Tag: the bigger picture

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. 

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.

TDoR: Why This is Our Present and Why We Must Look Towards the Future

Posted on by JAC

Today is Trans Day of Remembrance; what day could be more fitting for me to wake my sleeping blog and make a firey comeback.

Earlier today, I saw a post pop up in my Facebook feed from a local organization promoting Trans Awareness Week by advertising a blog post by social worker from a local hospital which houses a trans youth clinic. The clinic itself is, after a bumpy and I’m just be up front and say it, trans-exclusionary launch, overall doing good things for the trans community and I am always glad to hear happy clinic stories from trans youth who attend my programs. I am glad the clinic exists, but it is no secret that I oppose how the clinic functions. Mired in monolithic hospital bureaucracy and archaic versions “best practice,” the well-meaning providers do their best to provide affirming care. Working in a system that requires pathologization they tell me they aim for it to be as non-pathologizing as possible. So, when a blog like this crosses my path, I find it difficult to not comment on how in a movement with a growing number of non-trans (cisgender) allies, even well-intentioned work can still easily contribute to trans oppression. It is fair to say that this specific article is no different from what we see in Huffington Post, talking about trans kids and how we should care about them (good stuff), describing trans with the strict binary myth where boys like “girl stuff” and girls like “boy stuff (yeah, that is not good stuff), and then (with clearly good intentions) aligning the trans experience with inherent dysphoria, depression and suicide (No. Unacceptable). One of the primary reasons trans people experience violence and discrimination is because we are stigmatized as being mentally ill. Mental illness is considered a curse in our society, making those of use with it to be less than. Trans people are considered less than human for many reasons, and pathologization is a big one. If we continue to promote narratives of mental illness, even in the most loving ways, it is still oppressive. You can spank a child with love, but that child has still been hit.

As I mentioned above, but feel the need to mention again: Today is Trans Day of Remembrance. This day exists because trans people, specifically trans women and gender non-conforming people of color, are murdered and exposed to violence at dehumanizing rates. Violence comes in many forms: physical, emotional, psychological, institutional, cultural… Yes, being shot, beaten, raped, molested, this is violence. Do we consider it violence when a kid can’t go home because, though he never gets hit, he doesn’t feel safe or loved? Do we consider it violence when a person struggling with depression cannot find a trans accepting counselor, and so goes without? Is it violence when a child is raised by a family who psychologically mutilates them because they think that their trans identity is a curse from the devil? Is it violence when that child grows up maladjusted, homeless, and hurting? Is it violence to have no access to employment because of discrimination, forcing a person must make a life on the street through drugs and non-consensual sex work? Is it violence when addiction takes a life after years of trying to mask the pain of societal rejection and a never ending fight for resources that don’t exist?  Is it violence when a trans person dies from a disease that could have been cured if they only could have accessed better healthcare? All of this is violence. All of it.

The trans community is powerful, with powerful leaders like Sylvia Rivera and Marsha Johnson to lead the way for us. The reason the trans community has not grown more established like the HRC and “Gay and Lesbian” groups is due to more than the discrimination we experienced in the “Gay Rights” movement. It is because as “progress” came and privilege arrived for many, trans people are still focusing on basic survival. We cannot organize a movement; gather to fight a war for ourselves if we are distracted by violence and the need to survive. In the last two years, I have told people that the reason I haven’t been blogging or touring, is because I’ve been busy building my non-profit, finishing grad school, and working to become a therapist for trans people. This is the truth, but only a small portion of it. The reason my presence has been sinking from blogging, community projects, making new programs, and visiting social scenes is because I have been struggling to make it. After nearly nine years of feeding both myself and a growing a one-person trans organization from the same tour-schedule paycheck, poverty and burn-out caught up with me. And as it did, a genetic medical issue sent me to the emergency room: my blood pressure dropped and, near death, I was rushed to surgery, but not before giving a nurse my business card for her trans niece. This was pre-Affordable Care Act and I have accrued large amounts of medical debt. I couldn’t afford to not work through my recovery period. My PTSD, inflamed by almost dying, went untreated because I could not find a therapist (or afford one) who was competent, or willing, to work with trans people. Within six months, a former member of the trans support group I run started aggressively stalking me, the continuation of what had already been a two year ordeal. I went months without reaching out for help because the only support organization for stalking, “Women Helping Women,” has a terrible reputation among trans and queer people and I could not cope with facing transphobia in the state I was in. The police, unfamiliar with trans needs, offer me a mix of supportive and scarring interactions; the courts, horrific and stale, continue to lead me through hoop after hoop, with wrong pronouns and problematic language stinging me with every step. Even if I was not trans this would be hard, but I found that being trans created more barriers than I ever expected. I was extremely fortunate to eventually find a survivor advocate who works with me even though it isn’t part of her job description because there is no one else who knows how. Over the last year, she has been working hard to try and find trans resources for me to cope with my depression, anxiety, and PTSD, but ironically, every referral she got was the same: “You have a trans client? The best resource is JAC Stringer.” I reached out to people in the community for support with minimal success, teaching me the lesson that if I want people to really pay attention to the violence I experience as a trans person, I have to be dead. And, I believe very strongly that if I were not a person with white colored skin and an education, I likely would be dead already. After all, I am 30 years old and the average life expectancy for trans person is between 23 and 30.

Beloved friends, first let me tell you that I am safe in my own home, and that I am hoping this stalking case will continue to improve. Next, I want you to know I tell you these things not to scare you or to upset you; I certainly do not tell you so that I might hear more guilt inducing pleas of “Why didn’t you tell me?” I expose myself here to show that even the trans people you may think are the strongest, are fighting to survive every day. We are all in this together and we must keep working to make all forms of trans violence a thing of the past, not a crippling reality of the present. So many times, I have said to myself, “How the hell can I support my people when I can barely support myself? How can I meet your needs when I am struggling to care for my own?” And the accompanying guilt of cutting programs, cutting work hours, delaying projects all of which I know will be felt by the trans community all because I had no choice but to take care of myself. This is why the trans community looks as it does: because when you are in the front lines, you get shot. It takes time for the medic of self-care to reach you and in the time you are healing, there is one less person fighting.

As more non-trans (cisgender) folks join the movement who are not partners, who are not parents- the non-trans people who are outside the trans community, I am happy, I am excited, and I am skeptical. It is still hard for me to believe that those who ignored us for so long can turn the page and suddenly care at all, let alone care enough to do the work. It is hard to accept the embrace of those who once told me “we don’t want you here.” It is hard to understand how people can offer to help you, but when you need them most, they still turn away as if nothing has changed. Last week, Cincinnati HRC held a press conference to celebrate that the National HRC has awarded the city a 100% score for being, I donno, good to LGBTQ people – I don’t know how their sticker system works. This was awarded because the city, thanks to the work of a specific trans woman, now includes trans health care for city employees. This is indeed a great accomplishment, but to acknowledge it Cincinnati HRC did not invite any trans organizations to the press conference, or contact any trans leaders to ask for feedback, statements, or even just to attend. I found out about the press conference via a lucky connection; told them I was coming, but a week later when I arrived at the location it was empty. I later found out that the event had been moved but no one bothered to call me. I tried to reach out to the HRC, but still I have gotten no reply, no apology. But on the bright side, Cincinnati now has a 100% HRC score. Cincinnati, which does not have an LGBTQ Center, or an LGBTQ health clinic, or an LGBTQ inclusive adult shelter, or a trans inclusive anything… Cincinnati, where our LGBTQ population is riddled with black tar heroin, Hepatitis and HIV/AIDS, survival sex work, racism, poverty, homelessness, – but we have a 100% with the HRC. And I am considered “inflexible” and even “hostile” when I hesitate to work with these people. But, I am still willing to try… Tonight, instead of standing beside my community in mourning and reflection over the countless lives lost to trans-centered violence, I accepted an invite to speak to several hundred social workers at the NASW conference. The state chapter is giving me an award, but I continue to ask myself why. How much does the NASW, or your average social worker, know about trans needs? When I seek help for trans people, I find them to know very little. When I seek help for myself, I find them to know even less. And yet, here I am, a trans person, presented with an opportunity to thank them for recognizing me, a white skinned, educated person, on behalf of the work I do to address their offensive and insulting lack of service to my people. I know I should be grateful that they are finally paying attention, at least a little bit. I should not chastise those who are late to the game because at least they showed up. I know these people are trying, but how can I forgive them? Honestly, I don’t know if I ever fully will, but I am willing to welcome those who want to help, not just because we need it, but because I want it. I want help from any good person willing to give it and I am grateful. As for the ceremony, I am using the opportunity to change minds and shake hearts to the point of bursting. The way I see it, as long as I am alive, I will be fighting – and yes, I mean to use the word FIGHT with all the aggression and power behind it. I will fight on the streets; I will fight in the schools; I will fight in faith places; I will fight at the powwow; I will fight in the hospital room; I will fight from my sickbed; I will fight until the breath has left me… Make no mistake; this is not because I am a hero. It is not because I am strong, or inspiring, or special. It is because I do not have a choice. None of us trans people do, no matter how many hurdles we may jump or how easy our life may feel, when one of us is oppressed, we are all oppressed. If one of us is murdered, a piece of us all is dead.

Earlier this year, a young woman named Tiffany Edwards was murdered just a few miles from where I grew up. She was a trans woman of color, young and aspiring to lead a creative life of self-expression. When she was murdered, I found part of my grief was selfishly oriented towards me. I felt guilty that this woman, who had contacted our organization a couple times, had so few resources. I felt that her death was proof of how little I have done, and can do, to help our people. I know this was grief talking. I try very hard to remind myself that the work of countless activists like me matters. Racism and poverty are a form of transphobia. Transphobia is a form of violence. Violence is with us every day, but it is my hope that someday it won’t be like this. It is my hope that someday, as soon as possible, trans people, specifically the young women who come after Tiffany, will have a better life. We have to work to support ourselves, and each other, as trans people. I believe that non-trans people will, and must be, a part of our movement. And in that belief, I am hopeful that they will educate themselves against the outdated narratives and exclusionary practices that they have been used to. The people who come after us will have, must have a better life. Recently, my adopted kid (now 19) started T, and while it wasn’t a perfect or oppression free scenario, it was exponentially easier and safer for him than it was for me. I told him, “This is why I do what I do. It’s for you, so you don’t have to grow up to be like me.” Every time I see him with his friends, or hear him speak about his passions and dreams, I am reminded that there is more to come. And so today, as you think about Tiffany and the countless lives lost, look towards the future. We must never forget those we have lost, we must fight for those with us today, and we must build a better future.

In solidarity.

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.

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.

Tranny Talks: Pop Culture's Ricochet Response to Trans Visibility

Tranny Talks: Pop Culture’s Ricochet Response to Trans Visibility

Posted on by JAC

You all may know me to be a little on the… aggressive side when it comes to calling media and celebrities out on transphobic ignorance. Recently, I’ve been trying to go the more relaxed route, not because I didn’t crave to throw fits about every slur, but since the gigantic influx of transphobic actions in mainstream, I was getting exhausted. But exhaustion aside, once again I’m saying “I’ve had enough.” What broke the camel’s back this time? Last week on Access Hollywood, former N’Sync star Lance Bass (who does look strikingly similar to a fish) pulled out the “T word,” the growing nomenclature for tranny, and this episode of ignorance says more about transphobia than one word can handle.

(starts at 2:20 minutes – UPDATE the video on the site may be taken down)

What’s so different about Lance Bass from Kelly Osborne or Neil Patrick Harris using the word? Nothing. It’s all the same, and though this event is very similar to Neil Patrick Harris’ usage, I find it much more insulting. In addition to the use of the word, those involved also found it necessary to mock our entire community’s plight against our oppressors. Comedian Billy Eichner, whose talent seems to be primarily based on yelling, comments on how tranny isn’t in fashion anymore, and I would give him props for that, but his statement of “really, really gay” being the replacement kinda ruined it. It is a fascinating scene really, watching three adults giggle like ten year olds who accidentally used a dirty word. And, like any ten year olds, their solution to their misbehavior was to laugh at it and blame someone else for their inability to say it. “Oops! we’ve made a mistake, those people don’t like that word, but who understands those trannies, anyway?!” Thanks, TV personalities, good save. Obviously, your public image is all that matters here, not the fact that you are a oppressive idiots with bad hair (WTF is with hair gel city you’re building over there?). Oh, and PS: Lance, I wouldn’t suggest you attempt to rock purple velvet, you’re not glam enough for it.

Now, all you Lance fans out there may be thinking, “Hey, he apologized! It’s all ok now!” And I appreciate all six of you pointing that out, but it is not all ok. The apology is good to have, but before we accept the apology we have to analyze the mistake, otherwise we can’t learn from it. I think the most interesting, and important, part of this case of transphobia is the exemplary performance of oppressors trying to deal with ignorance. When you watch the clip, listen to the language being used: trans* folks are just “they,” not the transgender community. Why? Well it is because they didn’t even KNOW what else to call us. Hi there, cookie-cutter TV personality lady, did you really just ask “What’s the new word?” It is “A Transgender Person” and Lance, I can see why you all missed the “memo,” the word has only been around for about THIRTY YEARS or in the case of the word Transsexual almost ONE HUNDRED years. But you know, it takes time to learn. it’s not like you’re a member of the “LGBT” community or anything. Oh, wait, you are. I guess you always thought that T stood for Tranny. You do “love a good o’l tranny.”

The exploding use of tranny in mainstream isn’t a coincidence. It is happening because trans* visibility is getting higher, and (consciously or not) non-trans* society is starting to panic. The use of slurs and other public forms of oppression (like political wedge issues) is society trying to deal with our communities’ push for rights and recognition. Pop culture is politics dripping down into the mainstream masses, and that is why it is so dangerous. In the big picture, I guess we should be somewhat excited about it. The growing visibility of tranny is a result of our trans* communities’ sucessful visibility; we’ve gone from being mostly invisible to the hot-topic butt of jokes, and we have been for a couple years now. So, under this idea, all this transphobia on TV could be seen as a ‘growing pain’ for the trans* communities’ arduous climb up the cliff of civil rights. If television had been prominent in the early 20th century, we can be sure that racial slurs would have been all over it. And even though direct, verbal prejudice was lower in TV and movies before and during the civil rights movement, racism itself was very prevalent and it hasn’t gone away yet. It is just lessening  over time as society lazily gets its act together. What has to happen for media to move into a less-oppressive space? First, people start to use the slurs because it is topical; “Haha!  I get the joke! I feel cool because I know who I’m oppressing!” (That is what oppressors think, right?)  Then the accountability starts. All three celebrities (Harris, Osborne, and Bass) have issued public apologies for using the word tranny, and even go as far as to advocate others not to use it. When it comes to public accountability, an education-promoting apology is about as good as it gets. But, and you know there has to be a but, these apologies don’t really make me feel better – they usually just irritate me more. Can we take a look at Lance Bass’ apology? It is full of gender essentialism and stereotypes, including the widely recognized un-PC term transvestite and the wrong body myth. Then, he talks about how it was really ok that he said tranny because he knows trans* people – yeah, rationalization and excuses for why the mistake is ok are awesome elements in any apology. He also pretends to be smart by discussing how people of color and gay people debate about using the n-word and f-word (respectively). It’s “just words,” no big deal, why can’t he use it?  Um, for starters, you’re not fucking trans*, Lance. Your gay card of doesn’t get you in. Despite his claimed “education” from GLAAD, this guy clearly has no clue about the trans* community or our struggles. Many people say I’m being too critical and I should be grateful for a well-meant apology. GLAAD was all too happy to bend over for Neil Patrick Harris’ “heartening” TWO LINE twitter apology, acting like sycophants to fame… Some queers go into activism saying “beggars can’t be choosers.” Well, I’m not begging for my rights, I’m fighting for them. I refuse to take less than what a human being deserves, and we deserve the best. And though these apologies aren’t the best, they are extremely important. Without them Billy No-Talent-Comedian would never of mentioned that tranny wasn’t ok and, despite the insulting follow up, it was acknowledged to be offensive. That is a big first step for society – the awareness that there is another voice. Of course, some celebrities  make zero attempts to be accountable, and unless we keep fighting, that is going to continue to happen for a very long time. Society isn’t going to change on its own, we have to chisel our way in through activist feedback and forced accountability.

I’ve said it once if I’ve said it a million times, that mainstream media, needs to shut the fuck up on trans* issues, but maybe I should rethink that. Maybe I should sit back and enjoy the squirming celebrity mistakes and think of society’s failures as a tool for our revolution. The downside is that while we are waiting for society to get it’s act together, how many people will be misinformed, adding to the mass of oppression and miseducation? And how many trans* folks have to be injured by these oppressions before it enough is enough? The saying goes “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.” In that, societal rights and recognition for the future’s trans* people are the omelet, today’s trans* people are the eggs. But I refuse to be broken. The future’s just going to have to learn to make civil rights tofu scrambles.

 

 

Why Almost Everyone is Queer

Posted on by JAC

More than once, and at a growing rate, people ask me about my uses of the words queer and genderqueer, raising concerns that I may be encouraging appropriation of these terms. It is a fascinating topic and I’m always glad to discuss it, but I’ll admit that it pains me a little whenever it is brought up.  Why would anyone not want to share the word queer? Now, you might be thinking “JAC, you know it is not that simple.” And yes, I know it isn’t a simple situation, but is complicated or just complex? Unexpectedly, as a response to a question someone asked me on Tumblr, I formulated a response that does a decent job at encompassing my thoughts on it, but I felt the need to expand on it more.

Queer is a word that, in the most general sense, represents a lack of normalcy and cultural recognition/legitimization – most often directly related to personal sexuality and/or gender identity and expression. When I say “almost everyone is queer”, what I mean is that despite the projected norm, the majority of people have/are non-normative behaviors, expressions, and/or identities. An easy example of this is found in the sexuality research of Kinsey and Kline (whose studies have been repeated globally with the same results). Their research showed that the average person was somewhere on the non-heterosexual (or “queer”) spectrum. Is it considered normal for two people with similar bodies to partner with one another? No. Is it more normal for two people of increasingly different bodies to recognize the legitimacy of variance? No. Gender thickens the plot because there is such an immeasurable variance within gender identities and expressions. Is it normal for someone to identify outside the binary or as something other than what they were assigned at birth? Is that more or less normal than a male assigned at birth, male identified person who really loves to shop, make crafts, and is inclined to cry? Who is less normal? Who is more queer?

Now, even though it is probable that most people are objectively queer in some, that doesn’t mean that they are subjectivelyqueer – and in when speaking about identity, subjectivity is all that matters. No one can define our identity for us. I think that people don’t own queerness either because 1) they don’t feel it applies because of their proximity to normalcy and/or 2) they don’t know it could apply because of our culture’s rigid use of labels and related negative views personal exploration/flexibility of identity. This leads us to the other half of your comment about levels of oppression in experience. You ask if someone can be queer if they haven’t experienced certain oppressions. My question is who defines what oppressive experiences are required to be “queer?” We all experience varying levels of oppression and privileges – some more of one than the other. I think the issue is not whether or not someone is allowed to claim the identity of queer based on experiences of oppression, but whether a person recognizes their own experiences of oppression and privilege based on their identities. If you are appropriating something then you are claiming something that is not yours. Unlike cultural traits/practices or community words like tranny or fag, queer has no real definitive property other than a lack of normalcy (generally applied to gender/sexuality, but not always). Difference is a spectrum that no group or person can exclusively own which means there are an infinite number of ways to be queer. Because of this, I feel that queer is a word that is rarely appropriated. There is no way to decide that someone is not the identity they claim. You can assume they are not, you can even decide they are not based on your own definitions, but that doesn’t change the other person.

I’ll be honest, I am not as saintly as I appear, always welcoming people to come under the queer umbrella. I have hang-ups about what queer “should be” too. To me, being queer is more than having a non-normative sexuality/gender identity or expression; it is also about personal politic. Queer is more than LGBT; it is radical, proactive, and socially just. If someone claims queer but I don’t think they fit the bill, I will totally be a secret Judgey McJudgerface about it but I will challenge myself to be open-minded. To that person, queer may not include personal politic and I have no right to tell them otherwise. Queer is about more than what I think it is, whether I like it or not.

Many people seem feel that if words are more widely used they lose meaning but I think, if anything, it puts more meaning into them. It’s like people are worried that if we aren’t careful, our language will spin out of control and go beyond our reach, but that fear is a little too 2nd wave for my comfort. As long as we use it, own it, educate about it, this language is ours. People will change words to mean varying things because that is what language does; it grows and changes to better fit a growing and changing community.  And yes, that means that some more words may not always be used in the exact same way that applies to you, but community isn’t just about YOU, it’s all about US. Community has an I and a U in it. (It also has an O for OMG he just made a horrible 3rd grade”letter” joke.) No, I don’t want someone to ‘steal’ my communities’ words or misuse our language; some might say I’m pretty damn picky about it. I think that when people appropriate things they should be held accountable. This isn’t about allowing language to be misused, or to become some foreign, meaningless thing. It is about helping it grow into something that is truly useful for our community.  We must be flexible: we must try to understand intentions and recognize privileges to promote the most inclusive and accessible community we can. Sometimes I want, no I need boundaries and safe spaces; somewhere I can go where I know everyone else there will be very similar to me. I want to listen and understand; I want to speak and feel understood. Closed spaces are very valuable, but they are not the only things we need. A community can not be a closed space.

I’ve been repeatedly told that I’m not queer enough, not trans enough, not genderqueer enough, femme enough, not ‘insert identity here’ enough… Someone else can’t define me; that’s my job. Their job is to listen and try to understand and in turn, I must do the same for them. Instituting hierarchies and requirements disempowers others and that is the opposite of what queer is all about. Boundary policing is one of the more significant inter-community oppressions we must overcome in order to obtain our equal rights and recognition in this world. We can not continue to separate each other out of frustrations that one may have it easier than we do. We are all scrambling for limited resources, but legitimacy is not one of them. There is enough for everyone if we are willing to fight for it. So, if someone tells me they are queer, I’ll take it; not just because I can’t prove otherwise (nor would I want to) and not just because there are not enough of us, but also because by using the word “queer” they are saying “I see the need for radical change and I want to be a part of it.” If I meet someone who thinks they might be queer, I will gladly state that queer could be for them what it has been for me; empowerment. I’m not just inclusive, I’m a fucking recruiter. I want as many queers as possible, and that is not just my Midwestern isolation talking. With so many people, even within our own “LGBTQ” community, counting us out, I want to be the one counting people in. That is why I say “most people are queer.” I believe that if you feel different and want a place to call home, if you want change and you are willing to fight for it, then you count. In this movement, if you are here, you’re queer.

Ohio Queer Youth Bullied, Beaten; Who is Fighting Back?

Posted on by JAC

October 17th, in Chillicothe, Ohio a teenage boy was jumped and brutally beaten by his classmates because of his perceived queer sexual orientation. One boy attacked the 15 year old freshman while a second filmed the incident. The video has gone viral, but since I tend to find the promotion of such things without the express consent of those involved to be exploitative and sickening you will not find it on this blog (no matter how ‘moving’ it may be to the audience looking on from the safety of the present). The story didn’t break until a few days ago, and just after it did another attack happened in the central Ohio town of Westerville. We talk about bullying a lot now days, but what do we actually do about it? Facebook blasts, Tumblr reblogs, and attention from national organizations are good for visibility but how can we touch the reality of those who are out in literal fields battling oppression and violence?

Three weeks ago: I cut through the Appalachian hills of my beautiful Ohio. On my way home from a gig, I planned a somewhat impromptu pit stop to visit a dear friend and activist colleague who lived in Chillicothe. I drove into the town, taking in the Fall air and quaint scenery through my open window. I turned the corner toward the small town “Main Street” and was immediately hit with muffled shouts from the street: “What…. pink hair! Fucking gay! …Sick!” Not five minutes later it happened again, this time from a passing truck. It’s the same every time. You feel it in your gut; the panic and fear washes over you leaving behind tough-guy thoughts and extreme hyper-vigilance… you get used to it in that weird way where you never really get used to it. Just the sight of my friend brought me some relief.  I watched her walk down the street without apology, surrounded by overall clad factory workers and towering historic buildings worn from wind and winter. She wasn’t afraid like I was. To her, Chillicothe is her her ancestral home town and her backwoods battlefield. Her fight: to make a safe place to live with her partner, to raise her children, and to foster her community. The two of us are bonded for a lot of reasons, one being that she and I often commiserate with each other about the over all conservative hellishness of where we live… But Cincinnati is one thing, Chillicothe is another.  I listen to her talk about her daughter dealing with a bully (who assaulted her and made continual threats including being calling her a lesbian and a dyke) and how the school’s administration would do nothing to help her. Sound familiar? It should because it is the same cry for help the mother of the boy beaten this past month is voicing, and that of most parents of bullied kids. This is not an isolated problem, and it is not the fault of one child, one school, or one administrator. This is a historical, systematic problem.

I was bullied growing up, but I was lucky. I was lucky that any insult I heard I got over and any fight I was thrown into I ‘won.’ I was lucky that I found a way to survive the hatred of other people as well as the hatred the built up inside myself. Still, here I am as an adult; back in school and I am afraid. I am afraid to walk down the hall by myself, afraid to talk to my classmates about my life, I am afraid to call out others (including professors) when they speak/act in ways that are harmful to me and my people. I am afraid of being physically and emotionally hurt because of something I can not change: Who I am. Imagine what that must be like for a kid; someone with no power, no voice, and no way out. Now days people are coming out younger and younger, but in this world of homophobia and transphobia we think that Glee, Lady Gaga, and Facebook are enough make things right.  And while I appreciate the visibility of national media attention and seeing local organizations posting ONE article on facebook, it isn’t enough.

Yes, I live in a conservative mire full of complacency and incompetency. It is frustrating, and a lot of times I want to give up. Even with that, I was lucky to be born in a city – no not lucky, privileged. I complain about being the “only one” in my city, and while in some ways that may be true, overall I am not alone. My friend in Chillicothe can not say the same thing: she really is the only one. Most of us will never fully understand what it is like to experience the level of isolation, fear, and frustration that rural trans* and queer folks deal with every day. For this reason, I admire and respect my friend more than most people I have met. Standing alone, she keeps fighting. It may sound sad, but to me it is a message of hope. For almost a year she has been trying to found a local LGBTQ group but she could not find a single business or church willing to host it out of fear of “being burned down.” This week she told me that finally the Chillicothe LGBTQ Peer Group is launching (see plug below). This is the example to follow. We must be in our communities fighting, working to building something real  It starts at home, and whether you live in a small town or big city, there are things you can do that influence everyone in your state. The more visibility, support, and education we have the less people will hate us, attack us, and misunderstand us. One person being attacked is too many and one person fighting back is not enough. We need to get off our computers and start talking to one another, talking to our representatives, and talking to our children about how to make the real world better. We need community groups, we need legislation (see Ohio House (155 & 208) and the Senate (127)), we need it enforced, and we need it now.

If you would like to do more to help Ohio become safer for our communities’ youth, you can sign this petition for Ohio Safe Schools but remember that an online petition is not enough. We must make phone calls, write letters, and lobby directly in the offices of those who are supposed to be our voice in government.

 

For Resources and Support:
Chillicothe LGBTQ Peer Group
1st and 3rd Thursdays of Every Month from 7 to 9pm,
Fellowship Hall of Orchard Hill United Church of Christ, 105 N. Courtland Dr.
*The Chillicothe LGBTQ Peer Group is a secular (nonreligious) peer led support group for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans*, and queer identified individuals to discuss their experiences living in the Chillicothe and surrounding areas, to share resources, and to create a greater sense of community and support for all.  For more information contact us at LGBTQ45601@gmail.com.

Day of Action: Stop Medical Oppression of Trans* Communities

Posted on by JAC

I’ll be the first to admit that I have high standards. A cupcake shop recently opened up in my city, and I finally got to stop by. I took a bite and got a wash of disappointment from the flavorless, cake-mix mound in my hands. I knew it seemed silly to be so upset over a cupcake, but if I’m going to spend $2.50 on a cupcake, it better be a fucking awesome cupcake. If I’m going to spend time, energy, and money on something, it better be worth it. Same goes with life, if someone is going to try to give something to me, I’ll only take it if it is worth taking; if I’m going to live my life, I’m going to make it worth living.

Trans* gets dressed up a lot now days, from Chaz Bono to TV characters, the public is becoming more and more interested in our community, one way or another. And as conversations about trans* identities grow, what isn’t being said is one of the most important issues we face; the fact that around the world trans* and gender variant people are considered to be mentally ill. We are told we have Gender Identity Disorders (GID), a disempowering system that promotes the continual stigmitization of mental health variance and the pathologization of difference. The result is a continual lack of access, safety, education, and inclusion on a global scale. After 30 years a growing outcry from trans* and non -trans* communities have pushed medical and social organizations to slowly, but surely, denounce GID. Last month the World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH) relaxed the Standards of Care for trans patients in an attempt to minimize pathologization and increase access; a significant change but not a solution.  In 2012, the global psychiatric community plans to maintain trans* people’s place in the list of mental health conditions through a revised version of GID called Gender Dysphoria (or Gender Incongruence -see also GD in Children) and an even more problematic version of  Transvestic Disorder. WPATH quotes these changes as “a step in the right direction” but to me, and for many others, a step in the right direction is not enough movement. At this point, we are beyond taking steps. We are ready for a jump. I know what you’re thinking – we can’t just jump in unprepared, and I agree. The truth is that we are prepared. We have been working internationally to create policies to medicalize care and provide regulation, accessibility, and safety for a new age of trans* health.

This is about more than health care; This is an issue about quality of life; about respect, justice, and humanity. It is about the fact that trans* people are not allowed to be ourselves without the consent of someone else. We recognize ‘my body, my choice’ in terms of reproductive rights, but it is not only there that the phrase is relevant.  I know that members of the medical and psychological community mean well, but just as good intentions don’t make a delicious cupcake, they also are not capable of keeping me safe or labeling me sane. I have many mental health conditions, my trans identity is not one of them. I have high standards, and I refuse to be treated less than because my identity is not considered “normal.” If society gives me something that I’m not satisfied with, I have the right to ask for my (metaphorical) money back. Today, October 22nd, is an international day of action to Stop Trans* Pathologization. If you have never talked about trans* pathologization before, start today. Tell your friends, your partner(s), your family; ask your physicians if they support accessible health care for trans* people, educate yourself and others on the need for change. This shackle on the trans* community influences us all. Stand up with us.

Stop Trans Pathologization 2011 (English) from Stop Trans Pathologization on Vimeo.