Je Suis Charlie, Nous Sommes Charlie

For today, I am going to forget what I normally write about on this and my other blog--sort of.

In terms of content, this post will not resemble others I've written.  However, It will express concern for everything that makes this blog, and others, possible.  In fact, some of those things even make it possible for me to do the very thing I write about on this blog:  ride a bike.

You see, in some cultures, women aren't allowed to ride bicycles--or go to school, read, write, teach or do much of anything besides bear a man's children and submit to his demands.  In such places, someone like me doesn't have the right to be a woman--let alone a cyclist--at all.

That is the reason why I am writing today to express my solidarity with all of those people who rallied in my home town as well as London, Tokyo, Istanbul, Montreal, Berlin and many other cities around the world--and, of course, in France, most prominently in Paris.

I have lived in the City of LIght.  So have some people I've loved and with whom I've worked.  They've been native-born French people--some of ancient Gallic and Frankish heritage, others born to families who emigrated to France from other places in this world.  They've been Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists and people who didn't adhere to any formal religion or philosophy, or who believed in nothing at all beyond this life.  They've been wealthy, poor and, mainly, in-between.  

The thing is, they all knew that their right to be any, all  or none of the things I've mentioned was protected under the laws of their country.  And, while some expressed resentment or condescension toward America--or, more precisely, toward our misconceptions or simple unawareness of our position in the world, they all have expressed respect, admiration and sometimes even wistfulness for the openness of our society and the generous spirit of Americans they've met. 

Demonstrators hold up pencils to express ther support for freedom of expression.

The rallies, like funerals and memorial services, are about grieving those who died in the attacks on the Chrlie Hebdo offices and the kosher supermarket in Paris.  But, just as important, they are a reminded of what we--I, the people I've mentioned, and everyone else--need to do:  to live, as the people we are, free to pursue our dreams, honor or values, to love those we love--and, always, to speak the truth, whether through simple facts, irony, images, humor or in some other way.  We can't let those who murdered seventeen Parisians during the past week take that liberty, that right, away from us.

Je suis Charlie.  Nous sommes Charlie. 

Nos Marriages Sont Legaux. J'espere Qui Nous Rend Egaux!

It seems that attacks against members of any group of people become the most violent, and most virulent, when that group is gaining (however slowly) the same status and rights afforded members of the "majority" culture and race.

That is exactly what happened during the Reconstruction after the Civil War, and during the Civil Rights movement of the late 1950's and 1960's.  The Ku Klux Klan got its start during the Reconstruction and had a major resurgence during the Civil Rights era.  But the KKK was hardly alone in intimidating, harassing and even killing African-Americans who had the audacity to pursue their educations, enter the professions, worship their maker, shop, eat and simply live in the ways and places they saw fit.  And, of course, the KKK would use those same tactics, and legislators would pass laws, to prevent African-Americans from exercising their right to vote and do any number of other things white people took for granted.

So it is, unfortunately, no surprise that there has been a wave of anti-gay protests (in which demonstrators brandished signs with slogans like: 1 Pere + 1 Mere, C'est Hereditaire) and, worse, violence over recent days in France.  The other day, the self-proclaimed Country of Human Rights became the fourteenth country to legalize same-sex marriage.  The first gay matrimonial ceremonies are expected to take place in June and, not surprisingly, some members of la droite and various organizations with "famille" in their name (Does that sound familiar?) are doing what they can to have the law repealed.

(To be fair, French philosophes were probably the first intellectuals in the Western world to declare that human beings have inalienable rights because they are human beings.  The Founding Fathers of the United States took much of their inspiration from Voltaire, Rousseau and other French theorists on human liberty.  And, while French colonial rulers did some terrible things, France has probably taken in more political refugees than any country except the US.)

Of course, the fact that such violent homophobic attacks as the one Wilfrid de Bruijn and his partner suffered are taking place means that an inevitable part of human history is moving forward.  As with the lynchings during Reconstruction and the Civil Rights era, hateful reactionaries fight hardest when their cause has just been lost.  Although the vast majority of French are Catholic (at least nominally) and there is a large Muslim population (as well as the fourth-largest Jewish population in the world), France is,  in many respects, more secular than the US and countries like Spain that have legalized same-sex unions.  Having lived in France and known a number of French people, I think they have an easier time of separating religion from government and may be more ready to embrace the concept of marriage that is not defined by religious institutions.  I have said that the only way we will have true marriage equality is when religious institutions no longer have the power to join people in unions that are recognized as marriages (or even partnerships) by secular governments.  France may be more able and willing than the US to do this.

On the other hand, I also know from experience that while French people more readily acknowledge that certain fashion designers and other celebrities are gay, the subject of homosexuality (let alone transgenderism) is not nearly as openly discussed as it is in America.  So, while French officials may be better able to make same-sex marriages more routine (or, at least, seem more routine) than they are in the States, I have to wonder whether same-sex unions will have the same level of respect that they do in some parts of the US, or in some European countries like the Netherlands.

One reason, I believe, that legalizing same-sex marriage may not have the same social impact in France as it's had in those US states that have it is, ironically, that marriage is (arguably) not as important to the French as it is to Americans.  An even higher percentage of French than American couples are cohabitants, and in France, as in most Western European countries, a higher percentage of first children are born to unmarried women.  

One similarity between the French tax system and its American counterpart is that it provides strong incentives for a "traditional" family in which the father works and the mother stays home to look after kids.  However, the French system seems to be much kinder than its American counterpart to cohabitees.  One result is that cohabiting couples stay together longer in France than they do in the US or the UK.

Also, even though France has allowed civil unions since 1998, people living under those pacts are not allowed to adopt children.  And, although support for same-sex marriage has grown significantly in France, public support for allowing same-sex couples to adopt has not grown with it. Now, I'm not saying that the purpose of marriage is rearing children, but I have to wonder whether some couples would feel less incentive to get married if they couldn't adopt children.

Given what I've just described, I have to wonder whether France's new law--laudable as it is, given its circumstances--will actually result in a wave of same-sex marriages as has happened in the American states that have allowed them.  After all, Spain--whose tax policies regarding marriage bear some similarity to those in France--has not had nearly as many same-sex weddings as some people anticipated.   Now, one could argue that Spain is a more conservatively Catholic country than its neighbor on the other side of the Pyrenees.  However, there, as in other countries, there is a vast difference in attitudes between younger and older people regarding homosexuality and related issues.  So, while younger Spaniards accept gays and marriages between them nearly as much as their peers in Europe and some parts of the US, it still doesn't--and may not, for the foreseeable future--translate into more same-sex marriages.

Still, I want to offer words of congratulations to the government of Francois Hollande for supporting the law, and words of support to gay French people who are bearing the backlash of change.

Le Beau Marriage: C'est Probable En France

On Valentine's Day, it's nice to have the kind of news I'm going to relay.

The other day, the Assembly, which is the lower house of France's Parliament, approved a bill that would legalize same-sex marriage and allow same-sex couples to adopt children.  The vote was 329 to 229.  In order to become law, the bill has to be approved by the Senate which, like the Assembly, is controlled by the same Socialist party of which President Francois Hollande is a member.

The good news is that in poll after poll, the French overwhelmingly favor same-sex marriage, but their support weakens when it comes to allowing gay couples to adopt children.  Having a pretty fair amount of time in France, I can tell you that, as in most countries, the provincial, rural areas are more conservative and religious than the cities or towns, so there is certainly opposition in those regions. Also, in les banlieues around cities like Paris, Lyon and Marseille, there are sizeable communities of fundamentalist Muslims and ultra-Orthodox Jews who certainly don't favor same-sex marriage or gay adoption.

However, it's hard not to feel that the bill will pass, and not only because of the political affiliations of parliamentarians.  Although the issue was rarely discussed until recently, French people have long known that some of their most prominent citizens--particularly in the arts and in intellectual endeavors--are gay or gender-variant.  Also, while there are still many conservatively religious French people, the Church does not have the same grip on politics or public life that it once had.  I think a line from one of Alberto Moravia's characters in The Conformist more or less applies to France:  "Ninety percent of the people who go to church today don't believe."  That may have been an exaggeration, but it does reflect one salient fact:  In France, you simply don't find the kind of religious zealotry (at least among Catholics or other Christians) that you can easily find here in the US.

Plus, while the French like to think themselves as independent of world opinion (and, in fact, they sometimes are), I would think that with gay marriage legal in  two of their neighboring countries ( Spain and Belgium) and in nearby Netherlands, and with same-sex unions recognized by two of their other neighbors (UK and Germany), they realize that the time has come for them to move forward.  Or, at least, they don't want to see as more retrograde than any of their neighbors.  

Plus--call me naive for saying this--I can't help but to think that if any of the European countries want to keep the EU together, they will have to work together on issues like same-sex marriage.  As an example, if a Belgian EU officer is married to her girlfriend and is posted, say, to Latvia , where the law says that marriage is between a man and a woman, there could be complications, to say the least.

But I think that if France legalizes gay marriage--as I believe it will--most of the remaining European countries will.  If Spain--which was one of the most conservative and Catholic countries not much  more than a generation ago-- can legalize it, and equally-conservative and -Catholic Ireland can recognize same-sex partnerships, what's to stop France or any other European country (save, perhaps, Poland) from doing the same?

 

Power Relations

Another of the mighty has fallen.  Or so it seems.


Dominique Strauss-Kahn is the Managing Director of the International Monetary Fund and was mentioned as a candidate for the French Presidency in next year's elections.

Well, it looks like the latter is out of the question.  Even the French, who are sometimes charitably called "tolerant" when it comes to the sexual behavior of public figures, are saying they can't abide a leader who's done what he's accused of doing.  And it also looks like his IMF career is fini. Even if he's proven to be innocent, it will be difficult, if not impossible, to restore his reputation.


That's because he's been arrested for sexually assaulting a worker in the posh New York Sofitel.  Even if he's cleared of charges, the questions will linger because sexual allegations stick to even the most Puritanical figures.  And Strauss-Kahn has a reputation, even among the French and other Europeans, as a philanderer.


But he's not likely to end up destitute as a result of this.  With his wealth and power come connections that will help him to continue his life in more or less the style to which he's become accustomed.  Those, of course, are the very things that would allow him to behave as he is alleged to have behaved.


One thing that the feminists got right is that sexual relationships are about power.  Or, at least, they come to that.  That is the reason why wealthy and influential men so often prey on women who work menial jobs or are otherwise economically vulnerable. Why do you think an American President had an affair with a White House intern rather than a woman in a policymaking position?  (Of course, his wife was one of said policymaking women.)  And why have I heard so many stories from women who were raped by the owners or managers of restaurants where they worked as waitresses?


I'm thinking again of Dr. Mark Weinberg, the fugitive plastic surgeon who had an affair with a transsexual woman while he was on living on the lam, under an alias.  I can't help but to think that he wouldn't have felt the same lack of compunction about lying had she been a wealthy cis woman rather than a transsexual clerk in a grocery store.  Likewise, if Monsieur Strauss-Kahn indeed committed sexual assault, I somehow doubt he would have committed it against a guest rather than a worker at the hotel.  And Bill Clinton wouldn't have gone to a woman who was anything like his wife for oral sex.

Until We Meet Again: The Weight of This Day

Am I projecting onto the rest of the world?


It seemed that everywhere I looked, people were ready to hibernate.  Windy, chilly, overcast days will do that to people, and to other living beings.  


In the ladies' room at my main job, I saw Debra, who has a job of some sort in the administrative offices.  I don't mean to disparage her or her work; I simply forget what, exactly, what her title is or what she does.  Then again, she's not the only one I've so mistreated in my memory.


Anyway, she said she noticed the weariness, too.  "I think people are feeling the weight of the world," she suggested.  "You know, with the economy and all of the other things that are happening, people are stressed out."


I thought about it.  "Well," I mused, "now we know why the 1930's are referred to as 'The Great Depression.'"


She tapped her chin.  "I never thought about that before."


"I didn't, either, until now."


In addition to the weight of the world, everyone seemed to have his or her personal burdens to a greater degree than usual.  Again, I might be projecting:  Having just lost a friend, I feel the weight of time and the even heavier load of ephemerality.  


Today Josette, one of Janine's sisters--whom I never before met-- wrote an e-mail to me.  I had written my feelings and impressions of Janine, and sent them to Marie-Jeanne and Diana, who sent them to Josette.  She told me that she read my message to at the service held for Janine in Pere Lachaise and everyone, including her, was moved by it.  That surprises me; after all, I was just expressing my feeling for two mutual friends.  And I was worried about how they'd take it, as I wrote it in French.  


I am fluent, or at least competent, in the language.  However, there are still some nuances and subtleties that I haven't got down, and possibly never will.  But I wrote my memory of Janine in French because, for one, she was so quintessentially French, in the most exasperating and delightful ways.  Even more to the point, at least for me, is that in my mind she represents France itself, or at least my experience of it.  Plus, I owe a good part of the skill I have in the language to her.


On some level--a selfish and solipsistic one, perhaps--I wonder whether I am going to "lose" France and Paris now that I've lost Janine.  I expect to go back some day, but of course it won't be the same.


Here is what I wrote:

Janine en fait le hereusement pour beaucoup des gens, incluis moi.  Elle en portait une force vitale de vie, et elle etait toujours genereuse.  Ma vie est meilleur apres j'en fait la conaissance de Nine.

Aujour d'hui, je suis tres desolee.  Et je veux faire une consolation pour tu, pour vous, pour tout les amis et famille de Janine.

Je n'en puis oublier la journee a Brighton Beach avec Nine, Marie Jeanne, Diana et Michelle.  C'etait une jour de hereusement pour moi.  Ma vie en fait changer, et Janine m'aider comprend beaucoup des choses.

J'espere reconnaitre (ou connaitre) bientot.  Jusqu'a cet temps, je veux faire assistance pour vous, si vous desirez.

Here's a rough translation:


{Janine brought much happiness to many people, including me.  She was a life force and was always generous.  My life is better for having met Nine. ("Nine" is her nickname, it's pronounced like "Nina.")


Today I am sorrowful.  And I want to console you, and all of Janine's family and friends.


I will not forget the day Nine, Marie Jeanne, Diana, Michele and I went to Brighton Beach. It was a very happy day for me.  My life was changing, and Janine was helping me to understand many things.


I hope that we will meet, or meet again.  Until then, I want to help you in any way I can.}


Josette says that she's planning to come here with Marie-Jeanne and Michele, possibly in the summer, and that she wants to meet me.  

R.I.P. Janine

 I should have known that something was even worse than it seemed.  I was in what is possibly my least favorite place in this city: the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.  But I knew that wasn't the only reason why I was feeling so sad, angry and ready to bolt from my chair on the panel.  Every time the panel's moderator asked a question, I had to ask her to repeat it.  Now, they weren't the best thought-out, much less the best-written, questions I've ever heard.  And they certainly weren't personal, at least not for me. Still, I shouldn't have been blocking them as I was--or feeling as resentful as I was of the other panel members, or the audience, such as it was.


And, as much as I dislike being empaneled (like a sheet of wood nailed to a wall?) , I knew even at that moment that it also wasn't a reason why I should have felt so agitated and unwilling to talk.  When the moderator asked whether I wanted to say anything else, I very emphatically replied, "No!"


Actually, the group I facilitated yesterday, and about which I was asked to speak, didn't go well.  People were bickering over their definitions of "queer" and related terms:  exactly the sort of scenario I was trying to avoid.  And someone walked in halfway through it and, in a very confrontational mode, proffered his notions about what it means to be trans, gay or a cross-dresser.  Now I'm disgusted with myself for making it seem as if the group went better than it did when the moderator asked about it.


So I had a dismal experience on a beautiful day.  But that wasn't the worst of it: I felt an all-pervading sense of gloom.


Now I know what may have caused those feelings.  After getting home tonight, I opened an e-mail to find out that my friend Janine had passed.  


I stayed with her for part of my most recent trip to France, six years ago.  I knew then that something wasn't right with her, though I couldn't tell--and she wouldn't tell me--what.  To be fair, she may not yet have known.  But, knowing her, she might not have told anyone even if she had known.


Not long afterward, she was in the hospital, where she would spend much of her time until she ended up in a nursing home last year.  She was feeling pain; a tumor was found and things went downhill from there.  Two years later, she came here, with Marie-Jeanne, and they, Diana, her husband Don and I made the rounds of art galleries and a trip to the Guggenheim.  Janine nearly kept up with us in spite of using a walker and the fact that we were actually following her demand not to slow down for her.  


Probably the best description I could come up with for her was "life force." She was exactly that:  I, and others, felt more full of life itself  when we were around Janine than at just about any other time.  I don't think I've ever met anyone who had her passion for living, and for life, as she did.  Even if she never picked up a camera, pencils or paintbrush, she could not have been anything but an artist:  She simply couldn't not be creative.  


According to Diana, who relayed the news, Janine died "peacefully and without pain."  Of course I'm skeptical whenever anyone  speaks of how someone else felt when dying.  That's not to say I doubt Diana.  I just find it at least ironic that someone can die peacefully after, as Diana put it, "a long and painful saga."  And that a peaceful death can be painful for the survivors.


Janine, je te manquerai!

What Was Happening Then

Rode about 12 miles today: to Bicycle Habitat and back. Hal was doing a bit of work on my three-speed for which I don't have the tools . The trip there was also a good excuse to ride into SoHo. I still like the energy and some of the architecture, even if Broadway was long ago turned into a mall and there don't seem to be natives of the neighborhood anymore. There don't seem to be artists, either: Their time in SoHo passed about twenty years ago.

I once worked around the corner from Habitat, which is how I found about the shop. Hal was working there then; later, he would leave for a few years. Charlie, the owner, wasn't there today, but he always seems to be there. I guess that's normal when someone owns a store for more than 30 years.

Sheldon was also there. He was an old riding buddy, along with "Crazy Ray" and a couple of other co-conspirators. Back in the spring, I encountered him at the shop. He had just started working there; it was the first time I saw him in a decade or so. The interesting thing is that I find myself talking with him in ways I didn't back then. As you can imagine, he's learning things about me that he couldn't have suspected, much less known, back in the day. And I'm learning that there's more to him than I thought there was. There would have to be in order for him to remain married to Danielle!

Anyway, somehow we got to talking about travel and, specifically, France. He knew that I'd taken trips to France, but didn't know that I'd taken as many as I have, or lived there. And I didn't know that he spent time there when he was a young vagabond musician. He was playing the music of his native Trinidad, which made him and his band something of an attraction over there. He spoke fondly of his time there: He had, as I had, happy experiences with the country and the French people. And he has never spoken any French: He said he simply "met people." And I'm sure they were taken with his smile, which is friendly with a charming little touch of mischievousness.

And I talked about my bike trips. I took two of them, if I recall correctly, during the time we were riding and hanging out together. I don't know how much he knew about the last one: It was around the time we lost touch, I think.

That was the trip on which I was pedaling up the same Alpine climbs that the Tour de France cyclists, led by Lance, scaled. I prided myself on my climbing back then, and I was happy to see three stages of the Tour. However, I felt that I was spinning my wheels--OK, it sounds like a terrible pun, but it fits--during that trip.

The last major climb I made--on a bike laden with full panniers and handlebar bag--took me up le Col du Galibier. It is one of the most renowned climbs. Unlike l'Alpe d'Huez, one of the first climbs I made, the road didn't reach the top via a series of virages. Instead, the climb was almost straight--and steep. Plus, depending on where you're coming from, you have to climb either le Col du Lauteret or le Col du Telegraphe to get there. Neither one is terribly difficult--or, at least they weren't given my conditioning at the time and in comparison to other climbs I'd done. But either is enough to take something out of you before you start on the road up Galibier.

I told Sheldon a story I've related elsewhere (When you open the link, scroll ten paragraphs down.) about my ascent and descent of Galibier, and how it started me on my present journey. I mentioned the message I received and how it foreshadowed what I would experience at the end of that day, when I saw the woman who made me realize I simply had to begin my gender transition.

What Sheldon may realize is that I may have learned as much about him--and myself--in telling him the story as he learned about me. Not to aggrandize myself, but I feel that, these days, when I tell such stories about myself, I can gauge not only what a person is actually thinking (which may or not be what he or she is saying) but also something about how that person relates to his or her own experience. In Sheldon's case, I realized that he has had to be willing to learn things about himself that he could not have imagined--and learn them at a much earlier age than I did. Maybe moving to another country when you're twelve years old will do that to you. And I thought that moving to another state at age thirteen was an education--and letdown!

Anyway, it wasn't just happy or satisfying, it was invigorating, to have that conversation with Sheldon. But it was strange to talk about something that was happening at a time when we saw each other nearly every day and he didn't know about. Some language must have a word for such an experience.