I hope I learn as much in the next ten years as I did from 20 to now. Thinking about my own racism, ignorance, and transmisogyny ten years ago is a bit shocking, but it makes me hopeful for how much further growth might be available if I’m open to it.
I hope I keep the community and queer family that’s just beginning for ten years to come. This may sound idealistic, given the fact that I’m not now in touch with a single non-blood related person I knew at 20, but I have a healthy dose of faith as I move in with an amazing fellow transqueer with disabilities, form intentional community, and build relationships with my four partners as well as the metamours and greater poly family I hold dear.
I hope I have the maturity to speak my truth, acknowledge my mistakes, and live not from the achievements we measure in numbers but from the values of love, honesty, and generosity that we cannot measure.
In hobbit style, I’m wishing you all love and glad tidings on my birthday. Ten years led to a different name, a different gender, a different career path, and nearly a different city, but my gratitude for everyone who pushes me to grow and question every day remains constant.
I finally got my iPhone to successfully play Invisibilia, a much-lauded new podcast from the producers of This American Life. Overall, I really like the show, but I was disappointed and even a bit disturbed by the story in “The Power of Categories” focusing on Paige, a bi-gender person. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly why I feel this way. The hosts cover Paige’s story sympathetically, and seem to have done their research. It’s for the most part a scientific take on the topic. But maybe that’s why, as a genderfluid, genderqueer, non-binary person who can’t quite even pick one word to describe my gender, it rankled me.
I find it funny, sometimes, how folks on the Internet perceive me, for better or for worse. So much of the writing I do is about identity and assumptions–about labels and the importance of not labelling others without permission, on the risk of misgendering someone you don’t know by assuming their gender in advance. I’m pretty heavily “out” online and in the world in general, so it’s easy enough to find out the words I use to describe myself. Every few months, it seems, I tweak my bio for a new gig or article, but some of the core words remain the same: non-binary, trans, queer, geek, femme, poly. Most of the time, when someone ignores these descriptors they’re just responding to one thing I’ve said and making an assumption about who I am, or they’re accusing me of “lying” about one of these words. “Lying” is funny in this realm: for example, it’s hard to list all the things that are wrong with assuming what others assume is in a non-binary person’s pants, and then accusing them of lying about their “birth sex” when they haven’t said much about it at all. Huh?
But then there are other ways of categorizing, used by trolls and serious critics alike, that are interesting in that they’re both wrong and make an important point about privilege, that I can take as a useful way to grow even if I disagree with the label. For example, the idea that I’m a “social justice warrior” or a career activist or one of those people who makes a lot of money to give talks and write books is a common thread. Full disclosure, I do sometimes make a bit of money to write an article or speak on a campus, and I’m highly privileged in that way. I can earn that money because I’m white, educated, and have connections in certain circles. A lot of activists do a hell of a lot more than I do and probably have a hell of a lot more to say (or at least things to say that really need to be heard by those in power), but aren’t invited to paid gigs because of systemic oppression and the discomfort people in power tend to have with radical people of color telling them that they’re wrong. I try to use the platform I have to point to voices of people of color and other marginalized folks, and to encourage white privileged people to do better. But I do accept some money for these gigs: in a given year, the equivalent of about a month’s salary. I want to own and acknowledge that.
I don’t belong to much of an “establishment,” as far as I know, in a formal sense, other than the establishment of privileged folks who need to spend more time educating ourselves and listening down the vertical hierarchy of power. I don’t currently work in an activist movement, though I have previously. I’m not so much a part of social communities (BDSM communities, poly communities, queer communities, trans communities) mainly because I don’t have the time. I miss having more involvement in trans communities online, and if there’s any community I might claim it would be those. But I can understand how I might represent something of a “radical establishment” position to some, and so I’ll take the criticism in a constructive way and focus in 2015 on exploring viewpoints that do not command much of a spotlight, particularly voices of color, and on examining my own privileged position and how I can make difficult decisions towards the ultimate goal of tearing down institutions systemic oppression. Sometimes, the best way to do this may be staying silent and making space. Other times, I will lend my voice to the fray because I do think it has some value–no more or no less value than any other single voice.
This third installment in the Radically Queer Gift Guide focuses on what to get the trans men, butch women, and otherwise masculine-leaning folks in your life. While this is not my own identity, I’ve found that Etsy is a treasure trove of ideas for trans-masculine folks and so I’ve compiled a few of my favorites here. If there’s a femme trans guy on your list, some of these suggestions might be especially relevant.
This next installment in the Radically Queer Gift Guide focuses on art, one of my favorite things to buy when I have a little extra cash floating around. Art isn’t necessarily the easiest thing to buy online, but these are some of the creators whose work I’ve found particularly meaningful that also make it available to purchase on the interwebs. I’ve included jewelry here, but I’ll do a separate post on fashion more broadly.
While I’m not exactly a great big fan of capitalist gift-obtaining sprees, I’m pretty excited to finally have a year where I remember to post a Radically Queer Gift Guide. Why? Well, I do enjoy putting my money where my mouth is, and so many of the gifts I’ll suggest in these series come from creators and businesses I’m proud to support. Others may be from larger companies, so of course spend at your own discretion, but I am guilty as the next person of sometimes falling prey to the lure of big-box geekery.
For the first post in this series, the focus is on books, always my favorite gift to give and receive. I’m featuring some favorites both old and new that will appeal to radicals, queers, activists, and anyone on your list who appreciates a bit of mind-opening in paperback form.
It’s been a while since I updated Radically Queer, and that’s mostly because I started a new job as a database manager in August. The job has been excellent so far, and one of the professional development opportunities I’d been most looking forward to as a part of it was Dreamforce 2014, a huge conference for Salesforce users taking place in San Francisco last week. Like my fellow nearly 150,000 attendees, I arrived to San Francisco excited to learn about better ways to use the platform and the new features Salesforce will be offering in the coming year. I was caught up in the enthusiasm of all the huge blue signs and volunteers stationed throughout the Financial District to make it easy for us to register and start the conference. But my experience went downhill pretty quickly Monday morning.
This being such a big, professionally organized conference, my expectations around language accessibility were high. I was a little surprised not to find any obvious accessibility request language or procedures on the main Dreamforce page, but a month or two before the conference I posted a question about ASL interpretation in one of the Dreamforce-related Success Community groups and a Salesforce staff member directed me to the events company managing the conference. The rep replied to my email with one question about keynotes and otherwise, I figured everything was handled. I’d registered very early for a couple of sessions a day, focusing on what I most needed to learn, to make sure it would be easy to provide interpreter coverage for me for the event. But when I arrived at my first session on Monday, I was surprised to find that no interpreter was present. The folks manning the door were also not able to provide me seating up-front, as the session had filled up and I could only sit in the middle of the huge room. I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of the session, so I left.
Later, I Tweeted my disappointment, including the @dreamforce handle, and I did get a quick reply asking for my contact information and offering a follow-up. I was told to expect contact from a particular representative, who didn’t contact me by the end of the day, so I tried again with a DM through Twitter. I received a call on my cell phone, which I couldn’t answer in the loud conference environment, but later received a text and figured out from the matching number that the Salesforce rep had tried to call me to set up an interpreter. We were able to coordinate through text and e-mail and I did get an interpreter for the one remaining Wednesday session that I really wanted to attend. Once the interpreter was scheduled, the staff did very well day-of–the door staff knew to expect me, made sure I was understanding/lip-reading, and told me the interpreter was present. A member of the event company escorted me inside and told me to sit anywhere, and I met the interpreter, who was great. I just wish this service had been available for the Monday and Tuesday sessions.
For the Dreamforce team, this experience should provide several cues for next year. I hope they’ll learn from their mistakes and that I will be able to access the conference fully. I know that I’ll be hesitant to register unless I have a very firm commitment from Dreamforce around ASL interpretation!
- Give attendees an easy way to make accessibility requests. This would be simple to do both on the registration page, with a link on the main event page, and/or with a way to make requests in the Agenda Builder. A clear policy on accommodations offered would also be great to read on the Dreamforce site before the conference.
- Reserve seating up front for those with accessibility needs. Many of these sessions have huge rooms, so it would be great to know that I could sit up front (at least for any sessions I registered for in advance) to facilitate lipreading if an interpreter wasn’t available. While it’s the best policy to always provide interpreters upon request for full access, this is a good option to provide as a next-best accommodation.
- Confirm interpreter availability before the conference and offer a refund if interpreters are not available. If interpreters are requested and not available, attendees should know and have an opportunity to attend. While I got some value out of Dreamforce, it was greatly reduced and I would’ve appreciated knowing in advance that my request couldn’t be honored and having the option to cancel my trip. Or, if interpreters would only be available for certain times, I would have selected sessions in accordance with that availability.
- Train staff in how to work with Deaf and hard-of-hearing attendees. Dreamforce is not the only culprit on this one, and it always saddens me because it would be such an easy fix. Let volunteers and staff know that there may be Deaf and hard-of-hearing attendees present and particularly if someone identifies themselves as such, it’s important to speak clearly and face the individual in question. Staff should use text-based communication (SMS, e-mail, Twitter) to communicate with the attendee when necessary unless an attendee affirmatively says that he/she/they can use the phone/have an interpreted line.
It’s #TERFWeek, which at first made me cringe, until I realized that the week is about educating the broader feminist community about the harmfulness of TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical feminists). This is a group of people, mostly women, many lesbians or queer-identified, who claim to be feminist, yet exclude trans women, one of the most marginalized and oppressed groups of women, from their communities. They’re usually the ones arguing that trans women in the women’s room or in lesbian groups or at MichFest are dangerous, often have weird convoluted mental requirements around transition-related surgeries to recognize trans women as women, and can be found outing trans women on the Internet (including previous names, arrest records, employer info, and home addresses) and generally making lives miserable.
Here’s the thing about TERFs: they’re not feminists.
Now, you could make the argument that a feminist is anyone who says they are one, but I don’t think that really jives with the definition. At the very least, TERFs are extremely hypocritical feminists opposed to the actual tenets of feminism, a movement that is about oppression to patriarchy (which includes, you guessed it, rigid gender norms and a hierarchical binary gender system!)
In this post, I’d like to focus specifically on why feminism must include trans women. I also believe that it must include trans people generally, but if you subscribe to the narrow definition of feminism being about male/female equality or equity, then trans women would be the focus here. It’s also important that feminism focuses on issues such as violence against women and lack of access to employment–areas where trans women are some of the most targeted and affected. Read the rest of this entry
Well, probably not, but I’m starting to wonder whether I might fall somewhere on the asexuality spectrum. As I joked in one panel, “I think I have the gender thing figured out, so why not be confused about my sexual orientation now?” For me, the sticking point in the definition of asexuality is the meaning of “sexual attraction.” If asexual means not sexually attracted to others, and grey-A roughly means not very sexually attracted to others, or only in certain ways, then it’s important to know what sexual attraction actually is. Do we, like porn, know it when we see it?
Since I can’t be in anyone else’s body, I can’t know exactly what the norm is. I know that I feel excitement when I find a person attractive. I want to flail at them a lot and probably cuddle. But the idea of smushing our genitals together does not necessarily occur, and if we end up being sexual with each other, there is inevitably a conversation about how I would rather not engage in any of the typical sex acts, or might be down for a limited menu someday but there’s no guarantee.
Since I know from some awesome asexual educators that asexuality does not necessarily correlate to low sex drive, or to whether you masturbate, or to whether you’re willing to have sex with an allosexual person (someone who does experience sexual attraction), I wonder what it does require. And of course, labels are not essential, but they can be helpful sometimes. I find that folks who are ace or a little grey-A or demisexual or even educated on asexuality seem to have a better understanding of my particular sexuality than others.
Any thoughts? If you do experience sexual attraction, can you describe it? Do you typically think of having sex with that person/want to see them naked/etc or is it more “you! You’re a awesome!” and sex is icing?