Posts Tagged ‘trans’

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A Queer Storm

13 May, 2018

Sunday morning. It’s raining, which seems appropriate. As a Jungian Archetype, a universal symbol, rain carries triametric meaning: life; death; and the combination of the first two, rebirth. I’m sitting in the church parking lot as the rain washes over the car. I’m debating whether or not I should go in.

Church, the story of Christianity, offers the same three symbolic meanings: life, death, rebirth. Unlike rain, however, church is not a universal symbol. Here I am not refering to how some believe in Christianity and some don’t; rather, I am refering to the policing of faith by the church. The church authorities consider themselves the final say on who does and does not get to participate in the symbolic power of life, death, and rebirth. “‘And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven'” (Matthew 16: 18, 19).

That policing has impacted minoritised groups throughout history. What started as a community of outsiders embracing widows and orphans, adhering to the law of hospitality, and boldly proclaiming “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28) became judgemental and fearful force that murdered and forced converted, that upheld slavery, that encouraged segregation, and became inhospitable to anyone perceived as different and, therefore, defective.

I am one of the minoritised, one of the stigmatised, that is being policed out of the church. I am a queer woman and the United Methodist Church holds that, as a queer woman, I am “incompatible” with Christian faith. Like the rain which is simultaneously life and death, I am both condemed and redeemed. Like the paradox of rebirth, I am both queer and Christian. That scares straight, cisgender Christians because it means they are confronted by the idea that their faith is queer.

A saviour who came not with a sword and rebellion against the Romans, as expected, but with fish and bread and words of loving your enemy. That sounds rather queer to me, as I am sure it did to those who first heard it.

“For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it” (Matthew 16:25). That is a queer, paradoxical statement.

“While they were eating, Jesus took bread, spoke a blessing and broke it, and gave it to the disciples, saying, ‘Take and eat; this is My body.’ . . . This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins’” (Matthew 26: 26, 28). For a culture steeped in purity laws that included strictures against being near dead bodies and ingesting blood, this is extremely queer.

Am I, and other queer folks, a reminder of the queerness inherent in the Bible, in the Gospel, and in Christianity that modern Christians are afraid to confront? Has Christianity become so mainstreamed and comfortable that anything that makes you itch in that unsettling way, that makes you question where you sit, becomes anathema?

So, I sit outside the church and wonder if I should go in. If I can go in. If I have a responsibility to go in. When I enter the United Methodist Church, or most any church, I am asked to amputate my queerness and leave it outside. Sit quietly, don’t speak of anything controversial, and do your best to be a good girl. Blend in, look normal, and for our sake do not rock the boat.

But by my presence, I rock the boat. The very act of my entering and my visibility becomes a storm that rocks the boat. A storm like that which Elihu describes in Job, a storm that washes away weak and broken notions of God. My presence is the storm that threatens the boat in Jonah, until the disobient servent is cast into the see and swallowed until he repents of his own disobedience, the disobedience of denying God’s word and forgiveness to those he determines unworthy of it.

The rain has stopped and I must decide if I will go into the church. Into a church that is at once mine and not mine. The rain has stopped and I must decide if I will be the storm.

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An Open Letter to Faith Leaders As We Approach TDoR

15 November, 2017

Dear Friends and Leaders,

 
Monday, 20 November, 2017 is the Transgender Day of Remembrance. Every 20th of November services are held to remember and make visible the known transgender people who have died due to anti-transgender violence. Black and brown transgender women make up the majority of these victims. This year continues the trend of seeing more transgender people killed than the previous year, yet these attacks and the Transgender Day of Remembrance receive very little acknowledgement outside of LGBTQ circles. The vast majority of Americans are unaware that on this day, every year, a day of mourning happens to honor the people lost solely because of their gender identity. This year, we mourn over two dozen Americans.

 
In light of this being Transgender Awareness Week and the week ending in the memorial service for those who have been lost, I encourage my pastors, my friends who are faith leaders, and all faith leaders to specifically mention the Transgender Day of Remembrance in their services and in their public prayers. Pray for and act on behalf of the victims of anti-transgender hate crimes. Pray for and act on behalf of victims and survivors, their friends, their families (chosen and biological), and their community.

 
Today, I present myself to you as a voice crying from the wilderness. A wilderness of fear, anguish, and suffering. A wilderness so dark that it cannot even be said to be ignored or rejected, but lost. I am the Samaritan woman begging for your children’s fallen scraps; for even your pets receive the blessing of Saint Francis once a year. I am the bleeding woman reaching out in hope of a miracle; I am extending my hand to you in faith that you will act to stem this bloodshed. I am the woman with the crooked back, bent over and hobbled, having seen nothing but dirt for decades; I stand before you now and hope you will lift our faces that we might see you and be seen by you.

 
I understand that the choice to do this comes with risk. There will be those who will be surprised or confused by what you say. Still more, there will be those who reject and actively resist what you say. I know that you have a position and a responsibility to your congregants and your superiors. You are expected to adhere to the dogma you were empowered under. I appreciate the gravity of what I am asking and I am asking it all the same. For God wants justice to follow down like mighty waters and that is powerful imagery. Mighty waters are overwhelming and not a little chaotic. They rip apart established structures and consume them. Mighty waters are not gentle, they do not only come if you are ready, and they do not ask your permission or acceptance for their flood. Scripture is demanding that justice, true Divine justice, be not concerned with what is political, or expedient, or comfortable.  Scripture demands we be prepared and willing to rip out the old structures and dogma, if it stands between God’s children and God’s justice. Are you willing to unleash those waters and let them wash away the injustices the church has shored and bolstered?

 
According to Matthew, Jesus said, not a sparrow falls from heaven without God seeing it, and how much more are we than sparrows. God sees us. I am asking that you, also, see us. God cares for us. I am asking that you, also, show care for us.

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​An Open Letter to Queer Whites From a Queer White Woman

6 October, 2017

I watched Stephen Colbert interviewing Ta-Nehisi Coates and experienced great shame for my race. The arrogance Mr. Colbert had in asking Mr. Coates for hope and then questioning his response that he, Mr. Coates, could not offer that hope and Mr. Colbert would do better to seek hope from his pastor or friends. I felt shame because there was a time I was like Mr. Colbert (and, if I am honest still have moments where I am) asking my siblings of colour for absolution and hope for the future. I was blind to the truth that the person beneath the boot cannot offer hope to the person benefiting from the boot’s weight. It is not hir responsibility to weave tales of a brighter future; it is my responsibility to work toward a more just future for hir. This was a lesson I had to learn as a young, white teacher in a 98 percent black school district. This is a lesson I learned from honest students who with a mixture of patience and impatience educated me. Here is what my students helped me understand:

White guilt does not do anyone any good. Not white people who look for a simple one-and-done absolution and certainly not people of colour who are left beaten and shamed by the systemic racism of a country stacked against them.

We white people need to stop looking for absolution. There is none. There is nothing we can do that will ever atone for the enslaving, conquering, colonising, erasing, and genocides we as a race have committed and we as modern white people benefit from. And I know the reaction that will get from many of you because it is the same reaction my younger self had: I did not do those things, my ancestors were not here when those things were done, I am also a discriminated against class.

What we need to do is feel those feelings, own those feelings, recognise them as the dissociation from responsibility they are, and toss them in the dust bin. Those feelings serve no purpose other than insulating us from the responsibility we have to dismantle an oppressive system that benefits us at the cost of our siblings of colour.

But, what about intersectionality

Intersectionality is not a theory designed to give entrance into oppression. Intersectionality is a black feminist theory introduced by Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw to lift the voices of the most marginalised into centrality. Yet, white people, such as myself, have used intersectionality to force our way into the centre of every conversation; if I use intersectionality in that way, I further the oppression of my siblings who are black, brown, native and also poor, disabled, transgender. I am a queer, white woman of transgender experience who suffers a stratum of systemic oppression AND in the midst of that oppression I still benefit from white privilege. According to the report “A Matter of Life and Death” (conducted by the Human Rights Campaign and the Trans People of Color Coalition) trans women make up 85 percent of hate crime homicides in the United States and of that 96 percent are people of colour. As a woman of transgender experience, I am a victim and by the “virtue” of being white I experience less oppression than my sister of transgender experience who is also a woman of colour.  As such, I should not fight for my rights but for the rights of my sister. It is my responsibility to stand up for her because no matter how limited my access to space and resources, hers is even more limited.

And here is the truth, by centring my sister’s voice and making the world a more just place for her, I, by extension, make the world a more just place for myself. Justice is not a limited commodity. By ensuring justice for my sister of colour I am making my part of the world a more just place and that will benefit me, as well. As white people, we need to abandon our sense of guilt, which places the White Self at the centre of conversation, and take up a sense of responsibility toward the Sibling Other, which places the experience and voices of people of colour at the centre of our conversations and actions.

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On Lukewarm Christianity and the Nashville Statement

31 August, 2017

In light of the Nashville Statement I have a scriptural reminder for those clergy and congregation members who have decided to remain neutral:
“These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm–neither hot nor cold–I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”

Revelation 3:14-16
“I hate, I despise your religious festivals; your assemblies are a stench to me. Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them. Though you bring choice fellowship offerings, I will have no regard for them. Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!”

Amos 5:21-24
The good thing that has come out of the Nashville Statement is that I and other LGBTQ people of faith know where the signatories stand in regard to our ability to worship and participate in community. They have pulled the sheets from their faces and made it clear their communities are dangerous, are toxic, to us and we can separate ourselves and our faith from them. It has, also, brought to the fore religious leaders who are unequivocally on the side of the oppressed. It helps us to see where we are welcome and where we can be full and contributing memebers as our authentic selves.

Churches, clergy, and laity who stand silent in the face of announced discrimination and hate are dangerous places for LGBTQ people. It gives us an ungrounded hope that maybe we are welcome while providing enough doubt that we can never act and live as ourselves for fear of condemnation. In their attempt to be everything to everyone, these communities are crushing the spirits of LGBTQ members who are forced to live in a state of doubt and fear. No one can worship and commune when they are living in fear of rejection. As it says: were you hot or cold we would know where we stand with you, but as you are lukewarm, we are left neither fully part not fully barred from community.

If you are clergy, we need you to make clear from the pulpit that we are welcome in your house. We do not expect that every member of the congregation will be in agreement with you, but it makes it clear that if/when conflict comes you are in our corner; that we can rely on you to stand with us and preserve our right to worship. Or, to express the opposite, so we can know that we are not viewed as integrated members and we can seek a place where we are.

If you are laity, we need to know you are accepting of us or not accepting of us. It is to everyone’s benefit that your views are clear. If we have an ally in you, we know that we can be genuine with you. When we are able to be vulnerable with you it opens us to be a support for you when you are feeling weak and vulnerable. It allows us to offer our whole selves in our support of you. Conversely, we need to know if you are not accepting because we will know that our genuineness would hurt both of us.

Or maybe you do not know own where you stand on this. If that is you, I urge you to be honest about that. Ask respectful questions, get to know us as people both as LGBTQ people but also as people of faith and members of a community. Hiding from what you do not understand or are uneasy with will not help you to grow and learn. Seek to understand us; we are willing to meet you on that path and we are open to learning about you as a person of faith, as well.

Do not stand neutral in the face of this deceleration. Use it to make your stance known or to embrace your own doubt and to grow.

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Ten Things Cis Allies Can Do To Help Trans People

1 April, 2017

I received another ask recently about what cisgender allies can do to support transgender people. So, here are ten things a cisgender person can do to support transgender people.

1. Educate yourself by reading and listening to trans women and trans men on what it is to be trans. Sounds simple, but you’d be surprised how many people value what cisgender (from the Latin prefix cis, meaning the same or same side of, the medical term denoting people who are not transgender) people say about being transgender rather than what transgender people have to say. I recommend five books to start: “Whipping Girl” by Julia Serano, “Redefining Realness” by Janet Mock, “Transgender Warriors” by Leslie Feinberg (trans masculine writer and author of “Stone Butch Blues”), “A Transgender History of the United States” by Susan Striker, and the essay collection “Manning Up: Transsexual Men on Finding Brotherhood, Family & Themselves Connected.” Along with this is the important task of educating yourself in proper terminology to avoid micro-aggressions–the GLAAD media reference guide is a good starting place.

2. Follow trans inclusive media that has trans women and men writing for them. My personal favourites are Mey Rude on Autostraddle, Kat Callahan on Jezebel, and Samantha Allen on The Daily Beast. Feministing.com has good stuff, too.

3. Donate to trans groups and charities, e.g. The Transgender Law Center and the National Center for Transgender Education. Donate time or money to local charities that are explicitly transgender inclusive.

4. When people you know are being transphobic or trans misogynistic, correct them. Having someone standing up for us in everyday situations is the most powerful support we have. Educate the people around you and work to dispel the misunderstandings and lies believed by the average person.

5. Write to your local, state, and national legislatures. Demand they stand against transphobic bills, praise them for trans inclusive actions, and suggest changes that can be enacted​, like non-discrimination policies that specifically include transgender people.

6. Do not buy from companies with anti-transgender policies, donations, and/or attitudes such as Chic-Fil-A, Brilla Pasta, Jelly Belly, or Urban Outfitters. Do buy from transgender inclusive companies like Starbucks, Apple, or Amazon. The HRC maintains a record of and inclusiveness ratings for many companies (and politicians).

7. Get one of these #IllGoWithYou buttons and be ready to support transgender women, transgender men, and non binary people when accessing public restrooms (note: the restroom a person feels comfortable using will vary depending on presentation and how far along a transperson is in their social transition). This is huge because trans people experience medical complications as a result of avoiding restrooms for 8 to 12 hours everyday: urinary track infections, kidney problems, and malnutrition from not eating or drinking all day so they won’t need a bathroom. Not to mention the verbal and physical attacks they face. According to a 2013 survey in DC, 65% of transgender people have been denied access to, verbally harassed in, or physically assaulted in public bathrooms. It may seems like a little thing to cisgender people who use public bathrooms regularly without incident, but it can be life or death to transgender people.

8. When you receive good service from a transgender employee take a minute to tell their manager. Everyday managers receive complaints about transgender employees just because they are transgender. By complimenting their customer service, work ethic, et cetera, you provide a counter-narrative to the “I’m offended you employee a trans person” complaints. If employers see only negative responses to a trans employee’s presence they will terminate the employee–even in the handful of states that have non-discrimination policies. By taking a few minutes to compliment them, you could literally save their job and prevent them from having to seek alternative sources of employment (sex work is often the only viable alternative for trans women).

9. Know that even in places with laws against discriminating actions towards transgender people in housing, employment, healthcare​, and education people still find subtle and malicious ways to discriminate.

10. Listen. Listen to what transgender people say and take their fears and concerns seriously, even when it may not align with what you have experienced. The worst thing that can happen to a victim of harassment, abuse, or discrimination is having their experiences minimised.

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Transgender Day of Visibility 2017

31 March, 2017

With visibility comes vulnerability. We are more visible than we have ever been and it comes with a price. Constant scrutiny, legislation against us, discrimination in health care, housing, and employment, rejection from our faiths, termination of jobs and education, harassment, abuse, rape, and murdeThis year has been the worst on record for anti-transgender legislation and is on track to be the deadliest year on record. Trans women of colour, more than anyone else, know the danger we are in. The Republican party has in their party platform that we are not real, we don’t exist, we don’t deserve rights.  “Even liberals have yet to fully embrace transgender rights, with a sizeable 30 percent of Democrats in a Public Religion Research Institute survey saying that they favor anti-transgender bathroom legislation” (Whatever Happened to the Transgender Tipping Point? Samantha Allen). Evangelical Christians are working with Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists and the Alt-Right to systematically oppress us until being visible not only isn’t safe but isn’t even possible.

Today, Transgender Day of Visibility, we recognise the power and strength in being visible even as we are wounded–all too often mortally so–for doing so.

If you are transgender and are visible by choice or fate I stand with you. If you are transgender and not visible by choice or discrimination, I stand with you. If you are cisgender, I ask you remember us; remember us by name and remember us by deed, so transgender visibility can stop being the double edged sword we are impaled on.

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What Bathroom Bills Are Really Doing

23 February, 2017

Let’s breakdown what the anti-transgender/public privacy bathroom bills and laws are really doing.
(1) The laws are unenforceable without a bathroom attendant checking people’s birth certificates so
(2) It encourages citizens to make personal judgements based on what a person looks like leading to
(3) The unofficial nod to approve cis men and cis women carrying out vigilante justice against suspected transgender citizens (unless you live in Texas or Kansas where politicians openly endorsed vigilante enforcement).
(4) The number of transgender children and adults who don’t eat or drink so they can last eight hours without using a public bathroom will rise past the 1 out of 3 it is already at. Meaning,
(5) More and more transgender people will develop malnutrition, dehydration, UTIs, and other negative health consequences. Further,
(6) Students and employees’ concentration, productivity, and effectiveness will suffer and impair their ability to get an education that can lead to successful employment or hold onto employment if gained.
(7) Without an education and viable employment they will not have an income and will be unable to secure housing, food, and healthcare.
(8) They will not be able to use shelters due to the same gender enforcement laws that affected them in school and public accommodations so they will be forced to seek alternative housing and illicit jobs (prostitution being the most common).
(9) Living on the streets and performing survival sex work will further endanger their health and physical safety and
(10) Will eventually lead to an early and likely violent death.
So, really, it is not, nor was it ever, about bathroom safety. Rather, it is the legislative genocide of a minoritised group.