Posts Tagged ‘Social Sciences’

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Gender as Personality; Gender as Cultural Perception

19 June, 2012

I have been wondering for a little while (read: thirty plus years) what gender is, how one becomes gendered,whether gender is a social construct or an aspect of physiology, and how someone who is transgressively gendered can move through and interact with a traditionally (perhaps coercively) gendered world?

Part of the difficulty in addressing these questions and with talking about gender is a lack of common language. I think those who are traditionally gendered do not spend much time contemplating their genderedness. Like having two excellent eyes or ten flexing fingers, being traditionally gendered is taken for granted. When you are not traditionally gendered, however, you spend every moment of every day thinking about gender, not just your gender, but everyone’s.

“I wish I could stop thinking about my gender.”
—TotallyAmelia via Tumblr

I am able to remember a time in my life where I was not concerned with this thing called gender, I was four. The idea of gender had not been introduced to me yet. I simply knew my personality and that was all I needed to know. Honestly, I think that is all any of us needs to know. This raises another batch of questions for me. Why do we not interact with others based on their personalities? We do we feel the need to know a person’s gender? How are we determining their gender? Why do we try so hard to determine the gender of androgynous people or, worse, disbelieve those whose identified gender does not match what we perceive it as?

I have come to see gender not as a letter on a driver’s license or even a word on a birth certificate but as a multifaceted spectrum that incorporates physiological and cultural components. The arguments that it is merely a biological classification or that it is strictly a set of cultural norms fail to capture the complexity of the concept. Let’s be honest, if it were as simple as what parts you are born with or which conventions you follow, would I and so many others like me have spent so much of our lives obsessing over our gender, where it came from, and why it doesn’t seem to align with what society expects?

I think a life or a time looks simple when you leave out the details.”
Ursula K. Le Guin,
The Birthday of the World and Other Stories

Gender is a way of thinking about one’s own personality and the personalities of those one interacts with and it satisfies the cultural need to classify those personalities into tidy little packages. It is a philosophy designed to bring order to our world, but like all philosophies it mutates into rigid dogma in the hands of those attempting to maintain power and those who are afraid of anything outside of their individual experience.

Gender as individual personality is, perhaps, the easiest concept for a transgressively gendered person to understand and the hardest for traditionally gendered people to understand. When your personality runs fairly close to what society expects of you in your role as woman, man, girl, or boy, it does not occur to you that the personality you have is expresses your gender, that it is a method of categorising you with like personalities. Instead, the traditionally gendered see gender categories as being the domain of biology, in particular genitals and secondary sex characteristics. But gender is far more complex than that. When I was four and in kindergarten I got a damaging lesson in personality as gender.

It was a week or so into the first quarter of kindergarten and the children were just getting used to each other. Small groups of friends were forming and my instructor must have decided that not all of those groups were appropriately holding up the gender classification system. ‘Today,’ she said (or said something very much like,) ‘we are going to be in groups according to if we are boys or girls.’ We were all fine with this; after all weren’t we already with those like us? ‘Girls on this side and boys on that side.’ I had not really thought about whether I was a girl or a boy, but I knew I liked what the kids on the girls’ side liked and I played with them. The kids on the boys’ side were different from me. They played different games, they were louder, they were rougher (more aggressive), and I did not understand them or why they acted the way they did. Based on the logic of personality and perception I clearly belonged on the girls’ side and moved to join them.

‘Where are you going?’ the teacher asked me. I’m a girl, I told her. And she smiled at me. It was a smile that I would grow too familiar with. It lacked warmth or humour; it was reserved and hid her true emotions, a lot of disapproval and a little disgust. It was a frightening smile that told me not to question anything she said next, not to ever say what I had said again, and, more than anything else, that smile told me to never, ever reveal who I was (what I was) to anyone, ever. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You are boy and belong with the boys. Go to the boy side.’ I did not know what would happen if I didn’t do as she said, and that smile told me I did not want to find out. I shut my moth, crammed my personality into a deep dark corner, and joined the boys. I stayed there for thirty years.

And for thirty years I questioned my personality, I questioned how I was gendered and why my feminine personality did not align with what society classified me as. It never occurred to me to reverse the question, why did society believe I was male in spite of my evidence to the contrary? Everyone from school, to parents, to the mainstream media, to erotic fiction and porn confirmed that body trumped personality, so, clearly, I was broken mentally. I was a freak. And I knew I was freak because my personality was female.

“She gives me that look. And I know I’ll have to pretend to be a little boy from then on.”
Kate Bornstein,
Hidden: A Gender

Far easier for traditionally gendered people to understand is how other people’s personalities reflect their gender. Their personalities allow us to place individuals in the proper gender categories: girl, boy, straight woman, straight man, gay man, lesbian. Determining someone else’s gender category is more difficult than determining our own. For ourselves we ask one question: do I have a penis? If I have a penis then I am a member of the dominate gender, man. If I do not have a penis (because this is a phallocentric culture where a person cannot even use the word vagina in mainstream politics without drawing harsh rebuke), then I am not a man, but a member of the subordinate gender, woman. But with others the odds of our seeing their genitals to determine their gender are quite slim, so we find other ways. Of primary importance are secondary sex characteristics, such as facial hair, voice, and breasts. Of almost equal importance are behavioural cues, or personality. The way a person moves, speaks, and takes up space. What a person enjoys doing, the type of career they pursued, how they pursued it, the kinds of people they hang around. All of these are aspects of personality. As a society we default everyone to a male gender and then change that perception based on how the person’s looks and personality align with it.

According to research done by Kessler and McKenna it takes four female cues to outweigh one male cue. That’s how phallocentric our culture is and why women get sirred far more often than men get ma’amed.

Because our society cannot abide ambiguity we have created this nifty little classification system called gender to tell us who is what and, once we know what they are, how much of our respect they deserve. That is the ultimate purpose of the gender classification system. It is more than just the need for tidy little categories. It is what those categories help us determine, the thing we are most desperate to know, who is above who on the hierarchy. This is why transsexuals and other transgressively gendered people are such a threat to the gender classification system. They are jumping gender categories and changing the amount of power and respect they are entitled to, thus exposing the ridiculousness of the system. My personality is little altered from when I was socially male to my being socially female, but I receive less respect, my opinions are devalued, and I make less money (despite doing the same job). Conversely, I know some female to male transsexuals who have stepped not just into a different socially perceived gender but also more respect, more opportunities, and higher wages. Their personalities have not changed either. Our actual genders have remained consistent, but our perceived genders have changed and we suffer the penalties or reap the benefits according to our new position. Personality as gender exposes cultural perception as gender for the misogynistic system it is.

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Regeneratio et Politica

5 November, 2011

The prevailing theory on the Doctor’s regeneration and personality states the emotions, situations, and general state of being the Doctor is in just before regeneration dictate the resulting personality of the next regeneration. This theory, the idea that we are the sum of our experiences, is one of insight and verisimilitude exposing the inner workings of the world. I have noted this in my regeneration from A to River. There are so many elements of my personality shaped by my situation as I began regeneration. From my bleak outlook on the possibility of being loved (my divorce) to the Buddhist like calm of River (the inner peace found in acknowledging who I am publicly) to the political activism that drives me (resultant of my work place and colleagues). Of these elements, it is the last that is so telling to the idea of situational personality.

As I began the regeneration process and began my (forced) public deceleration of intent, I was approached privately by a friend who—though I believe him to have been well meaning—said things I found more painful and heart wrenching than the divorce from my wife or the shunning by my extended family. He said that I was simply “[River] in a wig” and that he could accept my regeneration provided I did not “make it political.” How this came across to me was he would never see me as anything other than a fraud and that if I went down this path I would have no right to expect acceptance or fair treatment by society. It came across as, I will tolerate this choice but it is wrong and you are wrong to be open about it. That is, a denial of the right to self-determination.

The person of whom I speak is a good man, but he is one who is a possessor of power and privilege (as defined by Kate Bornstein and the Power Pyramid). He falls victim to the same blindness that all individuals in this position incarnate: an inability to recognize their own position and how different and biased it is from the majority of human doings. I am, however, understanding and compassionate toward this state of politica caecitas because I used to be a sufferer of the condition. It took a Parkinson’s diagnosis and regenerating to shake me violently enough to knock the blinders off. We cannot blame the privileged for their blindness to their own privilege; it is a regrettable but natural state.

Despite how forgivable his offense may be, it became a defining moment in my regenerative process. It helped open my eyes to the inherent bias in the American culture. The idea that outlaws and rebels, speakers for those with no voice, progenitors of change and revolution, protestors for equality and representation, are tolerable only in small disenfranchised doses is a linchpin holding the control of those in power in place.

The very act of regenerating made me a threat to the comfortable universe he lived in. But how? Simple. I represent, at my core, not just an alternative lifestyle, but the idea of tolerance for and acceptance of things his political and religious institution condemns. In most cases he would ignore this existence or even condemn it, but he could not with me. I was within his sphere of influence. He knew me, respected me, and believed in my basic decency and social acceptability. The moment I began regeneration I created a violently opposing dichotomy for him. Here is a person that embodies the more noble aspects of his private philosophy that simultaneously embodies the unacceptable, morally questionable, and sinful. This left him with three possible resolutions to this conflict:

  • ignore the positive qualities
  • ignore the negative qualities
  • redefine his personal schemata

To his credit he was not someone who could do the first, but engaging the third is such a huge undertaking it is not surprising that only the most committed or the most desperate are capable of it. This left him only one option: to ignore the aspects of who I am that are in direct conflict with his perception of me as a good human being. He had to ask me not to display these aspects in order to maintain the delicate mental and moral equilibrium his mind had created.

This also meant that he could not acknowledge my position to influence or sway others to the type of tolerant and accepting thinking that the opposing dichotomy and my position of instructor gave me. Unable to ignore the situation’s reality, he gave me a polite ultimatum: either be quiet about this and remain friends or be public (political) and be cut off. It was the only course a rational and thinking member of the powered and privileged could take. And, predictably, since transferring to a new teaching site, I have not heard from him.

Nor have I been capable of contacting him. Why not? Because the forced choice of being quietly myself or openly, actively, myself became a defining moment in my regenerative process. I was malleable at this point, subject to influence in a number of directions. This private conversation and subtle ultimatum pushed me in the direction of activist. I was so offended by the command’s audacity (as it was not phrased as either a request or a stance for consideration, but as an imperative declaration, “don’t make this political”) that I veered in the opposite direction. It is basic physics, sweetie, every action (the command against the political) results in a reaction opposite of and equal in strength to the original action (River becomes a political activist).

I know that I would have been aware of the political dimension of my existence even without this conversation. The degree of awareness and participation, however, would have been reduced. I was not one who paid attention to politics before regenerating. As a member of the powered and privileged I did not need to be, my position was secure. As a new member of the disenfranchised I could have focused only on securing the limited power and position my new life afforded me, a good white woman. But I was now aware of the bias and bigotry directed at those who make-up the bottom of the Power Pyramid. I was aware, I was emotionally charged, and I was malleable. My new personality was directly shaped by my situation, emotional state, and the people around me.

Who I am is still in development but the public outlaw, the hippie professor, speaker of truth is a fundamental part of my personality. I have been shaped, however unintentionally, by my interactions with the other—those outside myself. Whether the regenerating individual is the last of the Time Lords, a MtF, or just someone growing up and growing into themselves, who they become is intimately linked to who they were, who they were with, and how they responded to the world.

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Caitlin on Confusion

4 June, 2011

Confusion. A word grafted to TS individuality and the transition process tighter and more conspicuous than Zaphod Beeblebrox‘s third arm. A myriad of questions assail the flailing mind trying to grasp the anomalous figure whose mere presence demands not just some form of acknowledgement but also a shifting of a decades old perceptual set associated with them. Their core, fundamental nature causes the world’s perceptions to derail worse than the DC Metro Red line.  How do I address him . . . her? Will our friendship change? Is she considered homosexual and will she hit on me? How do I reconcile this with my ethics/religion/morals? What is gender? What bathroom does she use? Is this legal? Can she board an airplane? How do I define MY gender? Am I normal? Fear, admiration, disgust, ambivalence, jealousy, are all common emotions that rush into the synaptic gap cleared by the confusion. These are all understandable questions and concerns. People are just learning about the transition. It seems sudden to them and they are going to have knee jerk reactions. The person transitioning needs to remember this and appropriately amend how they interact with spouses, family, friends, and co-workers. They have  been thinking about and coming to terms with these issues most of their lives and to everyone else, who were unaware of the problem, this is a bizarre whim or mid-life crisis.

But those who are adjusting to the TS individual’s news should hold firmly in their mind the understanding that they are not the only confused ones. The process is at least as confusing for the TS individual. Yes, they have been aware of the issue longer, they have been aware that they are not as they ought be, their animus and their bodies are at odds and they have valiantly worked with, around, or through these feelings.  But the actual transition? That’s as new, unsettling, and confusing for the TS as it is for their companions. As much as we say we are still the same person, that we aren’t changing who we are, just what we look like, that’s at best a half truth. A person cannot pump their bodies full of hormones and hormone blockers to produce physical changes and not expect the mental landscape to, also, undergo significant terraforming. Certain elements of who we are will not change. Those are the core components that determine aspects of our true character (who we are when the chips are down and we react on instinct): inherited traits and genetic memory and, to an extent, certain experience-shaped qualities.

The hormones and blockers shape the body into something new, something opposite yet complimentary to what came before and it does the same to our minds and personalities. Though it is true personality is, primarily, a composite of intangible experiences that create a partially tangible emotional response, the experiences and responses are physically recorded as grooves and lines tracing eccentric footpaths and goat trails through the cognizant sphere that is our gray matter that, when interacted with by new electrical impulses, respond in a familiar and comforting way.  Then enter the hormones and the a body reshaping itself and those grooves getting stretched, pulled, and contorted, the standard pattern altered, and the responses exaggerated into distorted versions of the old emotions, versions diminished to the point where there is barely a flinch, or new memories crisscrossing and consuming in the old. Re-groove the record and change the songs; the beat is different can you dance to it? Do you still possess the coördination dancing requires? Do you even like music?

This is one of the reasons I so relate to The Doctor and his process of regeneration. Each time the doctor regenerates his physical form changes, but along with the changes in the physical there is an accompanying shift in personality. Oh, well, the basic morality and inner Doctor-ness doesn’t change, but likes, dislikes, sense of humour, sense of purpose, approachability, and priorities are all subject to the rules of chance and physiological psychology. There is an epic scene in The Doctor Who episode “The Eleventh Hour” in which The Doctor is trying a wide variety of  foods in an attempt to figure out what he still likes that starts with an apple and ends with cod-fish sticks dipped in custard [clip]. At this stage in my journey, my regeneration, I relate to what the doctor is going through. A mild example: I loved the taste of Shake ‘n Bake chicken and Amanda decided to dust of the neglected shaking and baking skills for one last round before we separated. I took one bite and grimaced. Is it the same recipe? I asked. It was. Did you follow it the same? She did. Did you use more than usual? She did not. Why? Because it tastes awful. The spices were overpowering and failed to meld on palate in any form that was recognizable as the tasty Shake ‘n Bake of yesteryear. I no longer like Shake ‘n Bake; now, however, I enjoy kettle corn, which before I couldn’t stand.

And it’s not just food. Preferences in style, which before was more classic-casual have become far more bohemian or hipster. I am less reserved and more free-spirited. I am more casual and far less angry.  I also have a diminishing attraction to women with a mild, and blossoming, attraction to men. How fitting is it that The Doctor is also my first true male crushee. (Does that make the person crushing the crusher? No, I think perhaps each party is a crushee and the crusher is the emotion itself.) The emotions ebb and flow with more regularity than the tide. Some days I know exactly who I am and others I am an unrecognizable image doing and thinking things that are foreign to me. I occasionally find myself thinking, Oh, so that’s the kind of person I am and I say that now or I’ll never say that again. It’s exploration. It’s frightening. It’s exhilarating. It’s brilliant. It’s a strange regeneration. Most of all, it’s terribly confusing.

How do I describe the feeling of not knowing who you are? Identity is something easily taken for granted; something people often put very little thought into. They act, they behave, they misbehave, they do everything they do for good or ill out of some intrinsic sense of self. People rarely sit down and question why they did what they just did. It doesn’t occur to them to explore why they chose to walk to the pharmacy instead of taking the bus; they don’t wonder why they are hungry for steak one night and chicken a different; and they don’t analyze why they prefer the color green over the color yellow. “I put on a green shirt and walked to the pharmacist to use the ATM so I could pay for my steak dinner,” is what the average person will tell you. They accept these opinions as mere statements of fact or, to bastardize Popeye, they are what they are and that’s all that they are. There’s no need to question it because it doesn’t feel off to them. I don’t have that same sense of “this is because it is” and I may never have had it. Well, I can’t say “never” because before induction into the cult of gender I didn’t feel anxiety acting on one thought pattern over another. Since that moment, however, I have spent my energy crafting a persona to present to others so I appear “squared away” and “normal.” I had to analyze everything for its value in keeping up the masculine disguise and I had to have reasons, real or fabricated, for anything I did that was not masculine. Now I find I have spent so much time creating and maintaining an image that I can no longer just say, I like steak better than chicken. Instead, I am questioning whether I would have prefered a salad but because I don’t want to become a stereotype I chose the most anti-stereotype meal on the menu. The constant, low-level anxiety this produces is a high-pitched whine of mental feedback created by ideas echoing off and spiraling around one another in an infinite loop as I try to determine if any given choice is part of a projected image, a true image, or an accidental image. Still, as neurotic and stressful as that sounds, it’s better than it was before I began treatment. At least I am now free to act first and ponder the meaning of the action in retrospect and at leisure. Before, the meaning and its short and long-term effects weighed against the danger of being “made” and considered a liar or, worse, a manipulator. Before, each action examined and the value of its self-expression determined greater than the inherent risk of discovery and the shame (not to mention danger) of having the mental disguise fall, exposing myself as a fraud and a freak.

Really, all I am trying to say is, I understand the confusion and anxiety my transition causes people because I am in the thick of it, too, but we push past it and accept things as they are, and Bob’s our uncle.