From Christine Jorgensen To Jan Morris

It's been a while since I wrote about the Lost Generation of Transgenders.  In this post, I'm going to talk about something related:  Specifically, two of the world's best-known male-to-female transsexuals. One of them was at the vanguard of the first generation of transsexuals, while the other was its rearguard or, perhaps, on the front line of the following generation.

I am speaking of Christine Jorgensen and Jan Morris.  In reading an article about the latter, I found out that she's 87 years old and, interestingly, was born only five months after Ms. Jorgensen.  

The reason why those facts are interesting (at least to me) is that Jorgensen, being one of the first trans women to become publicly known, conformed completely (perhaps even more so than most cisgender women) to the gender norms of her time, while Jan Morris was able to define her own womanhood and femaleness to a much greater degree than Jorgensen could or would have.

Although they were born in the same year, they underwent their surgeries two decades apart.  The fact that gender roles had changed between 1952 and 1972 cannot be overstated.  What's even more important, though, is the way the generational difference affected Jorgensen's and Morris' paths to living as women.

Jorgensen began her transition just after World War II, in which she served as a soldier. She had even fewer precedents than Morris had, let alone than I or transsexuals of my generation had.  And, because the Internet was decades away, accessing information about hormones and surgery, and accounts of transgender people, was even more laborious than it would later be. 

That may be a reason why she modeled herself after the ideals of femaleness--or, more precisely, femininity--that prevailed in the immediate postwar years.  She studied to be a nurse because that was one of the few career options available to women of that time. Her mannerisms, dress and lifestyle were in line with what was considered "ladylike."  While she may have had the natural physical features to become the Marilyn Monroe-like blonde bombshell she would become, it's hard not to think she also did everything she could to enhance and maintain that image, especially after she found herself working as an entertainer.  Finally, she married a man and followed him in moves to suburban Long Island and southern California.

Morris, on the other hand, did not begin her transition until 1964.  By then, treatments--and, some would argue, societal notions about womanhood--were more advanced. Perhaps even more important, she had already established herself as an historian and travel writer, and had been married fifteen years, when she began her transition.  In fact, she went to Morocco for her surgery, which Dr. George Bourou performed, because in her native England she would not be allowed to have her surgery unless she divorced her wife, something she wasn't prepared to do at the time.  They eventually did divorce, but remained in contact and reunited in a civil union in 2008.

Christine Jorgensen died nearly two decades before that union was consummated. She was just three weeks short of 63 years old.  Somehow I have the feeling that the lurid jokes and other ridicule and ostracism directed at her shortened her life.  That's not to say Morris had an easy time, but even she has admitted that she didn't have to endure what Jorgensen and other early transsexuals experienced.

I don't know how much longer Morris has in this world.  Whatever the amount of time, I hope young trans people learn more about her, and the way she was a bridge between two generations of trans people who made their lives and mine possible.

Veterans' Day

To me, this day--Veteran's Day--is one of the most important.  I honestly would give up Christmas to celebrate this day.

Mind you, I think the most important thing the human race could do is to end war.  A good part of our income inequalities and problems with environmental degradation have to do with preparation for, not to mention the fighting of, wars.  And the culture of violence, I believe, contributes to the oppression of (and, naturally, violence against) women and men who don't fit into this culture's concept of masculinity.

That said, this country should honor its veterans--but not in that chest-thumping, rah-rah kind of way we see in parades and exhibitions of military might.  Such celebrations are all predicated on a mythology about this country's military history:  that all of our wars were just, and we never lost any of them. (Korea was a "stalemate" and we got out of Vietnam before the Vietcong could claim victory over American forces.)  But, I believe the veterans should be honored, not celebrated, for their sacrifices--including, in some cases, their lives--for conflicts to which they were conscripted or in which they joined without realizing how misguided (or simply mendacious) the motives were of those who led us into war.

At the same time, we need to remember that even though "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" has been repealed, transgender people still cannot serve in the Armed Forces.  

Umbrella Term

People often conflate the terms "transsexual" and "transgender".  As I understand it, I am transsexual, and what differentiates me from a transgender is that I actually live, and have lived, as a woman and have taken hormones and undergone surgery.  A transgender person, meanwhile, is someone who crosses gender norms.  A drag queen or king is an obvious example of that, but as one infographic tells us, most of us are at least a little transgendered.  It's kind of funny to think that, as a transsexual woman, I can also be transgendered (at least, according to society's norms) because I fix my bikes (and, sometimes, other people's) and don't always dress or act in feminine ways.

Anyway, here's the infographic, which originally appeared on Flux:

 

Kincannon Uber Alles

As Horace Boothroyd III so aptly put it, Todd Kincannon wasn't talking about places where kids sit around campfires toasting marshmallows and singing Kumbayah.

Who is Todd Kincannon?  He's the former head of the Republican Party in South Carolina--the state that, per capita, has put more flat-out lunatics into public office than any other. 

That state gave the world none other than Strom Thurmond,  who defended his support of segregation and opposition to civil rights legislation long after the last Tyrannosaurus Rex died out. All right, I'm exaggerating a bit, but you get the idea.  The guy lived to be 100, and served as a Senator right up to the end, all the while trying to bring back Jim Crow laws.  Finally, just after he died, it was revealed that in his early 20's, he fathered a child with his family's then-16-year-old Black housekeeper.  

Todd Kincannon follows in that noble tradition.  This is what he tweeted:  "There are people who respect transgender rights.  And there are people who think you should be put in a camp.  That's me."

What I find really astounding is that he actually acknowledges that some people respect transgender rights.  If he doesn't respect them--even if he hates us--what does that make him?

Oh, but that wasn't enough.  He followed up his twit's twitter with this:  "If concentration camps aren't going to work, mental institutions will do just fine."

Somehow it seemed appropriate to post Kincannon's remarks on the 75th Anniversary of Kristallnacht.  

A Transgendered Bicycle?

Mixte bicycles are often referred to as "unisex".  Although the top tube, which is horizontal on a diamond or "men's" frame, slopes downward (and is sometimes split into smaller twin parallel tubes), it doesn't tilt as far downward as the top tube of a traditional "women's" bike.  Also, the top tubes of  traditional women's bikes are often curved near the point where they meet the seat tube.  

Whatever the designations and nomenclature,  the truth is that, at least here in the US, female cyclists are much more likely than males to ride mixtes.  And one rarely, if ever, sees a male cyclist of any age on a traditional female bike.

Some comedian--I forget who--once joked about getting hand-me-downs, and his older siblings were all girls.  I wonder how many boys have gotten bikes their older sisters rode before them.  And, of course, some girls received bikes their older brothers rode.  Believe it or not, one girl I knew was gifted with her older brother's Columbia diamond-frame (a.k.a. "men's") after its top tube was removed to turn it into a "girl's" bike!

But I never heard of anyone turning a female bike into a male one--until I saw this:

From Bicycle Shaped Objects

 As a result of "surgery" performed on it, this vintage Schwinn cruiser no longer has a down tube.

I have to admit:  I love the style.  But I'm not so sure I'd want to ride it!

Why They Defected

Although most of my votes have gone to candidates from the Democratic Party, I can't say I've ever been terribly enthusiastic about the party--or, for that matter, most of the candidates for whom I've voted.  For one thing, I think many cities--including New York--are over-regulated.  And, too often, their rhetoric about "inclusion" is simply a smokescreen.  As an example, I think Obama "supports" gay rights (and gay marriage, only after Joe Biden beat him to it) only because the finance and insurance industries employ a lot of gay men (here in New York, anyway).  And those companies are his largest campaign contributors.  

But I've voted for, if not always identified with, Democrats because right around the time I started voting, the religious zealots and hatemongers started to worm their way into the Republican Party.  And now, it seems, they are running the show.

I'm not the only one who thinks that way.  No less than Carlo R. Key says as much, with even greater depth of knowledge than I'll ever have.

Who is Mr. Key?  He's a Texas judge who decided to leave his party and join the Democrats.  That's quite a move for someone in his position.  What's even more telling, though, is his explanation for it:

 Rational Republican beliefs have given way to ideological character assassination. Pragmatism and principle have been overtaken by pettiness and bigotry. Make no mistake; I have not left the Republican Party. It left me. I cannot tolerate a Republican Party that demeans Texans based on their sexual orientation, the color of their skin, or their economic status. I will not be a member of a party in which hate speech elevates candidates for higher office rather than disqualifying them. I cannot place my name on the ballot for a political party that is proud to destroy the lives of hundreds of thousands of federal workers over the vain attempt to repeal a law that would provide healthcare to millions of people throughout our country. .. I would hope that more people of principle will follow me.

The man didn't pull any punches.   But there is also a note of sadness:  "I have not left the Republican Party.  It left me."  At least his move doesn't seem to be one of political opportunism, and even has fairness as a motive:  "I cannot tolerate a Republican Party that demeans Texans based on their sexual orientation, the color of their skin or their economic status."  Couldn't have said it any better myself.

The hate that has infested the party (and, I believe much of the political process) drove Judge Key out of the Republican Party--or, as he says, pulled it away from him--also motivated another high-profile move from the GOP to the Democrats.  In North Carolina, which has tried to suppress voter turnout, Congressional candidate Jason Thigpen announced his defection the other day:

 I simply cannot stand with a party where its most extreme element promote hate and division amongst people,” Thigpen said in a statement posted to his campaign website Thursday. “Nothing about my platform has, nor will it change. The government shutdown was simply the straw that broke the camels back. I guess being an American just isn’t good enough anymore and I refuse to be part of an extremist movement in the GOP that only appears to thrive on fear and hate mongering of anyone and everyone who doesn’t walk their line.

His switch is, perhaps, even more jarring than that of Judge Key because he spent six years in the Army, two of them deployed to Iraq as a gun-truck commander for a Convoy Security Team.  But that experience is another reason why he changed parties.  He says he "didn't go to war to defend the liberties and freedoms of one party, race or one income class of Americans".  So he simply could not abide the Republicans' attempt to make keep minorites and college students from voting.

While the Democrats are welcoming Thigpen and Judge Key with open arms, the party needs to heed a message both men voice:  that their party needs to represent everyone, not just certain segments of the population.  Simply supporting gay marriage is not enough; if the party is serious about representing the underrepresented, it needs to remember the "T" at the end of "LGBT" and all members of "minority" groups.

Preying On The Desperation Of Her Own

By now, you may have heard about Armani Nicole Davenport.

She's the transgender pageant queen who's now a "person of interest" for practicing medicine without a license.  Specifically, she's accused of giving black-market silicone injections to trans girls who enter the sorts of contests she routinely won.

The news media have made much of the fact that she's transgender.  For example, one "report" says "the ten dancing toes of Ms. Armani Nicole Davenport are wanted".   

Now, I don't have a lot of sympathy for anyone who's putting people's lives and health at risk, as Ms. Davenport is accused of having done.  And, as much as I wish I could have begun my gender transition at an earlier age than I did, I don't think I would have wanted to be part of the pageant or "ball" scene.  Some of the girls (as they call themselves; they seem never to refer to themselves as "women") are quite beautiful and put a lot of care into their outfits and makeup, but others, to my eyes, are grotesque parodies of femaleness.  It's sad, really, to see women--trans, cis or otherwise--who cannot value themselves in any other way.

But, really, I cannot blame a lot of those girls for putting so much time and effort into winning those contests.  Many have run away from, or have been kicked out, of their homes and have no way to get a job.  Some are sleeping on couches, others on park benches or worse.  They don't expect to live long, and probably won't; during their brief, tormented lives, they have little else to look forward to.

That makes it all the more reprehensible that someone like Ms. Davenport would practice such a risky procedure, for which she has no training, on such desperate young people.  In that sense, her being trans does indeed make her alleged deeds even more depraved:  If she injected those would-be pageant queens, she is helping to perpetuate the kind of suffering she endured.

But although her deeds are less excusable due to the fact that she's trans, Ms. Davenport's gender identity alone does not make her a monster or even merely a criminal, as too many "news" reports, even at this late date, seem to imply.  Her transgender identity didn't make her morally deficient, any more than being cisgender or heterosexual makes someone evil.  Rather, the marginalization and desperation of those would-be pageant queens makes what Ms. Davenport is accused of having done to them is reason to grieve for them, and to point out just how vulnerable those young women actually are.

 

 

Why Anti-Discrimination Laws In San Antonio Matter

In Milk, a gay teenager calls on the film's eponymous subject--Harvey Milk--for advice. He's isolated in a small town in Minnesota. This young man asks Milk--the first openly gay elected offficial in the US--what he should do.

"Get on a bus and go to any really big city," Milk counsels the young man.  What Milk doesn't--can't--know is that the boy can't walk.

At least there's a happy ending to that story within the film:  A few months later, the young man calls Milk to tell him that he's in Los Angeles with a new-found circle of gay friends. 

At that time--in the 1970's--it seemed that every young LGBT person wanted to move to L.A., San Francisco or New York--or, perhaps, Miami.  Some gay men I knew at the time--the first I would ever know--also mentioned Minneapolis as a "gay friendly" city.  Ironically, the young man in the film didn't move to St. Paul's "twin" city--which, I would think, is much closer than L.A. to his home town.

Anyway, I was thinking about all of that as I read an article someone passed on to me.  I never would have thought of San Antonio--or, for that matter, any place in Texas--as places for enlightened thinking about law and social policy related to LGBT people.  (I'll concede that I've never been to SA, and that my experience of Texas is limited to Houston and Galveston.)  But the good folks of San Antonio not only passed a truly progressive (even by SF or LA standards) anti-discrimination ordinance in September.  The best thing about the law, though, is the process that led up to it.  

That the battle to enact such an ordinance began after other cities adopted, or were in the process of adopting, anti-discrimination legislation may have been a blessing:  From the outset, the law contained language that protected gender identity and expression as well as sexual orientation.  Here in New York, it took more than two decades to get gender identity and expression included in non-discrimination laws that already covered sexual orientation as well as race and ethnicity.  Other jurisdictions had laws that protected racial or ethnic discrimination but endured protracted battles over whether or not to protect LGBT folk.

From reading the article, and doing some other research, I have learned that San Antonio may actually be more left-leaning than I'd realized.  Even so, I think the value of such a city passing such a broad anti-discrimination law is immense.  After all, it's in Texas, which much of the rest of the country--and the world--views as more prototypically American than, say, New York or California

Reporting On An Attack Against One Of Us

I guess we should be thankful for small things...as in, news coverage of the attempted murder of a trans person.

Normally, it seems as if we're vampires:  We're noticed only if we're dead or demons.  In either case, the truth is not told about us.

So it seems almost like progress when a murder attempt is made against one of us and it's reported without the implication that we "had it coming" to us.  That's what almost--almost--happened today.

An Associated Press story in the Naples (FL) News reported that 16-year-old Tavares Spencer was found guilty of attempted murder.  According to Tampa police, he met up with--and shot--23-year-old Terrience Mc Donald in April.

So far, so good (at least from a journalistic point of view).  However, the first paragraph AP story said that Spencer was found guilty of murdering a "transgender man".  Then, later in the story, the AP described Mc Donald as a "man who dressed like a woman".

In other words, the AP contradicted itself, probably without realizing it.  And, one might argue that there was an implication, however subtle, that Ms. Mc Donald brought her attack on herself.  

Still, the report is better than most others we see.  

What Lou Reed Means

As I'm sure you've heard by now, Lou Reed has died.

I won't write accolades for his musical legacy:  Others have already done that, and I can do little more than to corroborate what they say.

In some ways, I think he is the music world's version of Allen Ginsberg:  He will be remembered, I believe, as much as a cultural icon as an artistic luminary.  However, I think that Reed's artistic footprint might be more deeply embedded than Ginsberg's, if for no other reason than more people have listened to Reed's music, and the work influenced by it, than have the poetry of Ginsberg or his acolytes.  Moreover, I think that more people will continue to listen to the music Reed inspired, while the so-called Beat Generation will survive mainly in a few poems of Ginsberg's and a few of Gregory Corso's and, perhaps, Lawrence Ferlinghetti's.

Also, while Reed was less overtly political than Ginsberg, I think he is influencing people who probably don't even realize that some of their favorite music owes something to him.

One reason for that, I believe, is that while Ginsberg and the Beats could be shockingly (for their time) confessional--sometimes to the point of being exhibitionistic--I think Reed's lyrics and music were more self-probing.  The result is that, while he may not have uncovered any great universal truths, I feel an almost-intimate sense of cameraderie with him, as he expresses himself, than I do through most of Ginsberg's poetry, as much as I appreciate its rhythms and, at times, its lyricism.  

Also, I always had more of a sense of Reed's struggle to be who he is, and of his empathy with those who had similar battles.  Perhaps it has to do with his experience of having been forced to undergo electroshock treatments in an attempt to "cure" him of his attractions to other males.  I'm sure Ginsberg didn't have an easy time coming of age as a gay man (I can say that with confidence, having talked with him.), but I never felt, in a visceral way, his struggles or even the love and attractions he so celebrates.  As an aside, I can feel those things--and a reverence for the human body--practically pulsing through the poetry of Allen's idol, Walt Whitman.

I think Reed's struggles--and the ways in which he came to terms with himself, and others--are seen in his most famous song, Walk On The Wild Side.  His portrayal of a transsexual is sensitive and moving, especially given that when the song came out--in 1971--varying from society's scripts about gender and sexuality was even more difficult, even dangerous, than it is now.  While he romanticises transgender Candy Darling, he is not at all sentimental or mawkish--It's clear that the she is a prostitute--and he does not make her the butt of a joke, as too many performers did if they mentioned trans people at all.

He also didn't use the trans woman as a receptacle for his own hang-ups about his manhood, as the Kinks' Ray Davies did in Lola a year before Walk On the Wild Side came out.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing, though, is that when trans people weren't punchlines, they were completely ignored.  As a result, almost nobody noticed either Davies' or Reed's portrayals of trans people--or even the fact that there were trans people in those songs.  As long as Lola's story stays "under the radar", people will continue to listen to, and perhaps enjoy, the song.  On the other hand, the sorts of people who notice Candy Darling's identity are also likely to see the overall artistry of Lou Reed's music and will, I believe, keep it in the public's consciousness for much longer.

My Job: "Coming Out"

On Thursday, I'm going to participate in a panel discussion on "coming out" in the workplace.  It will be held at the Borough of Manhattan Community College from 12:00 until 1:00 in S-410 of the main building.

When I agreed to be a panelist, I realized that a decade has passed since I "came out" at work--and, for that matter, to my friends and family.  Reflecting on those days led me to write my latest piece for The Huffington Post, which was published the other day.

Check it out:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/justine-valinotti/my-job-coming-out_b_4119867.html

Pat Robertson Compares Trans People to His Horse

A conductor--I forget who--once said that Wagner's music had "great moments and awful half-hours".

I don't agree with that assessment at all, though I will grant you that you don't play the "Ring" cycle or "The March of the Valkyries" in a dentist's office.

I mention that comment about Wagner, though, because it applies, in a way, to this segment from Pat Robertson:



In two minutes of sheer loopiness and cluelessness, the Good Reverend had a moment of lucidity:  He said he had no problem with someone getting gender reassignment surgery.  But then he compares trans people to his horse.

What's truly scary is that the host of the show on which he appears is even more clueless about trans people than he is, if such a thing is possible.

Someone's comment on the You Tube video sums up what I've always thought about Pat Robertson:  He is a gay man trapped in a gay man's body.  I wish I'd said that!

New Trans Teen Clinic In Toronto

I remember what a revelation it was for me--in my 40's--to learn of the existence of the Callen Lorde Community Health Center.

I've been going there ever since I began counseling for my gender identity issues.  To this day, my primary care doctor and gynecologist are based there.

When I started going to Callen Lorde, I was happy to learn of their program for LGBT youth. In fact, I referred a couple of young people who were in my support groups to it, as the program was available to those up to the age of 22.  "I wish there'd been something like that when I was their age," I mused.

Now, in Toronto, there's such a program for transgender teenagers, based in the Sick Kids Hospital.  There had been two other clinics for trans teens in Canada's largest city, but they provided only mental health care.  The clinic in Sick Kids is the first to provide medical care, including hormones for some.  

Most important, those who have created the Sick Kids clinic seem to understand that trans kids and teenagers have specific medical issues that, if left untreated, can lead to risky behavior such as unprotected sex, substance abuse and even suicide attempts.  I know all about such things, believe me.

Some may think that such programs "confuse" kids or "push" them into transitioning.  If they're anything like the programs I used at Callen Lorde and the LGBT Community Center, I doubt very highly if such a thing would happen.  If anything, I found the screening to be rigorous though supportive.  I hope--and somehow suspect--that the folks at Sick Kids will be like that--and that they will provide an atmosphere in which young people who may believe they are trans (or simply know they don't fit into the gender and sexuality boxes their schools, communities and, in some cases, families have given them) can look for information and guidance.  

 

Name Changes Made Easier In California

Sometimes it's hard to believe that four years have already passed since my gender reassignment surgery.  It's even more difficult to wrap my head around the fact that I began to live and work full-time as a woman ten years ago last month.

Two months before embarking on my current life, I changed my name.  Actually, I applied in June, and the process took almost a month.  It actually wasn't as difficult as I expected, in part because of the help I received from Lambda Legal. Still, there was at least one anxious moment for me.

Here in New York, as in most places, the law requires that the name change be published in the legal notices section of a newspaper.  In New York, that newspaper must have a circulation of 100,000 or more.  I'd heard that some judges allowed publication in the Irish Echo or other ethnic newspapers.  I hoped that I could do the same:  Somehow I didn't think readers of such newspapers looked at the legal notices.  Besides, few if any readers of those papers would know me.  

Also:  It's less expensive to publish in those papers than in, say, the New York Times.

I didn't get to publish in the Echo or the Il Gazzetto or any of those papers.  But I got what was probably the next-best thing:  I was ordered to publish my announcement in the Village Voice.  Not as many people read the its legal notices as those of the Times  or even the Daily News, and it's less expensive to publish in the Voice than in either of those. 

Even though I experienced no negative repercussions of publishing my name change, I know that other trans people have.  Essentially, they're "outed" to all sorts of people who are, shall we say, not very understanding.  Also, being so "outed" can make it more difficult to gain--and easier to lose-- employment and housing.

So, I applaud California Governor Jerry Brown for signing a bill that would allow a trans person to change the name on his or her birth certificate without getting a hearing in open court or publishing the request in a newspaper.  Only a doctor's note indicating that the person has undergone a gender transition is necessary.  

This law helps trans people in California in another way:  Court-ordered name changes are necessary in order to change a person's name on a drivers' license and other legal documents.  Also, a trans person needs only a doctor's note indicating that a gender transition has occurred in order to change the gender marker on his or her birth certificate.

Now, I hope the Governors of New York and other states will sign similar bills into law so that law-abiding trans people (the vast majority of us) do not need to fear for our safety and well-being when we undertake the changes we need in order to live with integrity and dignity.

 

The Ride of the Material Girl

In the latest issue of Harper's Bazaar, Madonna recounts, among other things, some terrifying experiences as a 20-year-old native of Rochester, Michigan living in New York.

OK, I'll admit it:  She's one of my heroines.  If I could have been born female, I would want to be like her.  Whatever you think of her singing, her "material girl" persona, love life or study of the Kabalah, you have to say this for her:  She follows the beat of her own drummer.  She's daring and, at times, courageous in ways I never could have been.

Anyway, I also know she's done some cycling over the years.  Here she is preparing for a ride in Malibu in 1989:

From About.com

And, more recently--this past August, in fact--she was seen pedaling with her adopted daughter on la Cote d'Azur:

From the Daily Mail

Somehow it doesn't surprise me.  After all, she and I are the same age, and we both come from similar milieux.  I continued to ride my bike as my peers abandoned theirs the day they got their drivers' licenses.  And she was, well, Madonna.  Neither of us could help but to be who we are; both of us ride bicycles.

I Am Luckier Than Nathan Verhelst

I have lost relationships with relatives, people who I thought were friends and former colleagues because of my gender transition.  I have also lost a job and had to move out of an apartment because Dominick used the prejudices and other notions some people have about transgender people to spread false rumors and otherwise slander me.  (He was also abusive in other ways.)  

Still, I consider myself very, very lucky.  Certainly I am more fortunate than Nathan Verhelst.

He began hormone replacement therapy in 2009 and subsequently underwent a mastectomy and phalloplasty.  However, he said "My new breasts did not match my expectations and my new penis had symptoms of rejection."  When he looked in the mirror after his operations, he was "filled with self-loathing."  

"I do not want to be...a monster", he said.

Perhaps no amount of hormones, surgery or anything else could have alleviated his self-loathing.  "I was the girl nobody wanted," he related.  "While my brothers were celebrated, I got a room above the garage as a bedroom. " 

Perhaps even more damaging to his self-esteem were his mother's words:  "If only you had been a boy." He was "tolerated and nothing more", he said.

Earlier this week, with the permission of his native Belgium's government, he ended his life via lethal injection.  The doctors attending him said he "passed peacefully".   

How did his mother respond?  "Her death does not bother me," she declared.  She summed up her relationship with her child thusly:  "When I saw 'Nancy' for the first time, my dream was shattered.  She was so ugly.  I had a phantom birth."

There have been times when my mother was, understandably, exasperated with me. But she never would have said anything so awful to or about me or my brothers.  In fact, for much of my life, she has been among the few people with whom I could talk honestly about how I felt about anything.  And she has been about as supportive as anyone could have been in my transition and my new life.

Nathan Verhelst was a much better-looking man than I am a woman, or I was as a man.  I don't know much else about him, but I am certain than I am far more fortunate than he ever was.

The Lady Doth Protest...

Dennis Jurnigan's "ministry" has included opposition to the Hate Crimes Bill.  His preaching and singing, he says, are inspired by his experience of being "delivered".


From what, exactly, was he "delivered"?  Homosexuality.

Really...



If he's an "ex-gay", then I'm the King of Prussia.

Qu'ils Mangent Buitoni

I really should be upset with Guido Barilla.  Some people are, and I don't blame them.  

If his last name looks familiar, you shouldn't be surprised:  You can find it on your supermarket's shelves--in the pasta section, to be exact.

Yes, he's that Barilla. Specifically, he's the CEO of the company.  Recently, he said something that would have upset me at one time.  But now his declaration merely makes him look ridiculous.  And he managed to follow it up with another utterance that was even more foolish.

On a radio program, he said he "would not do a commercial with a homosexual family".  Now, such a claim doesn't make me happy, but it's no more offensive than others I've heard.  More than anything, it was a very stupid thing for him to say.  After all, plenty of LGBT people have been buying his pasta.

But someone like Signor Barilla doesn't know to quit before the foot he's put  in his mouth starts down his esophagus.  After telling us what we won't see in his company's next ad campaign, he said that if gay people don't like it, they can "eat another brand of pasta".

Qu'ils mangent de Buitoni!  Let them eat Buitoni!  Or Ronzoni.  Or Luigi Vitelli.  Or whatever brand you care to name.

Does this guy really want to be the Marie Antoinette of the pasta industry?

 

From The Neighborhood

Yesterday, for the first time in a couple of weeks, I felt decent and had a few free hours at the same time.  So I went, naturally, for a ride.

The sky was as blue as the air was crisp:  Fall had arrived, if not officially, and yet another summer, another season had passed.  On such a day, I can understand how someone can be agoraphobic:  An open space--whether of land or sea or sky--can seem like a huge, yawning emptiness when there are no markers, physical or emotional.

So all anyone can do--or, at least, all I could do-- was to move through it.  That I did by pedaling, by pedaling Tosca, my fixed-gear bike.  I had a feeling I wouldn't ride a lot of miles, and that I'd ride them slowly, so I wanted to get some kind of workout from them.

As it turned out, I rode about 50 or 60 km, or a bit more than 30 or 35 miles, along the steel and glass shorelines and brick byways that have lined so much of the path of my life. 

A meander from the East River and the bay took me into the heart of Brooklyn, specifically to this place:

On the sidewalks in front, and across the street, from this building careworn and harried, yet content, men and women prodded groups of pale but energetic children as their feet stuttered about the grid of concrete blocks.  Although those children looked different from the way my brothers, my peers and I looked, something was very, very familiar about the rhythm of their steps and their calls to each other.

Perhaps I should not have been surprised.  Although I had not been there in quite some time, I know that building, and that block, as well as any in this world.  In fact, I know it so well that I can tell you that nearly half a century ago, it didn't have the canopy you see in the photo.

Nor did it have the gate that now encloses the courtyard:

By now, you may have guessed that I lived in that building very early in my life.  Some of my oldest memories, for better and worse, are of those days.  

I think it's a co-operative now rather than the building of rental apartments it was in my childhood.  Also, as you probably have guessed, it's populated by families of Hasidic Jews.  In my day, nearly all of the families--of whom my family knew most--consisted of Italian- or Jewish (non-Hasidic)-Americans.  The men worked blue-collar jobs or had stores or other small businesses and the women stayed home and raised us.  In that sense, I guess we weren't so different from the people who live there now.

Then, as now, it was very unlikely that a woman--much less one like me--would have been riding a bicycle down that street--or, for that matter, any of the other streets I pedaled yesterday.  I turned, not quite at random, down a series of avenues and roads and other byways until I reached the southwestern part of Bensonhurst, not far from Coney Island.

I wasn't feeling hungry, but I stopped at a pizzeria--Il Grotto Azzuro--on 21st Avenue, near 85th Street.  From the street, it looks like one of many others of its kind.  But I went in anyway.

"Can I help you?"  The man's accent seemed even more familiar than anything else I'd experienced throughout my ride.

After ordering a classic Neapolitan slice and a white slice, he chimed, "You're gonna have the best pizza there is.   How did you know you were gonna find it here?"

"I followed my nose," I intoned, playing along.  "I always follow my nose when I'm riding my bike."

Somehow I sensed his claim wasn't hype.  Even if it wasn't the best pizza, the guy really believed that it was.  After finishing both slices, I ordered another Neapolitan, even though I was quite full.  "You're right!," I exclaimed.

Those Neapolitan slices were certainly the best I've had in a while.  Even though they were slices and it was five in the afternoon--near the end of the lull between lunch and dinner--it and the white slice tasted fresher than many I've had from just-cut whole pies.  

Sometimes, in the course of a bike ride, a slice of pizza or a bottle of beer can seem like the best you've ever had because you're tired or hungry. (I think now of the sugar and lemon crepe I gulped down after pedaling up Le Col du Galibier.  I've had dozens, perhaps hundreds, of other crepes in France.  But that one was the best.) However, I felt surprisingly good in spite of my recent illness and, as I mentioned, I wasn't hungry when I found Il Grotto Azzuro.

It's been there a while.  As I ate, another customer--a lifelong resident of the neighborhood--told me he'd been going there for more than 30 years.  I hope it's there for at least that much longer: The neighborhood is changing. 

So fueled, I continued down to Coney Island where, after thumping and clattering along the boardwalk (All of it is now open), a guard waved me into Sea Gate, which counts Isaac Bashevis Singer and Beverly Sills among its onetime residents.   I'd heard the area, not surprisingly, took an even greater hit than the surrounding neighborhood from Superstorm Sandy.  But, while the beaches were as eroded as those in Coney Island (though less so than those of the Rockaways or parts of New Jersey), most of the houses seemed to weather the wind and tides well.  Most seemed little different from what they were at this time last year; a few were still being repaired. 

At one of those houses, someone who didn't know my name called me:

  
Of course I stopped.

He capped his head with the palm of my hand and tiptoed along the rails, rubbing the side of his body through my fingers.  I think he knew I'm "from the neighborhood."

When Kids "Come Out"

I've just come across this interesting article.  According to Kris Wells, a researcher at the University of Alberta, more kids are "coming out", not only as gay or lesbian, but also as transgender.  And they're coming out at earlier and earlier ages.

One thing I find interesting is, according to the article, that kids are increasingly supportive of their LGBT peers.  To be sure, there is ridicule and bullying, but more kids are making efforts to befriend their gay classmates.  Others simply see their peers' identities as a non-issue.

In some cases, it seems that parents who support a kid's gender transition get more flack than anyone else.  They are often accused of "confusing" their kids, or of intentional or unintentional intolerance.  Perversely, the same sorts of people who want to rigidly enforce "traditional" gender roles for children are the ones who accuse trans kids' parents of not accepting the "tomboyishness" of their daughters or the "sensitive, feminine" traits of their sons.  Or, they try to counsel such parents that their kids' assertion of his or her gender identity is just a "phase" and will be "outgrown".

The funny thing is that the people who judge such parents are the ones who are themselves most confused about what constitutes gender identity, let alone transgenderism.  They have a point when they say that a tomboy isn't necessarily a trans boy.  Millions of girls who hate the color pink or wearing dresses, or who like to play in dirt, do not see themselves as anything but girls.  Likewise, there are plenty of boys who don't care about sports or cars but would never think of themselves as anything besides boys.

Those who are transgendered do not merely flout norms about appearance, behavior and interests.  Whether and however they express it, they actually know themselves as being of the gender to which they were not assigned at birth.  I can remember seeing myself as a girl at a very young age; as I have mentioned in other posts, I--like nearly everyone else half a century ago--did not have the vocabulary or other means to express it, and few, if any, people in my environs would have understood because they were not aware of how someone could come to such a knowledge of his or her self.

Plus, if a kid knows at three or four or five that something is not "right", and expresses the wish to live in the gender of his or her mind and spirit for a decade after that, it's not a "phase".  I myself wished that my knowledge of myself--let buying shoes, clothes and accessories "for my cousin Linda" or "for my mother, and dressing myself in front of a mirror, were all just part of a "phase."  I still had that wish by the time I turned forty:  I still hoped that extreme sports and other "macho" pursuits and sexual relations with women would end it for me.

Granted, some kids will decide they aren't really trans or that, for whatever reasons, they don't want to live as the "opposite" gender and undergo hormone treatments and surgery.  Still, I can't help but to think that whatever conclusions they come to, they will be more secure in themselves if they probed whatever questions they may have had about their gender identities or sexuality, and had adults (ideally, parents, but others can fill this role) who loved them unconditionally in their journeys to self-knowledge.

 

 

Keeping The Faith

Like most other transgender people, I have experienced discrimination, shame, rejection and even hostility for living in accordance with my true self.

Now, as to whether I've experienced more or worse ostracism than others, I don't know.  I have lost longtime friendships, relationships with relatives and professional colleagues as well as access to people, places and things that were once part of my life.   

By the same token, I have been more fortunate than many other trans people--and many other people, period.  I have been welcomed by people and into places when I expected no such hospitality, and at times I have had glimpses into worlds I would not have considered in my old life.  

I'm thinking now of the first time I entered a mosque.  After I took off my shoes, a caretaker directed me into the area in which women prayed.  We sat on wooden chairs behind a partition about three feet high.  The other women prayed, some audibly.  A few retreated to a more private but still-visible area (from which they could have seen the rest of us), removed their headscarves and washed themselves.  

Granted, we were in the Sultanahmet or "Blue" Mosque in Istanbul.  But I had similar experiences in other Turkish mosques, in the countryside as well as the city, some of which were not visited by tourists or other foreigners.  While those visits, and the hospitality of both the women and men, left me with no desire to become a Muslim (or, for that matter, an adherent to any other religion), I felt privileged to be allowed to partake of what, for some people, is the most sacrosanct part of their lives.  

I hope that Lucy Vallender will have such experiences one day soon.

Three years ago, she had gender-reassignment surgery.  Before that, she'd been a soldier in Her Majesty's forces.  After her surgery, she met a Muslim man on an online dating site and became his second wife.  She is believed to be the first transgender Muslim woman in the United Kingdom.

Although she says she's happy with her marriage and new-found faith, she was upset witht the way her local mosque, in the southwestern city of Swindon, has treated her: She's not allowed to pray with the other women and, she says, worshippers have asked her rude questions about everything from her bra cup size to whether or not she has a period.  They've even asked to see her birth certificate.

When I took my trip to Turkey, I had been on hormones for nearly three years and had been living full-time as a woman for just over two; about three and a half more years would pass before my surgery.  I don't know how long Ms. Vallender had been living as female before her surgery or marriage but, from what I've read about her, I probably had more experience, if you will, than she's had so far.  Also, I was nearly two decades older than she is now, which may have given me some social and other skills she has not yet acquired.

I hope that nothing I've said seems condescending toward Ms. Vallender.  I suspect (or, at any rate, hope) that her faith, her love for her husband and his for her will give her the strength she will need to develop the patience she will need until people in her community understand (to the degree they can or will) and accept her. I believe that she will find such acceptance, and even the hospitality I've experienced, because in my travels and in my work I have met very, very good Muslim people--and, most important of all, because she has accepted and embraced herself. 

LGBT And Labor

I have to admit that I've long had mixed feelings about unions.  Yes, I understand their importance in protecting workers from abuses.  However, I have also seen firsthand how they can be used, like political clubhouses--and, very often, the very corporations whose exploitative practices unions are supposed to fight--to further the narrow interests of a select group of people.  

As an example, faculty members--whether full-timers or adjuncts--in the City University of New York are required to be members of the union.  When you are hired, you sign a card in which you "consent" to join and to have the dues deducted from your paycheck.

Granted, it's not a large amount of money and it helps to pay for some of the benefits members receive.  It's also used, supposedly, to help pay for the materials and work that go into protecting faculty members' rights.  

The union purports to represent adjuncts and other non-tenure-track faculty members as well as those who have tenure, or are on their way to it.  But, I know from experience that the union will throw adjuncts--and others who are not politically expedient--under the bus.  They also don't like to take up discrimination cases because they're "too difficult to prove".  However, they'll bray and bleat all day about some issue or another of "academic freedom".

Still, I'll admit, we need the union, particularly in the current climate: one in which the balance sheet rather than the syllabus is the most important document in education.   

If the marketers, bean-counters and others whose values come from the boardroom rather than the academy see graduates as "products" and faculty members merely as means to production, I don't think they're going to be terribly interested in much else besides getting as much money as possible for or from each student and paying as little as possible to turn those students into graduates.  And if the means of production, I mean faculty member, complains about being sexually harassed, having a false complaint made against him or her or simply not having goals and expectations clearly communicated (let alone receiving support in attaining those goals)--or simply gets sick or has a family emergency-- such administrators would like nothing better than to get rid of that faculty member and hire someone else who won't stand up for him or her self and doesn't have so much "baggage".  

Any member of a group who regularly experiences discrimination is vulnerable in such an atmosphere.  I would argue that trans people are the most vulnerable of all.  Never mind that our health insurance plans (when we have them) don't cover us in the same ways that other people are covered.  No matter how well we do our jobs, we have a harder time keeping them (and, of course, the health plans that go with them) than other people do because there's always somebody who's resentful over "special" treatment he or she imagines that we receive.  Or such a person is simply convinced that we are going to commit, or have committed, any and all sorts of crimes and perversions that never even crossed our minds--or that we are looking for reasons to get them fired over spurious claims of discrimination.  

(As an example of what I've described in my previous sentence, I'm thinking of a faculty member who, upon meeting me for the first time, exclaimed "I always feel I'm walking on eggshells and am going to say the wrong thing around you.")

So, I realize--in spite of my experiences--that trans people, as well as lesbians, gays and others on the "spectrum", need organized labor movements.  And they need us.  That's something to think about on Labor Day, which will be observed tomorrow.
 

Rights Are Not Mandates; Geography Is Not Destiny

Here in New York, many people--particularly among those with whom I have worked and otherwise spent a lot of time--attribute progressiveness or backwardness to geography.  When they hear about hate crimes and oppressive laws, they are quick to dismiss them as vices of people who live south of the Potomac and between the Appalachians and Rockies.  Some think that the line between civilization and barbarism is the Hudson River.

I'll admit that I've fallen into that sort of (non)thinking from time to time.  However, today I came across an article that makes an extremely intelligent and informed observation of gender rights and equality.

The piece in question comes from the Battle Creek Enquirer.  Now, the first thing I think of when someone mentions Battle Creek is the Corn Flakes I ate yesterday morning or the Rice Krispies the morning before that:  The Michigan town, of course, has long been the headquarters of Kellogg's cereals.

(In case you're interested:  I ate both cereals with fresh blueberries.)

The article appeared in commemoration of Women's Equality Day, which came last Monday.  Ninety-three years earlier, on that date, the 19th Amendment, which gave women the right to vote, passed.  The writer of the article, Bill Schroer, noted an interesting irony:  The day before WED was Go Topless Day.

Well, it's an irony to folks like me who would never, ever set foot in Hooter's (or, at least, would never admit to doing such a thing).  But, Mr. Schroer doesn't see it that way.  After all, he says, if men can take off their shirts on hot days, why shouldn't women have the same right?  As he points out, it's done all the time on beaches and in parks in Europe.  And in New York, the State Supreme Court affirmed that it's unconstitutional to require women to wear tops where they're not required of men.  Judges in Ohio and in some places in Canada have come to similar conclusions.

The arguments against women going topless (In most states, it's still illegal for women to publicly breast-feed; in other places, it generates bewildered or hostile stares.) have been, as Schroer points out, couched in morality, or someone's idea of it.  The same was true for men taking off their shirts:  Until the 1930's, it was illegal for them to do so almost everywhere in the US.  The sight of a man's nipples was believed to be ungodly; the same pseudo-religious prohibition still binds women in most parts of this country.

As Schroer so astutely explains, a right is not the same as a mandate.  No one is requiring women to go topless; he and others are simply calling for the right to do so.  Most of us have rights we never exercise; for many women, going topless could be one.  

That is the very essence of an equality movement:  People gaining the rights that other people have.  For example, whenever a suffix is called for, I use Ms.  That is not required of me; I could just as easily use "Miss" and, if I were married, "Mrs."  Many women I know--some younger than I am--continue to use those titles; I use "Ms." out of personal preference and because, I'll admit, it's a bit more socially acceptable among educators, artists and other people around whom I spend much of my time.

Likewise, I often wear skirts and dresses out of choice.  Had I been a biological cisgender female born twenty, or even ten, years earlier than I was, I would have been required to wear such garments to school and, most likely, on whatever job I worked.  In fact, depending on where I lived, I might have been required to wear them any time I ventured outside the confines of my living space.  But now I have the choice to expose my legs (which, many people have told me, are nice) on warm days, or to cover them in trousers when the weather is colder or on other occasions when I can't go bare-legged but don't want to deal with pantyhose or tights.

Sartorial selections may seem like relatively small matters. But, as Bill Schroer points out, they are emblematic of the state of gender equality, or lack thereof.  Leave it to a man from Michigan to understand that.  

Then again, I shouldn't be surprised that someone from the Great Lakes State should have such an understanding of human rights.  After all, New York is third among all states (trailing only Texas and Virginia) in the number of recorded executions.  On the other hand, in 1846, less than a decade after Michigan became a US State, its Legislature became the first English-speaking government in the world to abolish capital punishment.  That law has never been repealed; to this day, Michigan is one of the few states never to have executed anyone from the day it was admitted to the Union.