Posts Tagged ‘Queer’

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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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The Work Is Well Begun, but Far From Done

26 June, 2015

Today’s Supreme Court ruling is an historic step forward for human rights, but we need to remember that laws do not legislate human beliefs. Homosexual, queer, and trans people still face the destructive attitudes of individual people who strip them of dignity, put them at risk, and even abuse and murder them. These people, these colleagues, these friends, these family members will not be swayed by a court ruling. They need to hear from allies, they need to be convinced by allies, that these views are harmful to real people and that they are denying others the dignity of self-identity.

Now is not the time for allies and supporters to slacken; now is when you redouble your efforts to make change real. Allies still have a responsibility to call-in others. Not call-out bigotry, but call people in. Call them in to dignity; call them in to love; call them in to respecting others. Allies, you hold the most responsible of positions: to draw people in with love so all people, straight, cis, homosexual, queer, or trans, have an equal share of dignity.

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Whose Pride Parade is It? (a Caitlin on post)

10 June, 2012

Yesterday was the Pride parade in Washington, DC, which was a unique experience. Having never attended such a mass gathering of the gender and sexuality minorities community, I was overwhelmed by the immense crowds and the vast spectrum of style and presentation. But, as potentially affirming as the experience was, it was more disheartening. I was particularly troubled by three things: the lack of trans* representation, the rampant commercialisation of the parade, and the heteronormative appropriation of a GSM event.

As a trans woman attending with another trans woman and a trans man, I was looking forward to seeing others from my subsection of the community stepping-out onto streets that are more often hostile than friendly. I was anxious to see myself represented in the community and to feel a part of something larger, yet there was a distressing lack of trans* representation at the event. Though we missed the beginning of the parade due to metro rail-work also slated for this Saturday and Sunday, the section of parade I saw did not have any trans* specific floats nor was there trans* representation in other floats. There were gay, lesbian, queer, and drag specific floats. There we’re rainbow flags, gay pride flags, marriage equality shirts and banners. But, what I saw of the parade did not include political messages promoting trans* rights, demanding fair use of bathrooms, or acceptance into public spaces. I did not see anything memorialising the trans women of colour beaten and murdered by intolerant people. It felt very much like we were simply overlooked by the community.

Complicating this feeling was the rampant commercialism the parade was mired in. The number of banks, products, churches, and service providers with little to no connection to the community overwhelmed the floats that had strong ties to the community, such as The Blade and the homosexual contingent of the AARP. Conversations I overheard after the parade had more to do with the companies represented and how sexy the multiple floats of gay, cis, white men dancing in their underwear were then recognition of the gay owned businesses, such as The Blade, which has had to make cut backs on its staff and coverage due to the harsh economy.

But, perhaps, all of this is to be accepted and overlooked with a nod and polite thank you for thinking of us and allowing us to have our parade in your fine city. Except, I left with the realisation that it wasn’t really our parade. Much like how everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day, it was looking to me that everyone was homosexual during the pride festival. A conversation held by two women on the metro ride home validated this impression. Their conversation started off innocuously, with the one observing the other’s rainbow flag and pointing out that she, also, had gone to the parade. Ah, yes, I thought, members of my community out and open. This was not the case. Here is a snippet of their conversation.

Woman 1: That’s a great flag.
Woman 2: Yeah, I marched in the parade.
Woman 1: I was there. It was so much fun! I’m NOT gay, but I totally respect you people.
Woman 2: I’m NOT gay either! ::laughing:: The bank I work for was in the parade so we all had to march. I had to tell my parents that work required it otherwise they wouldn’t have approved of my going.
Woman 1: Oh, I know, it’s SO hard to be a supporter for gay people, but I love my gay boys!
Woman 2: I know, right. My gay, I call him my gay boyfriend, is so fabulous how could I not support him.
Woman 1: I have a BOYFRIEND, but I ALWAYS tell him when a gay boy thinks he’s hot.
Woman 2: Me, too! I ALWAYS tell him because that’s the highest compliment you can get, to have a gay boy think your boyfriend is hot.
Woman 1: Not that I don’t support the gay girls, too.
Woman 2: Oh, definitely! But the gay boys are cooler.

Their conversation continued for fifteen minutes, at inappropriate decibel levels, as the two proud supporters shouted across the aisle at each other. It eases my worries of harassment, discrimination, and physical assault knowing I have such staunch and committed activists being fabulous and marching on my behalf in my parade.

Although I enjoyed the company I was with, I cannot say I got much out of the parade. With the lack of representation, commercialisation, and appropriation holding centre stage in the venue, I would have been happier at a coffee shop chatting with my friends and getting back to the grassroots movement to gain a little recognition and respect.

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A Queer and Pleasant Review

2 June, 2012

The first thing you need to know about Kate Bornstein is she is a compassionate person. She weaves A Queer and Pleasant Danger (May 1, 2012, Beacon Press) from great lengths of compassion and love. This isn’t just a book, she hasn’t produced a litany of entertaining anecdotes for mass consumption. Her memoirs are a love letter written for her daughter, Jessica, whom she hasn’t seen in thirty years and her grandchildren whom she’s never met. Kate is a former Scientologist and her daughter and grandchildren were born into Scientology and are still in it. As a former Scientologist, the church declared her a suppressive person, an SP; for her to contact someone in the church would destroy that person’s life. As much as she wants to see her daughter again, know she is safe, and tell her she is loved, Kate cannot bring herself to shatter the only world her daughter has ever known. That is compassion; that is love. And that is the purpose behind her book. It is an open love letter to her family in case they ever wonder about and try to find her. You and I, Sweetie, are just lucky folk who get to eavesdrop.

And the reader should feel lucky, because there is a serious lack of authors like Katherine “Auntie Kate” Bornstein in the literary world. Her compassion, honesty, service, and humour are rare and beautiful traits in a society supersaturated with anemic pop culture. She was the first person without a gender I met. Initially we met on paper, in the lines of her wonderful primer, My Gender Workbook. Like Kate, I had been designated male at birth and was living that way, had lived that way for thirty-four years. I scoured amazon.com for the best possible hey-you’re-a-girl-trapped-in-a-man’s-body-but-don’t-give-up-hope-you-have-options book on the market; there are surprisingly few books in this niche. As I surfed the electronic pipeline, I kept coming back to Kate’s My Gender Workbook. It seemed too light, too comfortable with itself and it’s readership, too fun. The book’s subtitle convinced me to buy it: how to become a real man, a real woman, the real you, or something else entirely. This spoke of compassion. Kate genuinely wants to help her readers figure out who they are. Now, fourteen years later, Kate is bringing that same compassion to her memoirs.

The compassion isn’t just for her daughter, grandchildren, and readers. Everyone that Kate writes about in her memoirs she treats with the same tenderness. The world is Kate Bornstein’s lover and she is a gentle partner. Perhaps, it comes from her time as a bottom, the dominated, in the S&M community, though, I suspect, it is from her being a bottom throughout her life. This is something else you should know about Kate: she has always submitted to and served others. From early on she formed herself to the will of others, the world’s daddies, starting with her own daddy. By today’s standards Paul Bornstein would be considered an emotionally abusive man, a self-proclaimed male chauvinist pig who could have served as inspiration for Norman Lear‘s Archie Bunker. Kate recognises that Paul was a cruel man. She is under no delusions about that, but she also sees the good, sometimes just potential good, that was in him. Throughout Queer and Pleasant there is never a sense of judging him, just telling the truth about who he was and what growing up as a son who was really a daughter was like in his household. She doesn’t hide his attitudes and flaws; she accepts that this was who he was without sugar-coating, just truth. She does the same when talking about L. Ron Hubbard and life in the Church of Scientology. She lays the truth about Hubbard before you. She doesn’t demonise him, he does that well enough on his own, what she does is treat “the Old Man” with the same honesty and acceptance she does her daddy. Even as she reflects on Hubbard’s death, there is compassion:

“No one’s come forward online to say they were there when the Old Man was lost, or that they held his hand and cried with him. If I’d been there, I would have.”

I don’t think I could have called up that type of compassion for a man who treated people the way Hubbard did, but Kate is a bottom, and from the bottom it is easier to see just how messed up we all are. And that’s truth.

This is the next thing you should know about Kate, she has an unwavering commitment to honesty. She tells Jessica and us at the start of Queer and Pleasant that, despite the label of suppressive person and the implication of being a spinner of lies, she will tell the truth. Even when she exaggerates or tells you how she wishes things could have happened she still relates what really happened. This is the aspect of Kate’s narrative that drew me in like a walleye on a fishing line. I spent thirty years lying to everyone by pretending to be a boy; now that I’m done playing at boy and living as girl, I don’t have time for lies. And neither does Kate. She went through a myriad of personalities and ways of living, each, she says, its own unique way of being gendered; she married and divorced three times; she did some cruel things to people who didn’t deserve it; she touched a number of people in very deep and intimate ways. She bares all this to her readers with unflinching honesty. But, like I said, this is a love letter and love is honest even when it means showing your own darkness.

Her memoirs, however, are not a Robert Lowell confessional; they do not dwell in the darkness. Like her other works, there is a wry sense of humour that infuses Queer and Pleasant. This is the last thing you need to know about Kate, she possess a levity that enables her to see the humour in the bizarre situations she’s come through. Her pop culture riffs and Doctor Who allusions make her memoirs a joy to read. How can a person who has served in the church of a mediocre science fiction writer who espoused the idea we are all thetans from the Galactic Empire who were shot out of an erupting volcano into a soul catcher and joined with cave dwellers not see the humour in life? How can a female placed in a male body by a cosmic prankster of a God not approach her story with a little self-deprecating humour and a lot of irony? For all the trauma and trials she went through Kate is still remarkably vivacious. If you need proof just consider the book’s subtitle: the true story of a nice Jewish boy who joins the Church of Scientology and leaves twelve years later to become the lovely lady she is today.

Reading A Queer and Pleasant Danger was a pleasure for me. I learned more about a heroine as important to me as my Mommy and Grandma, but more important I learned lessons about compassion, love, truth, service, and humour. Thank you, Auntie Kate, for being the lovely lady you are and for sharing that with us. And I promise, I won’t take the personality test.