Posts Tagged ‘transfeminism’

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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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Awesome Con DC is not a Safe Place for Trans Women

19 April, 2014

Awesome Con DC is not a safe space for trans women.

i had been looking forward to going to the convention for several weeks. i was excited, but also nervous. The geek/nerd community is not always the safest place for those of us considered outliers. i debated whether i should wear a cosplay and who i should go as, but the more i thought about it the more i wondered if i would be more likely to be misgendered, to be mistaken for a guy in a dress, if i was in costume than if i just went as myself. So this morning, i decided to put on a light weight skirt and an Alice in Wonderland t-shirt. i wore my hair loose, letting it hang past my shoulders and with a side swoop to soften my face. i wore a little make up, some nice nail polish, and a cute necklace from my Mum. i was sending out a very clear signal. Include in this, my not having been publicly misgendered in about a year. This was totally feasible.

Standing in line, waiting to get in, a woman approached me and said, ‘Nice costume.’ Then wandered off before i could tell her i was not in costume. my girlfriend and i talked about it and decided she must have liked my shirt and said costume by mistake because of all the people in costume. Inside, we went to artists alley. While i was standing near a booth i overheard a conversation between a man and his wife about a ‘man’ they saw and the wife said ‘that he is a she!’ i told myself, they could have been talking about anyone. Maybe a girl doing a cross-play? Though there were not many around . . . and fewer still were in costume . . . and they were looking toward me.

i started feeling overwhelmed and did not know what to do. My girlfriend took us over to Carla Speed McNeil’s table (the authoress and artist on Finder and creator of Lynn, my favourite trans character–confirmed by her). She remembered me from the last time i saw her (at SPX) and we had a nice talk about her work, what was new, and what her plans with Lynn were. i was feeling better; i thought i could take it on again. So we went to the panel “Representation is Important.” i sat down in the back row and my girlfriend set her stuff down by the wall behind me (she had her Hela cosplay with, in case she decided to change) then rubbed my neck and shoulders. The room filled up fast and soon the seat beside me, that i was saving for her, was the only one left. One of the staff members asked if this other person could sit there. My girlfriend said that was okay and i said it would be all right, too. He asked my girlfriend, “Are you sure you don’t mind?” and she said it was fine. Then he indicated me and the neck rub i was getting; he said, “Clearly he doesn’t mind.” [emphasis added] My girlfriend said, “She. She is a woman.” The staff member said, “Oh. Sorry,” and walked away.

This was too much for me and i shut down. i shut out everything. i did not hear much of the panel. i did not feel the less-than-comfortable convention seating. i did not feel my body or my presence in the room. After the panel, i told my girlfriend i wanted to go home, but i would be sad if she missed the convention just because i went home. It took a little talking, but i did convince her to stay and have fun.

All the way home i could feel people, especially men, staring at me. Whether it was on the sidewalks or on the metro they gave me that double look. The one that first says ‘oh, a woman,’ and then says ‘ew, a he-she.’ The glances that turn to glares and the people who catch their breath as you walk by. i got one smile; a sad, reassuring smile from a young lady who recognised and offered a moment of sympathy. That smile got me home.

i’m sad. i’m sad because there were panels and Q&A’s i wanted to go to. There were events i wanted to participate in. There were booths i wanted to visit and comics i wanted to pick-up. i really wanted to get a yuri manga because i just got introduced to them and i was excited to buy a couple, to see my girlfriend and i represented in a story. i didn’t get to do any of those things because i was made to feel so out-of-place. The environment and my interactions indicated to me that girls-like-me, that i, did not belong there.

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Frozen’s Elsa as Trans Woman Representation

22 January, 2014

Disclaimer: This is an expository piece on Disney’s Frozen and the connection I, a trans woman, felt with Elsa. Though much has been written about the racial representation and choices made by the Disney Company in regards to Frozen, this essay will not be addressing that topic.

Trigger Warnings: Transphobia, Internalised Transphobia, Transmisogyny, Abuse

Spoiler Warning: Frozen

In Disney’s Frozen, a film loosely based off Hans Christian Andersen’s short story “The Snow Queen,” Elsa conceals what she believes to be a terrible and dangerous truth about herself. She understands, at an early age, that she is different from others, but in the exuberance and open-heartedness of youth, that difference is neutral, lending her neither a special place nor a villainous one. That changes while she is playing with her younger sister Anna when she accidentally hits her sister with a magic ice shard that threatens her life. With the help of a rock troll Anna is spared, but Elsa is told that her powers are dangerous and expressing them will put others, most especially her sister, in jeopardy. She is taught to conceal her powers and stuff her emotions, which can trigger them, down so deep she becomes numb to them. “Conceal; don’t feel” is her mantra and she becomes a girl numbed by cold isolation and closed doors. The Disney Wiki describes Elsa as “traumatized” by these early experiences and states “Elsa forcibly spent the rest of her life distanced from the kingdom, including Anna, trying to keep her powers from growing out of control and harming those she cares about.” And this fear, according to director Jennifer Lee, is what drives Elsa.[1]

Having grown up as a trans girl in hiding, I found myself relating to Elsa’s story. I have always understood myself to be female. Like Elsa, I did not think of who I was as different or unusual, until outside events forced me to confront how the rest of the world saw me. In the early eighties I sat with other girls my age on a ratty, beige, shag carpet stained mud brown by the tromp of little feet shod in velcro Stride Rites, Winnie-the-Pooh rain galoshes, faux-leather Mary Janes, and pointy-toed cowboy boots. The teacher readied us for lunch by dividing us into two lines, each to march on opposite sides of the hallway, one of girls and one of boys. I lined up with the other girls. The teacher stood in front of the closed door and frowned at the class. “I won’t open the door until everyone is where they belong,” she said. She waited. It took a minute before I felt the eleven pairs of kindergarten eyes staring at me as though I were the village idiot. The teacher walked between the two lines, straddling that divide between little girl and little boy that only adults dared to stand above and stopped in front of me. “You are in the wrong line.” Panic welled up from my four year-old chest into my throat, where it squeezed my voice box shut. It was my first experience with a crippling anxiety that would numb my body and lead to the concealment of my feelings and who I was. Several decades later, I would learn terms like gender anxiety and gender dysphoria, but growing up I could only describe it as being frozen inside myself.

A few years later, I sat on the edge of the flower garden that ran along the side of my grandparent’s stuccoed duplex. The bruises where my cousin and a neighbour kid had beaten me up already appearing as dark splotches on my arms and chest. The beating was a punishment for having caught me playing house with the girls who lived down the street; I was the mother. These young teenage boys who considered themselves strapping examples of manhood stood over me scowling and said my kid brother would be really “fucked up” if I didn’t learn to behave like a boy and not a girl and my father would hate me for being a sissy. The lesson was clear. Conceal who you are so you don’t hurt your family; don’t feel anything or you will expose yourself and hurt the ones you love. It was a hot a summer day and my white t-shirt was plastered to my bruised and aching chest by sweat, but it could have been winter because I was ice inside. Like Elsa, I was numb to everything except the anxiety and fear of what would happen to my family if I didn’t hide who I was. “Conceal; don’t feel” was my mantra.

For Elsa, the conflict between who she is and who others believe her to be comes to a head at her coronation and she has what trans activist and gender theorist Kate Bornstein calls a splatter moment,[2] when two or more identities come in conflict and the result is a terrific splatter. The stress of keeping her powers secret begins to crack and seep through the image of calm, component queen that she is portraying. She begins to freeze the scepter and globus cruciger at the cathedral. At the coronation ball a confrontation with her sister results in such intense anxiety and fear that shards of ice rise from the ballroom floor and cut her off from everyone. Her secret is out and Elsa has to deal with the consequences of a world that knows who she truly is. The conflict drives Elsa to flea Arrendale and sets off a winter storm that freezes the town and harbour. Splatter.

Elsa terrified of who she is.[3]

Elsa’s powers manifest.[4]

This is the coming out moment; where who you are and who you are pretending to be can no longer exist in the same space and everything is forced to the surface. I had two major splatter moments and, like Elsa, what set them off was a reality I could no longer suppress. The need to be who I was grew inside me, just as Elsa’s powers grew stronger over time. It seeped out of me in moments when the dysphoria was too intense to handle. Little things like putting on one of my mother’s dresses or some of her makeup when no one was home. Like young Elsa accidentally freezing her window sill, my reactions after these “slips” were fear of and disgust with myself. The older I got the stronger my need to be myself became, until it took tremendous effort and isolation to keep it contained, but it still leaked out until I was caught by my wife and family and who I was created a wall between us and the resulting storm that shook my family and friends. Most of them reacted like the Duke of Weselton did to Elsa, they referred to me as a “monster” and demanded that my transition be “put to an end.”

Elsa isolates herself in the mountains and sings “Let It Go,” which deeply resonated with my coming out process. As she widens the distance between herself and Arrendale she says, “The wind is howling like the swirling storm inside. Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried. Don’t let them in. Don’t let them see. Be the good girl you always have to be.” This is what it feels like to deny and burry who you are. I knew I had to do it but it was so difficult to wear the costume of the perfect little boy, the perfect man, that everyone needed me to be; to keep them outside and not knowing who I was truly was. It created an intense sense of loss and isolation and when the secret was finally out I was scared and relieved that I could finally let it all go. Elsa sings, “Don’t let them know. Well know they know! Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back anymore!” She and I both recognise the freedom that our splatter has given us but also the price that this freedom bares. She continues “Let it go! Let it go! Turn away and slam the door! I don’t care what they’re going to say. Let the storm rage on. The cold never bothered me anyway.” She sees the cost of being herself as complete isolation. As character design supervisor Bill Schwab said, “She’s finally free–even if she is all alone.”[5] But then, she has always been alone, so if the cost of freedom is isolation, it is a cost she can bare. The line “The cold never bothered me anyway” is perhaps more accurately captured by the French translation of the song, “le froid est pour moi la prix de la liberté” which means “the cold is for me the price of liberty.”[6] She’s willing to pay the price of isolation for her liberty. And as I watched friends and family fall away, I realised they never knew who I was to begin with and that even while they were around I was intensely alone. The isolation that my transition created was an acceptable price because unlike my isolation before, I was now free to be myself.

For a time Elsa believes she is a monster. The idea is reinforced in her by the news she has cursed Arrendale with a winter storm and injuring her sister with her powers. She sinks deeper into isolation and into depression (her physical environment, created by her powers becomes darker and heavy with ice shards). Then Hans and soldiers from Arrendale attack the palace with the intention of killing Elsa. She is forced to defend her herself proving, in the words of Hans, that she is the monster they think she is. This is the insanity of her situation. She is attacked in her home and defending herself, fighting back against those who would kill her, but she is seen as a monster and her attackers as innocent and justified in their reactions.

Elsa’s environment darkens with her depression.[7]

Provoked by Hans and the soldiers, Elas defends herself.[8]

This is what happens to trans women across the world. This is what happened to CeCe McDonald. This is what happened to me. I have been assaulted and keep a bat by my door in case the people who did it come back; I have had my home vandalised, with the word “TRANNY” scrawled across my door; I have been verbally harassed and stalked on the street, in stores, and at my place of employment; I have been sent death threats. All because of the storm of discomfort just seeing me creates within them. I have filed reports with police and human resources and building security and every time I am told there is nothing they can do and, more egregiously, that being who I am, I bring it on myself.

Elsa moves through the pain and loss in her life and her story has a happy ending, part of which is achieved by her realisation that love is the emotion that allows her to control and use her powers. She moves past her fears and finds a way to incorporate her powers into who she is; they are a part of her but they do not define her. My story, I hope, is far from over, but like Elsa, I have learned that love and compassion for those around me opens the doors for my own happiness. I am not always happy nor am I always the person I aspire to be, but the love that being myself has allowed me to find has opened the door to happiness. It has allowed me to develop friendships I could never have had before and it has opened me to receive the love of a woman who I have been blessed with the chance of sharing my life with.

It may seem odd that a children’s movie about two princesses loosely based on a short story written nearly 170 years ago should speak so intimately to my heart and experiences. And that the deuteragonist of this animation should unintentionally serve as a positive form of trans representation demonstrating how stories can be told that reflect the lived realities of minoritised groups should put poorly written, intentionally representative films such as TransAmerica and Dallas Buyers Club to shame. Trans lives are not difficult to represent and give honour to, you just have to understand that people are people and we all have the same fears and aspirations.

UPDATE: for further reading on this, check out Aoife’s piece discussing the association of trans experience with Elsa’s and look at the Japanese translation of “Let It Go.”  Elsa and Trans Iconography: The Snow Queen’s Gloves Come Off

[1] “Elsa the Snow Queen – Disney Wiki.” 2012. 22 Jan. 2014 <http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Elsa_the_Snow_Queen>

[2] Bornstein, Kate. My Gender Workbook: How to Become a Real Man, a Real Woman, the Real You, or Something Else Entirely. Routledge. 1998. <http://books.google.com/books/about/My_Gender_Workbook.html?id=NjH32xMTu7kC>

[3] http://static4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140112132348/disney/images/c/c5/Young_Elsa_afraid.png

[4] http://static2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131029223116/disney/images/f/f6/Fullscreen_capture_10282013_71432_PM.bmp.jpg

[5] “Elsa the Snow Queen – Disney Wiki.” 2012. 22 Jan. 2014 <http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Elsa_the_Snow_Queen>

[6] “Let it Go – Disney Wiki – Wikia.com.” 2013. 22 Jan. 2014 <http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Let_it_Go>

[7] http://static1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131004094510/disney/images/2/2d/Movie_Screenshots_47.jpg

[8] http://static4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131222033739/disney/images/8/8a/Elsa%2C_Frozen.png.jpg

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Is Grelle/Grell Sutcliff a Positive Trans Woman Portrayal

6 January, 2014

The question of whether or not Grelle/Grell is a trans woman (please remember it is proper to put a space between trans and woman) is one that is not up for debate. In the text (the manga) it is specifically stated by her “I’m a lady,” that she is upset to have been assigned male at birth (AMAB), and her “biggest complaint since birth” has been she was not born with a female body and she believes “god made a mistake” in giving her a male body. She adds, “That is why right now, the thing I want to do most is have a sex ❤ change ❤ I’m serious, you know?” She even adds she is serious because she knows that people will not take her seriously, as she hasn’t been taken seriously by anyone in the continuity of the story-verse or by most readers.

Here are links to the pages I mention (the first is a two panel spread with the appropriate sections highlighted and the next two are individual close-ups):

Two page spread (highlighted)

Page one close-up

Page two close-up

Therefore, the issue is not whether or not Grelle is a trans woman, but rather, is Grelle a positive representation of a trans woman. The most stated complaint about this is her obsession with Sebastian (or with sex), which might lend to the depiction of trans women as hyper-sexed (an inaccurate accusation hurled at trans women by opponents from the medical community, gatekeepers, second wave feminists, and the general populace). I will admit, that I was, at first, bothered by this as well. As a full-time trans woman, who has completed her transition, achieving my transition goals was difficult. It was compounded by medical accusations of autogynephilia by the doctors and therapists I first sought treatment from and accusations from friends and family of my really being a gay man who wants to trick straight men into having sex (this is the definition of “trap” and the reason why that is such a vulgar and offensive insult to many trans women). Because of my personal experiences transitioning I was first inclined to see Grelle as a negative stereotype.

However, as I thought more about the show and what was happening with other characters, I realised this was not a stereotyping of trans women as much as it was a consistent portrayal of the story’s reoccurring characters. All of the characters have an obsession, that’s part of what the story is telling us about people.  Ciel is obsessed with revenge; Sebastian is obsessed with eating Ciel’s soul; Mey-Rin, Finnian (Finny), Baldroy (Bard), and Tanaka are obsessed with overcoming their past traumas and serving the young master; Elizabeth is obsessed with making Ciel happy and seeing him smile again; Lau is obsessed with power and self-gratification; Madam Red is obsessed with her inability to have children (to tragic ends); Arthur is obsessed with learning the truth; Queen Victoria is obsessed with the love between her and King Albert; William T Spears is obsessed with rules and order; and Undertaker demonstrates a peculiar obsession with jokes and laughing. Even minor characters such as the Indian Prince, Soma, and his servant, Agni, demonstrate obsessions with pride and loyalty, respectively. So, of course, Grelle demonstrates an obsession and, I suppose, sex—like orderliness and laughter—is an archetypal, primal, obsession appropriate to the Reapers.

Another argument raised against her as a positive depiction of trans women are some of Grelle’s more violent aspects. These are not a condemnation of trans women as violent or having male privilege but are part of the Reaper nature necessary for performing their allotted function in the story-verse. This is not a characteristic limited only to Grelle, though in her young, quirky way she seems to relish it more than her older counterparts in the job (in their final battle William T Spears seems to enjoy it quite a bit, as well).

A final argument I have heard raised against Grelle being a positive portrayal of trans women is her flighty/flakiness. Yes, she is quite flaky, but this is not a representation of transmisogyny, but of the misogyny inherent in the show. Elizabeth, Mey-Rin, Madam Red, and Elizabeth’s serving girl, are all depicted as flighty, incompetent, and incapable of completing actions on their own (with an obvious exception for Mey-Rin late in story). I’m not excusing this depiction of women, but I am stating it is not specific to the trans woman only.

So, are there positives to this inclusion of a trans woman in the story? I believe there are. First, she is a dynamic character with self-autonomy. It is rare to see a trans woman depicted as anything other than a sex object, a “trap,” or a joke and Grelle is none of those things. She actively pursues her interest in Sebastian instead of being the focus of his interest; she is upfront with other characters about who she is stating she may have been AMAB (as much as we can apply the term to a Reaper) but she is woman, and not just any woman, but “a lady;” though she is made fun of and misgendered by the other characters in the show, she does not waver in her convictions or her self-identity. She is a strong, independent trans woman, and for that alone she can be seen as a positive representation.

Second, she is conventionally attractive. Although I do not believe this is a prerequisite for a positive character be they female or male, trans or cis, I think this is an important part of her character. She has worked at creating her presentation, she dedicated energy to gaining passing privilege, and the idea of being taken seriously as both a woman and romantic possibility. Further, she does this not for the sole purpose of “catching” Sebastian, but for the sake of herself and to be herself. She is a trans woman who works at being beautiful because it make her happy to be so. Again, independence and autonomy.

Third, and most important, she is likable. The audience, for as flamboyant and “out-there” as she is, cannot help but like her. She is engaging and relatable. She is someone who, despite her flaws (and she has some serious flaws), the reader/audience cannot help but desire success and happiness for. She is fun, a bit flirtatious, and, frankly, adorable. And, even in the day of Orange Is the New Black, a trans* character who the audience can relate to, is a rare thing.

As a trans woman, who rarely sees herself reflected in characters in stories and almost never in a trans character in a story, I’m asking you to consider what you are taking away from the trans community by denying or glossing over Grelle’s status as a trans woman. Is she the most perfect representation? No, but none of them on the show are. Is she a character that I can gpoy? Again, no, but I can still see aspects of myself and my strengths in her. By ignoring who she is, by ignoring the canonical fact she is a trans woman, you are taking what little representation there is for trans women away from them. You are saying, your personal feelings matter more than their right to be represented in the media they enjoy.

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Trans Women Have Always Been Female

5 September, 2013

Early today i was reading a post about how all trans women’s experiences are female experiences, even ones that happened before social transition. You can find that post at Cis-Critical, not Cisphopic‘s Tumblr page. The permalink is here. This is a point that people miss and a lot of times they miss it due to the incorrect but deeply entrenched idea that trans women are mimicking womanhood and femininity. i know too many people who are quick to agree that since transitioning i have had female experiences who just as quickly write-off pre-transition experiences as male experiences. This is just a rephrasing of the idea that i am a man who decided to become a woman. But i’m not.

i was born female. My brain or neuro-chemistry or psyche or what-have-you has always been female. i have always understood myself to be female and i have been aware of how others did not recognise me as female since i was four years old and reprimanded for lining up with the girls. i have lived my life as a female, but one whose femininity was not taken seriously. i was beaten and emotionally abused by peers and family because they did not see masculinity in me and they decided it should be there. These are not male experiences; these are the experiences of a female who was being conditioned by force and against her will to be male.

So i adapted. i learned to fake masculinity to protect myself. That act was convincing because it had to be, my life literally depended on my ability to hide who i really was, to play a part so flawlessly that no one would know that i was female. But, playing the part does not make me male. Whenever i was alone i expressed my femininity, i gave myself permission to drop the act. For as long as my body shape allowed me, i would wear my mother’s clothes every time i was alone in the house. When i could no longer fit into her clothes i would ride my bicycle (that horrible dark blue bicycle that i was given because the ones i was looking at were too ‘cute’ and not ‘man enough’) to the local Salvation Army thrift store and buy girl’s and women’s clothing that i could fit into. i had to hide it really well, because i knew being caught meant trouble and, depending on who caught me, another beating. Even with those precautions the fear of being caught was so high i would burn the clothes after a week or two, play my role till i couldn’t take it anymore and then start the cycle over again. i took ages in the bath because it was my time to experiment with make-up and nail polish. Sometimes i filled the tub with water but never got in, it was just a cover so i could buy an hour alone to be myself. i am thankful for my acceptance into the drama club in high school because it meant i could stop hiding stuff at home. There i had free access to a huge women’s wardrobe and make-up. Thanks to a brilliant English teacher/drama coach (whom, i suspect, had an inkling of who i really was) i had free access to the wardrobe after school and sometimes during English class. If it hadn’t been for that teacher and that place where i could be myself, i would have have committed suicide before graduating because the pressure of playing male to keep everyone else happy was that destructive to my health and well-being.

None of this is a male experience. And, i know, it is not the typical female experience, but it is a female experience because it was experienced by a female who tried desperately to make everyone else happy. A female who wanted nothing more than to make her Da and Mum and brother happy. So it kills me when people tell me i had male experiences prior to socially transitioning because they are actively erasing my past and ignoring my very real, very traumatic lived experiences.

My brother is a huge culprit in this erasure. He fully supports my right to be who i am now, despite his not really understanding it, but he does not accept that i was female before i announced my intent to transition. He holds to the idea that because i acted like a male around him that, obviously, is who i truly was. He rejects the notion that i was female from birth, that i had learned to hide who i was while he was still an infant, long before he could even be aware of gender differences. i’ve attempted to explain this to him, but i am met with rebukes. He tells me i’m exaggerating or lying. He says things could not have happened that way because no kid that age could ever be aware of those feelings or be clever enough to hide them. my past cannot be allowed to exist as it happened because he is too afraid of loosing what he believes happened; the lie, the act, is real to him and matters more than the truth of my experiences.

And he’s not the only one who does this. Yes, i received certain benefits of male privilege growing up, i cannot nor do i attempt to deny that, but having received those benefits due to other people’s insistence i was male does not alter the fact that i was a female pretending to be male. The existence of some aspects of male privilege (because of elements of my femininity i could not hide i was also excluded from aspects of male privilege) in my past does not negate my lived experience of being a female hiding as a male. i saw my experiences through the eyes of a female; i felt them with the heart of a female. i mourned and hated the existence of that male character because it was not me; it was a show and i loathed having to perform it. i constantly felt fake, on the verge of being discovered. i felt filthy and whoreish selling myself out to keep people happy. i may have draped myself in trappings of masculinity but i did it as a female trying to survive in a male dominated world that hates to the point of violence and murder my type of femininity. Every time someone says i was not female before i socially transitioned they erase my history and my life; they commit and act of psychological violence against me and hold up the patriarchal, sexist culture that forced me to hide who I have always been to begin with.