“And I Do Mean All My Life”: A Trans* Coming Out Letter

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trans*scribe illustration © rosa middleton, 2013

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“My name is Sarah Szabo, and I’m a twenty-two year old transsexual,” goes a sentence that, not five years ago, I never thought I’d ever say. Five years ago, I was a high school graduate on way to being a college freshman. Also, a boy. My name was Josh, I had a beard, and I had a secret. I was lugging around a weight that any closet-familiar queer kid likely knows a thing or two about, that kind of smirking, “if-you-only-knew” knowledge of the self, held close and very personal behind a cloudy facade. I’m a woman and I know it, I’d think to myself. I wonder if I’m ever gonna tell anybody.

For transgender people, the closet isn’t so much a place you hide in as a jail you’re stuck inside. It’s not just that you can’t have the life experiences you want—your hormones feel wrong, your body looks wrong, your clothes hang wrong, and you hate your haircut. It’s like there’s another You in you, and if you’re closeted, your biggest wish for the longest time is that they’ll simply go away. If you’re ostensibly a straight man, like I was, you feel a little like a Dr. Jekyll-type doing your very best to snuff out a persistent and annoyingly faggy Mr. Hyde.

This isn’t to belittle the experience of gays and lesbians, who historically have been subjected to just as much persecution and misunderstanding as a people could possibly be. But a distinction between the gay experience and the trans experience needs to be made clear, especially in the modern West, where many transsexuals, myself particularly, often feel marginalized, even in social contexts that are ostensibly their safe places. The LGB(t) community, if you will.

The biggest difference today between the coming-outs of homosexuals and transsexuals is that only the latter group still feels an overwhelming pressure to explain themselves. While being gay isn’t easy, the definition is—”two men or two women in love.” No such luxury for the young transgender kid, terrified out of their mind and facing questions from all sides, with barely the bravery to answer. “Is it a sex thing?” “So you’re gay, right?” This isn’t to mention the boundary-shattering obsession with genitalia. “Pre-op or post-op,” I’ve literally been asked. Never answered. How about the story of your junk first, jackass.

So it’s terrifying, coming out, needing to both reveal your most tormented secrets and at the same time justify them to a roiling ocean of your perplexed peers. Not to mention your family, who for all you know will turn heel and show you the door forever over any misstep you may make, being so crude as to flip the script on your gender at them like that. I’ve never cried so much, nor been so scared to open my mouth in front of my mother as I was when I came out. I waited til I was 18 to do it, deliberately, with a harebrained notion that if I were to somehow be completely disowned, at least I’d be a legal adult and therefore, I don’t know, magically capable of handling it.

These fears would prove unfounded. Over the last four years, my incredible parents have basically done the equivalent of bringing me the moon and stars down from the sky, through all the things they’ve done for me. They are amazing people, and I know I’m fortunate, but even they had troubles grasping what it truly meant for them and me, the first time I told them, “I’m a girl.” I knew they probably would. Also, I knew I’d have trouble saying the words.

So I wrote a letter. I wrote a letter which I let everyone in my life read for themselves, with words I’d spent weeks prior stitching out, gently field testing them with two of my best and closest friends beforehand. I based its contents off of scarce accounts of others’ experiences online, watching for what was said most often, and doing my best to synthesize a perfect version of a speech I’d only ever have one shot at.

A therapist—not mine, rather my grandmother’s, who I don’t see too often—later said that the letter I wrote was the best example of a trans-oriented coming-out letter she’d ever read, and sought my permission to share it with other therapists, and patients; a kind of template for a task that’s very hard to do. I don’t know if she ever did, but I know that she made me want to. I’m sharing this now solely with the hope that doing so might make the hardest moment of someone else’s life just the slightest bit easier.

A lot of powerful memories came up for me, revisiting this letter—the way my mom cried and embraced me when she read the name I’d take; the way my brother slowly sank to the floor as he read it, in the hall; the overwhelming acceptance my fledgling college friends gave to me, the first response I received being “Szabo, I have nothing but respect for you.” Mostly I remember how happy I was, the moment it was public, eighteen years of fear, giving way to a budding peace. My transition’s still my greatest triumph, and when I see this letter, I see the trembling kid at the journey’s start, completely unaware of what a good decision she was making, hoping like crazy that she’d be okay. This letter is now for those whose journeys are still beginning. I was stuck in the closet once—here’s what I used to break out.

With this letter, I came out to the world as a transgender person on New Year’s Eve, 2008. To this day, it’s the only New Year’s Resolution I’ve ever kept.

Next: Sarah’s Coming Out Letter

You Need Help: Harnesses For Trans* Women

Do you know how many questions we get about sex? Formspring, emails – hell, I’ve even been facebooked! More than once! But at least the last time I answered a question via facebook, I figured that the answer could spark a potentially meaningful conversation about sex. Talking about sex is something that we don’t do enough, as a society. So we’re going to start answering a few more questions about what we do in bed. Welcome to You Need Help: Sex EDition. Disclaimer: not everyone answering questions will be a medical professional. These are our opinions. These articles about sex are to promote conversation, so if you agree or disagree with what we say, please feel free to leave it in the comments. Discussion, much like sex, is a healthy part of life. And as always, You Do You. Or someone else.

We got this question a little bit differently than the way we get most of our questions (formspring or email). This question actually came in the form of a comment on You Need Help: Real Talk About Your First Strap-On. I thought the question was so interesting – I didn’t know the answer and I got curious. So what was the question that had me from hello?

As a trans* chick with not much going on “downstairs” I’m intrigued with using strapons instead of my actual bits, just not sure how best approach it. Can anyone recommend harnesses with a little extra room in the crotch that won’t break the bank?

I’m happy to report that I’ve got a few recommendations for you, and just in time for underwear week! I emailed Dr. Carol Queen, the staff sexologist at Good Vibrations (one of our favorite toy retailers). Dr. Queen has answered questions for us before: you may remember her from the Vibrator Storage round-up. She got me in contact with Coyote, one of the Good Vibrations buyers (she purchases all the toys/harnesses/lube/fun sexy stuff that Good Vibrations can then comfortably recommend to all their customers). Together they took me through three (s)excellent options.

Sasha Couture

via Spareparts

Because who can say no to a harness that sounds like a v. fancy Burlesque dancer and has a built-in garter belt? No one. No one can say no to that harness. The Sasha has two fabric panels for optional padding between skin and dildo. Because of it’s fabric ties, it also can convert from booty-shorts to high-cut panty. It’s stretchy, durable and (praise Lesbian Jesus) machine washable. Coyote says that this harness would be good if you’re interested in tucking. It also falls into the category of ULTRA-FEMME. It employs an O-ring that fits toys from 1.25 inches to 2.25 inches in diameter and comes in a wide variety of sizes, from XS to 3XL (I’ve included the sizing video here, because it has very good advice about how to think about the fit for this harness).

The Sasha goes for $152.00.

The Deuce

via Good Vibrations

Coyote specifically recommended this harness for those who still want access to their bits during sex. But before you click on the link, I want to warn you that Spareparts markets this harness to men. We know that we’re not recommending this harness to men. I was actually kinda shocked that people in the sex toy industry had made that marketing choice, as everyone I have ever talked to in the biz is pretty well aware of the difference between gender and the bits between our legs. But marketing choice aside, this harness is made for some bits no matter how you identify and will certainly not pinch you in a way you don’t like. If you’re having trouble picturing what the use of this harness might look like, there’s a handy (NSFW) video below. Again, if you’re bothered by the gendered marketing here, I’d urge you to skip to the next harness.

Though I’ve never used this particular harness, I will say that I live or die by my (very similar) Spareparts harness. It’s the best control I’ve ever had with a harness and (thank Lesbian Jesus for the second time) it’s machine washable. It’s also more on the gender neutral side of things for those of us who are not comfy in the ULTRA FEMME category. The Deuce can be yours for $136.00.

The Tomboi Brief

via Spareparts

Dr. Queen sums up her recommendation of this one perfectly in one sentence: “In an era when even girly-girls may wear boy-cut shorts, this one might also be a contender.” This straight up looks like briefs and is ultra comfy – no weird pinchy straps, all lovely undies fabric. I can (and have) fallen asleep in brief-style harnesses after fucking, that’s how comfy we’re talking. The trick though (and this also applies to the Sasha Couture) is that fabric harnesses do stretch during sex. In this case, that’s kinda what we’re looking for, but research your sizing with this one because you don’t want it to be so stretchy and comfortable that you don’t have a hell of a lot of control. And surprise! There’s a video for that! It’s very similar sizing to the Sasha.

The Tomboi Brief is the least expensive of these three at $76.00.

Please note that you can’t return any of these harnesses if you have a sizing issue. If there’s any question about the proper size for you, Good Vibrations provides live chats with personal shoppers.

Why Are All These Harnesses So Expensive?

Don’t think I ignored the last part of your question – the part about the harness not breaking the bank. But I looked high and low for you and this is just generally what harnesses cost. And believe me, sex toys, much like surgery, is a place where you don’t really want to bargain hunt. Not that you don’t want to get an inexpensive toy (example: one of my favorite vibrators only costs $25) but rather you don’t want to rule out the pricier options point blank. Sometimes cheaper toys and harnesses sacrifice quality or safety of materials for price, which is a thing you do not want when you’re dealing with genitalia. Hell, it’s a thing you do not want when you’re dealing with potentially ruining an intimate moment.

Let me tell you a story about my first harness.

I got it for free. It was supposed to be high quality leather and I was like, cool, I will take it. It came recommended as a good starter harness. After flirting a little with the attendent, the harness magically had no price when they rung it up. I am not one to look a gift queer in the mouth.

After a few months of use (and tender loving care), I was fucking with it and all of a sudden I had no control with it – it was just BAM, now the harness is too loose. It seemed like the laces no longer held together. And what was worse was the giant scratch on my back. One of the metal pieces in the rear of the harness, just at the small of my back, had popped free of the leather and gouged my skin. Moment = ruined. Bandaid hunt required. And I managed to break that harness whilst fucking despite it’s quality. Imagine how easy it will be to break one that’s cheaply made. You’ll just have to buy another one anyway, which is a massive waste of money and will do a lot more bank-breaking than shelling out only once. Better to buy one that’s comfortable, durable, easy to care for and that you’ll have for a long, long time. Invest the money now, save face (and money) later.

Have a fave harness? Please let us know in the comments. This is by no means an exhaustive catalogue of harnesses for trans* women, simply a place to start. Happy harnessing! Everyone masturbate all the time! (What, you thought I was kidding when I said I would close every You Need Help with masturbation?)

Unwritten On The Body

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trans*scribe illustration © rosa middleton, 2013

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As someone who is transfeminine as well as someone who spends most of her free time reading, writing, critiquing, and analyzing poetry, I think almost constantly about the language of the human body. In a way, we are all poems, probably more Gertrude Stein than Robert Frost; we are chock full of tropes and contradictions, prone to being read in unexpected ways, and alarmingly beautiful in our uniqueness. As with the meaning of written text, our bodies float somewhere between the author (ourselves) and the reader (those we encounter).

To paraphrase Roland Barthes, the author is oh so very dead. If they weren’t — if my intention were all that mattered — I would always be read as I intended. However, neither the meaning of a poem nor the meaning of my body are free from misinterpretation or ambiguity. This is especially due to my transition status; I started taking estrogen and androgen blockers in the Spring of 2012, and now find myself in what I had heard others describe as “the awkward androgynous stage of transfeminine transition”. I balked, at first, upon hearing that description; after all, I hold only a fairly weak binary identification. Why, I wondered, do androgynous phases of transition get associated with awkwardness and with discomfort?

I would soon find out.

I was at my favorite bar — one with pinball (seven tables, seven!, all in good condition) — with a friend, late at night, which is clearly the best time for furiously swearing at overly-sensitive tilt sensors. There was a Marine sitting at the bar who, when I asked the bartender for another round, pointed at me and chortled,”I thought that was a girl!” I glanced at my friend, and left into the night, as quick as coughing.

In this situation, I ran into a problem that befalls many trans* women and transfeminine people I know: our voices speak over our bodies, and estrogen does nothing to a voice tempered by decades of endogenous testosterone. Projected in front of my breasts, my hips, my earrings, and my newly-lasered face, my voice is deafening.

The next week, I’m walking home alone in Brooklyn, late at night, and a man swivels into my path. “Hey, babe, that’s some hair. … Wait. Are you a boy or a girl?” My eyes widen and my feet hit the pavement harder and harder and I try not to seem like I heard him, or like I’m trying to put as much distance between us as possible, but I am. I hear him say to his friend, “Was that a boy or a girl?”, and his voice is tense and hoarse. My gait suddenly feels plastic and illegible. His voice follows me, repeating, “Are you a boy or a girl?”, more urgent each time, and it’s suddenly all too much, and I collapse into my door and I run up the stairs and I find my bed and my sleep is as harried as my body.

He could not read me. This upset him. I did not speak, then.

There are times when I do speak. I’ve been making a habit of asking the pronouns of everyone I meet in a queer/trans*-friendly environment. In the process, I have flustered and bewildered a whole lot of cis people. Sometimes, people take it personally. One cis man replied to my query about his pronouns by saying, “Are you asking me that because I look feminine?”

“No,” I replied, “I’m asking you that because you’re a person”.

That is all it takes: remember that you are speaking to, seeing, hearing, and reading people/poems that are by nature inscrutable, or at least prone to misinterpretation.

This applies not just to pronouns and gender, but to bodies, and parts of bodies. I have played Adam with my own transient body, and seen my face, which has baffled society for months (and decades to come) rotate through a dizzying number of configurations. So much of transmisogynistic discourse rotates around pre/non-op transfeminine folk and trans* women’s genitals, like some recalcitrant Freudian gyre.

I have been asked, not once but so, so many times, upon saying that I am not a he but a she: “But you have a penis, though, don’t you?”

Only according to my doctor.

While I recommend never asking what’s in someone’s pants unless you’re about to get in them, I’d like to suggest a few useful guidelines for pronoun checks, so that if we can’t make the streets feel safe, we can at least make each other feel safe:

Assume Nothing

You do not know how people identify. The way people present themselves at any given moment may or may not have anything to do with their mental notions of embodiment or presentation. I frequently dress in boymode because I don’t want to deal with street harassment. This doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly using male pronouns.

Practice Makes Perfect

Whenever you meet someone new, and if you feel like you are in an environment where it would be safe to do so, ask their pronouns! Along those lines:

If You Ask Anyone, Ask Everyone

Lest you find yourself only asking those who you read as trans* — and, remember, we’re all fuzzy little confusing poems.

Show Yours First

This can help people to not feel like you’re interrogating them. I personally have had this happen — someone said “Hey, what are your pronouns?” and I’ve said “She,” and they’ve gone “Oh, okay,” and walked away, cis curiosity sated. It needs to be a two-way street.

Check In On People

Ask your friends, “Hey, are you still using ze/hir/she/he/punquin as your pronouns?” I mean, not every day? But, still, check in. Furthermore:

Respect Change

Some people are genderfluid, or for whatever reason, change their pronouns more frequently than once in a great while. That doesn’t make their identities any more or less valid. We’re all works-in-progress.

Learn How To Correct People

If you want to be subtle but firm about it, say something about the misgendered person, but using the proper pronouns, perhaps vocally emphasized. I’d only do this if you know for sure that the person you are speaking about is comfortable with everyone using their preferred pronouns. A lot of people who change their pronouns are only partially out.

Person A: “Didn’t Jamie say that she loves kittens?”
Person B: “Yes, Jamie said that THEY love kittens.”

Above All Else, Don’t Trust Yourself

Don’t trust your eyes; some books are closed.
Don’t trust your ears; some voices are muted.
Know that gender is a language, and we all speak in dialect.

About the author: Kennedy Nadler is a queer trans person living in Brooklyn. She writes poems on planks of wood, on strange paper, and on skin. She’s getting over an embarrassing hobby of watching too many rap battles on youtube, and has now moved on to the only slightly less embarrassing hobby of pinball.

Special Note: Autostraddle’s “First Person” personal essays do not necessarily reflect the ideals of Autostraddle or its editors, nor do any First Person writers intend to speak on behalf of anyone other than themselves. First Person writers are simply speaking honestly from their own hearts.

Also.Also.Also: “Flying While Butch” And Other Stories We Missed This Week

Happy Wednesday, flower children! Did you know Daylight Savings Time is coming up and thus, I will soon get more hours of sunlight in which to frolic endlessly with Eli? Let’s round up what stories we missed while I was daydreaming about warm weather this week.

Jenna Lyons Moment

Look, Jenna Lyons posing with her GF, Courtney Crangi! Totes adorbs.

Gay At Church

Tomorrow, the multimedia exhibit “Coming Out as a Person of Faith” will premiere in Portlandia. The exhibit tells the stories of  faith leaders and people of faith who support the freedom to marry, and is a travelling project of the Basic Rights Oregon Education Fund hitting up churches throughout Oregon state on its journey to a bigger faith-based discussion on the homos.

And by the way, a Mormon dude documented an entire year’s worth of reactions to his coming out. Watch ’em for yourself if you’re trying to feel awkward/hopeful at all:

A Million Here, A Million There: Fundraiser O’ The Week

Alfredo’s Fire: A gay Italian writer sets himself on fire at the Vatican, hoping to ignite a revolution of tolerance.

Schoolhouse Rock

World: don’t fuck with the kids. We’re the future.

+ In Florida, a 16-year-old is in trouble for participating in the Day of Silence at her school.

Last April, Amber Hatcher made plans to observe National Day of Silence … She asked for permission from her principal, Mrs. Shannon Fusco, nearly a month before the event […]

When Principal Fusco threatened Amber with “ramifications” if she participated, Amber appealed directly to DeSoto County School Superintendent Adrian Cline on April 10, 12 and 13. Superintendent Cline refused to meet with her but directed the principal to tell Amber that her request was “disapproved” because allowing students to observe Day of Silence was not allowed. Principal Fusco repeatedly told Amber that she could not participate and threatened that there “would be consequences” if she did, even calling her parents and suggesting that they keep her home from school.

On April 19, 2012, Lambda Legal sent a letter to Principal Fusco and Superintendant Cline outlining the legal precedent supporting Amber’s right to observe National Day of Silence and putting them on notice that interference with students’ rights could be grounds for a lawsuit.

The letter was ignored.  

+ Most importantly, though, how do we get the young’ns to respect feminism?

Silver Screen / Bright Lights in India

In India, theater and the silver screen are becoming integral pieces of a gay rights movement. For those with an affinity for the bright lights, the stage proves to be a way to find a voice. And on TV, Out In Mumbia chronicles an evolving India.

Flying While Butch

This seems relevant to your interests.

The woman signaled for me to step back inside the scanner, and then — here’s the kicker — she asked me, “Would you mind if I ask you if you are a man or a woman?…”

I was ushered into the machine, where I stood once again, making sure to shadow the drawing on the wall in front of me with my arms up, holding my breath. This time she pushed the “female” button (it’s easy to find, being pink and all), and my body lined up with it. No little squares on my chest this time. The machine now validated my very womanhood: She’s a she, and she’s got bumps where she should, and none where she shouldn’t. Whew. What a relief.

Jane Lynch Singing “Super Bass” NBD

JANE LYNCH, I NEED YOU IN MY LIFE FOR ME TO STAY.

Is There A Gay Gene? Does It Matter?

No but really: is there a gay gene and does it matter?

A Fact (Or Two) About Gay Marriage

Fact: If you don’t support gay marriage, you’re probably as boring as the fools who still haven’t come around to sushi.

Bonus Fact: The Canadian Museum for Human Rights would like your wedding photos. Don’t worry. It’s all good things.

Re: The Boy Scouts

Much like Republicanism, the Homophobe Scouts of America are going out of style. Need proof? They’re not even cool enough to get Carly Rae Jepsen or Train to perform for them at their Banjoree. I said Train. 

Also, Soledad O’Brien schooled Tony Perkins on homophobia when he came on her show to discuss the Boy Scouts of America and their “morality” bullshit, which is an automatic win…. for us.

http://youtu.be/TUJi10vMfA4

Four Studies We Didn’t Need to Believe The Facts

It’s so sad that people have to prove things we all know are true. Here’s a quick gloss-over of new facts in the world:

+ Women work harder than men. Period.

+ Your deviant sexuality will not kill or demonize your spawn or other young children you may come in contact with as a homosexual person on Earth.

+ Gay soldiers forced to hide their true feelings because of rampant homophobia and, formerly, institutionalized discrimination are more likely to be fucked up in the head.

Take It To A Higher, or Glossier, Power

This week, 100 “comrade” parents of gays and lesbians penned a letter to China’s National People’s Congress in support of gay marriage, and Kansas’ Supreme Court upheld parenting rights for a lesbian mom.

The trans* community in Sweden is asking for damages following, oh, you know, their forced sterilizations, and a Somali woman is no longer in jail for reporting a rape. In Mississippi, updates in the horrific murder of Marco McMillan reveal his death may have been part of a “romantic tryst gone awry.” At the Department of Defense, computers are still hard-wired to be anti-gay.

You should sign a petition for Landen Gambill. Remember her?

I hope the women making history in Congress are calling out the Republicans pretending they voted for VAWA just to embarrass them. And someone should give a stern talking to to Tennessee Rep. Marsha Blackburn for being a homophobe and voting against it because of LGBT inclusion. SMH.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering: the Advertising Standards Authority gives no fucks about your complaints and feelings regarding lesbian kisses in ads. (Hopefully the NFL feels the same way about players’ sexualities.) And in Russia, the bastards can’t get us down because there’s a lesbian magazine, Agens, launching in the wake of the gay propaganda law.

via khdariya on instagram

Rebel Yell: This Voice Isn’t Gendered, It’s Punk

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trans*scribe illustration © rosa middleton, 2013

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Author’s note: The following piece is about my own personal experience as a queer trans* woman trying to navigate my identity as a musician and poet in public with my gender identity. While I have chosen not to have speech therapy or any sort of other voice lessons at this time, I have nothing but respect for the trans people who do and don’t wish to privilege my choice over theirs. I can only speak from my personal experience and not for the trans* community as a whole.

I’m reading something called a “Transgender Self-Evaluation Questionnaire.” It’s available on an NYC speech therapist’s website, and claims to help me assess “how much [my] voice is affecting my life.” The questionnaire wants me to look at several experiences and rate on a scale of 1 to 5 how often I feel them: “I have trouble finding a vocal range that feels authentic to me.” “I feel my voice gets in the way of living as a woman (MtF) / man (FtM).” “I use a great deal of effort to speak.” “I find it upsetting when I’m perceived as a man (MtF) / woman (FtM) on the phone.”

While I’ve related to all these things at times, my voice isn’t something I think about constantly in everyday life. Yeah, I wish people on the phone would gender me correctly, but my voice is at least androgynous enough that I don’t think about it much when I’m talking with friends. Mostly I just love talking, and talking loud.  I always need to say something, and how my voice sounds in conversation is often less important than what I’m saying. But sometimes I need my voice for things beyond conversation. The questionnaire doesn’t ask: “How do you feel your voice fits your role as an artist?,” but for me, it’s an unavoidable question.

+++

This little voice corresponds to older cards
that say, “My name is, and I ain’t going far.”

The above is a lyric from a song, “Two Voices,” I wrote and sing in my pop punk band. It’s a song about being able to speak about certain things to some people and not others; about the difficulties of communicating with family and friends sometimes. About having one voice to use with people you trust, and having to speak in another voice to those you can’t be as comfortable around. It obviously has to do with being queer, and being a trans woman: it’s hard to speak my identity openly to everyone. The song ends snottily asking, Do you know what it feels like / speaking in two voices everyday?, and I think a lot of queer and trans people probably do.

There’s also the literal side, though: the voice I physically can sing the song in versus the voice I hear myself singing the songs in. My favorite pop punk/punk singers, the ones I wish I could be like, include Sheena Ozzella from Lemuria, Marissa Paternoster from Screaming Females, Mish Way from White Lung, and (of course) Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein. What I actually sound like is probably somewhere more between Ted Leo and Blake Schwarzenbach from Jawbreaker; both dude singers I love, but as a woman, oof.

The problem is one of expression. Gender expression vs. vocal expression: I want to get up and perform for people and have them think, ‘She’s a badass!’ but I think the reaction I more often get is, ‘Is she a she?’ (Recent comment after a set: “Wow, nice outfit. You remind me of Kevin Barnes from of Montreal. He does stuff like that.”) My vocal range is lower than most cis women’s, but not too low; there’s just something else about my singing voice that reads as male, especially when I’m yelling. Maybe if I did some other kind of music. But for whatever reason, the songs I write make me express myself full-throated and at the same time, make any femme expression I’ve been doing unstable.

Instability is a funny thing, being queer and trans: it can be a space of possibility, of new starts, and making norms look as dumb as they are in comparison. And good punk is nothing but instability, everything just about to fall apart. Instability is scary, though, when it’s my own gender identity being broken down, live, in front of other people.

+++

Audience is also a problem. I don’t have statistics, but I think it’s safe to claim that most people who go to indie/punk shows in Brooklyn are white, male-identified, cis, and hetero. Most of the people in the bands they go to see are also white, male-identified, cis, and hetero. After I play a set, some of them will come up to me and say, “Good show, man.” Can’t they tell how different I am from them? Can’t they see how I am trying to break their scene’s homogeneity?

I don’t like that my voice makes me more like them. Probably they can tell I’m queer; it seems like cis people never want to consider that anybody is trans, so maybe they don’t see that. But I want them to; I want them to see I’m a woman.

+++

Punk, in general, likes things that feel “authentic.” It’s DIY, self-empowerment, and resisting the cultures that limit us. I want authenticity; I want to sing my songs in my own voice. But what does that mean? Does that mean singing like I currently do, screaming until I lose my voice and getting misgendered for it? Does that mean trying to take vocal lessons, practice, until I can sing closer to the voice I hear in my head? Which is the more authentic voice?

Complicated questions like these are daily ones for me, as a trans woman. A lot of the time, I love being more femme and dressing up nice to go out. But some days I feel more like being a tomboy and then come the inevitable doubts about how other people will see me. I know it’s more important to express myself, but being perceived as female is also quite important to me, and negotiating those two wants can be problematic. Presentation should never be a compromise.

Part of my desire to sound more like a woman when I sing, I’m sure, comes from problematic cultural notions of “what a woman sounds like” versus “what a man sounds like.” It’s not like the women I want to emulate are stereotypically feminine pop singers — listen to the Screaming Females and tell me Marissa Paternoster doesn’t sound powerful as anyone else in music. At least some of me wants to sound more like a woman not just for myself, but for other people, so they’ll think of me as who I want them to think of me as. Self-validation is pretty punk, but is the need to be approved?

I know I don’t have to sound more femme to be a female-identified punk singer: from recent YouTube videos, Laura Jane Grace doesn’t seem to care much, and she’s obviously one of the coolest people on the planet. I’ve certainly never felt that I want to stop playing and singing punk live, no matter how much I get misgendered on stage. Yet I also feel that I need to keep trying to work for the voice I want to sing in; maybe without worrying about Self-Evaluation Questionnaires or paying someone to teach me to do it right, but just on my own, trying my best to belt en femme in the shower every morning. Maybe I’ll never be Corin Tucker, but Corin Tucker wasn’t Kristin Hersh, Kristin Hersh wasn’t Poly Styrene, Poly Styrene wasn’t Patti Smith, and so on. There are an infinite number of voices a woman can sing in and have all the power and beauty she needs. When I find mine, it probably won’t be quite like anyone else’s, and, after all my doubts and conflicts, I’m excited about that.

About the author: Audrey Zee Whitesides is a poet, musician, and queer trans woman living in Brooklyn. She divides her days buried in books and writing about intimacy, or listening to pop punk and playing in the band Little Waist. She’s originally from Kentucky, and is a proud Southerner for life.

Special Note: Autostraddle’s “First Person” personal essays do not necessarily reflect the ideals of Autostraddle or its editors, nor do any First Person writers intend to speak on behalf of anyone other than themselves. First Person writers are simply speaking honestly from their own hearts.

Dear Housemates of Our Radical Progressive Queer Co-op

feature image via shutterstock
trans*scribe illustration © rosa middleton, 2013

click here for more trans*scribe

(Watch a live performance of this on my YouTube channel.)

In general living here has been a wonderful experience, however I have a few issues I would like to address:

• I believe in our fragrance-free policy, for the sake of allergies and sensitive noses. Speaking of unwanted scents, I also believe in showers. They don’t have to be daily, especially if you’re not physically active. They don’t have to involve shampoo every time. But they should be in your schedule somewhere, preferably after dumpster diving on Tuesdays.

• You are absolutely correct that neither shaving nor keeping your legs hairy is empowering to women unless its by choice. However, after you choose to shave your legs in the shower, please also choose to get that hair out of the freaking tub.

• While it’s totally true that nobody’s sexual orientation should be enforced or coerced or made into law, we do have an enforced law in the bathroom: When you replace the toilet paper (or more accurately, if you replace the toilet paper), make sure it rolls over the top, not down below. I don’t want to go on a treasure hunt every time I take a poop.

 And please, leave a backup roll. While I fully embrace the clothing-optional atmosphere of our body-positive home, I don’t want to shimmy down the hall with my ass hanging out in an emergency dash for TP.

• Invisibility is an important topic: Invisible minorities, femme invisibility, trans man invisibility in the mainstream media… Just because the mainstream can’t see oppression doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. Similarly, just because you can’t see dirt on the stove, doesn’t mean it’s not there. Get those corners, please. Scrub under all the things on the counter. Take them off the counter and clean under them.

• It is totally unfair for the “G” and the “L” of the acronym to get their rights first and put off everyone else’s rights for later. On that note, when I ask you to dust the living room, don’t wipe down the two most visible and easy-to-reach surfaces and then call it a day. No surface is dust-free until all surfaces are dust free. Don’t be a slacktivist with the Windex.

• I get it–I’m disabled too. You’re out of spoons, I’m out of spoons… However, the kitchen is also out of spoons, and I did the dishes the last ten times. You can see my chore points clearly marked on our handy-dandy co-op whiteboard. (Which I’ll note, does not keep score for every time someone merely wiped a damp rag across the table one or two times, without even applying pressure or soap, and called that “cleaning”. My feminism will be intersectional or it will be bullshit. Likewise, that wash rag will intersect with soap or else you won’t clean a damn thing.)

By following these simple guidelines, I believe we can create a more loving, supportive, and radical living space for everyone. We might even have a few less cockroaches.

Sincerely,
Amy

Originally published on AmyDentata.com. Republished WITH PERMISSION MOTHERF*CKERS.

“You’re So… You!”

trans*scribe illustration © rosa middleton, 2013

click here for more trans*scribe

Many people will say that transitioning is a necessarily selfish process, as it often should be – when it comes to things that you have to do purely for yourself, on nobody’s terms but your own, there are few more significant and intimately personal than the decision to live as a man or a woman. But there is no way to understand my transition apart from Heather. My emerging womanhood has been so intertwined with our life together that it’s impossible to separate the two.

But what if someone helps you – or goes beyond merely helping? What if you invite them into this part of your life, knowing you’re close enough that they truly understand you, and ask them to work with you on this? What if, together, you choose to pour all of the power of your combined love and intimacy and experience and history into the mission of rebuilding your very self?

I know that if I had never met Heather, I still would have transitioned, eventually. But I don’t know how it would have happened. I’m not one of the people who always knew they were meant to be a man or a woman – I didn’t think I was meant to be anything.

Most of my life was marked by a total lack of direction or motivation. I stumbled through the days, doing what I was told and never thinking that there might be anything beyond this, any room for me to be someone, anyone. I looked at my classmates and wondered what it must like to be them, to be normal, to have that certain something that lit up their eyes and made them unique. After being accelerated past entire grades and landing at high school at the age of 12, it all started to fall apart. As the academic accomplishments that had consumed my life began to flake away, everyone else finally saw as clearly as I did that there was nobody underneath.

LET’S PLAY SPOT THE 12-YEAR-OLD

I had never been certain of how I felt about girls – having classmates who were perpetually two years older made any kind of close connection unthinkable. I would admire them, spend time with them, get along with them better than boys, but I wasn’t sure what drove my interest. It was only much later that I realized this was a common experience of trans women: not knowing whether you want to be with a woman, or just be that woman. That’s how people usually phrase it, but I think it sounds a bit too much like some Silence of the Lambs skin-stealing cliche, rather than the product of a society where being trans is taboo, heterosexuality is assumed, and every interaction of men and women is believed to contain the seeds of romance.

Entering adolescence, I started to realize I was attracted to men. Just like that, any confusion was resolved – wrongly. I didn’t yet have the vocabulary and the introspective power to look any deeper into my gender or sexuality. All I knew was that I was different somehow, and that I liked men. The most obvious answer was that I was a gay man. It was also the most lazy one. I didn’t have to think about how I felt toward women anymore, since I could just be with guys.

I didn’t have to think about it.

I spent my days browsing the internet and hanging out on IRC. Occasionally, I’d befriend some guy, and we would decide that we were now “boyfriends,” and that we loved each other – whatever that meant. They all lived across the country, making it easy to avoid ever having to meet them and make good on those promises of “love.” What was wrong with me? Why did I feel like I needed to be with someone, while choosing never to make it into anything real? What the hell kind of gay man was I? I resigned myself to being alone, giving up on having a partner until the right guy just magically appeared in front of me and I could spend the rest of my life with him.

The years went on, day after day wasted in front of a screen until the early hours of the morning. After a week of losing more blood than I thought was possible, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, and had to learn how to live with the possibility that I would bleed to death in my sleep as my organs dissolved. I couldn’t keep waiting around for life to happen to me.

I threw myself into the ocean of YouTube, forcing myself to believe that someone out there might actually care about the opinions of yet another nobody. And someone did. Now I spent my days posting videos about whatever interested me: religion, politics, LGBT rights, the sorts of fundamental questions of existence and morality that people can’t help but get worked up about. As more and more of them were drawn to my videos, a person started to take shape, beyond that obedient, unformed agglomeration of childhood orders to be followed. I finally showed up to my own life.

“You look like you’re due for a haircut,” my mom suggested. I refused, for the very first time. I combed it up and out until it framed my face in a way that was new, unfamiliar but somehow right. I borrowed lipstick from the bottom of her makeup bag, clearly unused for some time. More people watched my videos than ever, unsure of what they were seeing. I wasn’t sure, either. They started to wonder whether they should call me “he” or “she.” I told them either was fine. It didn’t seem that important to me – but secretly, I was thrilled when someone referred to me as “she.”

A hand-me-down hoodie from my younger sister. Making a trip to the drugstore to assemble my own makeup kit. Learning to use a flat iron. Finding little sets of earrings at Claire’s and, incredibly, Cracker Barrel. Piece by piece, something was coming together.

ACTUALLY, I STILL LOVE TIES

In September of 2010, my mother was married for the third time, and I found myself having to shop for the kind of formal wear that I hadn’t worn in years. I picked out something online, too shy to go to the same stores where I’d bought hoodies and jewelry. The pockets of the loose white button-up shirt hung somewhere near my navel – it was clearly not for short people. It looked ridiculous on me, even with my hair tied back. I took a picture and shared it with my fans, joking about being a “double drag queen.”

Heather was a regular in one of my favorite LGBT chatrooms, but we hadn’t spoken much until that September. Having long considered herself bisexual, she had recently come to the painful realization that men had no place in her desires. Her marriage of eight years was coming to a mutually agreed-upon end. After another user insisted that she was obligated to come out for the good of all queerkind, personal consequences be damned, I messaged her to offer my support. We haven’t stopped talking since.

At a time when we were both forced to reconsider almost everything we thought we knew about ourselves, we bonded with a breathtaking ferocity, chatting from morning to night. For the first time in our lives, we had found someone who knew what it was like to be… us. We didn’t hesitate to trust each other with analyzing and dissecting every fear, every hang-up, every need. As I helped her understand that she didn’t need to feel guilty for her desires, she let me know it was okay to be who I am, whatever that was. Having come at this from the opposite side, giving up her dresses in favor of menswear, she knew how awkward I felt in an ill-fitting shirt and tie. It was so amazing to hear her talk about me as a woman.

We had to meet in person, and once she had ordered the tickets to come to Chicago, we could hardly wait. The days crawled by as our need to see each other grew ever stronger. I clipped my long nails as short as possible, somehow denying to myself that I was expecting anything serious could happen between us. All I knew was that I needed to be close to her – very, very close. But it felt too presumptuous, too disrespectful to the greatest friendship I’d ever known, to let myself believe she might want to be with me in that way. Later, we would look back at that and laugh at how I could fail to see everything coming. She was the person I would one day fly across the country to be with.

TIME FOR BEAN JOKES

On a cold, rainy April day, she spotted me in the lobby of the Palmer House Hilton and broke into a run, crashing into me with an embrace that nearly knocked me off my feet. I’d never been squeezed so hard in my life. Hand in hand, just as promised, we wandered off into the city. “You’re so… you!” she marveled as she held me close to keep me warm in the chill wind. She told me about meeting other people she knew online, and how they were usually so different from her expectations, but I was just as feminine as she imagined. Before I went home for the night, she kissed the top of my head – a quick peck, a sweet little gesture of closeness that didn’t have to be anything.

The next day, we fell in love. At the Museum of Science and Industry, a must-see for anyone visiting Chicago, we scoured the hundreds of donor placards looking for any evidence of same-sex couples. There was only one. We fantasized about one day getting our names on the walls of museums. “Can I be your Mrs. McNamara?” I asked playfully. She just hugged me tight. On our way back to her room, we stopped at a drugstore to get some makeup for a Black Swan look. She had always wanted to do my makeup, and it was one of our favorite movies.

Before we had the chance, we ended up in bed, holding each other for hours and basking in the sheer bliss of being together at last. Somewhere in that timeless day, her lips brushed against mine. As she apologized profusely, I told her it was okay, and pulled her close. Looking into my eyes, she whispered: “Tell me not to.”

“It’s okay.”

The afternoon before she had to fly back to Florida, we stopped for smoothies at a corner shop, desperately trying to hold on to the little time we had left. Taking my hands in hers, she asked if I would be her girlfriend. I didn’t know. At the moment when she trusted me the most, when she was letting me take her battle-scarred heart in my hands, I didn’t have an answer. Her face fell. It was the worst thing I had ever seen.

There was no doubt that I wanted to be with her, and I rushed to promise her that we would always be together, no matter what. By the end of that weekend, I knew that I was ready to spend my life with her. Our commitment was never in question. I just hadn’t faced the possibility that I could be, not someone’s boyfriend, but their girlfriend. That was the part I had to think about.

HEATHER IS VERY TALL

It turned out I didn’t have to think for very long. Once I got home, my head swimming with the rawness of our new love and immediate separation, I found a message from her. She couldn’t wait to talk to me, and had ordered the in-flight WiFi so she could apologize for pushing me before I was ready. I didn’t want to waste another moment, and I told her it was okay – I would be her girlfriend. I was ready to be a woman.

My fans online were outraged when I told them about us. They thought Heather had somehow brainwashed me, that we were no better than “ex-gays,” that someone who was a gay man couldn’t possibly be in a lesbian relationship. Some of them made a website accusing us of being “pretendbians” – apparently we were just a straight couple co-opting what it meant to be gay. None of them seemed to grasp what was actually going on, and what a huge step this was for me.

My grandmother used to spend her days assembling massive, 5,000-piece puzzles on her dining room table. Every time we would come to visit, a little more of the picture would take shape: a barn, a sunset, Elvis. Maybe I saw the same methodical, patient determination in Heather. All of the pieces of my womanhood were already there, waiting. But she was the one who showed me the back of the box, the truth of what I could be. She was there at just the right moment in my life, and she was the one who pulled it all together. I finally realized why being a boyfriend had never worked for me: I wasn’t a boy.

The two years since we fell in love have been a rocket sled into Real Adult Life. Jumping head-first into the deep end of parenthood, I moved to Florida to be with her and her two young children. I tied my hair back again and used my old name as we hunted for apartments in a state where gender identity protections are just a dream. She introduced me to the family as her girlfriend, and taught her kids about “girls in boy bodies and boys in girl bodies.” Our older son knows he’s a boy in a boy body; our toddler just knows that I’m Lauren and he wants to play Minecraft with me.

At every milestone, she’s been by my side. When I wanted a bra, she found something to give form to a still-flat chest, and held me as I wept in amazement at how right it felt. When I took my hormones for the first time, she helped me through the sudden resurgence of migraines, and baked me a re-birthday cake: pink, blue and white. And when I had to learn how to be touched as a woman, she showed me how to feel what I had never felt before. Arm in arm, we stand together, looking toward the endless days ahead.

Without Heather, I still could have become a woman. But because of her, I’ve had the strength to become me.

About the author: Lauren McNamara is a queer trans woman living in Orlando with her partner Heather, their two sons, and a swarm of pet rats. She loves writing about politics, feminism and religious issues, and makes a habit of campaigning for secularism and LGBT rights. In her sparetime, she enjoys transhumanism, rationality, philosophy, and every kind of music.

Special Note: Autostraddle’s “First Person” personal essays do not necessarily reflect the ideals of Autostraddle or its editors, nor do any First Person writers intend to speak on behalf of anyone other than themselves. First Person writers are simply speaking honestly from their own hearts.

You Should Go: Raise The Roof While Raising Funds For The Transgender Law Center in Boston

This Saturday, March 2nd, spring is in the air, the moon is in Scorpio, and a bunch of charitably-minded, dance-ily-spirited, Boston-area folks will be in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, at the infamous Midway, for the Fancy Pants Dance Party & Fundraiser. You’re one of them, I bet! You’re texting your queer phone tree. You’re daydreaming about ironing your fanciest pants. You may also want to iron your money, because your cover ($7 before 10 PM; $9 after) will benefit the Transgender Law Center. Which means that instead of getting scrunched into a tip jar, your Saturday night party dollars will go to a group that:

“works to change law, policy, and attitudes so that all people can live safely, authentically, and free from discrimination regardless of their gender identity or expression”

and

“envisions a future where gender self-determination and authentic expression are seen as basic rights and matters of common human dignity.”

EVERYONE NEEDS A LITTLE TLC

Seriously, the Transgender Law Center is important. They connect transgender people and their families with legal professionals and resources, hold public workshops to educate communities about trans* issues, and win legislative victories. Many good things have happened because of them: for example, trans* people in California can now amend their birth certificates no matter where they live, and TSA managers at Los Angeles International Airport have to undergo sensitivity training. Basically, dollars that go there are heroes.

Plus, it’s at the MIDWAY. As anyone who’s ever braved Queeraoke knows, a Midway event guarantees the following:

– pickleback shots
– really close dancing
– someone holding the bathroom door shut for you and becoming your Instant Best Friend
– taking a break from all the dancing to try out your historical gaydar on the wall of black-and-white photos
– “cheap, strong drinks and cheap, strong ladies”
– memories*

THE MIDWAY {VIA BOSTON GLOBE}

But that’s just for weeknights, and this is a Saturday; fittingly, they’ve kicked it up a notch. There’ll be a raffle for toys (the sexy kind), courtesy of Good Vibrations; a photo booth, to commemorate your dazzling smile. “Motown, 90’s, Top 40, Dance, 80’s, One Hit Wonders,” and whatever else you want to hear, especially if you pre-request it on the Facebook page. And surprise guests! So come on down. JP’s not THAT far away.

*memories actually not guaranteed.

“Trapped in the Wrong Body:” Katie Couric Talks to and About Trans* People with Limited Success

On February 26th, Katie Couric’s daytime TV talk show Katie, aired “Growing Up Transgender,” a segment focusing on the experience of trans children and their parents. You can watch it on the show’s website.

image via katiecouric.com

Those of us who are trans*, or otherwise immersed in trans* issues, may feel tense as early in this article as “daytime TV,” knowing how often media fails to portray us as anything but troubling curiosities. And even grim curiosity seems like a relatively new development, the days of shocking Jerry Springer dating exposes not far behind. Portrayals of transgender children often manifest both progress and backlash, representing at once the increased awareness and acceptance needed to detect and treat gender dysphoria early, sincere efforts to understand trans as a thing experienced and expressed by human beings, the cultural obsession with youth as subjects of enchantment and intense concern, and brazen attempts to profit from all of the above.

When I was asked to write about this episode of Katie, I was ecstatic – that is, until I realized that I needed to catch a broadcast TV show in the middle of a Tuesday. I work in a hospital, and could hijack a waiting area if it wouldn’t mean being a surly Amazonian watching a potentially nauseating presentation on My People in a room full of strangers, some there on the worst day of their entire lives. After a few hours of frantic hunting, Couric’s Facebook people put me out of my misery and confirmed that they’d stream the episode later that night.

The web presentation is a slightly different experience. Each segment is broken up by a quote, twitter excerpt, or explanatory blurb. A column on the right tempts you with related stories. This is where we find our first problem: wrong body wrong body wrong sex, slapped over the layout like a flagellant’s mantra. Phrases like “born in the wrong body” upset trans people. They are first a shibboleth of the Sensational Gender Deviance Story, a phrase calculated to attract cis people who find trans* shocking, mysterious, and exotic. The problem is that we’re essentially right here with you in the room, so to speak, and not trapped behind glass like the human mermaid at a sideshow. Explaining this to cis people can be frustrating, because it’s never really happened to them. They get to be normal, and what could be more normal than innocent, excited curiosity?

The danger of these clichés is they build up the idea that we have a cookie-cutter narrative. Sure, I’ve felt “trapped in my body” before, and gosh that was horrible, but other trans people understand their feelings in very different ways. Many people who are not trans are surprised to learn of how strictly our allowable stories have been or are policed – how in many circles we must either report a narrow range of feelings that appeal to the clinician’s sexist and subjective idea of what The Transgender Story is or be denied medical care that we need to survive. Imagine you’re in the ER with a gaping chest wound, but will only get treatment if you describe the pain as “stinging” – if you say “burning” or “dull,” you’re a faker pervert and it’s out the door with you. The notion that I must feel a certain way about my childhood actually prompted me to declare it a no-go zone. I refused to really analyze it until well after I’d begun living full-time “as a woman” and no one could stop me for thinking the wrong way. It’s a sore point, and something I can’t help but be on guard for.

There’s more to talk about before I clicked the first “play” button. Giant type reveals the strange and terrifying questions asked by gender-dysphoric youth, punch-out links ask: what would you do?, and the great sage Chaz Bono is summarily credited with the phrase “gender is between the ears and not between the legs,” as though no one had thought to say such a thing until the year of our Lord two thousand and eight. There is one high point – the first paragraph does establish that clothes are not gender, and trans kids don’t simply want to wear fancy dresses or ride the big wheel. This is more than a lot of people seem to understand. Time for the actual segment, yeah?

image via katiecouric.com

The first participant, Coy, is introduced through a brief play montage remarking on her transition. The whole “playing with girl toys” thing is tough to watch. Remember that bit about having a narrative forced on you? But, for children, it’s probably hard to avoid. That’s what kids do, they play, and they do find themselves in a stratified, gendered environment from day one. With the montage finished, I find myself more at ease as Couric interviews Coy’s parents. I find myself liking them, and thinking that they treat their child with seriousness, warmth, and respect. As the four discuss Coy’s rejection by her school and the family’s pending legal action, they are unwavering in their support. Whatever I might feel about this segment, it’s clear whose side Couric feels she is on: mine.

Of course, wanting to be a good ally and realizing that quality can be very different things. Both Couric and the family attorney attempt to seriously address the feelings of parents who are uncomfortable knowing their child may share a toilet with A Transgender, with one of Them. Obviously, I think this was a mistake. It’s a pearl-clutching question: yeah, they seem nice, but would you let one pee with your sister? The facile, bigoted nature of these complaints is made clear in this CNN article about the lawsuit. Claims that discomfort is natural and sensible as Coy’s “male genitalia develop” are uncritically parroted here as if puberty blockers and HRT were not in play and the bathroom were a place where everyone throws their genitals around. Or perhaps not everyone, but we’re made to understand that a freak would.

That’s the sort of filth you only legitimize by engaging. Attack it or ignore it, don’t tell me “It’s a difficult situation for everyone.” It’s a difficult situation for a child who finds that her ordinary bodily functions are suddenly everyone’s business. I understand that overcoming your own prejudice can be difficult and uncomfortable, and I do not care. It is not my problem. It is not a child’s problem. That’s why there’s only one right answer – fuck you! Tell YOUR kid to use the staff bathroom if you’ve got a problem.

On to segment two, and our first expert, Andrew Solomon. Trans 101 starts well enough, if along gender binary lines. The question of how children can possibly know then sends us into dangerous territory: the Expert Andrew Solomon opines, well, there are children with cross gender affiliation who aren’t really trans so it’s all a bit of guesswork (verbatim, jovial.) Couric intensifies. “Didn’t Kinsey say that everyone’s a little gay?!” I see red and take a short time-out.

Solomon does impress me on one point – he advocates what to some would be unthinkable, that is, permitting children to transition in a reversible capacity and seeing what happens. It’s hard to overstate what a big deal that is. It’s a huge benefit to dysphoric kids, and it can be very conclusive for others (who might otherwise obstruct these children) to see the effect of even some relief on a person’s happiness. Solomon and Couric sour my mood with another quick back-and-forth on how confusing trans is, but key points are made – rejecting and obstructing trans people has lethal consequences. At no point is this presented to the audiences as a novelty. It’s serious and sad, just how I like my coffee and just as it should be.

I’m caught by the web copy again as I scroll towards Couric’s interview with Devon, 19. If this Palin-botherer thinks she’s the first to introduce a trans woman as a pretty girl with a HUGE SECRET, I’ve got a bridge to sell you in Alaska. Foreshadowing serves us well, and Couric can’t help but ask how many boys she’s scared off, you know, with that. The Surprise.

I need to get very real here. That is not an okay thing to ask, and that’s not an okay way to ask it. Dating men means living with a risk of brutal, unprovoked sexual violence if you don’t have a penis. Trans women have a staggeringly high risk of being murdered by an intimate male partner. Just the other day, I saw a woman trying to raise money for SRS who explained that apart from all the typically understood reasons for pursuing surgery, she fears it would make the difference between surviving a sexual assault and being tortured to death. That’s the battlefield we’re on and the sort of logic we find ourselves living with. How can you joke about something so heartbreaking and deadly?

Couric continues, doing herself few favors: does being exposed on live television scare you, or what? You had a pretty big secret until now, didn’tcha? Did taking the hormones help you transition, huh, huh, did they? You want that surgery really bad, huh? Poor Devon laughs this and other questions off and remains composed and outspoken, but should she have to?

image via katiecouric.com

Expert Number Two is up, and immediately earns my respect. Couric approaches Dr. Michelle Forcier with a predictable story about being a tomboy, and is effortlessly defeated by the power of thinking about things for one second. Did you want to be a boy? No? Q.E.D. Dr. Forcier rapidly shuts down a long list of boogeymen: what puberty blockers and hormones do and do not do, what professionals mean when they say “listen to trans children,” and more. Unlike Dr. Solomon, she completely refuses to engage Couric’s leading questions, all clearly intended to resonate with the audience’s presumed shock and confusion regarding trans identity. Her affinity is with her patients, not the uninformed, and she would never coddle them by laughing off identification of trans youth as “guesswork” – distinction between trans and gender non-conformity is laid out simply and unambiguously, as are various connections and non-connections between gender and sexuality. I like Dr. Forcier a lot.

Our third trans participant is Chris, a young boy. However shockingly inappropriate some of Couric’s questions may be, they continue to make me feel as though she’s at least trying to create an understanding that trans children are essentially legitimate and Okay. It helps that Chris and his mom maintain the cool, self-assured advocacy of the earlier guests. Chris’s mom says two very important things: “my true choice was between a live son and a dead daughter,” which is actually used well in the web copy, and “I did not know that children can transition, and that’s what I regret.”

image via katiecouric.com

Where Couric asked a trans women how many boyfriends she’d “scared off,” she approaches Chris’s dating life differently. Are you open? How do you handle disclosure? Simple, polite, and allows Chris to talk about how being trans has impacted his romantic life in the ways most meaningful to him. Maybe it’s Chris’s age, or it’s that he doesn’t have to live under the stereotype of trans woman as deceptive seductress. Maybe Couric was just trying too hard to relate to Devon as a young woman. Regardless, it’s a meaningful difference. Despite being much younger, Chris is asked questions more fitting of an adult with responsibility for their own difficult story. I was happy to see him rise to the occasion.

The final guest, Dr. Renee Richards, made history when she fought for and won the right to compete in the U.S. Open in the 1970s. Here is someone who has seen a lot, who’s survived and triumphed over more than I’ll ever have to, and is in an astonishing position to discuss everything that’s changed for transgender people over her 78 years. But when the time comes to ask, who does Couric turn to first? Dr. fucking Solomon, in the audience, all grave sympathies and posh boy pathos.

I can see the hurt on Dr. Richards’ face. Even today, we struggle to be treated as authoritative, credible sources about our own lived experience in ways that cis people take for granted. Dr. Richards would have seen the very worst of this tendency, during the most vulnerable and frightening periods of her life, and here in an instant she sees it again. When looking for a definitive answer, Couric turns to a cis man who’d already had his turn. She turns to Richards second, after Solomon has answered and a graphic overlay promotes his book, Far From the Tree. Solomon clearly cares about trans people and wants to serve our interests, but that title says it all. Having actually had to fight people I love dearly for reasons they don’t clearly understand, and having felt the loneliness and alienation of transition, I would never make light of an aphorism like that. The show concludes.

It’s hard not to feel torn, watching these kids. I began my transition nearly three years ago, at age 22, and I wasn’t spared the height, the hands, the hair, the thyroid cartilage, or the painful confusion of boyhood. As I watch this, my more visceral reactions would be identified as a man’s voice by a listener in the next room, because it’s late and I’m home and I have years of very fine muscle memory left to re-learn. Of the many good and bad lessons our world teaches us, I got the ones arbitrarily marked “boy.” Male puberty had physiological, emotional, and practical consequences that I will face for the rest of my life.

I don’t blame my family or myself for that. I experienced my differences at an early age, but like Dr. Richards, I understood enough about our society and too little about the possibilities. What I knew I kept to, and later from, myself. There was apparently one therapist who picked up on this as a thing to keep an eye on, but it simply wasn’t a consistent part of my behavior. Everyone’s different, and I have few regrets. At 24, I have a career that gives me passion and hope, brilliant friends, and someone I want to grow old with. I’m now healthy and self-assured in ways that I can’t remember ever experiencing before, and I’m grateful for that even if so many others can take it for granted.

But I am happy to see this becoming something that’s caught early. I’m blown away by how some of these kids carry themselves and exert agency over their lives. Even if you start early, you still face many of the same horrifying obstacles. We’ve all had to wage terrible war against ourselves and others, we all must live daily in hostile territory. There is tremendous value in treating trans people when and as they would like to be treated, and Couric’s segment did get a lot of very important things right. She and other media figures need to drop tired, hurtful clichés, inform without sensationalizing, and most of all, defer to us as those most able to comment with authority on our lived experience. Finally, but no less importantly, it would have been smart to include the voice of even a single nonwhite person. The burden of gender dysphoria and living in a transphobic society is felt most by those already facing other forms of oppression.

I’ve had strong words for this segment, and hope that they will be read as intended: as a way to convey the discomfort I feel viewing it as the subject matter, so that Couric and others may listen and make good on what seems like a genuine desire to help.

Olivia is a scientist, lab manager, and huge dork cooling her heels and finishing transition in San Francisco before starting med school this summer. She lives with her girlfriend of six years, three housemates, and a tiny tortoise.

Queering the F*ck Out of Musical Theater: The Personal Is Political Is Art

Sometimes being an actor in New York can be a very frustrating experience. I wake up at 5 am, drag myself to open calls filled with a bunch of obnoxious people, freak out for six hours waiting to be seen, sing for 30 seconds and then go to work trying not to feel too worthless. If you happen to be wondering what, exactly, it’s like to live the open call, non-union life of a queer girl with stars in her eyes, I just happen to have a vlog about that.

After almost 6 years trying to get on Broadway by going to open calls, I realized there had to be a better way for me to utilize my skills and fuel my soul. Really, it is all about connections. I met Maggie Keenan-Bolger through an article that Autostraddle did about her show Queering History. I emailed her and she told me I could help out by selling tickets for the show, after which we grabbed a beer together. This landed me an audition for the show I’m currently doing with her, which you may have heard about, called The Birds and The Bees: Unabridged.

CAST PHOTO

This show is a devised theatre piece on female sexuality, but it’s not limited to the female viewpoint — we opened up the casting process to anybody besides cisgender men, a.k.a. anybody left out of the mainstream discourse about sexuality, which has historically been defined by cisgender men. What’s devised theatre? It means that our cast was formed through an audition process to get enthusiastic and diverse people to discuss their experiences with sex and sexuality in order to form a previously-unwritten show. Originally, we started with about 20 women and gathered information through the surveys (which some of you might have taken; THANK YOU!!!). After collecting input from our cast and the surveys, we realized that we were missing some crucial viewpoints, and were able to add several cast members including two disabled women and a trans* man.

We reached out to a number of organizations but were unable to find a trans* woman who was interested and able to commit the time — unfortunately, the traditional theatre world hasn’t been friendly to trans folks so the casting pool is pretty limited. Over time we hope to take part in changing that, and visibility for our project on websites like this one, with its diverse readership, are part of that initiative. We are hoping to eventually tour a version of the play to colleges and will continue to work to find someone (or someones) who is excited about being a part of the project and is able to provide a perspective on sexuality from the trans* female viewpoint.

However we do have trans* female representation in our accompanying visual art exhibit, so if you’re a trans* woman visual artist reading this, we’d love to see more submissions to alleviate somewhat the lack of representation in the performance piece. It is absolutely our goal in further incarnations of the performance piece to be sure that the trans* woman voice is included as well, so please contact us if you’re interested in participating! Historically trans* women are often left out of conversations about female sexuality and we know our project will be at its best when we have those voices included.

Growing up gay is a unique experience in that my interactions with sex and sexuality are very different from those of many of my cast-mates who grew up identifying as straight. There wasn’t a rulebook or very many examples of lesbian relationships, so I was forced to do a lot of research and communicate with my peers and partners on a regular basis. The perceived gender gap (Men are from mars…blah, blah, blah) was not typically an issue in my relationships and so I believed that it was possible to openly communicate with my sexual partners. Within our cast, it’s fascinating to discuss our experiences because it makes me realize just how differently-situated my knowledge on sex and sexuality is. I was interested to find out how the other lesbian as well as the trans man in the cast were feeling about their experiences and their additions to this groundbreaking show. So, I talked to Cole and Holly about their feelings on theatre and Birds and the Bees.

Cole

Where are you from and where did you receive your training for your theatre profession?
I’m from Rockaway, NJ, but I also lived in the south (Virginia and North Carolina) for a long time.  I have a B.A. in Theatre and Dance from James Madison University and an M.A. in Theatre History and Criticism from CUNY, Brooklyn College.

Is theatre/acting your primary job? If not, what else do you do?
Well, I currently temp at the Kaplan Bar Review, and I am also an adjunct lecturer of public speaking at CUNY, BMCC.

Do you think your experience as a queer/trans person has influenced your interaction with theatre?
Oh, hugely. Inescapably. It’s all I do, actually, is talk/write/create about my subjectivity as a transman and how it is the lens through which I see the world. The stage is a perspective on the world, a lens in itself, so my stage is a trans/queer stage, even if I write or act straight characters. My body is queer as is my body of work. I write theory about transmasculine spectatorship and embodied practice. As a playwright, I am hyper-focused on transmen characters. The plays are never ever about their transitions or about explaining their identities to anybody. They’re just people who are trans and they do stuff that is not about being trans. Which is surprisingly revolutionary, believe it or not. As a script reader for two companies, I’m sad to say I read piles of transphobic or trans-uninformed junk. If only I could balance it out by generating tons of original plays that don’t suck! I’ve only got a few, and I’m in the beginnings of a new one.

How do you think your experiences in theatre vary from straight or cisgender identified people? 
Oh wow… want to read my 50 page thesis on this? Well, basically, I believe that my subjectivity as a trans person does create a barrier between myself and the normative-studio-training expectations of the body. Dysphoria is a real thing. I have a theory about disappearing body parts, and I’ve been working on developing trans actor training that is based on an idea of fragmented resistance as opposed to “wholeness.” I can’t think of any technique that doesn’t require a sense of a unified bodily calm to even start, and why don’t ya just Google gender dysphoria? I don’t believe that having a dysphoric body should mean trans people can’t be actors. Besides, there are trans actors. Cast us, please. Stop casting cis people as trans people. ‘Preesh.

What have been your experiences with Birds and the Bees, what do you bring to the table and what are you excited about?
I get to experience a ton of anxiety! But that happens with me and actor training. I also get to experience a lot of fun, and I love watching characters and scenes materialize before my eyes. As a playwright who writes in a more or less traditional sense of storytelling structure, I am not used to the idea of a group-devised piece.

As for what I bring to the table, I bring a beard. It’s a very different experience of femaleness than the rest of the cast, and one that is always ignored because I pass as male. While others either ignore it or forget it, I have to remember every time I have to use a stall in the men’s room or on any number of other daily moment’s when my body and I are aware of each other. I may be the only cast member who is female but does not identify as one.

Cole getting born during rehearsal

Can you talk about a moment or exercise in rehearsal that stuck out to you (humorous moment, moment of discovery, etc)?
I think my favorite moment so far was a group-devised scene that acted out an entire “morning after,” in which an unfortunate toilet situation resulted in a girl leaving a bag of poop behind in the apartment of her fling, ensuring the status of the date as a one-night-stand, never to be heard from again.

Holly

What drew you to this project?
There is very limited information being given to people, especially young women, about female sexuality. I wanted to learn from the people involved in this project and help others become more aware and accepting of different points of view. With so many recent attacks on women’s rights, now is when a project like this is especially necessary. I wish I could have had a group of people like this to learn from when I was growing up.

Where are you from and where did you receive your training for your theatre profession?
I was born in Seoul and grew up in Mansfield, Ohio. I have a BFA in Acting from Long Island University, CW Post. Epic Theatre Ensemble, Roundabout Theatre Company and the New York Public Library’s Theatre on Film and Tape Archive taught me what I know for my career in theatre administration.

Is theatre/acting your primary job? If not what else do you do?
Yes, theatre is my primary job. I’m currently the Production Supervisor at the Theatre on Film and Tape Archive. We tape many Broadway and Off-Broadway productions to be included in the Lincoln Center archive.

How do you think your experience as a queer person has influenced your interaction with theatre?
I grew up watching, listening to and acting in theatre. As a child, I became a huge musical theatre nerd – I used to listen to my cassette of The Phantom of the Opera during recess. My career is in theatre and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Despite my love for this community, I wish queer women were better represented, both on the creative end and in what ends up on stage. I recently saw February House and Fun Home at The Public, both of which feature queer female characters. Had I seen theatre like this when I was growing up, discovering my own sexuality, and coming out would have been much easier. Theatre taught me that it was fine to be different; I wish it had shown me it was fine to be a queer woman, as well.

How do you think your experiences in theatre vary from hetero people? 
Queer women spend a lot of time seeing and telling other people’s stories in theatre. Creating a complex, developed character always defaults to the character being straight (or more recently, a gay man). For the most part, you will only see other queer women on stage if they are token, stereotypical and minor characters (Legally Blonde, Hairspray). Seeing yourself constantly tokenized gets rough, but projects like this help change the norm.

What have been your experiences with birds and the bees, what do you bring to the table and what are you excited about?
I’ve loved working on this project. The devising aspect scares the control freak in me that just wants a script, but that’s probably a good thing. The people we are working with bring tremendous intelligence, humor and empathy to the table. As a queer person of color I think I have a unique perspective on how each of these factors affect my experience with sexuality. I can’t wait to see how the show turns out. We’ve had great support from those that know about the project. I’m anxious to continue the conversations we’ve been having with people that see the show. I also look forward to seeing the art installation that is a part of this project.

Do you have any funny, awkward or poignant stories of your experiences as a queer person in theatre?
In an acting class my freshman year of college, I was working on a scene from Stop Kiss, a play about two women falling in love and a brutal physical attack after their first kiss. Our Teaching Assistant was coaching us in front of the class, only half of which knew that I was gay. It was already a bit awkward for me as the material was hitting a little too close to home. At some point the TA said, “you have to imagine what that would be like, since none of you know what it’s like to have feelings for someone of the same sex.” I was mortified and tried not to look at any of my friends that knew in the silence that followed. I came out to everyone in my class soon after that.

Leslie tells Karina about her new breasts.

Our Kickstarter campaign ends on February 16th. There are all sorts of cool things that you can get by donating. For only $1 you can get the best piece of sex advice e-mailed to you, for $10 you can get a list of the top 10 books and movies about sexuality and for $25 you can get a mixed tape from the cast of boot-knocking music. Other awesome incentives include naming a character in the show, a mystery box and a VIP invitation to the show where you will have the opportunity to dine with cast and crew. Your name will also be entered in a raffle where you will have the opportunity to win a product or event from one of our sponsors. If those aren’t enough reason to help us out, consider that your donation will help us to make the world a better place by facilitating open and honest discussion about female sexuality.

The Birds and The Bees: Unabridged will have performances the last week of March (27th-30th) and you can buy tickets at our website.

Come see us, like us on facebook, visit our tumblr and help us fund our show.

Call For Submissions: Trans*Scribe

We haven’t trotted out a theme issue in quite some time now, but times they are a-changing! A month ago, when Annika let us know that she’d be taking an indefinite internet vacation, we simultaneously thought compassionately, “that’s a good healthy thing to do, but we’ll miss her” and freaked out that we were losing our only regular trans* writer. These two situations — wanting to create a new theme issue and wanting to attract more trans* women writers to the site — combined to inspire us to open submissions for our next “theme issue,” trans*scribe. (Previous theme issues have included Art Attack, Here/Queer, The Way We Were/The Herstory Issue, On Camp and Schooled.) We hope this will help open up the site to a wider variety of stories on trans* issues and introduce us to new writers who could write for us regularly on a broader range of topics.

graphic by rosa middleton

So here’s what we’re looking for: writing from queer-identified trans* women — personal essays, features, lists, interviews, advice, anything! The only condition in which we’ll accept work from a cis woman is if it’s an interview of a trans* woman or a collaborative piece in which trans* women’s voices are included. Now, here are examples of the kind of stuff we’re looking for!

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Examples from Autostraddle:

* Disowned: When Coming Out Doesn’t Go As Planned, by Annika (September 2012)

* Anna Anthropy: Queering Video Games One Pixel At A Time, by Whitney (August 2012)

* Transgender Housing Network – The Autostraddle Interview, by Annika (June 2012)

* Sarah McBride: The Autostraddle Interview, by Carmen (May 2012)

* 19 Terribly Interesting Tips on Raising a Trans Kid (From a Trans Kid), by Morgan (April 2012)

* On Display: Navigating the Male Gaze As A Lesbian Trans Woman, by Annika (September 2011)

* Annika & Sebastian Answer Your Trans* Questions: Part One, by Annika & Sebastian (June 2011)

* I’m Just Your Typical Urban Hipster Femme Twentysomething Trans Lesbian, by Annika (April 2011)

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Examples from other websites of the types of stories we’d like to read:

* Sexual & Gender Diversity in Physics, by Savannah Garmon for Leftygirl (December 2012)

* Trans Feminism: There’s No Conundrum About It, by Julia Serano for Ms. (April 2012)

* Trans* Women of Color and Remembering Your Dead, by Erica for inchoaterica (November 2012)

* Just Another Woman at Michfest, by Alice Kalafarski for Pretty Queer (September 2011)

* How The New York Times Dehumanizes Trans Women, by Janet Mock at Janetmock.com (July 2012)

* Dear Housemates Of Our Radical Progressive Queer Co-Op, by Amy Denata for AmyDenata.com (June 2012)

* The Radical History of Transgenderism, by Natalie Reed for Free Thought Blog (November 2012)

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To submit:

* E-mail your pitch or completed post, along with a letter of introduction, to laneia [at] autostraddle [dot] com (cc riese [at] autostraddle dot com) by March 1st.

* If you’re emailing a pitch (rather than a completed post) or if you’re also interested in becoming a regular writer for Autostraddle, then please also submit a resume and provide links to three samples of your writing online and/or or a link to your blog or tumblr. If your experience is in print, submit attachments. If you’re submitting a completed post, those things are appreciated but not required.

* Due to the volume of submissions we usually receive, you will only receive a response if we’re interested in publishing your piece or would like to see additional edits.

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Special note on money:

As you’re likely aware, we’re unable to pay our contributors and team members with anything besides love, but we also recognize that this inability often makes it difficult to acquire writing from many trans* women who cannot afford to write without compensation. For this reason we have re-allocated some money from our fundraiser for this project and are offering $50 per accepted post. We can negotiate higher payments for extensively-published established professional writers or for any articles by anybody which require extensive time or research.  As we do for all of our team members, we will reimburse any pre-approved incurred article-related expenses.

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Special note on the comments in this post:

Comments on this Call For Submissions post will be heavily moderated. (Unlike other websites, our moderation policy is extremely liberal and we rarely delete anything at all, ever.) Basically, we want to make this post as shareable as possible, and want the focus to remain on the call for submissions, not passive-aggressive attacks or conversations in the comments. Opening up the floodgates to haters and ensuing controversy over whether or not said person is actually a hater, another endless debate about what Autostraddle is or isn’t or a lively WHAT ABOUT TEH MENZ? discussion will prevent other websites and blogs from feeling comfortable sharing this post and getting the word out. It will also impact our sanity and ability to do the important work of reading your submissions! Are we confident that this is the absolute best way to handle this? Nope. But we’ve never tried this before, so we’re trying it now, and we’ll see how it goes. Anything off-topic, derailing or combative will be deleted, and suggestions about how to run our website or accusations of bad faith can be directed to email.

Laneia (laneia [at] autostraddle dot com) and Riese (riese [at] autostraddle dot com) will be checking our email vigilantly all day and will respond immediately to any questions we get about this call for submissions. If you ask us something that we think the group could benefit from, we’ll add it to this post!

ETA: Our writers and contributing editors are also volunteers who work for free, so just to clarify — the $50/post is for this project only. If you wanna join the team after that and write regularly, that’s generally an unpaid situation, although we do offer some fantastic perks and try to throw money your way whenever we can. It’s hard out here for an independently-owned queer publication who finds pop-up ads inhumane, but as soon as our fortunes improve, so will the fortunes of the people who work here!

Ten Things I Wish I’d Known When I Started My Transition

Exactly two years ago, I sat apprehensively in the reception area of the public health clinic in San Francisco’s Castro neighborhood, waiting for my name to be called. If all went according to plan, I would leave that evening with my first prescriptions for estradiol and spironolactone- Day 1 on hormones. I had just come from work, and since only a handful of my colleagues knew about my transition, I was still presenting as a boy (albeit an androgynous one wearing gold eye shadow). I remember looking around the room at the other trans girls sitting nearby. I couldn’t wait to be just like them- to have people see me as my true gender and to finally start feeling comfortable in my body.

It was hard to believe that I had been closeted only two months earlier, and yet here I was, about to embrace the part of myself that I had been ashamed of for nearly all of my life. I was ready. Since coming out, I had pored through several radical gender books, watched transition videos on YouTube, and researched the hormones I was about to take. I knew what to expect in the weeks and months ahead.

Day 1 on hormones

Two years and 4,860 pills later, I now realize how little I actually understood back then. There were so many aspects of transitioning and being treated like a woman in society that I was totally unprepared for. And today, as I prepare to take an indefinite break from my public trans*-related online presence (more on that later), I’d like to share ten lessons that I wish I had known in February 2011.

[Note: this advice is based on my own personal experience as a queer, femme, white, upper-middle class trans girl with “passing privilege”- some of it might not be applicable to you.]

1. Brace yourself for beauty culture
This is especially true for my fellow femme girls, and there’s a reason it’s #1 on my list. Before I started presenting as female, I had no idea just how toxic beauty culture is in this country. Women are constantly inundated with airbrushed images and messages aiming to tear down our self-esteem and make us feel inadequate. Fashion magazines and the beauty industry make billions every year by exploiting these insecurities with the promise that if we only try harder to be prettier, we too can be happy.

As a trans girl, beauty culture can be especially difficult to navigate because most of us have haven’t been exposed to it very long. Our cis partners and friends have been dealing with it since middle school (if not earlier) and many have had years to develop effective coping strategies. So us DMAB ladies have to make up for lost time, and on top of that, cissexist standards of beauty add another way for us to feel insecure.

It helps to maintain a sense of perspective. Many trans girls, myself included, have a habit of romanticizing the cisgender experience. A month or two into my transition, I told my girlfriend that I couldn’t wait until I could look in the mirror and see a pretty girl staring back at me. “You realize that’s never going to happen, right?” was her response. “You’re going to look at your reflection and feel unsatisfied- just like every other woman.” And it’s true: even the most gorgeous of my friends can list a dozen things she’d change about her appearance. So the next time you’re feeling unattractive, don’t blame yourself; blame capitalism and a beauty culture designed to make you feel that way.

2. Say goodbye to male privilege
If, like me, you presented as a normative guy before transitioning, you probably didn’t realize just how many privileges you were about to give up. I took so many little things for granted, like being able to walk outside or go to a bar without random men feeling the need to comment on my appearance. Sexual harassment is such a routine thing now that I can’t even remember what life was like without it.

You’ll probably also notice that people take you less seriously at work because of your gender and presentation. You’ll have to be twice as assertive as you were before in order to get people to pay attention to your contributions, and you’ll possibly be labeled a “bitch” for doing so.

3. People will surprise you
Coming out as trans* is a great way to find out who your true friends are, and it’s not always the people you’d first suspect. In my experience if someone is a fundamentally good person, they will almost always be accepting despite any religious or political misinformation about trans* people they may have learned. It’s a lot harder to otherize being trans* when you know someone personally who is. So try to give people the benefit of the doubt when coming out to them – you’ll probably be pleasantly surprised.

4. Prepare for (micro)aggressions
I grew up in a mostly white, conservative suburb where my family was considered “middle class” because we didn’t have a house on the water or a yacht. In other words, I lived in such a privileged bubble that I had never even heard of microaggressions until I started experiencing them after coming out. If, like me, you were presenting as a heternormative white boy before transitioning, these can seem a little jarring at first – but it’s something that nearly everyone but straight white cis men have to deal with on a regular basis. So what are microaggressions exactly? In my case, it’s every time a well-intentioned friend posts an article about a trans* person on my wall or remarks on my physical changes since the last time they saw me, or every time someone asks if my girlfriend and I are sisters (even if we’re holding hands.) It’s the little interactions that happen every day that remind you that you are “different” in some way.

(Unfortunately, many trans* people, especially trans women of color, face more than just microaggressions– they are often subjected to discrimination, violence and institutional hostility. I realize that I am incredibly privileged and in no way am I trying to diminish the struggles of others, but microaggressions are still unpleasant and something that I was not prepared for.)

“Oh, are you two sisters?”

5. Go to therapy
Seriously, you should go to therapy. I don’t think it should be required to “prove” your gender before starting hormones, but it’s something that I’d recommend for every person going through transition. It’s an incredibly emotional time full of triumphs and setbacks and too many feelings to process all by yourself – so take care of your mental health by discussing them with a therapist. I didn’t start seeing one until more than 7 months into my transition, and in hindsight I think that waiting as long as I did was a mistake.

6. Pursue other interests
Transitioning is such a monumental undertaking that it’s easy to let it consume all of the other aspects of your life if you’re not careful. That’s why it’s important to maintain other hobbies and interests during this time. Make time to read books that have nothing to do with gender, listen to music, learn a new language, go for a walk, you name it – the important thing is to take a break from thinking about being trans*, even for an hour or two. You’ll start to drive yourself crazy after a while if you don’t.

7. Take a deep breath and be patient
Hormones are incredible, but they take time to work their magic. You’re not going to notice results overnight. I remember when I first started HRT, I couldn’t wait for the weeks and months to go by. I looked forward to each new dose because it meant that I was one step closer to feeling comfortable in my own body. I fantasized about ways to fast-forward the next couple of years so that I could finally start enjoying life as my true self. But in constantly looking to the future, I often neglected all the amazing and wonderful things happening around me. I found it hard to simply be in the moment.

My girlfriend and I have recently started practicing mindfulness meditation, and it’s been a really useful tool to help me stay present. I’d recommend it to anyone looking to slow time down and experience life in the moment. A little anticipation can be a good thing, but our life will pass us by if we’re only focused on what lies ahead.

8. Save money
Transitioning is really expensive. Currently only a handful of insurance companies offer trans*-inclusive healthcare benefits, which means that many people have to pay for medications, lab tests, and doctor’s visits out-of-pocket. Laser hair removal and electrolysis are also quite pricey, and are never covered by insurance because they are considered “cosmetic” procedures. Changing your legal name and gender in California will set you back at least another $500. And buying an entirely new wardrobe isn’t cheap either. Bottom line: start saving now. Your future self will thank you for it.

9. Don’t expect transitioning to solve all of your problems
When I was still closeted, I often blamed every unpleasant experience or emotion on the fact that I had to pretend to be a boy. “One day,” I would tell myself, “I’ll be able to finally be myself and I’ll be pretty and carefree and never have to deal with this again.” And it’s true that transitioning has made a lot of things better. I connect on a much deeper level with my girlfriend and other people. I’m a kinder and more empathetic person. Little things like painting my nails and getting to express myself through fashion make my days more colorful and enjoyable. I’m so much happier now that I’m no longer hiding who I really am.

But transitioning is not a panacea – it won’t solve all of your problems. If you were prone to anxiety before coming out, you’ll probably still have to deal with it afterwards. I still sometimes get in stupid arguments with my girlfriend for no good reason, just like I did two years ago. I’m still addicted to caffeine and I sometimes forget to turn the lights off when I leave my apartment in the morning. And at some point in my transition, I came to terms with the fact that living as my true gender wouldn’t magically fix everything. And it felt really good to let go of that impossible expectation.

10. You do you
Most trans* people spent years pretending to be someone we weren’t in order to please others – whether it was our parents, our friends, our classmates, or society in general. And most of us made ourselves miserable because of it. With each passing day, it gets harder for me to remember what it was like to interact with a world that perceived me as a boy, but I’ll never forget how exhausting it felt to be cast as the wrong character in a seemingly never-ending play.

Before coming out as trans*, I never allowed myself to fully relax. I constantly policed my gender presentation and mannerisms to make sure that I wouldn’t raise suspicion. I was terrified that someone would learn the truth about my gender. But one thing that transitioning has taught me is that life is too short to worry about what others think of you. There are more than 7 billion people on this planet, and some of them are inevitably going to disapprove of you and your life choices. For me, the decision is simple. I’d rather face the possibility of rejection then spend another minute in the closet.

Most people don’t ever get the chance to spontaneously and completely reinvent themselves: trans* people do. Take advantage of this opportunity by being the most authentic you that you can be, and don’t worry about trying to conform to society’s expectations of how someone like you is “supposed to” look or act. If you’re a trans girl that enjoys rugby and hates dresses, don’t let anyone try to deny the validity of your gender. If you’re a trans guy who loves sparkles and makeup, own it. And if you’re trans* but don’t feel comfortable in either binary category of male or female, resist the pressure to pick one. Be proud of who you are and don’t be afraid to show it- you deserve to live an authentic life.

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So there you have it – ten things that I wish I’d learned before embarking on the incredible adventure of the past two years. There are many others that didn’t make the list, such as realizing that girls can sometimes be just as gross as guys (I thought the transition would mean an end to unpleasant public bathrooms, but I was wrong). I’m undoubtedly still learning – I don’t claim to have everything figured out at this point. But my two-year anniversary on hormones seems like the perfect time to begin the next chapter of my life – a chapter that focuses less on my gender and the fact that I was DMAB.

And so it give me all the feelings to write that this will be my final piece for Autostraddle, and that I will taking an indefinite break from my online trans*-related social media presence. I remember feeling sad when Sebastian made a similar announcement last year, but now I’m beginning to understand why he made that decision. I first became aware of my true gender when I was five, and the dysphoria of having to pretend to be a boy hung over me for next 18 years. I don’t think a day ever went by when I didn’t dream about how much better life would be if I could just be myself. And ever since I tearfully came out to my girlfriend on the night before her first law school final, I’ve been immersed in queer gender theory and radical trans* activism and writing about these things online- and it’s been such an incredible experience in so many ways!

I’ve had old friends from high school reach out to me to say that sharing my articles with their families helped them become better trans* allies. Literally hundreds of queer and trans* people from around the world have told me that sharing my story helped them find the courage to begin living life authentically, from the closeted trans boy stuck in a USC sorority to the young teenage girls in France and Venezuela. As someone who felt scared, alone, and ashamed of who I really was for so much of my life, it’s really hard to describe just how wonderful each one of these messages makes me feel! But I don’t think that my trans* status defines who I am as a person…and I’m really looking forward to focusing on other parts of my life that have nothing to do with my gender for a while. I’m going to be 26 in a few months – it’s time I figured out what I want to be when I grow up!

Autostraddle’s super trans*-inclusive A-Camp, April 2012

I’m so incredibly grateful for the opportunities and experiences I’ve had on here, and for the people I’ve met. Each and every one of you is part of why Autostraddle is so special. I’ve never met a community that is so open, accepting and empowered before and I’m going to miss all of your beautiful faces. So thank you, sincerely, for being such wonderful people and for helping make this trans girl feel loved and proud of who she is.

Autostraddle is currently soliciting submissions from queer-identified trans* women — read all about it here!

BBC Calls For Trans* Inclusive Comedy Scripts

Television’s portrayal of trans* characters will 99% of the time send you into fits of semi-incoherent, apoplectic rage. “Give me a freaking drink,” I implore, after watching another shitstorm of an episode of Glee, “so I can throw it in Ryan Murphy’s eyes! Won’t someone please give Unique the fabulous storylines she deserves?!”

image via glaad.org

“Stop calling her “he,” you arseholes!” I yelled at my telly on Saturday, as a long-running medical drama presented a young transwoman who was consistently referred to by everyone – even the HOSPITAL STAFF – as being male. And that’s not even starting on the fact that transmen are horribly, hideously under-represented anywhere that’s not Degrassi: The Next Generation (which I have never actually watched) or Boys Don’t Cry. Isn’t it just infuriating?

Luckily, I’m not the only one who thinks this needs changing, and if you live in the UK, then you – yes, YOU, RIGHT THERE, reading this right now, drinking tea from your chipped mug – can help be the change you want to see.

The BBC Writersroom has joined forces with Trans Comedy to launch the Trans Comedy Award, a competition for writers to create a script which actually represents trans* people accurately:

The Trans Comedy Award opens up an opportunity for the transgender community and members of the general public to portray transgender characters and the transgender experience in a fresh affirming manner, without resorting to cliché or stereotype.

We are looking for original comedy sitcoms, comedy dramas or sketch shows featuring transgender characters and/or themes and written for television. An award of up to a maximum of £5000 will be shared between the selected writer(s) in order that they may develop a pilot or taster.

image via bbc.co.uk

Yup – the BBC is running a nationwide search for new comedy writing talent, which actually talks about what it’s like to be trans* without resorting to those squick-worthy “jokes” about Thai ladyboys. Scripts should be a half-hour pilot episode, and can be sitcoms, comedy-dramas, or even sketch shows with recurring trans* characters.

We’re not looking for issue-led stories. We want to see comedy which comes from the characters and their interactions with friends, family, colleagues etc. So you can touch on the issues of relationships for example but keep it balanced with always comedy in mind.

If you think you’ve got what it takes, then you’d better start writing: the deadline for entries is February 28th. Check out the BBC Writersroom website for more information on rules, FAQs, and how to enter. And if this leads to some trans* friendly shows being (finally) commissioned, then all the better.

After Yet Another Trans* Woman’s Murder, Change Is Coming for Hate Crime Sentencing in DC

feature image via Shutterstock

Last year Deoni Jones was stabbed to death at a bus stop. At her vigil, it was brought to everyone’s attention that Washington D.C. had a huge problem:

Several attendees from the LGBT community sadly noted that the spot where Jones was killed is a little more than a mile from where 23-year-old transgender woman Lashai Mclean was gunned down in July 2011; five blocks from the intersection where transgender woman Tyra Hunter died after being refused medical treatment in 1995 by emergency personnel after a car accident; and where two other transgender women, Stephanie Thomas and Ukea Davis, were shot to death in 2002.

This year, at her vigil, her family asked some tough questions about why the murder was not prosecuted as a hate crime. And Mayor Vincent Gray and his Office of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Affairs actually responded to those questions.

via the Washington Blade

Mayor Gray answered very eloquently with assurances that he would ask for clarity on this particular case:

“I think there ought to be a clear indication of why or why not this is viewed or not viewed as a hate crime,” Gray said. “The family clearly is not satisfied. And I think we all owe it to them to give a clear explanation over why the direction of the case is proceeding the way it is.”

But he also announced a partnership between the D.C. Mayor’s Office of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Affairs and the US Attorney’s Office, a partnership that will “enhance USAO’s ability to bring criminals to justice in cases where hate or bias might have been a factor in a crime committed against an individual from the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community.”

“While this partnership will not bring Deoni back, it will give the LGBT community more power to affect the sentences handed down to violent criminals, helping to keep them off our streets,” Mayor Gray said.

Through this partnership, the two offices will be soliciting Community Impact Statements from LGBT community members in cases where hate or bias on the basis of sexual orientation, gender identity and gender presentation was a stated part of the motive. In other words, they’re collecting stories from hate crime victims and their families, and also from the surrounding community.  And in selected situations, these statements will be solicited even in cases not categorized as hate crimes. Victim impact statements are generally used in the sentencing phase of a trial, after a criminal is convicted of a violent crime. “The presiding judge will take these Community Impact Statements into account when determining the severity and length of a violent perpetuator’s sentence.”

Victim impact statements are nothing new. They’re par for the course, actually, in trials where violent crime is concerned. So I’m a little torn: on the one hand, it seems like an emphasis on something that already happens. A public relations move, almost. But the expansion to how a hate crime affect a community is new for the D.C. area, as is the focus on the LGBT community and the problems LGBT individuals faces when dealing with government. I can’t find a ton of other Offices of GLBT Affairs that aren’t part of universities – it’s just not something a city usually has in the United States.  Washington D.C. also has a dedicated police unit, the Gay and Lesbian Liaison Unit, to act on crimes that appear to be motivated by hatred. Sometimes that’s enormously helpful when it comes to affecting change: people watching. People focusing on a problem, recognizing it as a problem. This makes me hugely optimistic for the future of D.C. in protecting the LGBT community.

via American University Radio

At the same time, this new partnership seems to ignore intersectionality. Most of the murders of transgender women in D.C. are perpetrated against women of color. In fact, racially motivated hate crimes in D.C. doubled in one year. Doubled. So while it’s really wonderful to have this problem come into focus, when D.C. has clearly been a hostile environment for the transgender community from the 90’s on up, it may be problematic to shunt aside the other hate crime issues Washington D.C. has. One thing, one bureau, one partnership or policy, can’t be everything to everyone. And it’s certainly a step in the right direction, with hopefully plenty more steps to follow.

Yet Another News Outlet Fails Queer History 101 by Erasing Trans* People from Stonewall

Last week, Obama became the first president to ever mention gay rights in an inaugural address when — in between invocations of the Founding Fathers and Dr. King — he namechecked a few civil rights milestones:

“We, the people, declare today that the most evident of truths – that all of us are created equal – is the star that guides us still; just as it guided our forebears through Seneca Falls, and Selma, and Stonewall; just as it guided all those men and women, sung and unsung, who left footprints along this great Mall, to hear a preacher say that we cannot walk alone; to hear a King proclaim that our individual freedom is inextricably bound to the freedom of every soul on Earth.”

That line, combined with a later one about not giving up until “our gay brothers and sisters are treated like anyone else under the law,” got a lot of Earthly souls speculating about a lot of potential implications. Was the President hinting at future policy plans, or trying to secure a legacy? Is he giving the Supreme Court a not-so-subtle hint? Was it fair of him to lump such different movements together? Is alliteration absurdly annoying? Meanwhile, some, though excited by what Obama put into his speech, are equally concerned by who he left out — namely, trans* people, whom media coverage and the historical record have chronically left out as well. This is a terrible and self-perpetuating trend, and we’re in the middle of a great chance to reverse it. In her response to the inauguration, Melissa Harris-Perry talked about how “recognition is intrinsically valuable in a democracy, [as] mutual affirming recognition is the practice that allows citizens to operate as equals.” When the media fails to recognize the role trans* people have played in LGBT history, it fails to recognize and advance that equality.

SYLVIA RIVERA, TRANS* ACTIVIST AND STONEWALL RIOTER

Obama’s speech put Stonewall back into the public consciousness in a big way. According to Google Trends, the Internet has never talked about it this much, even on the Riots’ 40th anniversary in 2009. This means said Internet talkers — along with other journalists, historians, and informed conversationalists — are being given the chance to tell this very important story to an audience that is, however temporarily, really listening. Obama set up the alley-oop and now we have to dunk it. It’s a big responsibility.

A bigger and bigger one, because we’re in the information age, when if you want to find out about something quickly, you Google it. This means that increasingly, the agreed-upon story — the one that survives — isn’t necessarily the most correct one, or the one that’s told the best; instead, it’s the one that’s told the most. If you were among the curious millions who searched “Stonewall” in the past week, one of the first results you got was from NPR, and was entitled “Stonewall? Explaining Obama’s Historic Gay Rights Reference.”  In the interest of those who missed the 60s, on whom “Obama’s reference was very likely lost,” NPR gave a quick primer on what happened when “gay men resisted police harassment at the Stonewall Inn gay bar in New York city.” In doing so, starting with that very first sentence, they struck a bunch of main players from the historical record. What about Stormé De Larverie, the “Stonewall Lesbian” who spurred the crowd’s initial surge when she resisted police outside the club? What about Tammy Novak, the trans* woman who threw some of the first punches? And what about David Van Ronk, a straight ally who hit an officer “with an unknown object”? Maybe, as the NPR article says, Stonewall itself “was not filled, as some accounts have it, with drag queens and street hustlers,” but perhaps that’s because, as trans* history blogger Zagria points out, a lot of them “could not afford the entry fee… [and] were often found in the parkette across the street, which turned out to be an ideal place to join in the riot.” In any case, it wasn’t only gay men resisting – not even close. And now everyone who heard Obama’s speech, cared enough to look up the reference, and trusted a generally good-hearted news source to educate them about it has missed out on a huge part of the story, and is still living in the dark about this and (presumably) many other hugely important contributions that trans* people have made to queer history and to America as a whole.

STORMÉ DE LARVERIE, “THE ROSA PARKS OF STONEWALL”

The NPR case is a strange one — their reporters have been specifically praised for trans* stories before, and pieces for their “Stonewall At 40” series a few years ago featured more accurate and inclusive retellings, as well as modern perspectives from trans* kids at the Ali Forney center. The author of this most recent piece, Liz Halloran, talked to historian and activist Martin Duberman, who wrote the first ever history of Stonewall and seemed in this interview to contradict his own previous work. But this case is just the most recent in a long line of similar ones that stretches across decades and media. Cristan at Transadvocate, in a fascinating and well-researched piece, points out that this particular erasure happens time and again, variously due to compounded oversight, as a response to what some apparently see as a false co-opting of gay history by trans* people, or because of plain old ill intent.

As Crista puts it, “this isn’t the first time the Stonewall movement has been retold as being the Ciswall movement.” Erasure started directly after the riots. Some came from outside sources, like New York Times reporters, who didn’t understand or prioritize complexities of identity and just called everyone “men” in articles that are now primary sources. Some came from within the LGBT community, which, dusting itself off and finding that it suddenly was a community, suffered from infighting — RadFems and Lesbian Liberation Movement members fought with trans* women; there were brawls for the mic at pride parades. Later, when the first LGBT historians were compiling what would become the first official narratives, some, like Wayne Dynes, confused a lack of static terminology (there have been many words for “trans*” over the years) for a lack of existence (others did the same with a lack of photographs).

ALL KINDS OF QUEER PEOPLE OUTSIDE OF STONEWALL {VIA TRANSADVOCATE}

The strangest thing about all this, is Stonewall is so important partly because that’s when we started to realize how in-it-together we were. In one of the older, better NPR Stonewall articles, Michel Martin interviews Danny Garvin, who was also a part of the riots. Garvin says that, before Stonewall, “we never realized how connected we were as a community. That it didn’t make a difference if you were a drag queen, or if you were a leather queen, or if you were just a young kid, or if you were an older person over 30, we were all fighting for a right… to get back into the bar, to be able to dance, not be oppressed.” The way we talk about Stonewall should reflect that, and celebrate it. Why would any of us ever want to do otherwise?

When it comes to trans* rights, Obama has a fairly good track record, or at least one better than any other president’s. At the White Houses’s 40th anniversary Stonewall event, he hosted representatives from the National Center for Transgender Equity and the Sexual Minority Youth Assistance League, and specifically thanked those who work “in pursuit of equality on behalf of the millions of people in this country who work hard and care about their communities — and who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender.” I’m guessing that he knew what he was doing with that particular reference; that, even if he didn’t spell it out (and I wish he had), he actually believes in the freedom of every soul, and knows something about all the different kinds of forebears who were at Stonewall. But not everybody does, and it’s the rest of our responsibility to fix that. As trans* activist Gwendolyn Ann Smith put it, Obama’s speech was “a call to action,” showing how necessary it is for trans* people “to secure our history and work toward our future.” The two go together, and those privileged with telling this history need to stay aware of this.

You Should Go: Queer & Utter Bedlam Werks Those Pecs

feature image contributed by Grace Chu

Hey New Yorkers, what are you up to tomorrow night? I know we’re perpetually expecting a “wintery mix” and I know the past week has been freezing, but that’s all the more reason to grab life by the collar and say, “I will have fun, damn it!” Right?

i had to use this photo because that’s my friend alison looking adorable in the background but these people could ostensibly be saying “RIGHT!”
photo by grace chu

If you’re with me on the whole grab life by the collar bit, you’re in luck, because there’s an intimate queer blow out going down in Manhattan tomorrow night — yes, you read that right. Manhattan. As in, not Brooklyn. I know. It’s wild! My friends Ryley (who you may recognize from Straddler on the Street) and Sam are spearheading the event with their respective passion projects — Queer and Utter Bedlam and Werk Those Pecs — and here’s what they told me about tomorrow’s party.

Queer and Utter Bedlam and Werk Those Pecs are both parties that are designed to give back to the community. Q&UB raises money for a variety of queer-related projects led by queer humans, and WTP is a tri-annual event that helps people in the community fundraise for top surgeries. The groups are joining forces this week to launch what will be both the first Q&UB of 2013 and a preview for the second WTP party, which will happen on February 16.

Here’s some info about tomorrow night directly from the organizers:

Werk Those Pecs prides itself on throwing hot parties which ALSO act as aggressive fundraisers toward expensive and life-changing surgeries for a chosen benefit-ee. At Queer and Utter Bedlam we’ll introduce Devin Norelle, the benefit-ee of the upcoming Werk Those Pecs party. The Q&UB and WTP crews will be there displaying photographs, premiering artwork, and answering questions about being genderqueer and/or non-binary-identified, as well as raising preliminary funds for Devin’s top surgery. – Sam

There will be art. And go go dancing. And queer literature. And a pamphlet about the common misconceptions about being gender queer written by yours truly and one of our hosts Norelle. It’s going to be magical. – Ryley

If you want to get in on the magic, you know what to do — head to Bedlam on Avenue C tomorrow night at 9pm and say fuck you to the cold weather and fuck yes to everything queer and wonderful.

Queer & Utter Bedlam Werk’s Those Pecs starts at 9pm on Tuesday, January 29 at Bedlam, 40 Avenue C, Manhattan, New York.

Queer & Utter Bedlam, founded by Ryley Pogensky, is a bi-monthly party in the heart of the Lower East Side in Manhattan. It is a space for queers of all walks to get together, get their dance on, get wasted, and most importantly network. Come with your new projects. Your arts. Your new ventures. Share with your community.

Werk Those Pecs, founded by Jason Hill and Samuel Aaron Leon, is a movement that aims to increase visibility and awareness of transgender issues within the wider queer community. Each event aims to raise money for trans* surgeries, support LGBT businesses, and showcase queer musicians & DJs. Their next fundraising party, for Devin Norelle, will be on February 16 at SLATE on West 21st Street in Manhattan. For more information find them on Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr.

19-Year-Old Trans Woman Sage Smith is Missing

Sage Smith, a trans* woman from Charlottesville, Virginia, has been missing for over 20 days; the 19-year-old’s disappearance has been largely ignored by the press and her case has been fumbled by the police.

Family members, eager to bring Smith home, have been speaking out about their desire to bring on FBI and other authoritative supports in the case; their own local community’s response has been disheartening and disappointing.  “I can’t brag on Charlottesville when my little 19-year-old cousin is missing,” one of Smith’s family members told reporters.

Smith’s disappearance was covered locally by only one outlet after she was last seen November 29 by her family. The coverage, which largely dismissed her gender identity, employed male pronouns and thus improperly identified her to the entire community served, did not unfold into any greater focus on her whereabouts. The police continued the spread of misinformation, rebutting when challenged by her family members for inaction that “it will continue to be a top priority [for the department] until we find this young man and, by the grace of God, bring him home.”

Smith was last seen almost three weeks ago, leaving to meet 21-year-old Eric McFadden at a local train station. Two days later she still hadn’t come home and her family notified police, who had by that time lost track of Erik McFadden after interviewing him initially. McFadden has now reportedly left the area.

Support has been provided in the form of community and religious groups focused on LGBT acceptance, though even those steps toward good come at the cost of incorrect pronoun usage and references to Sage as Dashad.

“I have fears that because of who Dashad is, because he is Sage, that maybe that is one of the reasons,” said Miller [a Pastor]. “Sage is made in the image of God, is loved. The community of faith supports the family…the LGBTQ community here in Charlottesville, we stand in solidarity with you, we love you, and we desperately want Dashad to be brought home safe.”

“We miss him and we just want to get to the bottom of it to know that he’s okay,” said Page.

“Return him home safely,” said Jackson.

On the Find Sage Smith facebook page, friends share heartwarming stories about how awesome she is:

Very few people have inspired me the way Sage has. Sage never once apologized for being who she was, always pushing through the hard times. If only we could all have that spirit of love and strength in the face of trials. In addition to her strength, Sage is always the first to show some love to those who need it most. Regardless of gender, sex, race, sexual orientation, or anything else, Sage’s heart shows love to any and all who will have it.

To bring Sage Smith home will involve a community rising: a stepping up of police to conquer their own discriminatory brains, a stepping up of her peers to raise awareness and start important conversation, and a stepping up of the mainstream media to make sure her story and her image remain visible for as long as we have hope she could come back. Until we find her:

Telling the stories of LGBTQ people of color is more than simply the right thing to do; it is a matter of journalistic integrity. When outlets make a choice not to tell certain stories, especially those that affect communities as deeply as Sage’s, they lose value and credence with audiences and communities. It also sends the message that certain stories and perspectives are more valuable than others. If Sage Smith has met the same fate as Mitrice Richardson, could more media attention early on have saved her life?

Sage Smith’s story, her family’s pain and her community’s concern are as valid as any other story, and these voices deserve to be heard. So again, I and the rest of the community ask: Where is Sage Smith?

If you have any information, please contact the Charlottesville, VA Police Department at 434-977-4000.

In my heart of hearts, I will stay hopeful for Sage’s return home. And for other queers in her neighborhood, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for progress.

Immigration Reform is a Queer & Trans* Human Rights Issue

Images via Art from Julio Salgado

Last summer, I lived the queer lady law student dream and worked at the National Center for Lesbian Rights (NCLR). Most of my work focused on the Immigration Project and all of the myriad ways that homophobia and transphobia can combine to make queer and trans* immigrants bear the brunt of the U.S.’s already racist and xenophobic immigration laws. My experiences at NCLR made clear to me that fighting for the human rights of queer and trans* people must involve coalition building with immigrant rights’ groups to pass comprehensive immigration reform. Thankfully, Mitt Romney’s defeat seems to have spurred even the Republican leadership to take seriously the need for dramatically changing the immigration law regime. Queer and trans* immigrants must be included in these reforms.

The most well-known example of immigration law that affects queer and trans* immigrants is the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), which only recognizes marriages (in the case for immigration purposes) between “one man and one woman.” As a result, cisgender same-gender couples cannot sponsor one another for marriage-based immigration. Domestic partnerships and civil unions are also not recognized. Perversely, the ban also excludes the spouses of queer refugees who have been resettled to the U.S. as a direct result of fleeing persecution based on sexual orientation. If a queer person marries their same-gender U.S. citizen partner and they have a temporary work or student visa that requires intent to return to their home country, then they run the risk of having their visa revoked. DOMA also impacts trans* people in different-gender marriages because federal law does not define the terms “man” or “woman.” As a result, legal sex for marriage-based immigration purposes is determined in ways complex and confusing enough that I’m publishing a 50+ page law review article on the subject.

Moreover, the general harshness of immigration laws harms queer and trans* people in heightened ways. For instance, while U.S. asylum law protects people fleeing sexual orientation– and/or gender identity-based persecution, immigrants must currently apply for asylum within one year of entering the country in order to be eligible. Many very low-income undocumented queer and trans* refugees, who often have limited education, English proficiency, and understanding of U.S. law, have no idea that they are eligible for asylum and often do not learn that until after the one year mark has passed. Many queer and trans* immigrants have past experiences of violence from authority figures in their home countries. Unfortunately, poor queer and trans* immigrants of color, especially trans women of color, frequently encounter violence and profiling from U.S. police as well. As a result of these experiences, many queer and trans* immigrants have justified fears of outing themselves to U.S. government authorities.

The one year window for applying for asylum may be overcome in some very limited circumstances (for example, if an asylum-seeker only recently came out, was diagnosed with HIV, or suffered from severe depression.) Additionally, if a person applies for asylum and is rejected (because their excuse for missing the one year deadline was not accepted or because the interviewer doesn’t believe that they seem queer enough or that the harm they’d risk if they were deported is severe enough), they will be automatically placed in deportation proceedings. Asylum seekers with otherwise strong cases can be rejected for minor criminal offenses, which disproportionately affects low-income queer and trans* undocumented people with arrest records for drugs or sex work attributable to over-policing, profiling, extreme employment discrimination, social marginalization, and untreated PTSD. Thus, coming forward to apply for asylum is often extremely risky even for those who rightly fear persecution if they return to their home countries.

Being deported once renders immigrants ineligible for future asylum, even if they experienced persecution upon return to their home countries. One of my clients is a trans woman who, when deported to Mexico, was stabbed in the street by a stranger yelling “fag” within two hours of her arrival. My client’s deportation, which almost killed her, disqualifies her from seeking asylum.

Strict criminal record restrictions disproportionately impact queer and trans* people of color in routine immigration procedures. Applying for citizenship or for a replacement green card can result in being placed in deportation proceedings if a person has an arrest history. Another client was a middle-aged trans woman adopted as a young child from overseas by American citizens and kicked out of the house by her adoptive parents after she came out as a teenager. Forced to support herself through sex work, because in the 1970s (not unlike today) few other options existed for homeless trans* youth of color. In doing so, she racked up a series of arrests. Until fairly recently, adopted children did not automatically gain citizenship, and she now fears being deported to a country she doesn’t remember if she dares to apply for citizenship or a replacement for her expired green card.

Queer and trans* people in U.S. immigration detention centers experience horrific rates of sexual assault in detention, including from guards. Trans women risk sexual, physical, and psychological abuse, whether housed with the general male population or placed in solitary confinement for twenty-three hours a day, sometimes for years, “for their own protection.” HIV-positive immigrants (many of whom are queer or trans*) are often not given retroviral medications. Trans* people are frequently denied hormones and gender-specific clothing items such as bras and binders. Immigration officials cruelly denied my client (the one who was stabbed after being deported) razors to shave her face during her detention, despite the fact that she had been presenting as female since she was a young child. Suffering from untreated PTSD and ongoing abuses, many trans* immigrants with strong asylum claims give up and accept deportation because they can no longer handle unbearable detention conditions.

Queer and trans* DREAMers who were brought to the U.S. as children are impacted by all of the above-mentioned factors. Marriage-based immigration as a means of gaining status is often not an option. Applying for asylum is usually unacceptably risky, since by definition DREAMers have missed the one year bar and almost always lack the personal experiences of past persecution in their birth countries that are often part of a strong asylum case since they arrived in the U.S. as young children. Additionally, even Obama’s Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals policy has very strict criminal records requirements. Deferred action also has education requirements, and many low-income undocumented queer and trans* youth experience bullying and harassment in schools or the school-to-prison pipeline, leading them to leave school.

Current U.S. immigration laws are broken and unjust. Like in all other racialized systems of control, such as mass incarceration, the drug war, and surveillance of people receiving public benefits, queer and trans* people suffer and will continue to suffer disproportionately. The only way that we as queer and trans* activists can fight against homophobia and transphobia as it impacts the most vulnerable members of our community is through working in coalition with other social justice groups to fundamentally change and dismantle these unjust systems. Repealing DOMA is not enough. We need to fight for a comprehensive immigration reform that will: recognize relationships beyond marriage for immigration purposes; eliminate the one year bar on asylum, mandatory criminal record exclusions, automatic deportation proceedings for those denied asylum, and disqualification of previously deported people from asylum; grant legal status to the millions of undocumented people who have made their homes in the U.S.; and abolish the inhumane and unacceptable immigration detention system.

About the author: Olga is a third-year student at Berkeley Law. She has provided legal services to queer, trans*, and HIV+ immigrants at the National Center of Lesbian Rights, the Transgender Law Center, and the East Bay Community Law Center. Her work at NCLR was partially funded by the Human Rights Center of the Berkeley School of Law. Olga is also the longtime girlfriend of the lovely Ms. Annika.

The UN Includes “Gender Identity” in Resolution Condemning Discrimination-Based Killings

On Tuesday, the International Transgender Day of Remembrance, the Third Committee of the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) made great strides in terms of LGBT rights when it voted to keep sexual orientation and include gender identity in a resolution condemning executions for reasons of discrimination. This is the first time in history that gender identity has been included in the resolution. It’s a big step for the United Nations, considering that only two years ago, the UN nearly dropped the category of sexual orientation from the list of condemned discrimination-based killings.

In 2010, an argument broke out in the General Assembly over whether gay people should be singled out for the same protections given to other persecuted minorities. Condemnation of executions for racial, national, ethnic, religious, linguistic reasons, as well as because of sexual orientation, were already specified in the resolution; but a committee-level change brought forth by Arab and African nations dropped sexual orientation and replaced it with the far-more-general discriminatory reasons on any basis. Luckily, “sexual orientation” was reinstated soon after it was erased from the resolution, but again, this year, many countries opposed its inclusion and were against the proposal, introduced by Sweden, to include the category of “gender identity’ to the resolution. Trinidad and Tobago were concerned that the specific referral to “gender identity” would present a “particular challenge” for their country. Egypt said that it was “alarmed at the attempts to make new rights and new standards.” Alhough it was opposed by the Arab Group, Iran, and the United Arab Emirates on behalf of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, the resolution still passed with 109 votes in favor, 1 against, 65 abstentions, and 18 absent. Those countries in favour of the resolution included the United States, Brazil, and South Africa. Asia has often been silent in matters of LGBT rights, but this time, the Asia Group voted to keep “sexual orientation” and add “gender identity” to the resolution, and Japan even made an impassioned speech stating:

We cannot tolerate any killings of persons because of their sexual orientation or gender identity. Our delegation voted against the proposed amendment to this paragraph because we think it is meaningful to mention such killings from the perspective of protecting the rights of LGBT people.

The historic resolution comes a year after the U.N sanctioned research on international violence and discrimination on the grounds of sexual orientation and gender identity. Last year, South Africa presented the proposal for this study to the High Commissioner for Human Rights. It was the first time the U.N took steps to research violence and discrimination faced by LGBT people.

Graeme Reid, the LGBT rights director at Human Rights Watch, said,

“The Human Rights Council has taken a first bold step into territory previously considered off-limits. We hope this groundbreaking step will spur greater efforts to address the horrible abuses and discrimination against people on the basis of their sexual orientation and gender identity.”

The research found that, unsurprisingly, the human rights of LGBT people around the world are being violated. Same-sex relationships are criminalized in 76 countries, punishable by arrest, prosecution, imprisonment, and in five countries (Iran, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Yemen and Mauritania) the death penalty. The study also found that LGBT people face systemic discrimination when it comes to healthcare, education, and the labour market. As Reid had hoped, the UN has indeed “spurred greater efforts” to tackle discrimination by including “gender identity” and leaving sexual orientation in the resolution condemning unjustifiable executions.

U.N. Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon spoke about the research’s disturbing findings and pointed to the importance of ending silence around issues of gender identity and sexual orientation:

Some say that sexual orientation and gender identity are sensitive issues. I understand. Like many of my generation, I did not grow up talking about these issues. But I learned to speak out because lives are at stake, and because it is our duty under the United Nations Charter and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to protect the rights of everyone, everywhere.

Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon

But unfortunately, the UN still has a long way to go. Although the resolution has passed, two-thirds of UN members have still refused to sign a separate statement condemning all human rights violations based on gender identity and sexual orientation. The U.S didn’t even sign this statement until 2009, once Obama had been elected as President.

Though UN resolutions and statements are not legally binding, they are still important in setting an international standard on what is accepted. The past few years, the U.N has made great strides in showing that though individual countries still have a long way to go, the international community at large does not accept discrimination and violence against LGBT people.

As Jessica Stern, executive director of the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission summarizes it well:

With [Tuesday’s] UN vote, a majority of governments worldwide decisively rebutted the ideology of hate and affirmed the simple but fundamental premise that LGBT people have a right to exist. By some measure, this is a low bar, but progress is incremental and every step must be celebrated in advancing human rights for everyone, everywhere

Transgender Day of Remembrance: Ten Things You Can Do

Today is the 2012 International Transgender Day of Remembrance. It’s an event that was started by Gwendolyn Ann Smith in 1998 following the murder of fellow trans woman Rita Hester. Fourteen years later, TDoR is now observed in more than 185 cities around the world, and is a way to mourn and remember all of those who have lost their lives to transphobic violence. It’s also a day to raise public awareness of the very real threat that many trans* people — especially trans women of color — face every day simply for existing. It’s also a call to action for trans* people and their allies to stand up against racism and transphobia and the political indifference that allows them to continue. So how can you get involved? Here are ten ways that you can be a part of TDoR 2012.

1. Hold a vigil for this year’s victims.

Click here for a list of all of the reported transphobic murders worldwide so far in 2012. Look over the names and photos by yourself, or read this list with others. You might even want to light a candle. You’ll notice that nearly all of the victims are trans women of color.

2. Change your profile picture.

Consider changing your profile picture on Facebook today to the Transgender Pride Flag or other TDoR-related image. It’s an easy and effective way to increase visibility and awareness of TDoR.

3. Hug a trans* person.

I’m not suggesting that you go up and hug a random trans* person on the street, but it might be nice to reach out to your trans* friends to let them know how much you love and appreciate them. In addition to the violence that many of us face, 41% of trans* people have attempted suicide at some point in their lives. The fact that we’re here and living as our true, authentic selves is something worth celebrating.

4. Donate to a trans* organization.

There are a lot of really great trans* organizations fighting for true gender equality and civil rights, and all of them need help from donations to continue doing such important work. A gift of even $10 or $20 to the Transgender Law Center, Sylvia Rivera Law Project, or El/La Para TransLatinas can really make a difference.

5. Volunteer at a trans* youth organization.

Most trans* people have traumatic memories of growing up closeted, scared, and alone — I certainly do. So why not help to improve the lives of the next generation of trans* youth? Considering volunteering at an organization that specifically focuses on their needs. Check with your local LGBT center for volunteer opportunities in your area.

6. Write a letter to Cece McDonald.

For those of you who don’t know, Cece McDonald is a trans woman who is currently serving a prison sentence (in a men’s facility, of course) for defending herself from a transphobic attack in which her assailant died. In other words, she’s in jail for refusing to be another name on the TDoR list. I’m sure that she would appreciate a letter of solidarity and support as a reminder that although she has been unjustly imprisoned, she is far from alone.

7. Look into you school’s / employer’s gender identity anti-discrimination policy and hold them accountable.

You’d be surprised at how many schools and companies have outdated policies regarding transphobia and discrimination. Find out what the ones at your school/work are, and if don’t be afraid to raise the issue if they need to be updated or fixed. You should also insist that the health insurance policy offered is trans*-inclusive. You’ll undoubtedly be making life easier for some trans* person in the future.

8. Reaffirm your commitment to call out transphobia and cissexism.

Many people still think that it’s socially acceptable to say really awful things about trans* people. Some don’t even realize that they’re being offensive. That was the case when I went to a salon appointment a couple months ago. The esthetician started telling me about how she and her friends were out barhopping and accidentally ended up at a “tranny club” the previous weekend. I usually don’t like outing myself to people I don’t know, but I fought through the discomfort and did, so that I could teach her why what she said was wrong. Because words matter. Words shape our attitudes; attitudes that have allowed at least one trans* person to be murdered each month for the past decade. So the next time you overhear someone saying transphobic or cissexist remarks, don’t let it slide.

9. Educate yourself about how racism, xenophobia, and classism intersect with transphobia.

As the saying goes, “my feminism will be intersectional or it will be bullshit.” And that couldn’t be truer when it comes to transphobia and transphobic violence. It’s no coincidence that my experience as a white, upper-middle class, educated trans girl is very different than that of the women on the TDoR list- it’s important to understand why if we want our activism to be effective.  I recommend Captive Genders, Normal Life , and this article are good places to start if you want to learn more.

 10. Share your feelings in the comments section below.

TDoR can be a really emotional day for number of reasons, and it’s important to express the feelings it may cause in a safe and supportive space. Also because we love you and want to hear from you.

I’ll leave you with this video tribute to the trans* people who lost their lives to senseless violence in 2012. Don’t watch unless you have some tissues handy.

2012 Transgender Day of Remeberance from SCĒN on Vimeo.