1970, the start of a new decade. I was in fifth grade, attending Sallas-Mahone Elementary in Valdosta GA.
We weren't exactly forbidden to use the bathrooms during classroom hours, but you couldn't just rise from your seat and go when you felt like it. You had to raise your hand and ask. Even without the possibility of the teacher asking "Can't you just hold it?" or "Why didn't you go during break?", the necessity of making a request was probably enough to ensure that we mostly used the facilities in the mornings before classes, after classes, or during lunch break.
What that meant was that you were going to be in the bathroom at the same time as a handful of the kids from your classroom. To be more precise, other male kids from your classroom, if you were designated male. As I was.
I've never cared for the expression "assigned male at birth". It always seems to me to imply that my mom's obstetrician said "it's a boy" when I was born, and everyone else just went with that. That he did the assigning and no one else did, they just deferred to his judgment. That's not how it was. The same set of physiological characteristics that led the physician attending my birth to declare me male were intermittently referenced as sufficient reason to assign me male throughout my life, and when they weren't directly being observed, they were assumed from other cues and clues. When I lowered my underwear to pee, the evidence was right there in front of me, and I didn't question it: I was male.
But I did not like being in there, in the boys' bathroom. I wasn't like them, the boys, and I knew it, and they knew it. I didn't like having to go in there with THEM and being exposed.
Do you recall fifth grade? Well, do you perhaps recall Beavis and Butthead? The very epitome of being potty-mouthed rests with fifth grade boys. Everything pertaining to bathroom functions, the body parts involved in those functions, and half-understood sexual matters that also involve the same body parts, were the most interesting and prurient source material possible for the raunchiest and crudest storytelling and discussions, often called "jokes" although I rarely understood what the humorous portion was supposed to be.
Those boys were invasive. Peering, commenting, using filthy language about all this stuff.
They found me prim and hilariously prissy and so I became a focus for their attention when I was in there.
I myself identify as a gender invert, not as a transgender transitioning (and/or presenting) as female. I'm not directly affected by the laws and policies and social discussions about sex segregated bathrooms and the presence of transgender people in them. A law or policy saying I can utlize the women's bathroom instead doesn't really address any of my current issues or social situations. I manifest and present as a male-bodied person and any greater comfort I might otherwise feel to not be in the men's toilets would be offset by worrying that my presence would be disturbing to women in the women's room. And I'm used to it, to using the men's room, and aside from that, adult men aren't as awful as a batch of fifth graders, so not only am I used to it, I've been through far worse than what I currently experience in there.
But yeah, I can relate.
It's not just symbolic. It's not just wanting to be regarded and treated like the rest of the folks of the gender with which one identifies. It's also direct and real. Being in the wrong segregated space can be severely uncomfortable.
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Saturday, December 28, 2019
Saturday, December 21, 2019
Unintentional Gatekeeping
I work in a large organization so there are a lot of personnel; there are also presentations and trainings and the official LGBTQ coordinators here have presented material on gender and sexuality. They’ve never approached me to talk about queer issues and identity, although I show up for work wearing a skirt fairly often and several people know I have a book on the subject of being genderqueer coming out soon.
The material that they present to the organization doesn’t include much info on the experiences of a person like me. No surprise there. I could help with that.
So I decide to write, to introduce myself formallly, although I’ve spoken at these presentations as an attendee and assume they know me at least in passing.
I write that much then can’t figure out what to say next. I start a second sentence several times then erase it. Finally, I decide to simply admit to that. To tell them I’m having a hard time getting this letter started:
I don’t know specifically what kind of response I was expecting. Some kind of reply acknowledging their own uncertainties and awkwardnesses when they first tried to participate in the LGBTQ community? Some kind of personal welcome and some friendly curiosity, maybe?
What I received wasn’t unfriendly or dismissive or anything.
Why was I disappointed to receive that? What caused me to read that and somehow turn it into an excuse to feel brushed off?
It’s so damn easy to become hypersensitive, to the point that other people’s behaviors can feel like microaggressions when all they’ve done is fail to guess exactly what would make me feel understood and accepted.
Want another example? We have a few “any gender” toilets, single person facilities. I was waiting for one to become available and someone informed me that if I did not wish to wait, I could use the men’s room down the hall. I’m sure this person did not intend this piece of information to come across as questioning why the hell I would be waiting for the special facilities, or to imply that I was viewed as a cisgender male and therefore not the intended beneficiary of this policy. But I still managed to feel that way at the time.
Another? Someone started a poll in one of the gender nonbinary FB groups about how often and how deeply do you feel dysphoria about your body. When I answered that I don’t, someone replied that I was the first and only non-cisgender person they’d ever encountered who didn’t. It wasn’t said in an even remotely hostile fashion but it immediately conjured up a whole slew of “I don’t fit in, I don’t belong in here” feelings.
I have never felt like the LGBTQ community was my home. That I would be recognized and the doors opened to me, that my concerns and experiences would be validated there. I’ve hoped that would be the case, I’ve prepared to argue that I qualify and that therefore it should be that way, but I haven’t ever escaped the fear that I’d be dismissed with contempt and ridicule. Because I don’t hear or read stories like mine from other people in the community. Similar, yes, but fundamentally different.
It’s easy for me to deal with being an outsider. I’m used to it; I’m good at it. It’s scary to ask to be allowed in, to be an insider. I feel vulnerable and my feelings and sensibilities are way too easy to hurt.
I'll accept that I'm hypersensitive at times like these. At the same time, I think it's fair to ask that people who occupy a position of leadership within the LGBTQ community keep in mind that even if they were always pretty sure of their identity and fit into the community like a hand into a glove, that's not going to be true for a lot of other people; and that's probably especially true for the less common identities.
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The material that they present to the organization doesn’t include much info on the experiences of a person like me. No surprise there. I could help with that.
So I decide to write, to introduce myself formallly, although I’ve spoken at these presentations as an attendee and assume they know me at least in passing.
Hello!
I write that much then can’t figure out what to say next. I start a second sentence several times then erase it. Finally, I decide to simply admit to that. To tell them I’m having a hard time getting this letter started:
*** several minutes later still staring at a single-word email body ***
Damn this is hard. I can so easily deal with people when I'm positioning myself as a "Them", for them to either accept or not. So much scarier to risk being accepted as an "us". Or rejected dismissively at that level.
I didn't grow up feeling a part of the queer community and never had that later in life either, really.
I know you've encountered me at the trainings and meetings. I'm sorry I haven't been more friendly and introduced myself in a meaningful way.
In one of the Facebook support groups I'm in, some of the nonbinary trans folks call it "imposter syndrome". They're usually talking about not being regarded as genuinely trans by the conventional binary transgender men and women. I've had that w/regards to the entire LGBTQ world, and also to the feminist community. I've got a lot of privilege as a person who is altercast by the world as a man and often as a straight man at that; I don't get overtly systematically discriminated against or deal with the medical system like transitioning people have to, so I worry a lot about reaching out and being pushed back and told I'm a pretentious jerk or something.
I don’t know specifically what kind of response I was expecting. Some kind of reply acknowledging their own uncertainties and awkwardnesses when they first tried to participate in the LGBTQ community? Some kind of personal welcome and some friendly curiosity, maybe?
What I received wasn’t unfriendly or dismissive or anything.
We have been glad to see you in attendance at the meetings. We hope you feel welcomed and able to participate fully as your authentic self, both at these meetings and at the organization in general.
It can be hard to reach out to new people, but if there’s anything specific you wanted to discuss with us, feel free to let us know.
Why was I disappointed to receive that? What caused me to read that and somehow turn it into an excuse to feel brushed off?
It’s so damn easy to become hypersensitive, to the point that other people’s behaviors can feel like microaggressions when all they’ve done is fail to guess exactly what would make me feel understood and accepted.
Want another example? We have a few “any gender” toilets, single person facilities. I was waiting for one to become available and someone informed me that if I did not wish to wait, I could use the men’s room down the hall. I’m sure this person did not intend this piece of information to come across as questioning why the hell I would be waiting for the special facilities, or to imply that I was viewed as a cisgender male and therefore not the intended beneficiary of this policy. But I still managed to feel that way at the time.
Another? Someone started a poll in one of the gender nonbinary FB groups about how often and how deeply do you feel dysphoria about your body. When I answered that I don’t, someone replied that I was the first and only non-cisgender person they’d ever encountered who didn’t. It wasn’t said in an even remotely hostile fashion but it immediately conjured up a whole slew of “I don’t fit in, I don’t belong in here” feelings.
I have never felt like the LGBTQ community was my home. That I would be recognized and the doors opened to me, that my concerns and experiences would be validated there. I’ve hoped that would be the case, I’ve prepared to argue that I qualify and that therefore it should be that way, but I haven’t ever escaped the fear that I’d be dismissed with contempt and ridicule. Because I don’t hear or read stories like mine from other people in the community. Similar, yes, but fundamentally different.
It’s easy for me to deal with being an outsider. I’m used to it; I’m good at it. It’s scary to ask to be allowed in, to be an insider. I feel vulnerable and my feelings and sensibilities are way too easy to hurt.
I'll accept that I'm hypersensitive at times like these. At the same time, I think it's fair to ask that people who occupy a position of leadership within the LGBTQ community keep in mind that even if they were always pretty sure of their identity and fit into the community like a hand into a glove, that's not going to be true for a lot of other people; and that's probably especially true for the less common identities.
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Saturday, December 14, 2019
Memes and Message Themes
Meme (n.) -- an element of a culture or system of behavior that may be considered to be passed from one individual to another by nongenetic means, especially imitation.
When I first came out as an identity not yet on people’s maps, I was intrigued by the rapid spread of popular snippets, little ideas that raced through communities as trendy notions you were supposed to know about if you were cognizant. “Hey”, I said to myself, “if I could figure out what makes an idea catch on and take off like that, I could leverage that to get the word out, to spread awareness of people like me existing in the world!”
And although I was not particularly witty and clever nor anything akin to popular, I watched people’s behavior to see what caused them to latch on to one thing instead of another as an item to pass on as if it were the Most Brilliant Thing Ever.
Eventually I decided that there was no identifying characteristic that was making the phenomenon happen around any specific morsel of an idea. If anything, the near-emptiness in content made it slightly more likely to become the newest trend, rather than any element of profundity or exceptionally clever twist. What I saw were people listening to the crowd and trying to discern early on what was being embraced so they could embrace it a little bit before other people, who would then copy them by embracing it themselves.
That’s not strictly 100% true (some appreciation of quirkiness does seem to play a role), but by and large these trendy ideas were being popularized because they were popular. People were competing to see who could jump on the next bandwagon before it became fully crowded, and would jump to the next one when they could sense it, but it was bandwagon behavior at the root. People weren’t adopting these memes because they agreed with them or thought they were insightful or cute. They were adopting them because they were catching on.
One of my friends, a performance artist, ends one of her pieces with the final line “If you live long enough, you become relevant”. After 40 years of trying to come out as a sissy-esque femme who accepts his nature and his physically male body, I may have lived long enough to attain relevancy, as genderqueer is trending. It isn’t all specifically my version of genderqueer, but yes, there are more and more people pushing away from the expectation of transgender “passing”, of asserting the vlable identity of their gender independent of their physiology or their presentation.
I spend a lot of time and energy complaining that MOGII / gender-variant communities are too much geared towards a kind of groupthink, where there is hostility and condemnation for anyone who doesn’t use the right words or echo the sentiments and viewpoints that have been embraced as the Right Way to Think of It. I shouldn’t let it surprise me. People within communities – any type of communities – tend to engage in the bandwagon-hopping because it is how human networks operate, it’s how the collective self, the “us” that forms a community, does its thinking. But I do, I grouse and snarl and complain about it, expecting all the individuals to examine ideas carefully and to be ready and willing to dissent from those around them and offer a different perspective at least a dozen times per week, and to quit chasing the bandwagons.
That may seem natural to me simply because I’ve been a loner for so long, a social hermit without a group. Like so many other MOGII kids, I was a misfit growing up. But in my case, coming out didn’t provide me with entry into a group of like-minded misfits. I sought it, fervently and desperately, wishing to belong. But because it didn’t happen for me, I suppose I developed less of the interactional patterns that lend themselves to bandwagon-jumping.
Which (I should keep in mind) means I’m not necessarily “a more independent thinker” so much as my tendency to independence has been an accident of not having found a place to fit in.
———————
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When I first came out as an identity not yet on people’s maps, I was intrigued by the rapid spread of popular snippets, little ideas that raced through communities as trendy notions you were supposed to know about if you were cognizant. “Hey”, I said to myself, “if I could figure out what makes an idea catch on and take off like that, I could leverage that to get the word out, to spread awareness of people like me existing in the world!”
And although I was not particularly witty and clever nor anything akin to popular, I watched people’s behavior to see what caused them to latch on to one thing instead of another as an item to pass on as if it were the Most Brilliant Thing Ever.
Eventually I decided that there was no identifying characteristic that was making the phenomenon happen around any specific morsel of an idea. If anything, the near-emptiness in content made it slightly more likely to become the newest trend, rather than any element of profundity or exceptionally clever twist. What I saw were people listening to the crowd and trying to discern early on what was being embraced so they could embrace it a little bit before other people, who would then copy them by embracing it themselves.
That’s not strictly 100% true (some appreciation of quirkiness does seem to play a role), but by and large these trendy ideas were being popularized because they were popular. People were competing to see who could jump on the next bandwagon before it became fully crowded, and would jump to the next one when they could sense it, but it was bandwagon behavior at the root. People weren’t adopting these memes because they agreed with them or thought they were insightful or cute. They were adopting them because they were catching on.
One of my friends, a performance artist, ends one of her pieces with the final line “If you live long enough, you become relevant”. After 40 years of trying to come out as a sissy-esque femme who accepts his nature and his physically male body, I may have lived long enough to attain relevancy, as genderqueer is trending. It isn’t all specifically my version of genderqueer, but yes, there are more and more people pushing away from the expectation of transgender “passing”, of asserting the vlable identity of their gender independent of their physiology or their presentation.
I spend a lot of time and energy complaining that MOGII / gender-variant communities are too much geared towards a kind of groupthink, where there is hostility and condemnation for anyone who doesn’t use the right words or echo the sentiments and viewpoints that have been embraced as the Right Way to Think of It. I shouldn’t let it surprise me. People within communities – any type of communities – tend to engage in the bandwagon-hopping because it is how human networks operate, it’s how the collective self, the “us” that forms a community, does its thinking. But I do, I grouse and snarl and complain about it, expecting all the individuals to examine ideas carefully and to be ready and willing to dissent from those around them and offer a different perspective at least a dozen times per week, and to quit chasing the bandwagons.
That may seem natural to me simply because I’ve been a loner for so long, a social hermit without a group. Like so many other MOGII kids, I was a misfit growing up. But in my case, coming out didn’t provide me with entry into a group of like-minded misfits. I sought it, fervently and desperately, wishing to belong. But because it didn’t happen for me, I suppose I developed less of the interactional patterns that lend themselves to bandwagon-jumping.
Which (I should keep in mind) means I’m not necessarily “a more independent thinker” so much as my tendency to independence has been an accident of not having found a place to fit in.
———————
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Friday, December 6, 2019
Review: GenderQueer by Maia Kobabe
There's another genderqueer memoir out now (since mid-spring, I guess, but I just obtained my copy); this one's a graphic novel, an autobiographical comic book from a talented comic book artist.
One thing I particularly like about Kobabe's account is that ey drives home the lack of simplicity in figuring out one's own gender identity. Kobabe didn't have the possibility of being genderqueer dangled in front of em as a possibility growing up. For years e knew e was different from the other students in eir class or in her culture, but did that mean e was a lesbian? (No that's not quite it); Transgender? (Not exactly, not precisely...) Well then what I am I?
It's messy and complicated when none of the choices you're familiar with resonate with you as the correct answer, and you have to figure it out all on your own. It's not like ordering from the takeout menu. If having an "etcetera" category is useful as an umbrella term, that convenience runs in both directions. It is important to be able to offer a welcome mat to people whose experience is only sort of akin to our own, people whose specific gender experience is not something we could have predicted and described in more precise language.
Kobabe's tale also points out the importance of retaining "genderqueer" as a not-fully-defined "etcetera" category. I've read several essays and memoirs from genderqueer people, not to mention oodles of posts on Facebook and elsewhere from people explaining what they mean by genderqueer. Until now I had not had the privilege of reading a genderqueer coming-of-age story from an asexual agender person, though. Nor had I read a first-hand account from anyone who did not identify as transgender who had strong physical dysphoria. Dysphoria is typically regarded as a definining characteristic of transgender people, even if it isn't required of everyone who identifies in that fashion. Kobabe explains a genderqueer identity with physical dysphoria. In eir case, it is not so much focused around the pain of failing to be identified as a specific other sex, but more around the pain of being stuck with being identified as belonging to a specific sex e doesn't embrace as eir identity.
Interestingly, as the number of genderqueer memoirs starts to accumulate, the subcategory that I tend to think of as the most typical thing that people have in mind when they say "genderqueer" -- being genderfluid -- has yet to be represented. Audrey MC wrote as an AMAB person who had transitioned to female and then found that too confining; Jacob Tobia wrote as a person who is male but identifies as a sissy. Which makes two of us, since that's effectively my identity as well (male, sissy/femme/girl), although we have material differences in our storylines. Now Maia Kobabe gives us a genderqueer story from an AFAB agender / asexual person.
So if you're genderfluid and have a memoir to lay on us, you should definitely get it out there.
Gender Queer, Maia Kobabe. 2019, Oni Press
———————
This LiveJournal blog is echoed on DreamWidth, WordPress, and Blogger. Please friend/link me from any of those environments on which you have an account.
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Index of all Blog Posts
One thing I particularly like about Kobabe's account is that ey drives home the lack of simplicity in figuring out one's own gender identity. Kobabe didn't have the possibility of being genderqueer dangled in front of em as a possibility growing up. For years e knew e was different from the other students in eir class or in her culture, but did that mean e was a lesbian? (No that's not quite it); Transgender? (Not exactly, not precisely...) Well then what I am I?
It's messy and complicated when none of the choices you're familiar with resonate with you as the correct answer, and you have to figure it out all on your own. It's not like ordering from the takeout menu. If having an "etcetera" category is useful as an umbrella term, that convenience runs in both directions. It is important to be able to offer a welcome mat to people whose experience is only sort of akin to our own, people whose specific gender experience is not something we could have predicted and described in more precise language.
Kobabe's tale also points out the importance of retaining "genderqueer" as a not-fully-defined "etcetera" category. I've read several essays and memoirs from genderqueer people, not to mention oodles of posts on Facebook and elsewhere from people explaining what they mean by genderqueer. Until now I had not had the privilege of reading a genderqueer coming-of-age story from an asexual agender person, though. Nor had I read a first-hand account from anyone who did not identify as transgender who had strong physical dysphoria. Dysphoria is typically regarded as a definining characteristic of transgender people, even if it isn't required of everyone who identifies in that fashion. Kobabe explains a genderqueer identity with physical dysphoria. In eir case, it is not so much focused around the pain of failing to be identified as a specific other sex, but more around the pain of being stuck with being identified as belonging to a specific sex e doesn't embrace as eir identity.
Interestingly, as the number of genderqueer memoirs starts to accumulate, the subcategory that I tend to think of as the most typical thing that people have in mind when they say "genderqueer" -- being genderfluid -- has yet to be represented. Audrey MC wrote as an AMAB person who had transitioned to female and then found that too confining; Jacob Tobia wrote as a person who is male but identifies as a sissy. Which makes two of us, since that's effectively my identity as well (male, sissy/femme/girl), although we have material differences in our storylines. Now Maia Kobabe gives us a genderqueer story from an AFAB agender / asexual person.
So if you're genderfluid and have a memoir to lay on us, you should definitely get it out there.
Gender Queer, Maia Kobabe. 2019, Oni Press
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