One of the most frequent questions I face as a social justice researcher and activist for transgender (and blgq) populations is why I, "a cis-gender", binary-accepted woman would choose to focus on a population to which I do not belong. During the interview process of my Master's Thesis, I was asked a more important question by an interviewee: What makes me think I have any business researching the transgender population? I will attempt, ever so humbly, to answer that question now.
As I have already mentioned, I am considered cis-gender. I identify as a woman, I am adequately feminine to be perceived by others as a woman, and I am physically housed in a female body. There is no way for someone who has my lived experience to truly understand what people who experience gender dysphoria must go through-- considered the heretical hybrids, the third or fourth gender, the chimera, the monster in society so stigmatized by a narrow social structure that both created and condemns them... But perhaps "understanding" is too presumptuous a word anyway, and ultimately not so important. Instead, perhaps, I relate to these incredible human beings on a more basic level and hope to recognize the integrity, the realities, and the humanity of the community.
My fascination with transgender experience began at a young age, though it was at once different and normal to me. My mother frequented a nail artist who shared with her his entire journey to reconciling his body and lifestyle habitus to what he felt within, including his family's support and assistance in choosing a new name. My mother talked with me about it throughout, and I had been acquainted with him beforehand. And so, though I knew not all people went through these things, I did not perceive it to be any sort of abomination or oddity. It was simply another way to be. If anything, I thought it was neat. I definitely thought it was brave.
And yet as I grew older, I met and associated with more trans-identified people. Unfortunately, this made the berth between them and the individuals and groups less tolerant and compassionate than my own parents' example even more pronounced. I felt a sick, unsettling feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, something drawing me to this extremely marginalized group. I felt compelled, driven to become involved in their advocacy and to learn as much as I possibly could.
It was not, however, a sense of pity nor of righteous superiority, nor some notion that I could or would (or even should!) be some kind of savior. Me? No. Quite the contrary; I felt as if in some way I simply knew at the very core of my being that I was one of them. Do not misunderstand; I have never felt I was wrongly bodied or wrongly labeled. That is too literal an interpretation of being "one of them." As I said before, there is no possible way for me to understand what this community experiences and how it affects them. What I mean is that I knew what it felt like to be what the more cruel and thoughtless of society might consider a monster.
I am a woman, the "weaker sex." I suffer from anxiety and depression that can be at times debilitating. I am "emotional" and "overly sensitive." I am neurotic. I cope with OCD and ADHD. I am self-intolerant. I like wine, and at times in my life I have liked it (and other alcohol) too much-- perhaps even a dangerous amount. I struggle from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have been sexually assaulted twice in my life and lacked the courage to come forward until the statute of limitations had passed in both cases. I have been too frightened to pursue any meaningful recourse against people in my past who have threatened me, attacked me, stalked me and harassed me, making me feel as if I am weak and cowardly for keeping my head down. There have been times I have even been committedly suicidal.
What the hell would people think of me if they knew?
Every one of us is both creator and victim of our own societal machinations: we build what we must then live in, and in so living we keep rebuilding the same structures, sometimes to our detriment. We feel trapped by our own social strictures and limitations. And each of us have known fear. Terror. Shame. Stigma. Alienation. Isolation. We have each reached out desperately into the dark to find another human being with whom we could find real connection, understanding, acceptance. The most easily accepted among us has at some time felt self-disgust, a fear of being "found out." It is human. We all have hidden parts of ourselves, our skeletons in the closet. In the words of Shakespeare's Iago, "I am not what I am." Some of us wear our stigma in ways that the entire world can see, and though difficult and painful, there is at least some relief in the lack of ability to make such a choice. Those individuals must be brave or die. It does not make that stigma any easier to bear. But the rest of us harbor our darkness, our other halves, our hybridity in the shadows. We wear our scarlet letters, some visible, and some known only because of the burning of the insignia on our chests. We fear that others will know, will see, what we hope to hide. Even those we love the most become the carriers of the heaviest, most detrimental weapons against us-- for if they saw what we were, would their love persist? Would they forsake us as Frankenstein did his own labor of love? I know I personally have borne witness to some of the darkest moments of shame and disgrace in the lives of those I am committed to in love and friendship... And I have loved them nonetheless. Still, for such treacheries in my own life, I have whipped proverbial scars onto my own back. The truth is, we have merely imagined ourselves into the monsters we fear.
It is inescapable. We can't remove our own identities. We cannot change who we are in our souls or wash our hands of who we have become and how. And our flaws, faults, our socially perceived deviance and differences so greatly outnumber our successes and shared celebrations, just as the tragedies of the world outweigh the glorious triumphs. But that is what makes such achievements so valuable, and in essence, what makes each of us human. We are all monsters, but only in our minds. In our hearts, I am not convinced we are monsters at all. We are just fighting battles within us and without us, constantly, in our hopes to find that safe place, that utopia, or perhaps just that special other who can see us stripped of all our costumes and presumptions and, naked to whatever secrets we despise, who will love us for every flawed beating of our hearts.
And in that way, I am one of them-- one of the chimeras, the hybrids, the monsters, the heretics. I know I am one of them, because am a human being. We all are. The only real monsters are those who let their own self-hatred consume them and project it onto others for living honestly and courageously. And I cannot and will not rest until all human beings are respected and loved and valued for who they are and the amazing things they contribute to this brave new world. Until such a day arrives, I will give my heart and soul and any resources I may to support those voices being heard in hopes such a revolution may occur. That someday, people will not be so alone as I have felt in my own life through so many experiences. That someday, we will realize how much more we have in common than we have differences. That our secrets, our hidden selves, are not BAD. They are a critical element to creating the whole people we are and will be.
We are the heroes of our stories, not the victims. We can and will overcome. One and all. Someday.
And that's not even to mention how effin' cool my trans-identified friends are.
No comments:
Post a Comment