Via Slap Upside the Head I found out today that in Alberta, Canada, trans people are losing rights that I can barely dream of. Apparently, not only do they have public health care, but they in fact (until recently) had sex reassignment surgery as public health care.
That's right. The surgeries/hormones that U.S. (trans) citizens can only get after jumping through hoops to "prove" to medical gatekeepers that our identities are really truly real, and which are then explicitly NOT covered by various insurance (with the excuses that it's "experimental" or "cosmetic") are not only provided there, but seemingly free of cost.
Or were.
It's hard to be appropriately angry because this is clearly a blow to trans people in Alberta, but at the same time I'm exceedingly jealous. The fact is, the surgeries and hormones used by trans people to have our bodies match what we think of as appropriate are a medical necessity. Don't believe me?
Ask me (or probably just about any other trans person you know) about the crippling depression that can come with not being able to have one's body look appropriate to yourself.
Should I tell you about a friend of mine who basically lived entirely in a binder, and because of it developed sores? Should I tell you about the days I could barely leave my room to go make myself breakfast (among other things), because I was too exhausted to try and pass while in my own house walking around in front of roommates? Or how about the time that I read an account of a breast cancer survivor (who got a double mastectomy because of it) and had a more-than-fleeting thought of "if I could just manage to get cancer!" Maybe I'll tell you about the number of times I've looked down and just wondered if it'd be possible to knock myself out and use a kitchen knife, and then had to remind myself that it wouldn't work and I'd quite possibly bleed to death.
Oh. I guess I just did.
So, those and many others are the reasons that we need our surgeries, our hormones, etc. And that's why knowing that I won't be able to afford mine anytime soon (the cost is in the thousands, of course, and as mentioned, not covered by health insurance) makes me even more depressed than I would be normally. And that's why it matters that Alberta, Canada is going to take this away from its trans citizens.
Showing posts with label Passing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Passing. Show all posts
Friday, April 17, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
"A Boy's Life" or "My Seething Hatred of Bigots"
So I was reading my mission statement post. Apparently I'm happy on this here blog a lot less than I previously indicated I would be.
I was gonna try to change that too, you know? I thought I'd post some awesome recipe or something that made me gleeful and happy.
And then I had the misfortune of hearing about this odious little piece of shit "news" article.
It's called "A Boy's Life" and is (surprise) about a young trans girl. She had apparently told people that she was a girl SINCE BEING ABLE TO TALK. Yet the author of this horror uses the wrong pronouns and names for the entire story. That is, up until the young girl's mother decides that she's going to quit fighting the inevitable. So, just more proof that children aren't actual people, but tiny mobile extensions of their parents.
Here's a gem from the end:
I literally couldn't read through this entire article. Maybe one day I'll have the stomach to give it the editing (for intelligence) it so clearly deserves.
I was gonna try to change that too, you know? I thought I'd post some awesome recipe or something that made me gleeful and happy.
And then I had the misfortune of hearing about this odious little piece of shit "news" article.
It's called "A Boy's Life" and is (surprise) about a young trans girl. She had apparently told people that she was a girl SINCE BEING ABLE TO TALK. Yet the author of this horror uses the wrong pronouns and names for the entire story. That is, up until the young girl's mother decides that she's going to quit fighting the inevitable. So, just more proof that children aren't actual people, but tiny mobile extensions of their parents.
Here's a gem from the end:
It’s not impossible to imagine Brandon’sHer name is Bridget, which we find out in the last damn page, and which the author obviously knew well before printing the damn article
life going in another direction. His"Her" you fucking idiot
early life fits neatly into a Zucker[rhymes with Fucker] case study about family noise. Tina describes [Bridget] as “never leaving my side” during [her] early years. The diagnosis writes itself: father, distant and threatening; mother, protector; child overidentifies with strong maternal figure.Oh yeah,that's totally what happened, since the kid was identifying as a girl since age TWO. I personally base all of my gender identity on my memories of being two, don't you? Hello, paging Dr. Fucker, Freud's a crackpot, and you are too.
If Tina had lived in Toronto, if she’d had the patience for six years of Dr. [F]ucker’s therapy, if the therapy had been free, then who knows?"Who knows" indeed!, perhaps 'poor' Bridget could be 'cured'. Especially if her mom had just had the patience. What a tragic fate to be subjected to, just because her mother didn't live in range of a psychopath with a degree. Come to think of it, how did you Ms. Hanna Rosin, manage to get a journalism degree? Did you??????
Yet [F]ucker’s approach has its own disturbing elements.Other than refusing to acknowledge a child's gender identity? Do tell!
It’s easy to imagine that his methods—steering parents toward removing pink crayons from the box, extolling a patriarchy no one believes intell that to the hundreds of survivors of sexual violence that posted in the past 49 hours on Shakesville's survivor thread, or how about the women of fucking Afghanistan, who currently have legislation making it possible for their husbands to refuse to them medical treatment, oh and gives them no legal recourse against rape. Yeah NO ONE believes in the patriarchy.
—could instill in some children a sense of shame and a double life. A 2008 study of 25 girls [trans boys] who had been seen in [F]ucker’s clinic showed positive results;What do you think of as "positive"?
22 were no longer gender-dysphoric, meaning they were comfortable living as girls. But that doesn’t mean they were happyoh, silly, I thought that "positive" and "happy" were related!
I spoke to the mother of one [F]ucker patient in her late 20s, who said her [son] was repulsed by the thought of a sex change but was still suffering—[he’d] become an alcoholic, and was cutting [him]self. “I’d be surprised if she outlived me,” [his] mother said.You heard it folks, apparently none of these young transmen are trans anymore! They just want to/are trying to kill themselves. Sounds like a peachy fucking cure.
I literally couldn't read through this entire article. Maybe one day I'll have the stomach to give it the editing (for intelligence) it so clearly deserves.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Privilege of Recognition
"Passing" is a pretty big concept in the trans (and gay, and many others) community. Seriously, it's like, kind of a big deal. Some people really want to, others don't, some think that the word has a lot of fucked up meaning (for instance: implying there is a deception going on) and other don't.
There is the privilege of passing, and there is the privilege that allows passing. Both of these are frustrating to be on the other side of.
I use the word because a) it IS a common word, and b) it's less unwieldy than some longer phrases*. Also I use "passing" to indicate being perceived as the appropriate gender, and thus use it to talk also about the way that cisgendered** people operate in the world.
If you've never been inappropriately gendered by someone (assumed to be the wrong gender) then you've had the privilege of passing your whole life. Part of the "privilege" of that situation is the fact that you can not even notice when you invoke it. One generally only notices when other people don't pass. We hardly notice when people do (that's the whole point, it's invisible!)
Equally frustrating, from a class stand point is the fact that passing itself is a function of privilege. A lot of what facilitates passing is money. Money and time. Money for new clothes, new haircuts, surgeries, hormones, voice lessons, name change forms, etc.
But all of this is tangential to what I wanted to get to. The fact is, in the trans community I interact with most, these are already understood on some level and discussed. I want to talk about something else, what I think of as the privilege of recognition.
I really enjoyed Julia Serano's book, it gave me a lot of really exciting and challenging things to think through. A whole shit-ton having to do with the way that masculinity is privileged in our society, and how masculine/male identified trans individuals are given a whole hell of a lot of privilege within the queer/trans community that is TOTALLY UNFAIR (ok, I know that's the whole "privilege" schtick!) just because we in line with our misogynistic society's standards for what is supposed to be admired. And especially how, as a feminist and a trans guy, I need to start being way more aware of the ways that my actions/community/lack of action may be exclusionary for trans women.
But Whipping Girl also gave me a couple: "you're overlooking things" moments. As I've mentioned before, I don't pass. When people look at me or talk to me, they invariably gender me as female. Part of the privilege of passing is that I, as a non-passing trans guy feel like I need to justify other people's inability to accurately assess my gender. As if it's my fault. I don't pass for a variety of reasons: a) I'm a very femme-y guy (this will be a whole post unto itself someday soon), b) I have a large chest, c) I am not taking hormones, probably a whole bunch I don't even think to think of ('cause it ain't my job to folks!). But one thing that I DO is wear entirely men's clothing.
In case you're wondering, clothing does JACK SHIT for a trans man (at least in the experience of this trans man). As Ms. Serano points out, feminism has made it possible for women to wear items that traditionally were reserved exclusively for men. So when I, as a trans guy, walk down the street, I'm just one more female bodied person wearing pants. Which is where the privilege of recognition comes in. There is not a day that goes by that I didn't wish that people who looked at me could/would ascertain what gender I was attemping to be seen as. Which is different from passing. Right now, I could give a rat's ass if people who looked at me thought I was a boy. What I long for is for them to at least recognize that I don't see myself as a girl. In fact, as a genderqueer who never wants to be unequivocably gendered male, by (one day, maybe) being gendered male, I won't be "passing". Either I, or society will have overshot the damn mark.
So I'm extraordinarily aware of a privilege that I believe often doesn't affect trans men, and often does affect trans women. It's a symptom of the fucked up misogyny in our society, and it's that trans women wearing women's clothing have a much higher percentage chance of being recognized as gendering themselves female/not gendering themselves male. Regardless of if they pass.
If they don't pass, this puts them in danger. It makes them highly visible. It's perhaps weird and fucked up that I think of this as a privilege. But this is the thing: I would RATHER be stared at and worried about my safety than constantly aware that not one person on the street even realizes that my self-identity is not female. This constant awareness has been wearing away at me as long as I can remember**. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it'd be much worse to be stared at and worried about whether I was in danger.
But... just like when trans activists ask cisgendered crowds whether they'd give up their gender for some amount of money, my roommate (a trans woman) has said she'd rather die than have everyone passing her on the street assume that she sees herself as a man.
Maybe I'm just mistaken about what "passing" means. But I don't think so. I think there is a distinct privilege in knowing that you are indicating to society what you mean to, even if society is an ass and refuses to agree with your assessment of yourself.
Since nothing I will do will be "male enough" until I actually am perceived as exclusively male, "recognition" is going to be a process that I can only approach from one side (supposed maleness). I can't sneak up on having my gender identity perceived from where I am now. That frustrates me. Maybe I'll start wearing a giant pin that just says: "I'm not a girl" or "Trans GUY".
Anyone got a giant pin making machine?
*That said, I'm hardly uniform in my use of it. So if I start using other phrases, tough ganoogies.
**Everyone is born, but someone who is cisgendered is someone who is: born, gendered at birth, raised in that gender, and throughout their life feels comfortable in that same gender. Born, raised, happy (or if not happy, at home).
Whereas someone who is transgendered is: born, gendered at birth, partially (or fully) raised in that gender, and starting at some point (or throughout) their life feels EXTREME discomfort with that erroneously assigned gender.
***There are whole months of my life (post coming-out) that I've lost; too upset at knowing that if I went out I would be not only gendered incorrectly, but not even recognized as trying to gender myself differently, and therefore stayed in my apartment, and on bad days, not even leaving my bedroom.
There is the privilege of passing, and there is the privilege that allows passing. Both of these are frustrating to be on the other side of.
I use the word because a) it IS a common word, and b) it's less unwieldy than some longer phrases*. Also I use "passing" to indicate being perceived as the appropriate gender, and thus use it to talk also about the way that cisgendered** people operate in the world.
If you've never been inappropriately gendered by someone (assumed to be the wrong gender) then you've had the privilege of passing your whole life. Part of the "privilege" of that situation is the fact that you can not even notice when you invoke it. One generally only notices when other people don't pass. We hardly notice when people do (that's the whole point, it's invisible!)
Equally frustrating, from a class stand point is the fact that passing itself is a function of privilege. A lot of what facilitates passing is money. Money and time. Money for new clothes, new haircuts, surgeries, hormones, voice lessons, name change forms, etc.
But all of this is tangential to what I wanted to get to. The fact is, in the trans community I interact with most, these are already understood on some level and discussed. I want to talk about something else, what I think of as the privilege of recognition.
I really enjoyed Julia Serano's book, it gave me a lot of really exciting and challenging things to think through. A whole shit-ton having to do with the way that masculinity is privileged in our society, and how masculine/male identified trans individuals are given a whole hell of a lot of privilege within the queer/trans community that is TOTALLY UNFAIR (ok, I know that's the whole "privilege" schtick!) just because we in line with our misogynistic society's standards for what is supposed to be admired. And especially how, as a feminist and a trans guy, I need to start being way more aware of the ways that my actions/community/lack of action may be exclusionary for trans women.
But Whipping Girl also gave me a couple: "you're overlooking things" moments. As I've mentioned before, I don't pass. When people look at me or talk to me, they invariably gender me as female. Part of the privilege of passing is that I, as a non-passing trans guy feel like I need to justify other people's inability to accurately assess my gender. As if it's my fault. I don't pass for a variety of reasons: a) I'm a very femme-y guy (this will be a whole post unto itself someday soon), b) I have a large chest, c) I am not taking hormones, probably a whole bunch I don't even think to think of ('cause it ain't my job to folks!). But one thing that I DO is wear entirely men's clothing.
In case you're wondering, clothing does JACK SHIT for a trans man (at least in the experience of this trans man). As Ms. Serano points out, feminism has made it possible for women to wear items that traditionally were reserved exclusively for men. So when I, as a trans guy, walk down the street, I'm just one more female bodied person wearing pants. Which is where the privilege of recognition comes in. There is not a day that goes by that I didn't wish that people who looked at me could/would ascertain what gender I was attemping to be seen as. Which is different from passing. Right now, I could give a rat's ass if people who looked at me thought I was a boy. What I long for is for them to at least recognize that I don't see myself as a girl. In fact, as a genderqueer who never wants to be unequivocably gendered male, by (one day, maybe) being gendered male, I won't be "passing". Either I, or society will have overshot the damn mark.
So I'm extraordinarily aware of a privilege that I believe often doesn't affect trans men, and often does affect trans women. It's a symptom of the fucked up misogyny in our society, and it's that trans women wearing women's clothing have a much higher percentage chance of being recognized as gendering themselves female/not gendering themselves male. Regardless of if they pass.
If they don't pass, this puts them in danger. It makes them highly visible. It's perhaps weird and fucked up that I think of this as a privilege. But this is the thing: I would RATHER be stared at and worried about my safety than constantly aware that not one person on the street even realizes that my self-identity is not female. This constant awareness has been wearing away at me as long as I can remember**. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it'd be much worse to be stared at and worried about whether I was in danger.
But... just like when trans activists ask cisgendered crowds whether they'd give up their gender for some amount of money, my roommate (a trans woman) has said she'd rather die than have everyone passing her on the street assume that she sees herself as a man.
Maybe I'm just mistaken about what "passing" means. But I don't think so. I think there is a distinct privilege in knowing that you are indicating to society what you mean to, even if society is an ass and refuses to agree with your assessment of yourself.
Since nothing I will do will be "male enough" until I actually am perceived as exclusively male, "recognition" is going to be a process that I can only approach from one side (supposed maleness). I can't sneak up on having my gender identity perceived from where I am now. That frustrates me. Maybe I'll start wearing a giant pin that just says: "I'm not a girl" or "Trans GUY".
Anyone got a giant pin making machine?
*That said, I'm hardly uniform in my use of it. So if I start using other phrases, tough ganoogies.
**Everyone is born, but someone who is cisgendered is someone who is: born, gendered at birth, raised in that gender, and throughout their life feels comfortable in that same gender. Born, raised, happy (or if not happy, at home).
Whereas someone who is transgendered is: born, gendered at birth, partially (or fully) raised in that gender, and starting at some point (or throughout) their life feels EXTREME discomfort with that erroneously assigned gender.
***There are whole months of my life (post coming-out) that I've lost; too upset at knowing that if I went out I would be not only gendered incorrectly, but not even recognized as trying to gender myself differently, and therefore stayed in my apartment, and on bad days, not even leaving my bedroom.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Passing Online, Passing in Person
I have to get a shameful secret out of the way. I know this might come as a shock. Perhaps even a surprise, but....
I am a feminist.
Have you had a chance to pick your jaw up off the floor? Ok good. Now that my non-revelation is done with, I can commence with the actual post.
One of the frustrating facts of my life is that I don't pass. Not only do I not pass, I don't cause confusion for people, even for a second. Seriously. The name I go by is a male name (obscure though it apparently is), and I can't even count the number of times I've had someone say: "Oh, that's so pretty". Once a guy looked it up online, found out that it was biblical in origin, presumably saw the little tag next to it saying that it was a male name, and still later came up to me and said: "it's Hebrew, I mean biblical right? It's really pretty, maybe if I ever have another daughter I'll name her that".
It's gotten to the point that I think that if I told people my name was Bob they'd say: "oh, that's really beautiful, is it short for Roberta? (perhaps I'll name MY daughter that)"
So that means that it should be a relief to me to be able to go on the internet, where people aren't looking at my non-masculine body, or listening to my too-affable-to-be-a-guy vocal patterns, or watching my femme-y mannerisms, and have people just judge me based on my name and my (genius) commentary on (fill in the blank).
Except for when it sort of sucks. When I want to post a comment about something that a (female identified) feminist has said, that I disagree with. Because then I run into all sorts of self-imposed confusion. This happened to me twice in the past week.
One of those times, it really didn't matter. I read a lot of (internet) comics, and one that I have recently added to my daily rollcall is Planet Karen (a diary of a UK goth gal). One of the commenters on the forum complained that the artist wasn't feminist enough in her comic*. I disagreed, but didn't say anything because some of Karen's fans already did a fairly good job responding to the comment.
However, I still haven't written the comment that I so desperately want to write regarding the blog post The Porn Industry is Ready to Exploit Nadaya Suleman in part because I am concerned that my legitimacy ("cred" if you will) as a feminist will be questioned because of my name.
See, I take being an ally fairly seriously (or I like to think I do). If a person of color points out something racist to me, I file it away as useful ally information. And if my privilege of being able-bodied is something I overlook (which I'm sure I often do), and someone calls me on it, I try to keep it in mind in the future. Same with my class privilege. But the thought of being an "ally" to women seems weird (not just because I've never heard it used that way). At least right now anyway. Online I may be able to pass as a guy, but in person, I never do.** Why should I be an ally to a group that I am assumed to be of? I have shared, and will continue to share the experiences of women for quite some time. But will this be seen as a co-optation?
I hate outing myself in every comment I make on another person's wall. It feels too much like trying to post my qualifications. But the truth is, I identify as genderqueer for a reason. I don't want to have people look at me and unequivocably think I'm male any more than I like having them assume I'm female. I don't currently, nor do I ever WANT to have male privilege.
So what's a guy like me to do in situations like these? Do I make a post with my name and hope that I don't have to get into some sort of feminist pissing contest? Do I "pre-empt" any pissing contest by being all: "me trans man, hear me roar"? Do I use a fake name that accurately identifies how others see me in the world (and therefore how I'm treated in terms of gender), if not how I see myself?*** Apparently I've opted to not make any comments 'cause it's all too frustrating to even deal with. At least in this instance.
I don't know. Looking at my last blog post, apparently I don't know the answer a lot. But at least I ask interesting questions. Right?
*(oversimplification of the comment)
**My lived experiences have twice, twice! (that I know of) included male privilege. Once in a store a clerk said: "for guys like us..." when trying to sell me a knife, and once a man yelled epithets out the window of a car and neglected to yell any female derogatory slurs. Both of these moments are some of the weirdest little treasures of my life.
***for the record, my reaction to that is an overwhelming: "Ugh!"
I am a feminist.
Have you had a chance to pick your jaw up off the floor? Ok good. Now that my non-revelation is done with, I can commence with the actual post.
One of the frustrating facts of my life is that I don't pass. Not only do I not pass, I don't cause confusion for people, even for a second. Seriously. The name I go by is a male name (obscure though it apparently is), and I can't even count the number of times I've had someone say: "Oh, that's so pretty". Once a guy looked it up online, found out that it was biblical in origin, presumably saw the little tag next to it saying that it was a male name, and still later came up to me and said: "it's Hebrew, I mean biblical right? It's really pretty, maybe if I ever have another daughter I'll name her that".
It's gotten to the point that I think that if I told people my name was Bob they'd say: "oh, that's really beautiful, is it short for Roberta? (perhaps I'll name MY daughter that)"
So that means that it should be a relief to me to be able to go on the internet, where people aren't looking at my non-masculine body, or listening to my too-affable-to-be-a-guy vocal patterns, or watching my femme-y mannerisms, and have people just judge me based on my name and my (genius) commentary on (fill in the blank).
Except for when it sort of sucks. When I want to post a comment about something that a (female identified) feminist has said, that I disagree with. Because then I run into all sorts of self-imposed confusion. This happened to me twice in the past week.
One of those times, it really didn't matter. I read a lot of (internet) comics, and one that I have recently added to my daily rollcall is Planet Karen (a diary of a UK goth gal). One of the commenters on the forum complained that the artist wasn't feminist enough in her comic*. I disagreed, but didn't say anything because some of Karen's fans already did a fairly good job responding to the comment.
However, I still haven't written the comment that I so desperately want to write regarding the blog post The Porn Industry is Ready to Exploit Nadaya Suleman in part because I am concerned that my legitimacy ("cred" if you will) as a feminist will be questioned because of my name.
See, I take being an ally fairly seriously (or I like to think I do). If a person of color points out something racist to me, I file it away as useful ally information. And if my privilege of being able-bodied is something I overlook (which I'm sure I often do), and someone calls me on it, I try to keep it in mind in the future. Same with my class privilege. But the thought of being an "ally" to women seems weird (not just because I've never heard it used that way). At least right now anyway. Online I may be able to pass as a guy, but in person, I never do.** Why should I be an ally to a group that I am assumed to be of? I have shared, and will continue to share the experiences of women for quite some time. But will this be seen as a co-optation?
I hate outing myself in every comment I make on another person's wall. It feels too much like trying to post my qualifications. But the truth is, I identify as genderqueer for a reason. I don't want to have people look at me and unequivocably think I'm male any more than I like having them assume I'm female. I don't currently, nor do I ever WANT to have male privilege.
So what's a guy like me to do in situations like these? Do I make a post with my name and hope that I don't have to get into some sort of feminist pissing contest? Do I "pre-empt" any pissing contest by being all: "me trans man, hear me roar"? Do I use a fake name that accurately identifies how others see me in the world (and therefore how I'm treated in terms of gender), if not how I see myself?*** Apparently I've opted to not make any comments 'cause it's all too frustrating to even deal with. At least in this instance.
I don't know. Looking at my last blog post, apparently I don't know the answer a lot. But at least I ask interesting questions. Right?
*(oversimplification of the comment)
**My lived experiences have twice, twice! (that I know of) included male privilege. Once in a store a clerk said: "for guys like us..." when trying to sell me a knife, and once a man yelled epithets out the window of a car and neglected to yell any female derogatory slurs. Both of these moments are some of the weirdest little treasures of my life.
***for the record, my reaction to that is an overwhelming: "Ugh!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
