from discrimination and hate crimes!

I started working on this project two years ago. Two years of working and finally we are all safe on campus. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I read the first printed draft. There in the middle of the paragraph read: Gender Identity and Expression.

I think I’m still in shock. After two years of working, I can’t believe this has actually happened. With this new policy we will be able to enact a residence hall policy, a gender neutral bathroom policy, locker rooms, IDs and registration and so much more. The preferred name format for university registration is going to come through in the next year and the residence hall work is already underway.

I’m so glad that I was able to be here when this happened and see the project to it’s completion.


Myself with fellow activists Jane and Kim after we got the news.

cross-posted on AmplifyYourVoice.org

Teaching Intensity!

man, just taught a class for an hour and 1/2. it was a good class but I feel like I just came through a war. Teaching really takes it out of ya. I re-amped my queer oppression lecture and it came out much better than the last time I did it. It covers a wider scope of things and is more of a “think about what is ‘normal’ and why” kind of thing than just a “here’s some gay stuff” thing.

I had them laughing a lot more than my usual classes… They always laugh, I try to be funny. They laughed more this time probably because I kept talking about sex. I was in a good mood I guess. They seemed to have a good time, though I know that it was an intense amount of information. I kept their attention which is really good, especially cause there was about 200 of them.

I keep trying to get better at lecturing, and I think I am. I sometimes am a little over-the-top, I think. But at the same time, it keeps the kids’ attention. They laugh and respond to me. I usually feel a sense of shock at the end though, maybe cause I put a ton of energy into it and afterwards I’m like “whoa, what just happened!”

Intense. Intense. It’s over. All better now. Good lecture. Good time.

GenderBloc’s gonna have an intense meeting tonight too, but not as much an active learning intense as a ton of work and stress intense. It’ll be ok. Today is just an intense day.

I need a break.

Parallel Universe

There is a parallel universe I live beside. It is so close that it surrounds me, and yet I am not inside it.

I was looking through my spanish book, finding the answer to what the teacher was talking about. I wasn’t paying attention and longing for the clock hands to tick. I heard the teacher say something to one of the girls in the class. I got a nudge from the girl behind me and as i looked up i saw the teacher looking at me. “You, the new girl…” she said and continued to speak to me in spanish.

I listened, shrugging off my humiliation, ignoring how hot my face was getting. I gripped my hands to hide their sudden shaking as the insecurity and hurt set in. I will never understand why it always upsets me so much to get called out. To publicly not pass.

I reminded myself: No one else knows I’m not a girl. No one else understands that it’s wrong. To them, I’m just another female, probably one of those lesbian types. To them there is no discrepancy, no embarassment. They can’t really see me, only the distorted shell of me.

I got hit with a second shot at the end of class. The teacher said “I need the new girl to come up and give me her information.” I hate walks of shame.

When the room was empty I made an experiment. I told her “I’m not a girl, I’m a boy.” She apologized and said she wasn’t sure, but that I “had the face of a girl,” so she guessed I was a girl. She said she thought it was more likely I would be offended if I was a girl who got called a boy than if I were a boy who was called a girl. I didn’t see her logic. I explained how my name was different on the roster. She asked me why I didn’t go by the name on the roster. I’m not sure if she understood that my girl name was not a male name. I just said I prefered Jac and would rather not hassel with more than one name. She understood and started talking about cuba and her daughter. Apparently she had two names too. I think it all went over her head.

I walked out onto campus, still strange from the familiar experience. I felt as if I truely were walking along a one way mirror. My world was on my side, the rest was on the other. I told myself that someday there would be more vision, less confusion. People would see through the mirror and I would no longer be distorted. But today is not someday. Today is today.