The tragedy here for me isn’t just the incredible disrespect shown to the trans woman by a member of the LGBT media, but that it seems part of a larger pattern of backlash to trans women by cissexual gay men. Whether it is in response to the transphobic actions or words of a Ronald Gold, or Dan Savage, or exploiting our deaths for camp, or even arguing against use of the word ‘cis’, there is a significant minority of cis gay men who make no effort to restrain their vitriol for trans women who demand equality.

This is by no means to suggest all cis gay men are transphobic. Far from it, I myself have many cis gay men who are incredible friends, allies, and community, and many prominent gay men are vocal supporters of trans rights. Still, whenever conflict arises between cis gay men and trans people (trans women specifically), there is inevitably a core of gay voices who respond with anger and hatred. The tactics of belittling, derailing, and dehumanizing occur again and again.

This isn’t limited to trolling commenters on websites, either. Some gay men in positions of real power – politicians and the media, among others – hold at best regressive ideas about trans women, and at worst engage in actively anti-trans behaviour. These men directly affect the quality of life for trans people in their ability to influence laws and culture. Whether it is excluding trans people from legislation designed to protect other LGB people or normalizing our culture’s transphobia, the outcome is the same: trans people are marginalized and dehumanized.

Now, the point of writing this isn’t simply to point out that some gay men can say and do transphobic things, or to engage those men in a flame war. Though it is an uncomfortable pattern to point to, and the conversations to begin addressing this issue will not be easy, they nonetheless need to happen. One of the common derailing arguments of those internet commenters is to suggest that the ‘real enemy’ is elsewhere, and that trans people are misguided in their criticism of transphobia within the gay community. I flatly reject this. We cannot move forward to seek social justice for all if we have rot in our foundation. Allowing transphobia, racism, ableism, misogyny, classism, and other oppressions to go unchecked only undermines our efforts. Only by addressing them will our movements be stronger.

The first part of the series is available here: Dating from the Margins: Desexualizing and Cultural Abuse

On many occasions I have heard a friend or acquaintance dismissing a potential date because they’re “insecure,” “too needy,” or seem “more invested.” In polyamorous communities I have often noticed alarm if the person dates fewer people, or doesn’t seem to have much dating history. These value judgements are rarely if ever accompanied by any further analysis, though, and seem to be almost universally accepted as reasons to not date someone.

I have trouble accepting this conventional wisdom for many reasons. At its base this kind of thinking assumes a model of equal access to dating and desirability, which is demonstrably false. Further, it ignores any awareness of oppression models and privilege, and instead works to support those privileged by this model by making neutral these judgements which are nonetheless strongly informed by external cultural biases.

In my last post I presented the idea of systemic desexualizing as cultural abuse, and I stand by that. Especially if one identifies as a proponent of social justice, and of equality in the face of cultural prejudices regarding race, disability, queerness, body type, gender identity, etc., the understanding of the impact of desexualizing and denying desirability is of paramount importance to dismantle oppression. I cannot imagine describing the systemic denial of food, or sleep, or shelter to be dismissed as unchangeably innate and apart from oppression models, yet we do this with desirability all the time.

When I hear someone say their rationale for not dating someone is because of their “insecurity,” or some other easy pop psychology reasoning, I always hope they’ll have a flash of understanding and compassion, and say, “Though I imagine their insecurity might stem from a set of cultural oppressions which I can’t begin to imagine.” We cannot expect progressive social models to ever take hold if we accept the denial of an arbitrarily defined subset of people to the basic right to access love and sexual expression. This zero-sum thinking is the essence of capitalism, and encourages us to hold tight our own privileges while denying the exclusion of others.

When we stigmatize the symptoms of cultural abuse and marginalization (which is what most of the described “insecurity” is), especially in relationships where that same cultural abuse and marginalization privileges us, we are agents for that system of oppression. To identify ourselves as proponents of anti-oppression yet still engage in language and attitudes which apply negative value judgements to people without acknowledgement of the roots of those judgements undermines the very point of anti-oppression activism. It denies the impact of that abuse.

While we imagine ourselves capable of dismantling such oppressive systems as capitalism, sexism, racism, and classism, I find it deeply sad that we are unwilling to commit resources to the dismantling of desexualizing and exclusionary desirability. This is the truly revolutionary, and the truly radical.

I am often frustrated by people who are otherwise invested in understanding and opposing systems of oppression, but who nonetheless exclude dating and desirability from analysis or self-critique. This is especially frustrating when they are privileged by those very systems. This lack of analysis by those who have access and who are prioritized as desirable by their communities effectively silences the experiences of those whose trans status (or having a disability, or not meeting cultural beauty standards, or any of the markers of undesirability imposed by external systems) limits or completely denies access. In many queer, sex positive, polyamorous activist communities I have experienced those with access treating their privilege as the status quo, something which is never discussed, is neutral from criticism, and to which all are assumed to have access. This is done with an often startling ignorance of those who do not.

Understandably, who we are attracted to is a very sensitive topic for most of us. We want to believe our desires are our own, unshaped by the media, patriarchy, racism, ableism, transmisogyny, or other oppressive systems. This is even more challenging when one’s identity is based in ideas of activism, social justice and equality; We don’t want to feel like we’re upholding oppressive standards, or engaging in systems which sometimes violently desexualize marginalized identities.

Conversely, those who do not enjoy much dating capital face an incredibly challenging and vulnerable process when discussing desirability. You can’t help but wonder how much will be dismissed as sour grapes, or what judgements will be made about you to justify your undesirability in the minds of others. This furthers the silencing, and prevents the discussions which can begin to address these inequalities.

And the inequalities are considerable: The systemic desexualisation of any group of people is abuse at the cultural level. Though the idea of being privileged by a culture which abuses the sexuality of others is sure to provoke knee-jerk defensiveness, much like white people who respond to the idea of being privileged by living in a racist culture by saying “But I’m not a racist,” this isn’t about individuals. Refusing to engage with the systems which privilege us because we’re uncomfortable with that sort of self-reflection, however, allows those systems to continue, and makes us complicit in their existence. The effects of desexualization are nonetheless real, and cause much emotional damage for many people.

This isn’t to say we can simply reprogram our desires for the sake of a more egalitarian community, but waving the discussion away with “I can’t help who I’m attracted to!” isn’t the answer either. What we do need is discussion and acknowledgement, not as a defence of our desires, but to perhaps understand how external forces narrow their scope. Acknowledging the prioritizing of certain bodies and identities is just the beginning, and will lead to many difficult conversations I’m sure, but ultimately can only lead to more understanding, more inclusiveness, and stronger communities.

Next: “She’s Kind of Insecure,” or the Catch-22 of Marginalization

Often over the years I have tried to convince myself that my many challenges with living a trans life in a cis world were just the inevitable scars of having faced so much resistance to making queer space for myself. Still, they felt like important scars, reminders of space I’d made, we’d made, so many of us, and that maybe we’d made some more room for those who would come after us. Now, I’m not sure much has changed, and I’m not sure how much space we actually made. And I’m wondering a little bit what some of those scars were for.

Lately I have wanted to write so badly something that spoke to this deep alienation, not just for myself – and there is a great deal of personal catharsis to writing this out, mind you – but to add another voice, not to Trans Woman as a monolithic idea, but as a reminder that we are a diversity of women (I know such an array of amazing trans women, but it is a function of transmisogyny that we are nonetheless so often reduced to the singular). We are a diversity of women who nonetheless face a common experience of discrimination. It is perhaps the most tragic part of this system of oppression that we must expend so much of our time responding to it, and those hours are lost forever to generations of writers, artists, musicians, everyone.

I commented on one blog that the piece read a lot like something I might have written ten years ago, and that is such a frustrating realization. I was talking tonight with some friends about that frustration, about having said these things again and again, and now not knowing what new there is to say. One friend said she’d been reading zines from ten to fifteen years ago, and they were talking in radical communities then about the same things we’re talking about today: racism, transphobia, sexual assault in communities, ableism, and so much else. I don’t know how to feel about that; perhaps things are getting better, but slowly? Still, it makes me think we need new tactics, new responses, or maybe just new conversations.

I think we can do better than to gauge our progress by decades.

The deep frustration of writing about a marginalized experience for an audience who for the most part did not have that experience is that it often feels your only experience of things, even ideas, is in the context of being whatever it is you are. Among the things I’d never hoped for: I am one of the top seach engine links when people search for “lady gaga transgender.” While I still agree with the sentiments of that post I wrote over a year ago, it was also a quick piece of not great writing that misses some of the more nuanced criticism and analysis I could have provided, and it gives enough awkardly conveyed ideas for those who want to find a reason to dismiss it something to hang their opinion on. I’ve thought a number of times of writing a follow-up piece to attempt that nuance, but I think for now at least I’ve written enough about Lady Gaga.

Although the Gagafication of my writing identity was an annoying burden I was glad to turn my back on, there have been other reasons I’ve not been writing. For one, it’s hard. I am by no means prolific, and the words I do get out are extremely difficult. Not just for the emotional vulnerability it requires, but the time and patience for editing or spelling even. I spent most of the past year staring at blank pages and feeling exhausted. People asked me to write pieces for them but nothing would come out. I recently came across an abandoned piece about Trans Day of Remembrance I’d begun last November, and there was only one word scrawled on the page, in pencil: SAD. I realized that I’d mostly run out of things to say to critique pop culture for its attitudes and portrayals of trans women (though there are still really amazing writers doing a great job of that, and I’m very glad they are). I’m mean, sure, I’m glad people still link me in discussions about Dan Savage, but I don’t know how much more I have to add to those discussions.

This brings us back then, I suppose, to treading that fine line between what’s best kept to oneself – personal or private – and what are the important things to say out loud. I think for the most part lately I’ve actually been having those conversations with friends and with lovers, so perhaps there’s space now for the kind of writing I want to do. I’ve always been a proponent of trans women sharing our personal narratives, to both counteract the noise which dominant culture presents about us and to give us reference points in the lives of those like us, which is so important and so often lacking.

So this is me, back, trying to figure out what I have to write. It’ll still be about being trans (and occasionally I suppose about glam rock), but I’m not sure what that looks like. Still, I’m curious to find out.

Since its airing I’ve seen many people state their shock and surprise that SNL would show something so offensive. I can’t help but think that is missing the point, however, and I wasn’t surprised at all. This kind of “humour” is directed at trans women all the time (men in dresses and cis people vomiting after having sex with a trans woman are two of the more popular punchlines). It is always clearly rooted in cultural hatred of trans identity, and its intent is always meant to ridicule, dehumanize, and assert cis narratives of transness over the lived experience of trans people. There’s nothing to be surprised about here, because this is the dominant portrayal of trans women in the media.

I suppose the GLAAD petition might make a few people think a bit more deeply about why the sketch was transphobic, but the cultural conversation that needs to happen is about themes and hatred that run much deeper than what the staff writers at SNL think is funny.

In the meantime, however, this is an important PSA and message for trans women:

Barney Frank has this to say about a trans-inclusive ENDA:

He said concessions were made in the drafting of the language to address moderates’ concerns. For instance, Frank said, transgender people with “one set of genitals” would not be able to go to a bathroom for people with another set of genitals.

And, Frank said, they also would have to have a “consistent gender presentation” in order to be able to sue for discrimination. “They can’t sit there with a full beard and a dress,” Frank said.

Really, Barney Frank? How about writing in some language that lesbians and gays better act straight or they’ll not be able to sue for discrimination? Cuz, really, folks get put off by all that nelly swishy shit, don’t you know?

Honestly, I can’t even bring myself to critique this, and if folks can read it and still not see why it is transphobic I’m at a loss. Policing us is no less oppressive when it’s done by gay people, and Barney Frank is using the language of oppressors here.

Classist (only those who can afford or choose to have genital surgery get to use the bathroom?), misogynist (women aren’t women if they have facial hair), anti-Intersex (there are only two kinds of genitals in Frank’s world)… I could go on, but I’ve said it before: Social justice is not going to come from cis, white men.

ETA: As there is a significant amount of not getting my point happening already, I’ll add this to the final sentence:

Cis, white men who know this become part of social justice activism (or they engage their privilege). Barney Frank is not a social justice activist, he is a politician. He’s showing that willingness to throw out solidarity for the self-interest of “deal making.” He has shown before his willingness to sell out others, and as such we shouldn’t trust him in the least, and we should call out his privilege and his acts of oppression.

A quote from the essay:

Let us reclaim the radical foundations of Pride, in which people of colour, poor and working class people, and transgender and transsexual communities have historically led the struggle. These histories are often erased or co-opted by the white middle class.

Amen to that. The sad truth is that when I see concerted effort by LGB’s to erase or subjugate the lives of trans people and trans women especially, it is generally white, middle class cissexual gays and lesbians who are driving it forward. That is not to say I have not experienced transphobia from a range of people, but the ideological underpinning of LGB anti-trans sentiment is almost always by white people of economic privilege (Janice Raymond, Ronald Gold, to name two).

This often unconsidered aspect of class privilege is especially denied in western economies, where those with the most material gain (i.e. gay white men) are the most likely to defend that as the result of a meritocracy. In its extremes we see capitalist greed create groups such as the Log Cabin Republicans, LGBT people willing to engage those who would otherwise have them erased, purely to position themselves for material gain.

The essay I linked to calls for people of colour to organize, re-radicalize, and be visible during Pride, and I’d extend that to all of us marginalized under an LGBT community which has systemic biases against us. I’d be overjoyed if this Pride season we saw queers act up against corporate sponsors, against muzzling of dissent, and if we all remembered that modern queer rights started with a riot.

(Of course this does not mean all white LGBT people of a certain class are benefiting or supportive of this structure, but those folks also tend to know pointing that out is a derail and cookie-seeking and understand why I don’t engage it. If this isn’t about you, don’t make it about you, you know?)