When Allies Get in the Way

I love allies. The vast majority of my friends are allies. When I speak of allies, I refer to cisgender people who stand in solidarity with the transgender community. I refer to heterosexual people who stand in solidarity with the gay, bisexual, pansexual and other non-hetero communities. Allies are wonderful, and I cannot express my appreciation for them too strongly.

But sometimes allies get in the way.

Sometimes allies take up space rather than making space for those who are marginalized.

Sometimes allies, rather than amplifying the voices of the LGBTQ community, choose to speak over them.

Imagine for a moment being in a meeting in which issues related to the transgender community are being discussed. Now imagine that you are transgender. How would you feel if you are not invited to participate in the conversation? In fact, your presence is completely ignored, while an ally talks about the issues.

I’ve been there. More than once.

At moments like that, the ally is in the way and needs to step aside.

I know allies who take great pride in their allyship. They wear it like a badge of honor. They are proud of the fact that they show up at all the pride events. They make a point of emphasizing that they have been an ally to the community for years. (I have even had someone point out to me that they’ve been an ally longer than I’ve been out, as if that gives them more credibility to speak for the community than I have as a member of it.) I don’t ask that the allies around me hide their support. But when they make it about THEIR support rather than about the community they are supporting, they cross a line and detract from the real issues. They start playing ally theater.

I’m tired of those who play ally theater.

Being an ally isn’t about the ally at all. It isn’t a badge you get to wear. It isn’t about a role you get to play. It’s not about you, your knowledge, your experience, or your involvement. It’s about the people you stand in solidarity with. And if your allyship detracts from them, then you’re in the way. Allyship is acting in solidarity WITH the community. It’s not standing for them. It’s standing alongside them, letting them lead. It’s not an identity, but an action.

You may want to point out that you’ve been an ally longer than I’ve been out, but that doesn’t make your voice more important than mine. This is my lived reality. These are not issues that I am concerned about in a general sense. They are issues that affect me directly. Remember, at the end of the day, as an ally you can always choose whether you will show up for the LGBTQ community. As a transgender lesbian, I don’t have that choice. I live the reality every day, whether I want to or not.

Being an ally requires a commitment to keep listening and learning. It requires the ally to understand that the community they support knows best what its needs are. It requires the ally to carefully choose how and when to use their voice, so that they are not speaking over the voices of the community. An ally has a position of privilege relative to the group they stand together with. Recognize and acknowledge that. Don’t emphasize how you don’t have privilege compared to some other group. Admit that as a heterosexual cisgender individual you have privileges that I as a transgender lesbian do not have in this culture. Don’t become defensive when called out on your privilege, especially if you’re not acknowledging it. Remember, this isn’t about you. It’s about those who are oppressed and marginalized by a society that devalues and dehumanizes them. Step aside and make room for them.

Allyship becomes even more complicated when power dynamics come into play. Allies, because of privilege, may often find themselves in positions of power relative to members of the LGBTQ community. I see this in the field I work in: nonprofit funding. In our culture, with money comes power, privilege and influence. Money often rests in the hands of cisgender heterosexual white people. As allies, they may feel that their money gives them a right to speak over the voices of the community. It takes effort and focused intention to contribute financial support to marginalized communities without dictating to them what they should do. Here again, being an ally means stepping aside and relinquishing control. It means placing oneself in the position of a learner and using one’s resources to amplify the voices of the community rather than speaking on their behalf.

I could write so much more on this topic. Even within the LGBTQ community there is relative power and privilege, often connected to financial resources. Perhaps I’ll return to that topic another time. It certainly should be discussed as well.

If you want to ally yourself with the LGBTQ community (one step of which is to begin to understand how diverse that community is), begin by asking your LGBTQ friends how you can support them. Listen to them and learn. Recognize and acknowledge your own privilege. Choose to make space for the voices of your friends and their community. Amplify them. Don’t speak over them. Remember, it’s not about you. Don’t make it so. Otherwise you’re in the way.

For some additional reading on the topic of allyship, I recommend this article and others on the topic at Everyday Feminism.

Slow Down Andrea!

I haven’t written anything lately because I’ve been really tired. Physically and emotionally spent. Every day. That’s the reality I’ve been living with for the past several weeks. The initial high that came after the surgery (not ignoring the difficulties I wrote about in my previous post) came crashing back to earth when I returned home and had to slowly reengage with daily life. Not that I am in the least disappointed with the outcome of the surgery, nor have any regrets that I underwent it. The underlying joy of being at harmony with myself has sustained me throughout.

I simply didn’t acknowledge how long and tiring healing can be.

Looking back at the past month, I see that I allowed myself the two weeks post-op for complete rest and recovery. Although I didn’t fully acknowledge it until too late, I naively pictured myself returning home and over the course of a week or two resuming my previous level of activity. Ha. Did I ever underestimate my recovery time! My body quickly made it clear to me that my rosy plans were not going to happen. The first week back I tried to resume what I thought was a moderate level of activity, only to find myself exhausted after a couple days. Sure, I enjoyed seeing friends and doing something besides resting on a couch. But I didn’t give myself the rest I needed and my body couldn’t sustain the pace.

Being wise, I quickly adjusted my plans to match my body’s needs. Being stubborn, it took me several days of overdoing it, along with the wise counsel of some good friends, to realize that I needed to seriously adjust my expectations and my activity level. Even with 9-10 hours of sleep daily, I initially found it difficult to make it through an entire day, much less be active in the evening. I had a mental list of things I wanted and needed to get done. By evening I was too tired to tackle any of them. I kept pushing them off and still have most of them on the to-do list. I was forced to radically alter my own plans and expectations and severely curtail my level of activity in order to allow myself the time my body needed for healing. It has been profoundly humbling.

As if being physically tired were not enough, various emotional issues came into the picture to add another level of complication and demand on my energy. Between the physical and emotional fatigue I failed to practice good self-care and found myself pushed to the point of breakdown. After one particularly rough day I recognized that I needed to make a change and reached out to friends for support. I adjusted my activity level to what seemed sustainable (though I’m still figuring out where that level is), made time for mindfulness practices that sustained my mental health, made sure to eat (even when that meant a quick stop at Taco Bell, because the other option was not eating that evening) and put resting and self-care as my top priority. I had assumed I could resume most of my activities after about a month. I know now that it may be another month before I’m at a point to consider doing so.

Every day I am amazed at this new body I have. I am grateful for the opportunity to begin life anew. And I appreciate the incremental progress from day to day. I even had enough energy to sit down and write this evening! I’m making time for the things that are most essential: sleep, rest, food and interaction with friends (in moderation – even if it just means a text conversation.) Work has to fit into that picture, and still presents the biggest drain on my energy, but I’m thankful for a positive work environment that has totally wrapped me in support. I remind myself daily (and am reminded by friends!) to SLOW DOWN. It’s okay to step back from life as long as I need to. It’s appropriate, even necessary, to take time for myself. I don’t need to rush full speed ahead into this new life. It will be there for me. Now is the time to rest and let my body heal. In fact, having written this, it's time to get ready to sleep!