Words Matter

I read a couple articles on NPR the other day about transgender issues. The articles attempted to strike an open tone, not taking a particular stance on questions of transgender rights and transition decisions for children. Yet, in a small but important choice of words, the authors revealed that they had not really understood what it means to be transgender.

In this article about a novel inspired in part by the novelist’s own transgender child, the article’s author writes “Her own child was born a boy and now identifies as a girl.” In another article (and radio story) from December the author uses similar language, describing the child in question as “who was born a boy but – with her parents’ encouragement – has long hair, wears pink and lives as a girl.” In their choice of language both authors misrepresent the fundamental nature of gender identity by stating that the child in question was born as gender X but now identifies as gender Y.  It would be more accurate to say that the children were assigned male gender at birth based on superficial anatomical characteristics, but now recognize that they are female and live in accordance with their identity.

The difference may seem minor, but it affects the entire perception of transgender people. Language that implies that a person is born as one gender but now lives as another represents being transgender as a choice, rather than something internally inherent in the individual. And if it is a choice, as some believe, then by definition one can choose not to be as well. This reduces transgender identity to a simple choice, much as some still insist that one’s sexual orientation is a choice. This view also opens the door to hurtful “therapy” for those who view the “choice” to be transgender as inherently abnormal, sinful or unacceptable.

As I have written before, being transgender is not a matter of choice. The choice is whether one embraces it and chooses to live in accord with that identity. Many transgender people do not, for various reasons, but often because the negative views of society make it impossible for them to safely come out openly. I’d like to think that an organization like NPR would attempt to recognize this rather than hewing to a line that allows the continued propagation of an inaccurate understanding of transgender identity. The awkward but useful terms “assigned male at birth” (AMAB) and “assigned female at birth” (AFAB) represent a fuller and more helpful understanding of transgender identity. Words do matter. Sometimes the very lives of individuals depend on them. 

Pro-life AND Pro-choice?

I mentioned the other day that I would write about my thoughts on a woman’s right to choose what to do with her pregnancy. I tread into very dangerous waters here, but in light of der Trumpenfuhrer’s memorandum reinstating a gag-rule known as the Mexico City policy, which blocks federal funding for any international family planning organization if it includes mention of abortion, I think it’s particularly pertinent.

In the world in which I grew up, abortion was a four-letter word. Planned Parenthood was pure evil. End of story. I joined my mother protesting outside an abortion clinic sometime during my teen years. I don’t have a clear memory of it, but do remember doing it. I also remember writing a paper in college comparing the pro-life movement to the Civil Rights movement of the sixties. (Yes, really.) I had no context in which to approach the issue from another angle.

My views are much more complex now. If you want a nice succinct phrase from me: “I’m pro-life” or “I’m pro-choice,” I fear I will disappoint you. In fact, I’m both. Because to me being pro-life is about so much more than whether I think abortion should be legal. I do think it should be, because, ultimately, I think that option needs to be available for women, and it needs to be available in a manner that is safe and accessible to all, not just those with money. Outlawing it won’t make it go away. It will just make women and doctors criminals for seeking or providing medical care and it will place lives at risk.

I also think abortion should be rare. And the only way to make it rare is to adopt a holistic pro-life stance, one that recognizes and supports thorough and clear sex education. One that makes birth control as readily available and covered by insurance as Viagra (and available free of cost for those who can’t access it through insurance.) A holistic pro-life perspective affirms the need for paid parental leave in the period leading up to and following the birth of a child. It requires having policies and laws in place that protect a woman’s job when she takes time off to give birth. It means providing adequate and affordable childcare options so that women (and men) can return to the workforce after having a child.

Anyone who has read the Republican platform or followed their words and actions knows that they support none of the above. They aren’t pro-life. They are anti-women. They want to return to a world in which a woman’s most natural place was in the home, raising her children and caring for her husband. I’m not opposed to that as an option for women. I’m just opposed to any policies, laws or attitudes that define this as the sole role for women, or make it difficult for women who don’t want to conform to this expectation. I’m not anti-motherhood. I am against defining motherhood in a single, narrow, traditional way.

I no longer think of Planned Parenthood as the great Satan. I understand now the important services they provide to women, services that in fact reduce the need for abortions. I support Planned Parenthood because I know women who would not have access to adequate, essential healthcare, without them. Unfortunately, I fear that Planned Parenthood’s services are going to become even more essential as the Republican patriarchy undermines the limited progress we made toward providing adequate healthcare coverage for all Americans. They refuse to recognize or admit, among many issues, that this coverage played a very important role in reducing the abortion rate, which in 2013 (the last year with compiled data) was at the lowest level since 1973. We didn’t get there by making it illegal. As one statement I read declared: Planned Parenthood has prevented more abortions than all the pickets, gory pictures, hellfire sermons and forced ultrasounds ever have.

I’ve come a long way since I stood on that sidewalk with my mother many years ago. I’m proud to stand in support of women’s right to choose. I would love to see a world where abortion was only utilized in rare circumstances, but I live in the real world and for now that’s often the best option some women have. And in the end, it’s each woman’s choice.

Why I march, part 2

Martin Luther King Jr. wrote in his famous “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”:

“I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ that to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice…”

He continued:

“Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

These words came to mind yesterday as I surveyed some of the reactions to Saturday’s powerful demonstration of unity in the face of the new regime in Washington and their actions to marginalize, disenfranchise and dehumanize people and their efforts to undercut the very structures that provide opportunity for those who need it most. I saw plenty of comments from narrow-minded ignoramuses who have nothing meaningful to add to the civic conversation. These I give all the attention they deserve – none.

But I also read posts from women (and men) who seemed to think the marches were solely pro-choice marchers. I also saw the response from a woman named Christy who expressed her lack of understanding for the marchers. More pertinently for me, I saw her response shared by women I know. Christy, and those who have favored her post, don’t think there’s a need for the marches because, after all, women have everything they are asking for: the right to vote, the right to work, freedom to direct their lives, etc. These women feel that we should be grateful for what we’ve got since so many women around the world have it so much worse. I want to address both of these threads.

As for the first issue, while there was a distinctly pro-choice aspect to the march, this was not singularly a march about a woman’s right to choose. If that’s all you think it was about, then you weren’t paying attention, or you were getting your information from a very narrow source. I feel inclined to share more of my thoughts on this topic, but in a separate post on another day.

My response to the second thread of argument is related to my first response, but goes deeper. To fully respond to this I need to introduce the word “intersectionality.” Intersectionality means, as simply as I can explain it, recognizing that one cannot simply address women’s rights without also addressing LGBTQ rights, immigrant rights, xenophobia, economic and environmental injustice and a number of other issues. As Hillary Clinton once powerfully said: “Women’s rights are human rights.” Nor can we assume that there is a universal women’s experience (most often synonymous with our own). Just because things may seem well in your world, doesn’t mean that women have nothing to fight for. In light of the moves already taken by the new administration even what little gains we have made threaten to be reversed.

Intersectional feminism recognizes that “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,” to again quote the great Reverend King. Just because some women in America live the comfortable, fulfilled lives they want, doesn’t mean that injustice against women has been eliminated in our society. Much less have we eliminated injustice against other groups in our society. When a woman states that the march is unnecessary because women have secured their place, she is failing to recognize or acknowledge the real issues still facing women, especially women of color. She excludes the enormous obstacles and even hatred face by immigrants, non-White racial and ethnic groups, Native Americans, LGBTQ persons and basically just about anyone who doesn’t enjoy the privileges of being white, heterosexual, gender normative and wealthy.

In marching together Saturday we declared that injustice against transgender people is injustice against all of society. We declared that allowing corporations to trample the rights of Native Americans and place our environment in danger in their pursuit of corporate gain is an injustice against all of us. We declared that defining some people as “illegal” violates not only their rights and their humanity, but diminishes our own. Injustice doesn’t have to affect me directly for it to matter to me.

As for the argument that we shouldn’t complain because we’ve got it so much better than women in other parts of the world, well, there’s a lot of blindness to reality in that statement. There’s also a false assumption that intersectional feminists don’t care about those other women. Focusing on the injustices in our own country, at the local, state and national level, does not preclude standing against injustice in other places. We saw this powerfully demonstrated by the women around the world who marched in solidarity with us. This is about so much more than your own personal comfort. It’s time to get out of your privileged little bubble.

Which brings me back to Dr. King’s words. I wonder at moments like this whether our biggest obstacle isn’t the bigoted, misogynistic, racist man in the White House, and all those whose views echo his. Our biggest obstacle may be the 53% of white women who voted for that man even knowing these things about him, the ones objecting to our march because they don’t see what the problem is. They don’t see themselves as racist, or xenophobic, or homophobic (or maybe they do), and perhaps they aren’t. But they can’t see far enough beyond their own bubble to recognize that the issues we stand for and against are real. Injustice still exists here, in our own country. In our states. In our cities and neighborhoods. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. Don’t think you will remain unaffected by it just because you don’t think you need to march. Be glad we march for you anyway.  

Why I march

Today I saw a reminder of what America is, of what makes America beautiful. More than that, I was so powerfully moved to see the images of women (and men) around the world standing together in solidarity. This is about so much more than one man’s election.

Today I marched with women and men of all different backgrounds, religions, sexual orientations, ethnicities, races, nationalities as we stated with our words and our bodies that we will not quietly acquiesce as the new government in this country rolls back civil rights, undermines efforts to protect our environment, obstructs equality, pushes the poor and marginalized further to the edge.

Proud to walk with these #nastywomen and their #badhombres.
Picture courtesy Patri W., another outstanding nasty woman.

 Yesterday was a dark day. We witnessed a man take an oath of office who already has shown that he does not respect or intend to uphold the very Constitution that defines his office. We have seen him nominate individual after individual to direct government agencies who are fundamentally unqualified and intrinsically opposed to the very tasks that these agencies are supposed to fulfill. We saw the elite white straight male kleptocracy reassert its control of the levers of power in this country. 

But their control will come to an end. The face of America is not solely, or even predominantly, that of white, straight, conservatives. The face of America is women. It’s immigrants. It’s refugees. It’s Black people, Latinx people, Asian people, gays, lesbians, transgender and other non-conforming people. It’s the Native American peoples, who lived in this land long before white men expropriated it. It’s men who recognize that society will flourish only when all people have a voice and a place at the table. It’s people of faith from Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, and, yes, Christian communities. And even those who ascribe to no faith at all.

Therein lies the power in today’s march. It wasn’t about a single agenda. It wasn’t about “taking back control” because most of us have not had access to power and control anyway. And it wasn’t about complaining or regretting that Hillary lost the electoral vote. It’s about saying that America’s greatness lies not in Trump’s warped vision, nor in the regressive policies of this Republican-dominated Congress, but in embracing the diversity of this great nation and working towards a society in which all have the opportunity to develop themselves as the people they are, in which the success or advancement of one group doesn’t have to come at the price of another.

• I marched today for transgender equality.
• I marched for women’s equality.
• I marched for our environment, because I want my children and generations beyond them to have a livable, sustainable world.
• I marched for immigrants, migrants and refugees, who add so much to our country.
• I marched for the right of people to marry the one they love.
• I marched for a society in which the color of one’s skin does not define one’s life options.
• I marched for the Native Americans, as they show us how to stand against corporate greed and environmental plunder.
• I marched for the differently abled, because their worth is just as great and their contribution to society just as valuable as mine.
• I marched because I believe in a message of love, inclusion, openness and possibility.

Allie and I at the rally.

As more than one speaker at today’s march in my city reminded us, today is only the beginning. We can’t pat ourselves on the back and go home to rest. (Well, maybe tonight we can as we rest our feet.) The struggle has only begun. I’m ready to go. I know who my allies are. Are you one of them?

A Grand Evening

I came home one evening this past week with aching feet and exuberant spirit. I had spent my evening coordinating the culmination of a process that began more than two months ago, when I first started my new job. The event brought together about sixty people to honor an emerging visual artist in our community, along with five other nominees for the award. This particular award has been awarded for more than twenty years and my predecessor had set a high standard for the reception, so I felt a bit anxious as the day drew near. But on the actual evening I felt confident in my preparations, and thankful for the people who had helped me bring it together. (I’m not going to pretend that I pulled this off single-handedly, but the primary responsibility was mine.) The result surpassed my own hopes.

As I walked around the reception, interacting with different guests, socializing with the artists and connecting them with the award donor and others, I felt at such ease. During the award presentation I stood off to the side of the room, monitoring the flow of the program. I experienced an inward glow seeing the artists recognized for their work, knowing that I had played a key role in the process. It wasn’t about me, and didn’t need to be focused on me. What felt so good to me, both during the reception and afterwards, was that I, Andrea, had done this and had been totally comfortable being myself in this setting. Throughout the process I have interacted with a variety of people and not once had I experienced hostility or even reservation from people, nor did I on the grand evening. I cannot fully convey how significant this is, except perhaps to contrast it with where I was just a year ago.

Last year around this time I had my first truly social outing after coming out. I wanted to take the significant step of presenting my true self in a social venue where I would encounter people who had known me before. With my dear friend I attended a performance of our local ballet company, which I have actively supported for some time. As an active supporter of the company I am recognized by both many of the dancers and other patrons. I was terrified. I put on my finest dress, had my stylist help me with make-up and steeled myself for my grand debut. Because I was so afraid we arrived at the last moment and slipped into our seats. After the performance, I lingered at the edge of the lobby, wondering if anyone would recognize me and approach me. I was still too hesitant to approach anyone myself. Just as I was about to go home, some of the dancers noticed me and called out to me. The moment of truth had arrived. To my great relief, they were very welcoming and supportive (and have remained so throughout the months since then.) It ended up being an affirming experience, but the effort it had taken me to step out in public had drained me.

When I contrast that evening with the reception this past week, the difference amazes me. I felt no fear, no hesitation, no need to be a shy wallflower hoping that no one would notice me (which is good, since I was the hostess of the event!) My transgender identity was simply a part of who I am, not something that I had to hide nor something I had to call particular attention to, as it should be. I wish that this were the situation for all transgender people, in every setting and situation. Unfortunately, it is not. Fear still dominates much of our lives in society. I will not say that I have set aside all my fears. There are still contexts and places where I feel uneasy, but thankfully in my community I feel ever more comfortable and natural. Admittedly, I have yet to venture far beyond this nest, but that time shall come and I will do so confident in who I am. I know I am fortunate to find myself in such an overall positive environment, but I am going to embrace that and be thankful for it. And I will continue to work and advocate for a society where all of us can experience that kind of safety and security in being who we are.

The Danish Girl

I recently watched the movie The Danish Girl by director Tom Hooper, starring Alicia Vikander and Eddie Redmayne. I found it poignant and often almost painful to watch as I could strongly relate to much of the intense emotion expressed throughout. The film is a love story, but not a typical one. (Warning, this is a long post and does contain spoilers.)

The movie, released in 2015, is loosely based on the story of Einar (Redmayne) and Gerda Wegener (Vikander), two Danish painters of the early 20^th Century. I found the synopsis of the plot on IMDB.com  trite and felt it overlooks the most significant elements of the story, framing it as a love triangle involving Gerda, Einar and Einar’s childhood friend. In fact, it is a powerful story of Einar coming to terms with and embracing her true self, whom she names Lili Elbe (also portrayed by Redmayne). This aspect of the plot alone touched me as I watched Lili struggle to emerge and accept herself, particularly within the social and medical constraints of the early 20^th Century. I could understand the internal turmoil Lili feels as she tries to suppress herself and remain within the constraints of her physical body and those imposed by a society that has no acceptance, understanding or willingness to tolerate divergence of this nature. Even she doesn’t understand what she is feeling and wonders if Einar is really a repressed homosexual, until she clearly realizes that she is not. We see Lili visit a series of doctors, trying to obtain medical help with her “problem.” One doctor treats her as a homosexual and tries to “cure” her through doses of radiation(!). When that treatment fails, the doctor orders her locked up for perversion. Another diagnoses her as schizophrenic and wants to lock her up. Finally, a German doctor accepts her declaration that she is, in fact, a woman and needs to be allowed to embrace that. This doctor offers to perform the first publicly documented sex reassignment surgery in 1930, a radical step at the time. The first stage of the operation is successful and allows Lili to live more freely as herself, but complications from the second stage of the operation end up taking her life.

The internal struggle she confronts between accepting herself and trying to remain the husband her wife Gerda loves affected me most deeply, because I know that struggle. The tension in the relationship between Einar/Lili and Gerda forms the central conflict in the plot. Not only does Lili face the choice to be herself or to remain the man her wife knows, Gerda also faces the dilemma of encouraging and allowing Lili to live freely and fully, knowing this will cost her her husband. Both characters vacillate because the depth of their love draws them together, while the desire for authenticity pushes them apart. Vikander and Redmayne both perform splendidly in this regard, with the raw, deep emotion clearly portrayed. I nearly cried when Lili accepts that she must be herself and cannot be the Einar that Gerda wants and needs. I nearly cried again when Gerda affirms to the German doctor that she too recognizes that Lili is, in fact, a woman, and later when she chooses to journey to Germany to be with Lili as she recovers from the surgery that has transformed her physically into the woman she already was. She remains with Lili through the remainder of her life, choosing to reject the temptation to seek her satisfaction as a woman somewhere else. This is powerful love.

Although the film so clearly portrays the challenges of being transgender, not everyone in the transgender community applauded it. Many were upset that the role of Einar/Lili was portrayed by a cisgender male. I understand that concern and would definitely like to see more transgender actors and actresses. However, to say that only someone who is transgender can portray a transgender person well seems too limiting. A good actor or actress enters into the fullness of their character in such a way as to become that person, and I think Redmayne does a remarkable job (as does Vikander, who won an Oscar for her performance). Furthermore, if we say only transgender people should play transgender roles, then others could also say that only cisgender actors and actresses can fill cisgender roles, which would significantly limit the potential roles available to transgender actors/actresses. (Admittedly this is hardly a problem at present.)

I loved the film, which I have tried to make clear already. However, I was disappointed by the connection the film makes between being transgender and having gender reassignment surgery. The film communicates the message that becoming a real woman (or, by extension, a real man) for someone who is transgender requires that one undergo surgical adjustment so that one’s anatomy aligns with cisgender females and males. This perspective limits the definition of transgender far too narrowly. As I have written previously in my post Transgender 101, being transgender is not about one’s physical anatomy. Being transgender is about recognizing (and hopefully in time accepting) that one’s internal alignment doesn’t match the gender assigned at birth based solely on anatomical features. Whether one undergoes surgery to change those features or not does not make one a transgender female or male. One is regardless, simply because that is who one is. I will not become more of a woman by undergoing surgery, nor am I less of one because I choose not to (or for many transgender people, lack the resources to do so.) Gender is not about anatomy. Hence it troubled me when Lili proclaims “I’m a real woman” after her surgery. I would say to her, “You were a real woman from birth. Your anatomy simply now aligns more closely with that.”

I was also disappointed that Lili and Gerda fail to recognize that they can have a full and fulfilling live together in a relationship with a new dynamic. This relates more to my own perception though, because if Gerda and Lili are both heterosexual women, then their sexual interest and orientation will not be toward one another. But it tore me up to see them feeling the tension that they could not remain together in partnership simply because Lili was no longer the Einar of old. The love between them clearly remained strong. Admittedly, in the cultural context of the time a lesbian relationship would have been viewed by society as negatively as a gay one, but the two might have been able to maintain an outward appearance of two women who shared a home together, which is not uncommon in society and which has often been the way in which lesbian women have had to disguise their relationship. After the pain and turmoil of walking through Lili’s transformation together I couldn’t bear the prospect of the two of them separating afterwards.  In this I am decidedly viewing things through the perspective of my own life, in which I wish that things between my ex-spouse and I could have gone differently. Just as it is unfair for me to project my expectations of a relationship on her, so it is unfair for me to project them on Gerda and Lili. But the pain I felt seeing them struggle to find a new dynamic while still holding such deep love for one another was quite real.

As I watched the film, I felt thankful that I live in a time with a greater understanding of what it means to be transgender. I appreciate that the medical profession no longer (as a whole at least) views it as a disorder that must be cured and that someone facing the internal struggle that Lili did can now reach out and find professional counseling and medical help to work through the struggle in a healthy manner. Unfortunately, as a society we still have far to go in terms of understanding and acceptance of transgender people, as evidenced by the renewed surge of legislative proposals that penalize transgender people who live as themselves. We haven’t reverted to the era of forcing transgender people to undergo harmful medical treatment to try to “cure” them of their “problem” and society doesn’t as a rule lock them up as perverts, but the mindset still persists and some seem to want to lead us backwards in this regard.

Because it offers such a poignant portrayal of the struggle transgender people face to embrace themselves, I highly recommend this film. It’s not a perfect story and it shouldn’t be understood as definitive of the transgender experience, but it can give insight into it. This story, just like my story and those of every other transgender person, helps raise understanding, awareness and acceptance and bring society to a place where Lili, and Andrea, don’t face such huge hurdles to become themselves.