Why the SAGE Innovative Center Is Necessary

Today, the SAGE Innovative Center opened in Chelsea.


What is SAGE?  And what's so innovative about the center?


First, the organization:  Straight And LGBT Elders began as  Straight And Gay Elders more than three decades ago.  It was probably the first, and is still one of the few, organizations to cater to the needs of LGBT senior citizens.


So it makes sense (At least, I think it does) that SAGE would open a senior center.   But what, you might wonder, is different about an LGBT senior center?


Well, one of the harshest truths about the LGBT community is that many of us don't have anyone to take care of us--in fact, many of us don't have anybody at all--when we get old.   


There are many reasons for that.  One obvious one is that most of us haven't had children.  Corollary to that is the fact that, until a few years ago, there were no legally-sanctioned same-sex marriages.  This meant that those who lived as committed partners of other members of their own gender didn't have the same legal rights--including those of custody and visitation--that the spouses of heterosexuals enjoyed.  I recall a man I met who was dying of AIDS-related and whose partner of more than two decades couldn't visit him, much less be involved in any decisions about his medical care or estate.  Those rights were held by family members who cut off contact with him after he "came out" during his freshman year in college nearly four decades earlier.


Before and since meeting him, I have talked to other LGBT people who lost contact with their families in a similar fashion.  As an example, Charles King, one of the founders of Housing Works, told me that no relative of his has been in contact with him since he "came out" when he was twenty years old.  He's a few years older than I am.


The fact that they have experienced family life differently from most straight people also affects such things as the ways they deal with the deaths of loved ones.  Although same-sex marriage is now legal in eight US states and the District of Columbia (as well as several nations, including Great Britain, the Netherlands, Belgium and Spain), there is still not the same public support for a gay person grieving the loss of his or her partner as there is for someone who's lost an "opposite"-sex spouse.  Plus, many in the LGBT community have lost their partners--as well as friends and other members of their support networks--to the ravages of HIV/AIDS, as well as to violent crimes.  


I mean no disrespect to anyone who's lost a spouse or other loved one to cancer or any other illness, or to tragedies like the events of 9/11, when I say that LGBT people who've lost partners to HIV/AIDS or hate-fueled violence have, in some ways, a more difficult passage because of the lack of societal support I mentioned as well as the relative scarcity of counselors and other professionals who are trained to help them deal with their circumstances.  As someone who's lost people to HIV/AIDS-related illness, hate-fueled violence (and suicide) as well as pure and simple old age, I can tell you that the last one, while not simple or easy, is somewhat easier  because the deaths of older people are expected, and there are  more bereavement counseling and other kinds of support available for those who have lost parents or other elders, or heterosexual partners, than for those who might be assumed to be straight.

Weekend Forum, Coming Up

On Friday I'm going to co-lead a forum on aging in the transgender community.  I guess I'm qualified to lead it:  After all, I am transgender and I am, well, aging.


The forum is going to be held at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.   The following day, a larger meeting will be held as part of a conference at the Graduate Center.  


I'm looking forward to it, as it will allow me to see some people I haven't seen in a while, including Jay, the very first person to whom I "came out."  When you become an aging tranny (or an aging anything else), you are amazed at how much time has passed, so quickly, between various landmarks in your life.  However, when I see people like Jay or Tom (the director of SAGE), I feel as if whole eras have passed.  It seems that between encounters with them, I change in some way or another.  And, I feel as if they, too, change.  For me, the reasons are clear:  I am still in an early stage of my new life, only a year and four months removed from my surgery.  But I feel as if Jay, Tom, Pauline and some of the others are also changing.  

Lesbians In My Future?

Today Doreen, an advocacy coordinator for SAGE, asked me whether I could spend a day or two in Washington, DC. I would be meeting with other people from SAGE, as well as lobbyists and possibly officials. The only problem is that most of the events in which I'd want to participate are on Monday. I really can't take the day off: I've already taken a sick day and the atmosphere at the college, and in my department, is becoming more and more like what I imagine the CIA to be. Everybody--at least the non-tenured people--are overworked and tense, and nobody seems to trust anybody. I find that I'm becoming more and more like them, at least when I'm not in a classroom or otherwise working with my students.

I realize now that's one of the reasons I enjoyed last weekend so much. The people were great; I would have enjoyed them under just about any circumstance. I felt like I was on a little vacation: There was nothing to do but learn and meet people. At one time, being an educator was like that, and for a time, that's how it was at the college in which I'm teaching now.


Maybe it will be like that again some day. I guess I should be thankful I have a job. I also guess that the powers-that-be realize that we all are thinking that way, and they're exploiting that, if in covert ways.


It seems that since the year began, I've spent every waking hour at the college. What do I have to show for it? What have I accomplished? I might get the opportunity to help more students, but what am I really doing for them if I never have enough time to focus on anything enough to do it well? I sometimes feel like I'm in a crowd and everybody's trying to talk to me at the same time. That means, of course, that I can't really hear anybody, and some of those whom I don't hear will grow angry and hostile. And the authorities will penalize me if any of those angry, hostile people act out of those emotions.


OK. You're going to tell me I'm paranoid. If that's so, I've absorbed what's around me. It may be the reason why I've gained weight and why my sinuses have been acting up.


Plus, I'm noticing that some female colleagues with whom I'd once been friendly--or at least who had been civil toward me--have become disdainful, and have even tinged their interactions with me--to the extent that we have any-- with an undertone of hostility. I'm not saying that all, or even most, most female faculty and staff members have been treating me that way. But a few have been acting like sorority girls faced with a particularly unattractive pledge. They are straight and consider themselves progressive and open-minded. And they all use the rhetoric and vocabulary of gender studies and related fields.


I guess I should have been paying more attention when Elizabeth decided to end her friendship with me: That experience parallells, in so many ways, what's happening now. The funny thing is that she admitted--without any input from me--that the problem is not one of my transition itself, but of her unwillingness to understand. (Ironically, one of my brothers said exactly the same thing when I talked to him for the first time since I "came out.") She expressed resentment that I was unfairly claiming my status as a woman even though I do not share some of the experiences, such as menstruation, that she and other women have in common. She even said that I was "changing gender" to achieve favored status under affirmative-action laws. That, she said, was completely unfair to women like her, who have chosen to pursue degrees in fields like Gender Studies but can't get jobs in them. As if I took a job away from her, or any of her classmates!


It may also be that until people like her and the colleagues I've mentioned met me, they had only read about transgenders in their gender studies books and talked about whatever they read in those books. That, of course, makes transgenders the objects of study. But when you know someone in person, she cannot be an object; she becomes a subject--like a strong, articulate black person, whom liberal academics also cannot stand unless they're dead and in history books.


Now, as I said, not all female academics are as I've described. And almost no woman I've met who isn't an academician is like that. However, I've had my worst individual experiences, so far, with straight women with PhDs in liberal arts subjects.


Maybe I'll be spending more time--or even working with--older lesbians in the not-too-distant future. Right now, that sounds really good.

Training For What's Next, Whatever It Is

More training today. For our "homework" last night, we were given a series of questions people might ask out of a variety of motives. When someone asks a question meant to "bait" the recipient, I have the urge to say something sarcastic. Of course I'll need to suppress that if I'm ever in a position of representing an organization, or even transgendered people.

As an example, one of the questions went like this: A friend of mine says she's bisexual. But I think she's in denial; she's really gay. What should I do? The first response that came to my mind was, Really? She's bi? That means she'd like me now, and she would've liked me then. Sounds OK to me.


And, of course, when someone brings religion--especially if the questioner quotes, out of context, some Bible verse-- I want to say something like, You really think that a book you're reading in English but was written before the English language existed came directly from God? Or, So you really want to run your life by a bunch of warmed-over Late Bronze Age myths?


Here's my favorite question: Why did you cut off your dick? No man would ever do that. Aside from the fact that the operation doesn't involve "cutting off your dick," I always want to point out another, more obvious fact, which I would express thusly: You get it! Of course no man would ever cut off his dick!


Anyone who's known me for a long time (You know who you are!) know that I can be sarcastic to the point of meanness. I almost never use that "weapon" these days; in fact, I find that the more hostile and ignorant someone is, the less I want to bring out the verbal knives. In fact, the only person on whom I've used them lately is someone who actually does know better but uses what he know--especially the good things--against me.


Anyway, I was actually enjoying the training, even though today was a bright, sunny Saturday and a bit warmer than the weather has been. There was a group of people from SAGE Milwaukee which, I learned, is the second-oldest SAGE affiliate. I never, ever would have associated that city with anything gay, lesbian or transgendered. Then again, I've never been there. Nor have I been to Chicago, which also has a SAGE affiliate that was well-represented. Also represented were the Long Island, Hudson Valley and Rocky Mountain affiliates.


I enjoyed being around the people for much the same reasons I enjoy being around older people: They've had all sorts of life experiences, so the possibilities for relating are seemingly endless. Also, as a transgender woman, I am interested in hearing about how they lived as gays, lesbians, bisexuals or transgenders, or what other iteration of gender and sexuality they might embody. There was a woman who "came out" after she had grandchildren; others lived with the unwritten and unspoken "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policies of their workplaces and other communities. A few were fortunate enough to be open about themselves and not suffer consequences. However, as you might expect, there are people who lost jobs, families and much more. An example is a trans man who was harrassed out of his job as a nurse when he transitioned.


Oh, did I mention that I have a crush on him? You'd never know that he was born with XX chromosomes: He is trim and ruggedly handsome in the way of someone who works outdoors--and an absolute sweetheart. Alas, he's married and has kids. All right, I'll be magmaminous and feel good that a woman has a good man and a kid has a good Dad.


I also had a bit of a crush on the trainer, a handsome woman who, as it turns out, lives somewhere between where I live and where I work. At the end of the training, she walked up to me, embraced and exclaimed, "I'm in love with you!"



There were a couple of other people with whom I could imagine spending another weekend, or more. And they weren't all senior citizens: The trans man and the woman I just mentioned don't look like they're past 40. Also present were two straight women who considered themselves "allies." Having parents who've been supportive as well as family members and former friends who've distanced or cut themselves off from me, I understand how important people like those two women are.


Now I have a few business cards and a few more e-mail addresses I didn't have on Thursday, along with invitations. One of those cards came from a cute and very nice gay man who's a retired educator. He took me out to Seven, a dark wood-paneled restaurant with big chandeliers that seemed to diffuse the light that came from them. I very much enjoyed the artichoke and almond soup, roast chicken with potatoes and asparagus we ate--each of us finished a full serving of each--and the creme brulee and mango panecotta we shared.


Even if he hadn't taken me out to dinner, I would've wanted to see him again. You see, he appeals to my ego: He spent half the night, it seemed, telling me how pretty and nice he thinks I am, and the "good energy" he feels coming from me.


Oh, and there's even more intrigue. ;-) The trainer and the director of SAGE have asked me whether I want to go to an advocacy weekend, which will include workshops "having a presence," in Washington, DC next weekend. I agreed to it, even though I have mixed feelings about it for political reasons. I want to help older trans people, and trans people and older people generally. But I'm not a fan of government programs generally or Washington, DC--as a city or what it represents. And I have no idea of what I might do there, save possibly for meeting interesting and possibly unsavory people--and learning something, although I'm not sure of exactly what. Then again, part of me says that's exactly the reason to go. So, that's my plan.

Obliging Myself

Today I did a training with an organization commonly called SAGE. When it was founded, the acronym stood for Services and Advocacy for Gay Elders. But now "Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgeder" has been added to "Gay." But most people who know about the organization still call it SAGE.

It's headed by Tom Weber, whom I met on a retreat hosted by an organization connected to the LGBT Community Center of New York. That retreat took place a few months after I'd begun therapy and counseling, a couple of months after Tammy and I split up and, as I recall, less than a month after I underwent the first of a series medical tests that preceded my taking hormones and living full-time as a woman. It was one of the oddest times of my life: I was going to work and socializing, to the extent that I did, with family and friends as Nick but living another life as Justine. Even though I knew that I would soon start living full-time as Justine, and would come out to family and friends, I living in fear of, and doing everything I could to prevent, having my "secret" discovered by those same friends, family members and colleagues.

The retreat on which I met Tom marked the first time in which I "came out" to a group of strangers who weren't in a support group or some other similar setting. The facilitator of the retreat broke the larger group down into smaller groups of six for discussion and various role-playing exercises. Each group had to choose a leader; before I could say otherwise, the members of my group--Tom was among them--picked me for the job.

Through that weekend, Tom and I talked quite a bit. He had just lost his father; for reasons that I could not understand at the time, he looked to me for support. I gave him the best I could; he would insist later that it was "very, very important and helpful" to him.

It was scary, yet exhilarating, to have Tom and a bunch of other people I didn't know looking to me for strength I didn't know I had.

He was the only person I knew when I walked into today's training, which will continue into tomorrow. Yet the people there looked to, and rallied around, me in much the same way as Tom and those other people I met at the retreat did so long ago. (It was seven years ago but somehow seems longer.)

What's interesting to me now is that in being the kind of ally, colleague and friend they want for the brief time we're spending together, I don't feel as if I'm obliging them. Rather, I feel as if I'm obliging myself.

That, I realize now, is what I have been doing for the past seven years. And today it led me to that training, and soon I hope it will lead to a project Tom and I discussed a while back. Perhps it will also lead to my making a new friend or two (or more!) this weekend.

Next Installments

So today I paid my first month's rent on my new place. I still have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, it's a new beginning and is therefore exciting. On the other, I wonder whether this is a detour from the things I'd anticipated.

At least I feel like some part of my future is unfolding. Today I also met with Tom Weber, the head of SAGE (Services and Advocacy for GLBT Elders), Randi, a social worker with SAGE and someone whose name I'm not recalling at the moment.

We talked about starting a focus group with transgender people 45 years and older to find out what they might want in a group for trans people of that age. I came up with the idea when I was in Colorado and noticed that Joyce, Lindy and Danny, who were there for the surgery, were all around my age. It made me think about some of the issues we face, and how so much of what's available doesn't address them. Like so many other things in our culture, support groups and other LGBT services tend to be very youth-oriented. Not that I have anything against the young people: It's just that our concerns are different.

I am excited about the idea of moving ahead with such a project--and, if you know me by now, you wouldn't be surprised to know that I'm a bit nervous. I know that I'll be working with mental health care professionals, who will help with screening and other things in which I have no experience. Still, when I'm doing something to help someone, I want to know I'm doing the best that anyone can do for that person.

At least the ideas I expressed look like they may bear fruit. I guess that's an accomplishment, for now.