Eden Lane Didn't Broadcast Her Transition

Until today, I knew of one transgender broadcast journalist.  I met her when I was about to begin my own transition.  Then, Andrea Sears had been the news editor and anchor at WBAI, the New York affiliate of Pacifica Radio, for seven years.  For the first five of those years, she had been known as Andrew.

She's still working at WBAI.  Now I've learned about a transgender television newscaster:  Eden Lane.  (Can you beat that for a name?)  Every week, she interviews artists, writers, directors and other people involved with theatre, film, music, dance and television for her program on Colorado Public Television.  

She has never kept her identity a secret but, as she said, she never intended for it to be the focus of people's attention.  "If I had known that nobody else was identified as transgender as a news journalist on television, I probably wouldn't have done it.  I probably would have been too afraid."

Before transitioning, she had worked in television.  But, after her surgery, she got married and settled into the life of a suburban housewife, as she tells the story.  "All of that work experience, all of that education, wasn't something I could publicize and own, because it was under a different name and identity." Then she was a guest on a panel for "Colorado Outspoken," an LBGT television newsmagazine.  She was invited back and, when the station needed more help in covering the 2008 elections, she stepped in for her first experience outside the LGBT program.

I am glad to see this story has a happy ending--at least for now.  At least, this story is turning out better than that of Mike Penner, the Los Angeles Times sportswriter who publicly transitioned in 2007 and, within two years, lost his home and marriage and returned to living as a man.  Then he killed himself.

In some ways, Eden Lane's and Mike Penner's transitions are more difficult simply because they are so public.  Mike Penner started to appear in public as a woman and sign his articles as "Christine Daniels."  At first, it seemed to be the best way to handle his situation, as he was trying to make his transition as seamless as possible.  However, the very fact that the people who'd been reading his columns when he signed them as "Mike Penner" were also reading them when he signed them as "Christine Daniels" left him wide-open for comparisons between his "before" and "after" work--and personae.  Not everyone reacted well to the "after", even if there was little or no difference between his earlier and later work.  

Plus, from all accounts I've read, he was a quiet, reserved, circumspect person.  Suddenly he was thrust into the limelight:  He even posed for a fashion shoot.  And then, when living as Christine didn't work out as he'd planned, he felt publicly disgraced and embarrassed.  He probably couldn't handle that.

(Note:  I am referring to Penner by his male name and pronouns simply because he returned to living as a male and, as far as I know, never legally changed his name.  I do not feel I am in a position to say whether or not he was "really" transgender.)

On the other hand, Eden Lane "disappeared" for several years.  Perhaps some of her former audience stopped thinking about her; others probably just assumed she left broadcasting for any number of reasons.  And, by the time she returned, her life--and name--were totally different from the ones she'd left behind.  People who had never known her, in person or on screen, as a male wouldn't have had any "dots" to "connect."

Now, I'm not saying that either Penner's or Lane's way of transitioning is "right" or "wrong" for someone who lives a less public life.  However, people will look at both and draw their own lessons and conclusions.  I am simply glad that things seem to be working out for Eden Lane, and would love things to work out as well for anyone else who transitions.

The Truth About The Real Black Friday

On Sunday, two days from today, a year will have passed since the suicide of Mike Penner, a.k.a. Christine Daniels.

I never knew her, but I feel her loss.  Autumn Sandeen has written a brief but moving remembrance of her on "Pam's House Blend."  What makes it so poignant is that Ms. Sandeen describes not only her loss of a friend, but of what too many of us lose simply for being the people we are.  The loss of family, friends and other communities of support can be enough, by themselves, to send plenty of people over the edge.  For someone who needs those supports even more than others, losing them can be nothing less than catastrophic.  I don't know which is worse: losing them or not having them in the first place.  Both scenarios are too common for gender-variant people.


Penner/Daniels lost her most important bond--that with the person to whom she was married--as a result of living as Christine. I know what it's like to lose the love of friends and family members, or at least to lose the illusion of love that some people offered.  But I can't imagine how desolate her being must have been after returning, for whatever reasons, to living as Mike without what she had when she previously lived as Mike.


I also cannot help but to think of Cori and Toni, two gender-variant friends of mine who committed suicide. Both of them described their feelings to me:  Cori was a woman's soul  in a man's body and Toni saw herself as a man in a female form.  While it could be argued that other factors played into Toni's overdose, I will not accept the idea that conflicts over gender identity had nothing to do with it.  And Cori, on the last night of her life (I will always remember her as female even if other people and the state do otherwise.), told me that being at her wits' end over her dilemma made her want to kill herself.


Any time a gender variant person kills him or her self--something we do, depending on which studies we believe, anywhere from four to twenty times as often as everyone else--his or her struggles with gender identity inevitably play a role, whatever the ostensible cause or method of self-destruction may be.  In a sense, it's rather like AIDS, which doesn't actually kill the patient, but leaves him or her vulnerable to other illnesses that kill and to sicknesses that wouldn't kill someone whose immune system wasn't ravaged by AIDS.  


Not being able to live as one truly is, or living with the ostracism and violence that too often follow those of us who are willing and fortunate enough to live by our souls rather than our mere bodies,  makes us more vulnerable to any and all kinds of despair.  And some, like Mike/Christine, lose everything they had in the journeys to themselves and find that there is no way back.


That, I now realize, is one of the real purposes of the Transgender Day of Remembrance.  We not only remember our dead, but also that we are here, that we--by whatever means--are surviving, at least for the time being.  That we are here and they are not and we cannot explain why can be, for some, a source of guilt and despair.  But the fact that we are alive, and can do something about our lives and those others who are still here, is something that we owe, in some way, to those who are gone.  


If, as Voltaire said, we owe the dead nothing but the truth, then we owe those who are gone the truth of our own lives, of our own selves.  And we owe them an even greater debt because, even if they administered themselves the doses, gunshots or whatever else killed them, they are still human beings who were murdered by hateful people.  I feel that way about anyone who feels driven to kill him or her self because it seems like the only alternative to living with the oppression they experience.  They succumbed to the notion of which too many of us are inculcated:  that we are somehow less worthy, and that our lives have less justification, than those of other people.  Those of us who are living know that the truth is something entirely different, and we owe it to those who aren't here to live it. 


That is all we have, and all they could ever have hoped to have.

Penner Agonistes

Last night, Gunnar sent me an article about Mike Penner/Christine Daniels.  I guess it was supposed to be a sort of post-mortem.  As such, I guess it's all right.  It does talk about Penner/Daniels' career and gender identity conflict.  


(From this point, I will refer to Penner/Daniels by male pronouns and his given name.  I do not mean this as a judgment of his gender or identity.  I never met him, so I cannot even form an opinion about that.  Plus, I don't think it's my place to decide whether or not someone is "really" trans, or gay, or anything else.  I am referring to him as male only because he was living as one, and by his given name, at the time of his death.)


However, the article shares the same flaw with just about every news story I've read about transgender people:  It focuses on the ways in which its subject fits into the traditional narrative about transgender people--almost to the point of making the subject a caricature-- and why that is ultimately the subject's undoing.


One thing the article doesn't do is to discuss the role the Los Angeles Times--whom he served as a sportswriter for 23 years-- played in his coming out, transition and decision to return to living in his former identity.  I guess that's not surprising, given that the article appeared in that same newspaper and was written by one of its staff writers.


I'm not saying that the Times is responsible for his suicide.  What I do believe, however, is that they treated his plight as any media outlet would:  as a sensational news story.  And just about any print newspaper is desperate to sell copies these days.  What could be more of an attention-getter than having one of the newspaper's more prominent writers--who covered sports, which is the most "macho" of beats with the possible exception of crime--"come out" in full view of the public?


If nothing else, it gave the newspaper "creds" with a good part of its readership.  The "quiet, circumspect" Mike became "ebullient and outgoing" Christine under the tolerant auspices of the nation's second-largest newspaper.   What newspaper wouldn't want that sort of publicity, especially in a place as cosmopolitan as L.A.?


On the other hand, Mike wanted to "quietly" transition into becoming Christine. I can fully understand why:  My own social worker, himself a female-to-male, warned me about making my transition "too public."  Turns out, he was right, in some ways:  Transitioning publicly, even for the smallest of audiences, puts you under a microscope.  Everything you do becomes evidence that you've either "gone too far" in living in your "new" gender or that you're not really fit to be part of it.   Sometimes the very same people will make those seemingly-contradictory judgments!  And, if you haven't yet developed a strong sense of who you are, it can destroy you.  Something like that happened to Mike Penner.


Also, when you are transitioning in a very public forum, institutions as well as people will try to "use" your transition for their own purposes.  One minute you make them look good and feel good about themselves for having "tolerated" you or, worse (at least when you're just starting to live in your "new" gender), you become a tool for whatever other purposes or causes they may have.  And, sometimes they'll publicize or simply expose you in ways for which you're not yet ready.   Worst of all, those people and institutions start to act as if they're entitled to use all the details of your life in whatever ways they see fit--and in ways they would never tolerate anyone using their lives and secrets.  


And everything they say about you has an undertone or overlay of sex.  That is, of course, the reason why they'll shun you or stab you in the back later on.


In brief, they build you up so they can use you and tear you down, stab you in the back or cast you aside when you've become "too big" or when you're simply no longer the flavor-of-the-month.


I have experienced everything I've described in the two preceding paragraphs--in the place where I was working during the first two years I lived as Justine, but also with an LGBT organization for which I was a volunteer.  Somehow I got through it:  I guess that my sense of who I am developed, along with the thickness of my hide.


And that is what, it seems, didn't happen to Mike Penner.  I can't say exactly why; from what I've heard and read, it seems that he found himself living as Christine before she had a chance to develop and she had a chance to understand her.


That is what people like the writer of the article never seem to understand:  The "new" gender is an identity that is developing, not just a costume to be stepped into.  Anyone who's being born and goes out into society for the first time--at whatever age--is embryonic, a work in progress or whatever you want to call it.  The way I see myself now, not to mention what I've become, is in some ways different from what I envisioned when I first started my transition, not to mention what I foresaw when I was "crossdressing."  


That, of course, is one of the reasons why we have a "real-life test."  But I think some trans people need even more than that.  I feel sometimes that transgenders are expected, and expect themselves,  to take over the role of a full-formed, full-fledged member of their "new" gender, whatever that may mean to them.  So living full-time in their "new" gender is a sort of bullfight that has to end in the death of the person in the "old" gender.  However, as we've seen, it sometimes ends--as it did for Mike Penner and Christine Daniels--in the death of both selves.  


What is needed, then, is room for someone who wants to live as the "opposite" gender not only to do so, but to really find out what that might mean for him or her self.  That way, if someone decides that he or she has a different idea about his or her  gender identity--or what living in the "new" gender may mean--he or she can modify his or her course, or abandon it altogether.  There would be no shame or accusations that he or she "flip-flopped," and it would be possible to live enriched by the experience of both selves, even if one is aborted.


These days, most people-- even most sportswriters, at least in this country--don't care much for bullfights.  So why should they encourage someone to live one--or try to live one themselves?  

My First New Year's Eve

So...This will probably be my last post of the year. It's a little sad to write this: This, the most momentous of my life so far, is ending. Then again, I'm about to start my first full year in my new life.

Tomorrow I am going to Millie's house, again. She seems to think the first day rather than the first second of the new year is more important--to the extent that she thinks of such things. In that sense, she's rather like me.

It seems that almost everyone is happy to see this year end. At least, the people I've heard talking about the topic have expressed such a feeling. At the same time, they seem more hopeful than optimistic about the coming year. In other words, they're hopeful in the same way as someone who comes to New York after his life has fallen apart in Nebraska. That, by the way, is the story of someone I talked with a few nights ago. Maybe I'll tell more about him later.

Anyway...They say that hope springs eternal. Maybe that's why people ring out the old and ring in the new year. Some--not all of them young--have visions of the wonders that the new year can bring. I'm thinking now of what Eva-Genevieve said in the wake of Mike Penner/Christine Daniels' suicide: Many people enter gender transitions with the idea that living full time in their "new" gender will be like a permanent drag ball. They think of the sense of release they feel when dressing up and going out, or the sexual thrill they get out of "kicking up their heels" and expect that the adrenaline rush they get from playing their roles will continue 24/7/365.

In a similar vein, on this night, many people are thinking only of the things they expect or hope to be better in the coming year. The mass media are full of that sort of thing: The economy is going to turn a corner, etc, etc. Of course, one should have hope. But if you've had some difficulty or another for years or even decades, is it rational to expect that problem to change, much less disappear, by turning a page in a calendar?

Back to transitioning: There are probably more things that don't change, at least in the circumstances of one's life, than there are things that change as a result of starting the process of becoming true to one's self. You still have to pay whatever bills you were paying before. In fact, they will probably be bigger and there will be more of them. You still have the same tensions over work, workplaces and living situations, which may be exacerbated by undertaking a transition. And, I've discovered, though the form of some of your relationships may change, the real attitudes of the people with whom you're in those relationships don't shift--at least, most of them don't. The ones who decide they want nothing more to do with you are really acting on attitudes and prejudices they had before you "came out" to them. The ones who change their attitudes either loved you or simply had open minds before you shared your "secret" with them.

The difference is that you may not have known these things about the people in question before you decided you could no longer live in as the person they believed you to be. The truth is, you didn't have to know them. That is part of what having privilege means: You don't have to know at least some of the truth about others. That also defines what privilege I still have. As an example, I know people who lived on the streets at one time or another in their lives. I admire them for having survived and becoming advocates, going to school or doing other positive things with their lives. But, at the same time, I can't even begin to imagine the realities of the lives they lived when their only shelter was whatever place they hadn't been chased away from and the only way they could make a home for themselves was to curl up in a fetal position, as if they were recreating their mother's wombs.

All right...I'll get off the soapbox. I'll tell you another way in which I have privilege. Happily, I acquired it during the course of my transition and surgery. You see, I didn't get a sexual thrill out of putting on female clothes or an adrenaline rush out of going public in a dress. To tell you the truth, I was scared to death when I first did those things. And I was for a long time afterward. Furthermore, I felt completely out of place the one time I went to a "drag" bar: I am a woman, not a cross dresser. The other patrons--most of them, anyway--went back to their lives as boyfriends and husbands and fathers, as horse trainers and construction supervisors and mechanical engineers. I had no such option of "going back."

That was eight New Year's Eves ago.

Today I made it to the appointment with Anna I rescheduled from last week. I had my hair cut a bit and had it treated to so that it's softer than it was. Other women were getting their hair done; two were also being made up by one of the stylists at Zoe's Beauty. I was there for the same reasons as other women; I simply felt normal there. And that is how I felt when I walked the strip of Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint and tried on shoes and clothes I didn't buy: It wasn't a thrill or a rush; it was simply life as I was meant to live it.

And, yes, I had a late lunch/early dinner at The Happy End. I began today's repast the way I've begun every meal I've had there: with their white borscht. This time, I had the grilled kielbasa with onions. The menu said that the kielbasa was "locally made;" it certainly tasted better than any other I've had. And today's meal is probably the only one I've ever had that included two servings of mashed potatoes. Plus, the sides were interesting and tasty: red cabbage, sauerkraut and a salad made of sliced carrots. I noticed once again that the proprietress, who's about my age, was friendlier toward me than to her fellow Poles. She's seen me before, and remembered me, but I'm sure most of those Polish patrons were repeat customers as well.

She was also friendly to two male hipsters who were eating at the counter. Oh my goddess--I hope that's not the end of the restaurant, or the neighborhood!

Then again, should I begrudge a couple of hipsters their privilege? I wished them a Happy New Year on the way out; they wished me the same.

And I hope you have a great New Year, too!

Mike Penner and Christine Daniels

Last night, I checked out Eva-Genevieve's blog and was shocked to find her post that linked an article about Mike Penner's apparent suicide.

You may recall that about two and a half years ago, Penner, a well-respected sportswriter for the L.A. Times, "came out" as a trans woman. She took a leave of absence and, after returning, wrote a number of columns as Christine Daniels. But then, last October, he quietly returned to living as Mike Penner.

I know that some people will take Penner as proof that trans people are indeed neurotic, if not perverted. Others will see it as proof that all trans people will suffer "transition remorse," if you will.

In the rest of this post, I will refer to Mike Penner by his given name and the gender assigned to him at birth only because he was publicly identifying himself by them at the end of his life. However, I hope that you will not read it as my own judgment about his identity. Not having known him, I cannot say whether Mike was indeed transgendered, much less whether the transition was the "right" or "best" idea for him.

However, I more or less agree with Eva-Genevieve when she says that his death is a cautionary tale about one peril of transition: taking it too lightly. It's not something one can "try on for size." At least, most people in most situations can't do, or at least would have a very difficult time of doing, that.

The transition itself is jarring enough for the one making it and his or her family, friends and colleagues. It almost invariably has some unanticipated cost or another, no matter how well one prepares for it. The one in transition might not lose his or her job outright, but colleagues who were previously thought to be allies may undermine his or her work and reputation. Family members and friends whose love and companionship seemed unconditional may decide to end their relationships with the person in transition. And, of course, there are the financial costs.

I am not complaining about any of those things. Yes, I had a few surprises--but some were pleasant. And what I've lost seems in retrospect to be,if not inevitable, at least not so surprising. Most important of all, I now have the strength to continue after those losses.

On the other hand, one might say that I had less at stake than Mike Penner did when I started my transition seven years ago. The number of people who knew me was much smaller than his circle of acquaintances, and although I have been a journalist, the combined readership of every publication for which I've written is probably much smaller than the LA Times. Plus, I had practically no cyber "footprint" as a male. Also, at the time I started, I had been away from academia for a few years, so I was out of contact with my former students and colleagues.

Furthermore, Tammy and I had just split up and I'd moved. Penner, in contrast, was married and had children.

So Mike Penner, at the time he became Christine Daniels, was entangled in a wider and tighter web than any I had ever spun. That meant not only was his transition more complicated than mine, "going back" was even more treacherous than it would have been for someone like me.

I think now that "undoing" his transition must have been, in some ways, even more difficult than the transition itself. He had known almost nothing but success in his life; to return to living as a male was surely seen by some--and possibly himself--as a failure. I would suspect that he might have gotten even more opprobrium than he did when he was making the transition from Mike to Christine.

What's even worse is that he could not have returned to the life he had before his transition. By the time he returned, he was divorced. Most likely, he had lost other relationships that helped to sustain him during his pre-transition days. I do not know whether or not he developed new friendships and other relationships during his time as Christine, but I would guess that if he had, at least one of them wanted to be friends with Christine, not with Mike. And, perhaps worst of all, he was probably seen as something less than a man (any woman--cis, trans, manque or otherwise--is seen that way, at least by some men) in the overwhelmingly male profession he practiced. And, finally, not only are most of his sportswriting colleagues male; so are most of the subjects of his and their work.

What his story exposes is how rigidly gender roles are defined and how little room there is for one to find out who and what one actually is, much less live by it. Most people never have gender identity conflicts; few understand what it's like to have one. And what even fewer people understand is that the only way to learn how to live with it--whether that means some form of sublimation, going for the surgery or something in between--is to live "as" one sees one's self, whatever that may be.

As it happens, in some ways I do fit into most people's notions about a woman of my age, more or less--and, almost as important, a straight woman of that age. That is one of the reasons why I haven't lived in what I call the "gender underground": I can interact with cis people as if I were more or less one of them. I am also very fortunate in that, even with the difficulties I've encountered, every step I've taken on the road from my previous life and in my current one has felt right. Plus, most important of all, even though I have lost relationships and other aspects of my previous life, I have gained new ones, some of which are better than any I could have imagined in my previous life. Not to mention that I also now have access to emotional and spiritual resources I never knew existed, much less that were within me.

Now, I don't know whether Mike Penner would have had such experiences had he continued to live as Christine Daniels. But I suspect that he never had the opportunity to learn what it really would have meant to be Christine Daniels--or Mike Penner. If that is the case, that may be--at least for him--the worst thing about his life and death.