Posts Tagged ‘GSM’

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Trans Girl with a Lesson Plan II

13 May, 2016
Have you ever wondered what it is like to be a trans woman trying to teach in a public high school? If so, read on and learn about my day.
     It started before I got in the building. The principal meet me outside and said that (we’ll call him) “K’s” guardian “isn’t going to let his grade stand. They’re gonna fight this.” I told him, “K has missed 29 days of school and was tardy 42 times on the days he was present. HIs grade is a 48% and he needs a 73% to pass.” The principal said, “I know, and I’ve got you 100%, but they’re gonna fight it.” So, a lovely opening to my day, but that’s not all that will happen.
     Because the seniors are no longer required to come to school, I have been substituting for other teachers. I start the day off with a teacher’s credit recovery class. I’m not in there for thirty seconds when the first of the kids comes in. He takes one look at me and says, “Oh, hell no. I’m not sittin’ in no room with an it.” They walked out and the three students behind him followed suit. In the end, I had one student in the classroom.
     Halfway through this first period, I get called down to the guidance office to talk to a student about his grades. Oh, surprise, it’s K. I explained to him exactly what I told the principal and tell him the choices he made during the school year have lead him to a point of no return. There is no recovery for fourth quarter. He will have to do summer school. Then I’m sent to sub another class.
     Twenty-minutes later I get called in to meet with a different student and his mother. When the mother enters the room she looks at me, winces, and averts her eyes. I’ve seen this before, you can’t be a trans woman and not recoginise this look. She is so disturbed or offended by what she sees when she looks at me that she cannot bring herself to look at me. My HR person had the same reaction when I came out at work; after that he never looked directly at me again. So, we all stand up to shake mom’s hand. I offer my hand and she will not shake it. I’m standing there like a dope with my hand out, as everyone looks at us feeling awkward, but not near as awkward as I felt or even awkward enough to justify not saying something about this situation. She slowly take a deep breath, holds it, loosely places her hand in mine for about two seconds, then wipes it off on her jeans while expelling her held breath so she doesn’t catch whatever disease I have. She avoids looking at me the whole time, even when I was speaking to her directly. Oh, and it is my fault her whole family is coming to see her son not graduate.
     Then it’s K again. We have to call his mom to talk about his grade. It’s a conference call with the principal and vice principal included. Mom doesn’t acknowledge my presence except to ask what work I will give him so he can graduate. I explain everything all over again. She refuses to acknowledge what I have said. I explain about the summer school program. She says, “I hope you won’t be teaching it.” That’s all I get out of her the whole meeting.
     Then it’s back to my room for thirty minutes. Five of which are taken up by K emailing me pleading me to give him some work that will raise his 48 to a 73. The next twenty-five are taken up by a student who was part of the group I sponsored. He spent his time trying to guilt trip, whine, threaten, and cry his way out of the 60% he earned. Mind you, he’s still graduating because he earned 90+ over the required percentage for the year. When that fails he tells me, “I’m disappointed in you You think that you fight for equality but you don’t. If you can’t see I’m a good kid and deserve a better grade then you don’t stand for equality.” I told him the conversation was over and he had to leave. He sat there arguing for ten minutes, refusing to leave the room, despite my asking and telling him to leave no less than seven times. He finally left when I went to page security to the room. He left saying, “I’m gonna pray for you because you need it. God bless you and thank you for the service you rendered.” I locked my door so he couldn’t come back.
     Then I dealt with another email from K. This one tells me he will be homeless if I don’t change his grade and I will have personally ruined his future.
     Now it is fourth period. I have had no lunch and no planning (which is supposed to be third period.) Instead, I go to a science classroom to sub for a ninth grade teacher. It is acknowledged by the administrator that this is a very poorly behaved class. He used the words “out of control,” Why he thought I was a good fit for that is beyond me. It takes ten minutes to get them out of the hall and seated. I have to shut and lock the door because there is a different group of ninth graders in the hall mocking the “man in the dress.” They begin banging on the door. The students ignore me, ignore the instructions, ignore the school rules, and ingnore everything except their phones. Well, all except one student, who we will call “H.” H gets on his FaceTime and begins telling a student at another school that some “he-she is supposed to be watching us.” H then tries to let the students from the hallway into the classroom. I stand in front of the door and block him. He says, “Hey, SIR, I wanna let them in.” I stand there and say nothing. He goes to sit back down saying “He looked like he wants to knock my ass.” I call for the administrator; when he arrives he takes over the class and tells me to write the boy up. I do, but I also realise that nothing will actually be done about it.
     Then it’s back to my room. I answer one more email from K who tells me I should have been telling him everyday that he was failing because the failed papers, failed tests, failed grades in the system, and the failed grades on his progress report weren’t enough to for him to know that he was failing.
     The phone rings. It’s the credit recovery teacher letting me know I’ll be teaching the seniors who failed . . . starting Monday . . . for the next month.
     I turn off the lights, curl into my desk chair, and hide in the dark for the next fifty minutes. Hoping no one else will call or knock before I can leave for the day.
That is what it is like to be a trans woman teaching in the public education system.
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Caitlín

7 April, 2016
On Monday, 1 August, 1977 a baby girl named Caitlín was born to two loving parents. They were told to raise her as a boy. No one understood that she was a girl. Her parents did a good job of raising her and gave her many moments of joy, but that joy was interspersed among gorges of self-hate, fear, and confusion about why God or the Universe would make people think she was a boy. Life was always stressful and there was a weight of pain and responsibility for other people’s happiness and welfare always dragging her below the surface.
Eventually, this all became too much. Her health declined and she came very close to her body just shutting down on her. She decided to save herself and become herself. Her parents still loved her, but she lost almost everything in the process. Much of her family, nearly every friend, her wife, her economic security, her safety leaving the house, and she was ex-communicated from her church. Her job was openly hostile and they put her in as many horrible situations as they could because they could not fire her. She almost broke.
Piece by piece, over many years, she began to rebuild her life. She deepened the few remaining friendship she had, she built new friendships, she eventually found someone who could love her for who she was. Work, however, continued to be a place of violence and abuse that whittled away at her heart, though she developed a few friendships that could provide her with safety when she most needed it. The administration, many staff, many students, and even parents were actively against her and continue to be so. They do their best to hurt her and they are trying to get her removed. Her greatest fear is that they will eventually succeed or that they will finally break her.
I am Caitlín and this is my life.
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Privelege is Also the Privelege to Leave

30 March, 2016

I had another nightmare last night in which the tide of public opinion and policy had so turned against transgender people that I was forced to flee the country to seek refuge, but there was nowhere I could go.

This is something that people who are the “right” gender, the “right” religion, the “right” colour, the “right” orientation, and the “right” ethnicity don’t really understand. If the election or a policy doesn’t go the way they would like, they are not in true immediate danger and, as long as they hold a current, valid passport, they have places they can go. But where would I go? Other countries are also dangerous for me. They pass laws against me, they make it difficult to impossible to get the medical services I need, they have high rates of violence and discriminination against transgender people.

Part of what has made me safe here is the years I have had to build a life and a history that others do not immediately question. Part of what makes me safe here is Whitman-Walker, one of the few transgender health care clinics in the world. Part of what makes me safe here is the relative anonymity allowed to me as someone born and raised in this country.

If I were forced to flee the country, and it would be the result of being forced, I would have to abandon everything that has provided me with a measure of safety. Where could I go? Where could others like and unlike me, who do not fit into the white, cis, heterosexual, Christian mold go? We would be forced to abandon the safety nets that have taken years, decades, to build and to start over as minoritised people without the bits of safety and community that we worked so hard to make for ourselves.

Part of being privileged in America is having the privilege to pack up and leave when things do not go your way. For those of us who struggle and fight for basic human rights like the freedom to worship, the freedom to not be profiled, the freedom to secure basic documentation with ease, the freedom to use public restrooms without violence and threats of arrest, we don’t have that privilege. We cannot just say, “Well it’s time to become an ex-pat” and walk away. For better or worse, we are stuck here and, if priveleged people with a voice and relative power to influence policy and attitudes who can leave chose to leave, then it will be worse for those of us left behind.

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An Open Letter to the GSM/LGBTQ Community

9 December, 2012

I am tired of the hate people express toward one another. I am tired of how they go out of their way to find people to hate, express hate to, and post hate about. I am tired of cis people hating trans* people and of trans* people hating cis people. I am tired of lesbians hating genderqueer people, gay men hating trans men, and radical feminists hating trans women. I am tired of members of our community setting themselves up as better than other members of our community. I am tired of post-op transsexuals looking down on pre-op transsexuals and both of them shunning non-op transsexuals. I am tired of seeing people posting ‘not trans enough’ and ‘die cis scum.’ I’m tired of watching people running others down to feel better about themself.

Life presents enough trials and hardships in a given day; why do so many people feel the need to make another person’s burden that much harder?

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Removal of GID From DSM V May Not Be What It Seems

4 December, 2012

There has been a lot of talk today about how Gender Identity Disorder is being removed from the DSM V, but don’t break out the champagne, yet, because there is a catch. Transvestic Disorder has been expanded to include trans males in addition to trans females AND to include people considered “in remission.” Given the tendency of the psychiatric community to favour this diagnosis and minimalise trans feelings, the removal of GID and the brief, non-analytic press releases touting it, appear to be a smoke screen as they further entrench themselves in anti-trans feelings.

As Julia Serano states on her blog:

Upon reading the above diagnoses, some might cite the requirement that such behaviors must “cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning” in order to argue that a trans person is not considered Transvestically Disordered if they do not experience such issues. However, this is not necessarily the case. The “distress or impairment” language is quite vague and open to the psychiatrist/therapists’s interpretation. If I am fired from my job because of my manner of dress, and if this causes me distress, I could potentially be diagnosed with Transvestic Disorder. This has historically been a problem with diagnoses targeting gender and sexual minorities (as well as other populations that have been DSM’d), namely, that they do not distinguish between personal distress, and distress that arises secondarily due to social stigma and marginalization.

To read her entire article follow this link:

http://juliaserano.blogspot.com/2012/12/follow-up-on-dsm-still-considers-trans.html?ut m_source=feedburner&utm_medium =feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+Whi ppingGirl+%28Whipping+Girl%29&m=1

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Song for Myself

11 October, 2012

Song for Myself
a poem for National Coming Out Day

Jennifer-River

Of myself I sing.
That I should know who I am,
Though I have lain hidden in the dark.

Of myself I sing.
That my lover’s whisper
Should pale beneath mine own to me.

Of myself I sing.
That passion from the well
Of mine own heart drown the thirst I feel.

Of myself I sing.
That I might learn to be
Ally and lover to the beauty which is me.

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Trans* Dignity

15 September, 2012

As a trans woman and resident of the DC area, I am greatly in favour of the DC Office of Human Rights’ campaign to promote trans* awareness and dignity, however, and here is where I will be offending most of you, the campaign photos that have been released all feature attractive, photogenic trans* people with strong “passing privilege.” I am concerned, and I believe legitimately so, that if they do not include average trans* folk, people who don’t “pass,” people who don’t “blend,” and people just starting on their transition the campaign will inadvertently create a standard for being trans* that most trans* people cannot live up to and will result in giving bigots the means to continue justifying discrimination and violence against them.

Further, for trans* people, or members of the GSM community who are out, this can place them in dangerous and life threatening situations. This isn’t a mere poo-pooing of the idea of beauty, but a concern for the safety of those who have no choice but to be out and at risk because the very nature of who they are makes it impossible for them to hide. If the DC Office of Human Rights continues to push the social envelope and includes people from the affected groups I mentioned, I can see this campaign doing a lot of good. If, however, they only present a media consumable version of trans* life and dignity, they will end up doing more harm than good.