Back to Middle School

I spent the earlier part of today doing my first in-depth reporting at a middle school in Oakland. I observed a sixth grade math class, and on top of feeling dumb as shit for not remembering a damn thing about algebra (except for PEMDAS: Please Excuse My Dumb Ass Sister).

Lots to observe, of course, but what I couldn't get over was how tiny the kids were. I've been racked by a serious case of nostalgia recently. Maybe it's the fact that hella people from my middle school days have somehow found me on Facebook. But with all the adult pressures of jobs, bills and housing, I've been yearning to get back to when shit was relatively simple: make the basketball team, do my homework, worry about what to wear to school the next day. I know retrospect is a biatch, 'cause in reality I know middle school was filled with bubbling insecurities and the helplessness of seeing friends and fam struggle while feeling powerless to help out.

But what struck me today is looking at the boys (I hope that doesn't read as pervishly as it does in my head). The class was filled with kids of color, and it looked a lot like I remember mine looking, back then I wasn't worried about what white kids might think or how state standards defined me. When I saw the boys in this class, they looked engaged, even excited. Even when you could tell the math was pushing their nerves, they didn't necessarily buck authority.

I remember how much changed for me in middle school, especially in terms of how I viewed race and gender. In sixth grade, two of my best friends were guys. One was Black and Japanese, the other was Chinese, and all we'd talk about was football, Southpark, and Mrs. Vorsanger's science experiments. By the time we hit 8th grade, they weren't friends; the former seemed to understand what it meant to be Black at a San Francisco public school, and the latter only kicked it with the kids in the local Asian Gang. Meanwhile, my awkward ass was giving up on basketball and trying to figure out how to walk comfortably in skin-tight flare jeans. They went to the same high school and, as far as I know, never spoke again.

I know it sounds hella cliche, but when exactly does innocence fade? To my recollection, none of us experienced any dramatic, life-changing encounter that made us look at how we related to one another differently. It was gradual. As far as we knew when were entered middle school, we all had the same dreams.

It seemed like the most profound transformations happened in the boys I knew. Sure, the girls changed too; some played stupid, some got pregnant, some fell off, and some I still kick it with to this day. But it seems like the boys understood intuitively somewhere between sixth and seventh grade that you don't usually earn cred by being smart or kicking it with girls you're not trying to get with.

"... So now I pout like a grown jerk, wishing all I had to do now, was finish homework."

Aaanyway, in typically cheeseball fashion, I'll leave with you with a classic:

Why Sports Are Always Gender Queer

Let's face it: sports is perhaps the most prominent arena for challenging conventional gender norms. Unfortunately, in the high profile case of South African runner Caster Semenya, she had no choice in the matter.

The record-setting 18-year-old South African runner became the target of international controversey after the International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) forced her to take a gender test. Well, the results were leaked to the press: she "failed", whatever that means. According to them, she's intersex. Read more about the details here.

The details aren't really important. What makes this so intriguing -- and sad -- is that the controversy generally glosses over how sports have always been a site of both intentional and unintentional reisistance to gender norms.

First, there's the blatant homoeroticism of most major male-dominated sports, like wrestling and American football. Although both sports are brutal physical expressions of masculinity, they're also aesthetic and social examples of male bonding. Whether it's the tight uniforms, constant physical contact or on-and-off field comraderie, they all fall somewhere along the line of gender non conformity.

With self-identified women, this is especially true. I'm a life-long basketball nerd who was drawn to the sport at least partially because it allowed me to express an aesthetic queerness that I wasn't quite comfortable doing in other social situations. On top of loving the game, I was also drawn to the baggy clothes that also served as an excuse to get out of rigid gender norms at school. I could comfortably wear sweatpants and hoodies to school without people constantly asking me why I was trying to dress "like a boy." Most times, they'd just shrug their shoulders and say, "Oh, she's on the basketball team, that's cool."

Granted, there's still an huge underlying assumption that most atheltic self-identified women are queer, to some degree. But for the most part, it's socially acceptable. Sports have always provided relatively safe spaces for queer women to bond, interact and take on leadership roles. It's a huge deal to be a confused queer kid and finally feel like you're worth something on the playing field.

Obviously, Semenya's case is different. She self-identifies as a woman. She's being shamelessly humiliated by the international media. She's being forced to confront her gender identity when perhaps, it was never a question for her before.

In a similar case, Indian runner Santhi Soundarajan also failed a gender test back in 2006 and was stripped of her silver medal at the Asian Games. She reportedly attempted suicide because of the controversy back in 2007.

I can't help but feel an overwhelming sadness for what she's going through. Recently, she withdrew from an upcoming race because, according to her coach, "she wasn't feeling well." For someone so young to go through something so humiliating in such a public way, I hope she has the support around her that she needs.

10th Annual Day of Remembrance

Today is the 10th annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. I especially want to urge those of you who have been organizing for same-sex marriage in recent weeks to attend your local DOR event tonight...Because it's a question of solidarity. Because it's a question of intersecting identities.

Because I've got your back and I need to know that you've got mine.

DOR is about honoring the lives of the community members we lost in the past year at the hands of hate and transphobia. It's about celebrating their lives and acknowledging their deaths.

Today, I am 12 days away from beginning hormone therapy, and I feel a tremendous sense of displacement. In addition to the 23 years of work it's taken to get to this point, I've spent the last several months coming out to family and friends about my plans and process, assuaging people's fears about "who I will become" once more testosterone enters my system, about whether all of this is really necessary, about whether I'm bringing a stigma upon myself that could easily be avoided.

About whether I will be safe.

It's a real, legitimate fear--this worry over safety. And while there's something very real about the fear-induced hate towards visibly trans bodies, this body of mine has never felt safe. It's felt wrong, it's felt weighed down, it's felt surreal-ly unknown, it's felt painful as hell, it's felt numb, it's felt bigger than I can handle, it's felt freakishly foreign, it's even felt like the excruciating trade-off for dual insights.

But it's never felt safe.

And yet, I've made it work for me. I've dwelled here for 23 years, and I've made it work. Now that I'm finally taking a stand for myself and owning my right to feel at home in my skin, I feel displaced.

I think it's because this entire process involves so much uprooting. It involves tearing up foundations that really weren't ever doing much service to anyone, and in so doing, risking the possibility that a new framework may never be laid. This is the case with body, with family, and with community.

With body, I am letting go of what I've made work for so long, and I'm banking on the fact that the visions of self I hold in my mind's eye are about to manifest. With my family, I am letting go of the need for their approval and understanding, putting faith in the hope that they will come around as time progresses. With community, I am letting go of my pre-op, pre-t trans identity, of my woman of color public hologram (which depends heavily on the light, angle, and context in which I'm viewed). I'm leaping out and hoping that I will find a healthy trans masculinity and a community of folks with whom I can have a healthy, growing relationship.

This journey is a scary one, but the risks are not really new. At worst, I am opening myself up to ridicule, alienation, hate, and death. At best, though, I have a shot at freedom; I have a chance to finally be able to breathe.

Stuff Straight People Don't Like #A

Gender Ambiguity

So I was at the beach last week, "celebrating" the birth of this nation from the womb of murder, genocide, and chattel slavery (AKA 4th of July) with some brown and beautiful friends, whence suddenly, I had to pee. No big deal, right? Aside from the seemingly endless trek from our spot in the sand to the nearest public restroom (which was exhausting, by the way. Hot day, hotter sand, and no sandals), this should have been routine.

But it wasn't.

When dressing and packing for the beach, I failed to remember that mens' beach bathrooms have no stall doors. It's a ridiculous rule, but standard none-the-less. For a pre-op trans guy, this was a serious oversight. Remembering my female anatomy, I decided to use the women's restroom.

This took some prep work. Stepping away from the facilities for a moment, I tried to channel my energies into "female" mode. I felt like a fucking transformer, disassembling my masculine exterior in an attempt to reveal that "she" hidden inside. A slight sway in my step and a swollen chest were about the only two gendering assets I could work, so I got in line, practically cradling my breasts as if to say "Hey! I have these! I belong!"--the opposite of my daily ritual.

That's when I remembered just how little straight people like gender ambiguity. Standing there in the never-ending line, I got more than a few stares. I got the points, the whispers, the head-to-toe-to-head-to-toe scans, the murmurs and chuckles, and finally, the "excuse me! EXCUSE ME!!" Which I consciously chose to ignore, since I didn't care to engage what was waiting on the other end ["you're in the wrong restroom" (no I'm not. but then again, yes I am), "are you a boy or a girl?" (um, both. um, neither. a boy in a girl's body...well, I guess it depends on who you ask...), "you shouldn't be in here!" (maybe you're right. but then where do I go? If I show you my goodies will you be convinced?)].

So I handled my business and jetted as quickly as possible...headed back to the beach, reassembling myself with each step.

Zoot Suit Boogie

Over the last six months I worked on a project for César Chávez celebrations on campus. My contribution was writing and editing a discovery guide for the theatrical production of Zoot Suit. The purpose of the guide was to introduce high school audiences to the context of the production—including everything from Immigration waves, Los Angeles history, to cultural language and customs of the time. *

Hailed as the first Chicano production to hit Broadway, Zoot Suit conflates events of the Sleepy Lagoon Murder Trial and the Zoot Suit Riots, which terrorized the Mexican American community in Los Angeles during the 1940s, in order to create a production that both uplifts and ignites social consciousness.

While the project gave me many headaches, as I dug deep to find everything from accurate information to photographs, plus figuring out how to make everything accessible for young minds, the one thing that pushed the project forward was this:


Little is written on the role of pachucas, women who donned the Zoot Suit attire, slang, and behavior of the 1940s. Yes, there are a few scholars who have written several scholarly pieces, who I can count on one hand: Catherine Ramírez, Elizabeth Escobedo, and Rosa-Linda Fregoso, but little attention is given to them in other forms of media. Zoot Suit, itself, was criticized for the masculinist portrayal of zoot suit culture.

The reality is that young women also dressed in full zoot suits, spoke in Caló (a dialogue referred to as pachuco slang--though it wasn’t slang at all, but an entire new language that Mexican American youth created out of their multi-cultural/lingual backgrounds), and hung out on street corners alongside their male counterparts. For the 1940s, this was seen as an extreme violation of social norms. Pachucas, seemed to care little about keeping a socially-accepted “feminine” appearance. Instead, they broke cultural and gender norms, forging an identity of their own.

Most def a source of inspiration.


[*In case you didn’t know, Chávez was a zoot suiter in his young life. This play is performed in honor to his life during an era of turmoil in the United States. Moreover, many of the people who contributed to the production of Zoot Suit, including the playwright, Luís Valdez, composer, Daniel Valdez, and the theatre trope, El Teatro Campesino, grew out of the Farm Workers Movement. Theatre, comedic satire, music, and dance were important tools used to organize people in support of the farm workers movement.]

A breath of fresh air...

this add is fabulous.

i was walking down Broadway in Washington Heights yesterday and saw this




and saw this one in Elmhurst




for too long, fear has been the mode for hiv prevention, its clearly not enough. is this the new face of hiv prevention organizing?

after Health Organizations in this country have guaranteed to deliver queer communities of color offensive campaigns developed to promote safer sex, this campaign by Gay Men's Health Crisis is a breath of fresh air.

phillys Have you been Hit? and SF's "Don't Be a Bitch, Wear a Condom" (great analysis of SF's campaign by Gay Shame Sf) made me wonder if we would ever have a campaign targeted to young queer/msm (men who have sex with men) of color, that addresses safe sex without being racist, classist, sexist, or perpetuating some fucked up racialized conceptions of gender.

Evidently, that day has come.



Living Out Loud with Darian features the complete campaign.

this campaign, as Darian says, shows "Beautiful images of brothers loving and respecting each others bodies and souls. Now that's not something you see everyday."

I also love this ad because, it combats the idea that being gay is a "condition" that only affects white men, particularly middle and upper class white men. too often we see portrayals of "typical" gay men as white and and often professional. many people today, when thinking about MSM of color, are limited to images ofthe "the down low" and otherwise heterosexual men sneaking away from their wives/girlfriends to have sex with other men.

not only does this ad show queer men of color, its shows two men engaged, affectionate, in a relationship. this ad acknowledges same sex couples, even promotes them. rather than pandering to the serial sexing gay male caricature.


the contention behind this development is a larger problem in organizing that we see across all issues. Too often we have people organizing and working in organizations who aren't from or familiar with the communities they are "fighting" for. In order to have real change, space must be created in these larger organizations for leaders to step up and address the problems particular to the communities they are purportedly serving, rather than having a few researchers and academics or consultants behind the scenes telling us what our communities will respond to.

creating these spaces - not only in the media- for those outside the realm of what is deemed as typical, highlights progress. this exposure and presence might be seen as a minimal achievement to some, but i find it to be very powerful.

If you do one thing this saturday....

do something that makes a difference. March!

This Saturday, March 8th, is International Women's Day. Activist groups in Los Angeles will be be participating in the first march in LA since 1994 to mark this day. This year's call is: "Against the War!"

But it's more than the war in Iraq, where women and children make up the majority of casualities, it is about the war women face on multiple levels and fronts everywhere in this world. It's about choice, poverty, health care, labor exploitation, immigration raids, violence, silence, femicide, impunity...

March for women's lives.

March for the women in your life.

Click here to find an event near you.

Bois2Men

First, let me apologize for the delay in writing. Funny how life happens sometimes. I realize that many of my blogs on trans identity don't exactly have "mass appeal." They actually probably don't mean shit to anyone but me.

Nevertheless, I have to keep writing what's on my mind. So here it is.

Lately, all my bois have started becoming men. In the last few months, four of my closest trans brothers have started their physical transition--through top surgery and T. And I'm happy for them. Truly. But as half of me reaches out with open arms and congratulatory remarks, I feel the other half slowly backing out the door.

Why?

Well, I've come to realize that the reasoning involves a touch of jealousy, a bit of alienation, and a whole lot of fear.

Of course there's a part of me that yearns to be them--that wishes that my transition could just as easily include or disregard the rest of my immediate family. And clearly, it's difficult to find myself alone; The guys with whom I shared that scary process of self-unfoldment and coming out now swap stories about hormone shots and post-op delights to which I just can't relate.

But mostly, it's fear. I'm afraid of where our FTM community is right now. I'm afraid of the casualty with which young guys start hormones and schedule surgery. I'm afraid of how those conversations parallel those around body piercings and new tattoos.

Now, let me qualify. Starting these physical transitions have, no doubt, changed my brothers' lives for the better--the changes definitely help them feel more genuine and whole. And I CERTAINLY prefer this era of (relatively) easy-access SRT to the hurdles and obstacles that faced transmen before us.

But I'm still afraid. Afraid that the relative ease of access for some will limit the access for others. I'm worried that those guys who want to genderfuck get to do so, and that those guys would give ANYthing to just feel more whole never will.

It's raced, it's classed, and it's located.

Those who are white or benefit from skin privilege, those who are middle class, and those who live in large metropolitan areas do enjoy more access than those who are brown, who are poor, or who live in rural areas. And, I imagine, those who understand themselves within the context of an individualistic culture may have an easier time moving "forward" than those whose "selves" are linked to a family identity.

There's something about the ostensibly instantaneous gratification that these guys experienced in their transition process that has me turning up more doubts and questions than resolutions and answers. Why has this process turned into some sort of competition? Why does it seem like I'm the only still stuck at the starting gate? What are they giving up in their process? What am I giving up in mine?

Like I said, I don't have answers. I don't know whether I would jump at the opportunity to transition if all things financial, familial, and cultural worked themselves out tomorrow. What I do know is that I hope my FTM community doesn't lose sight of all it's members. I hope that we can shift our understanding of a gender spectrum to the intersections of identity, that we can stop privileging a white boi's right to play with gender over a brown guy's right to engage his gender identity within his cultural community.

I hope we can offer support for bois to be bois, and that we can provide equal access for those who choose to become men.

Reactions to ENDA

Transgender Day of Remembrance 2007 Los Angeles, CA
What ENDA Meant To Me, by Kalil Cohen

While ENDA was being debated and it was becoming clearer and clearer that we were going to lose, I was feeling really depressed and hurt and scared, and sad, for myself and my friends and the security of our communities. I was also feeling really alienated from "LGBT" politics and the political players that I felt were rejecting me, leaving me behind, and overlooking the significant contributions trans people have made to gay and lesbian civil rights struggles. Now that I've had a little time to calm down and detach myself somewhat, I'm realizing that this is not the case at all. There was only one major "LGBT" organization that didn't stand up for what was right. It was the HRC, which I already knew not to trust and I already knew that I didn't agree with their politics, tactics, or even the personal beliefs of many of their members. ENDA was framed as divisive, both by trans people rallying to keep gender identity protections in the bill, and by assimilationist gay people rallying to drop trans people from "their" civil rights bill. But it is important to understand why things turned out the way they did, namely because those in power don't have a desire to protect oppressed people, and why should that surprise any of us, really? The ENDA that got passed is really about protecting gender conforming, white, gay men. And that is about dividing our community, and giving the most powerful among us a little bit of extra privilege so they'll leave the rest of us behind. And really, is that so surprising or disheartening?
We already know that lesbians aren't adequately protected as women, and gender-variant lesbians even less so. Queer brown and black people aren't protected because we all know how economics works for people of color as well, with gender-variant people of color even more affected by these daily realities. So is it really so surprising, and how much do these recent political developments really have to say about our queer communities and our ability to stand together in unity? Since the ENDA debate began, I have been contacted by a significant number of gay and lesbian individuals and organizations wanting to know how to be better trans allies, wanting to know about the struggles we're facing right now, and wanting to stand with us. These include Soulforce Q and Downtown Magnets High School's GSA. My point is, let's make sure we're honoring those in diverse queer communities who are standing with us, reaching out to us, and doing the work of inclusion, just as we make sure to point out those who aren't.
When ENDA was being debated, I started talking to all my trans friends about our experiences in the work world and how these experiences had affected or were affecting our decisions about transitioning. Through these conversations, I realized how few of my friends knew the details of my work life and my thought process, and how little I knew about theirs. It turns out I am not alone, but one of several friends who is totally out and open about being trans at work, only to have my identity ignored and disrespected by my employer because I don't look male enough to them. Just knowing others share this experience, and being understood by them was empowering. For me, organizing trans people around ENDA was partially about motivating people toward political action to create change, and partially about making sure we were speaking up for ourselves for our own mental health, and to internalize the fact that we are fully human and do truly deserve human rights. Even though I already understood and cared about ENDA in theory, these conversations helped me gain a new sense of understanding my community, how my own decisions have been affected by economic realities, and why it is so important to speak up for ourselves, and with each other, even when it looks like a losing battle. Also, let's remember that ENDA isn't the only federal legislation to focus on today. This year the U.S. Congress passed transgender inclusive legislation at the federal level for the first time, with the Matthew Shepard Act, which added violence related to one's gender, gender identity, sexual orientation and disability to federal hate crimes laws. This is truly significant, especially today when we remember those we've lost to violence and hate.
The tradition of Transgender Day of Remembrance is significant for our community because we all need the support and understanding that community provides. Sometimes it is hard to remember this in a country that so discourages community, and in a culture where we must seek out trans communities for ourselves. Today is about a communal day of remembering, mourning, and moving forward together. So please, take this opportunity to reach out, and speak openly and honestly with the people you're sitting with about your struggles, your hopes, your fears, and your ideals. In this way, we can all gain from one another's strength.

On Day of Remembrance

We trans people are heroes. The doctors among us, the lawyers among us, the artists, the activist, teachers, and parents:

All of us.

It’s not what we do that makes us heroes. It’s how we do.

We trans people dare to dream. We dare to envision our better selves, and set out to create them.

THIS is heroic.

I spent so much of my early life fighting against stereotypes. Growing up brown in a conservative part of St. Louis, MO, I fought hard. I fought against the conflations among South Asians, Middle Easterners, and Native Americans, I fought against the exotification of my people, I fought against the accusations of Satan worship hurled at my Hindu community. I fought hard like a tornado tearing through a Midwest town, and when the storms of my indignation had settled, I found that I had left nothing but destruction in my wake. I had never stopped to imagine the future I hoped to create. I had never stopped to envision something better.

Coming out as trans forced me to do something different. For me, this process has taken vision. For my own well-being—indeed, for my own survival—I have had to learn to focus, not on the parts of myself that I want to destroy, but on the ideal self I seek to create.

It takes vision to see beyond that which is physically present—to see a fuller truth beyond tangible images—and to mold that vision into corporeal form.

Our bodies embody vision for the future.

We trans people are heroes because this very act of BEING provides leadership and direction for the future of social justice movements.

This question “How do we keep the ‘T’ in LGBT?” is particularly salient at a time when that T seems to keep getting dropped…when gay and lesbian marriage rights take precedent over our basic health care, and when protections against discrimination based on gender identity become easy points to bargain down.

But this question “How do we keep the ‘T’ in LGBT?” might be answered with more questions. “How do we keep the ‘L’ as in Living in poverty, the ‘G’ as in Growing up with a disability the ‘B’ as in Born brown into a system of white supremacy, the ‘T’ as in Trying to apply for amnesty, how do we keep the LGB & T in LGBT?”

The needs of our LGBT community are as diverse as the members within it. It is up to us trans people—and us allies—to lead our communities in a shift. Little by little, we can stop fighting against, and start building towards. No doubt, the futures we can imagine drop no letter for the ostensible gain of the others. In the futures we can imagine no human is “illegal” or “alien.” In the futures we can imagine, community members—not prison systems—hold people accountable for harms caused to a community.

We trans people, we heroes, we leaders—WE must keep daring to dream. Though we continue to lose, though we continue to struggle and hurt, we find compassion and the will to carry on when we can look at our present situation and see beyond it—when we can look at that reflection of our society and see, not a mirror image, but the future we want to create.

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Tomorrow is Transgender Day of Remembrance. If you're in LA, join us at the Metropolitan Community Church. If you're elsewhere, get online and find out what's going on in your city!

ENDA!!

I was shocked for a second that nothing about the National Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA) had been posted on this blog.... I then sadly realized that it's my sole (trans) responsibility to post it.

Congress will soon vote on a national ENDA that protects the rights of LGB, but not T individuals in the workplace. I encourage all of you to take action! I also want to share a letter from the first and only transgender HRC board member who resigned because of this bill.

The Action: Call your congressperson to let them know that you support an ENDA that protects the rights of ALL LGBT people, not just some. Tell them you oppose any bill that does not protects the right of transgender employees. Here's how:

Contact your representative today by calling the U.S. Capitol Switchboard at 202.224.3121 and asking to be connected to your representative's office.

When the office receptionist answers, you can say:

"Please tell the representative that I strongly support H.R. 2015, especially because it protects transgender people. I oppose any version of ENDA that does not include both sexual orientation and gender identity. Studies and surveys consistently show that between one-third and one-half of all LGBT respondents have suffered employment-related discrimination. Transgender people, in particular, desperately need the protections ENDA would provide. Congress should pass the original version of ENDA (H.R. 2015) that includes both gender identity and sexual orientation."


The Letter:
A statement from Donna Rose
in response to the recently announced Human Rights Campaign position
on ENDA:

Community. Integrity. Leadership. Vision. These are the foundational pillars of Equality. These are the values that draw many of us into advocacy roles. Those tenets provide a clear roadmap when things like politics, expediency, agenda, and power cloud the picture as they so often do. They pave the way to the moral high-ground, and those who follow them with trust and patience will ultimately find their efforts rewarded.

My name is Donna Rose, and I am the first and only openly transgender member of the Board of Directors of the Human Rights Campaign. I am the national co-chair for Diversity. I am the co-chair appointee-elect for the Business Council. I have spoken at events around the country on behalf of the organization, and I am a respected advocate for the transgender community.

My participation on the HRC Board has been a heavy burden. The relationship between HRC and the transgender community is one scarred by betrayal, distrust, and anger. I have become a focal point for much of that frustration and I accepted that responsibility with the hope that I could help to change it. In some very real ways I think I have been able to do that, or at least to help make that happen, and am tremendously proud of all we have achieved.

HRC has done some wonderful work to support the transgender community. Workplaces around the country are recognizing the unique challenges faced by transgender employees and are moving in record numbers to protect them as valued members of an inclusive workforce. Educational tools to help demystify our lives and to provide a human perspective have paved to way to a better understanding of who we are and our challenges. We have set high standards and we have held others accountable to them. The question at hand is whether we, as an organization, hold ourselves accountable to those same high expectations.

Transgender is not simply the 'T' in GLBT. It is people who, for one reason or another, may not express their gender in ways that conform to traditional gender norms or expectations. That covers everyone from transsexuals, to queer youth, to feminine acting men, to masculine appearing women. It is a broad label that cannot be confined to a specific silo of people. It is anyone who chooses to live authentically. To think that the work that we are doing on behalf of the entire GLBT community simply benefits or protects part of us is to choose a simplistic view of a complex community. In a very real way, the T is anyone who expresses themselves differently. To some it is about gender. To me, it is about freedom.

The Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA) is a core piece of legislation. It would guarantee that GLBT people will not get fired from their jobs because of discrimination and prejudice. It makes a strong statement that discrimination of any kind is unacceptable, and it recognizes the critical role of employment and career as something more than simply a paycheck. It is a source of pride, of achievement, of belonging, of security, and in a very real way it is a validation of person-hood.

Unemployment and under-employment is the single most significant issue facing transgender people today. The high-profile case of Susan Stanton, city manager from Largo , FL who was fired early this year after an exemplary 17-year career there simply because she was outed as being transgender, demonstrates the continuing experience that many of us continue to face each and every day in workplaces around this country. Although workplaces have made tremendous strides in enacting supportive policy, bad things still happen and the overall message being sent is that we're somehow expendable. In years past these things happened quietly, going unnoticed. Those days are numbered.

That's why ENDA is so important. It is more than simply a statement that it's not ok to fire GLBT people for reasons unrelated to work performance. It's a statement that we are a community. It's recognition of people who may not express their gender in traditional ways does not affect a person's ability to contribute as simply another part of a diverse workforce. It's a validation of those foundational pillars that line the moral high ground. And, it's recognition that each of us has value, and none of us will be left behind.

The current situation regarding ENDA is nothing short of a politically misguided tragedy. A tool that could and should be a unifying beacon on the heels of the historic passage of fully inclusive Hate Crime legislation has been split. Transgender brothers and sisters again find themselves separated, isolated, and disempowered. People in positions of power have decided that their personal legacy and the promise of political expediency are more important than protecting our entire beautiful community.

The time is here to make a strong statement to demonstrate to them that they are wrong.

In 2004 the HRC Board voted to support only fully-inclusive Federal legislation. That decision paved the way to my participation with the organization, and was a significant step in the healing process. Since that time we have worked together tirelessly towards a goal of Equality for all.

Less than a month ago HRC President Joe Solmonese stood before almost 900 transgender people at the Southern Comfort Conference in Atlanta to pledge ongoing support and solidarity. In his keynote address he indicated that not only would HRC support only a fully inclusive ENDA, but that it would actively oppose anything less. That single pledge changed hearts and minds that day, and the ripple affect throughout the transgender community was that we finally were one single GLBT community working together. Sadly, recent events indicate that those promises were hollow.

An impressive coalition of local and national organizations has lined up to actively oppose the divisive strategy that would leave some of our brothers and sisters without workplace protections. This effort has galvanized community spirit and commitment in ways few could have imagined, and it has demonstrated to those who would divide us that anything less than full inclusion is unacceptable Organization after organization has seized the moral high ground knowing that this is a historic opportunity that cannot be squandered, and that it is our moral obligation to ourselves and to generations that will follow to make a loud, clear, unmistakable statement that we are a community and we will not be divided. There is a single significant organization glaringly missing from that list. The Human Rights Campaign has chosen not to be there.

It is impossible to remove passion and emotion from what has happened. Indeed, those are the fuels that propel us. That being said please know that this entire situation has affected me deeply and profoundly. Still, I will not sling mud at the organization to who I have given my heart, my energies, and my trust. I will not give in to my frustration and disappointment that Joe's words of less than a month ago have proven to be hollow promises. This unfortunate turn of events has forced me to make some very difficult personal decisions about integrity, character, community, and leadership.

Although I can find any number of logical and personal reasons to continue in my capacity as a board member, I cannot escape the moral implications of the decision before me. Using that as my guide, as difficult as it is for me to make, the decision is an obvious one.

I hereby submit my resignation from my post on the Board of the Human Rights Campaign effective Monday Oct. 8, 2007. I call on other like-minded board members, steering committee leaders, donors, corporate sponsors, and volunteers to think long and hard about whether this organization still stands for your values and to take decisive action as well. More than simply a question of organization policy, this is a test of principle and integrity and although it pains me greatly to see what has happened it is clear to me that there can only be one path. Character is not for compromise. I cannot align myself with an organization that I can't trust to stand-up for all of us. More than that, I cannot give half-hearted support to an organization that has now chosen to forsake the tenets that have guided my efforts from day one.

I align myself and my energies with the groundswell of community sentiment that has universally stood to oppose this divisive strategy. I wish my friends and colleagues from the Human Rights Campaign the best, and I expect that time will prove their decision to take a neutral stance and to fracture our community to be short-sighted and misguided. I accept the notion that we all want the same thing. It's just that I couldn't disagree more with this destructive strategy to get there. I urge the board and the leadership to reconsider their position and the join a unified community that supports a single all-inclusive bill.

History teaches painful lessons. Any celebration of rights gained at the expense of others is not a celebration. It is a failure of effective leadership. It is to offer the promise of a tomorrow that you know in your heart will never come. It is to choose to turn your back on those who need you most, who do not have the voice or the stature to speak for themselves. The time is here for leaders to lead, for those who say they stand for community to act forcefully and with purpose. Anything less is to forsake the pillars of Equality for the empty promise of something less. The word that we have for that in our language is "Courage". It's the kind of courage it takes for GLBT people to show up for work each and every day, living authentically, wondering if that will be their last day. I call on my brothers and sisters at the Human Rights Campaign, for Speaker Pelosi and Congressman Frank, and for equality minded leaders everywhere to lead by example and to do the right thing.

In Solidarity for Equality,
Donna Rose

Sappho's Return: She/Ze sex--the varying degrees of gender identity & sexuality

"She/Ze Sex: the varying degrees of gender identity and sexuality"

Saturday, August 25th

LA Gay and Lesbian Center's Village at Ed Gould Plaza

1125 N. McCadden Place Los Angeles, CA 90038

7:30 pm show 6pm vendor bazaar

$10 event

What is feminine sexuality?

Our show will explore feminine sexuality (or not) through enjoying the work of high femmes, butches, FTM's and MTF's artists/performers with our wonderful emcee D'Lo weaving it all together all the way.

Line-up Emcee= D'lo

Performing Artists: Gabriela Garcia Medina, Adelina Anthony,Ryka Aoki de la Cruz, Nova Jade, the Miracle Whips Burlesque, DJ Claw-d, Trannysaurus Sex (from SFO), Karin & Kalil, Double D'z ...

Short Films:"The Buzz" by Pa'ti Garcia," Queering Gender: a look beyond the binary" by Kalil Cohen, "Boy Wonder" by Kery Ramirez,

This will be a night not to be missed!!

we will be having a vendor 'bazzar' before the show with: X-Killer Clothing (Sew-gay), Bossy Bottoms, Lucy and Gail, STUDS Clothing, Queerly Drastic Designs, Madame J Body Designs...and More!

check it out on myspace!

Gender Fucked

It's always the same shit. it's always different. Everything's always shifting. It always stays about the same. I work out of a building designed to serve the LGBT community. The office (non)policy at my place of work is that "transgender people are welcome to use the restroom of the gender which they present."

*blink*
Yes, Human Resources and the Facilities department really came together on that one. We are free to do what we do everywhere we go--pick a door and hope there's no one behind it who takes issue with our nature's call.

The reasoning's always the same: 1) there are women who use our services who may be victims of assault at the hands of men; it would be difficult, if not frightening for them to have to share a facility with men, and 2) to convert the restrooms we would have to take out the urinals and install toilets with stalls; that's $5,000 per stall!

I can't deny the monetary cost of making the change, nor can I deny the fact that some cisgender women feel unsafe around cisgender men. But shouldn't a center for LGBT individuals prioritize safety for all of the communities it serves? This includes gay and straight men, trans people and cisgender women who are survivors of sexual assualt; this includes gender variant individuals who don't fit or present within a gender binary.

But instead, trans folk just kinda get fucked. Tacked onto the end of an acronym. dragged around. shoved out. dropped off. screwed. Health care benefits don't cover surgery, hormone, or therapy costs. Collegues fumble with pronouns, assume that FTMs are dykes, that MTFs are fairies. It's the same shit.

STAND UP!!! LGBT and immigrant friends and allies, UNITE!

The vigil for Victoria was just postponed. It will take place ONE WEEK from today. Today's demonstration will focus on the recent deportation of Elvira Arellano which occurred yesterday at La Placita Church.

Elvira had been on a speaking tour of churches to raise awareness for the New Sanctuary Movement. She was leaving the church with her young son when ICE agents surrounded her and her car. She asked for a moment with her son, who remains in the US, and then she went with the federal agents to the Federal Building where she was subsequently deported the same night to Tijuana.

Tonight's vigil will be another in the long struggle for human rights and dignity against oppressive immigration laws. Elvira Arellano, as well asVictoria, highlight a system that has no regard for human life, nor demonstrates dignity and respect each human being. Radio pundits, federal spokespersons and wedge driving politicians will proclaim that laws were broken and the law must be upheld.

People who cherish freedom, civil and human rights and still believe in a system of justice understand that laws should be based on reality and compassion. Laws are man-made and can be re-made to reflect justice, humanity and fairness. We say laws that allow mothers to be separated from their children and laws that allow the denial of life-giving medication are unjust, inhumane and should be changed. We demand that change.

Personal Translations

Today I picked up an award from the student affairs office. It was an award for senior service that I was supposed to receive back in May, when families gathered and whiteness seeped to the surfaces of college graduation celebrations like dish water squeezed from a sponge. I know that graduation should feel like an accomplishment, but that weekend, I felt like the flavorless chewing gum stuck to the bottom of some white man's Birkenstock.

It's not like I revolutionized the college--well, wait. I helped 20 students come out, forced administration to reconsider transgender inclusive college policy, ran three student organizations, and opened up a Black Studies-Psychology research program through my thesis work. Maybe that's a big deal.--but when a dean approached me during the Class Day ceremony and asked why I wasn't up there (he was sure they'd considered me for the award), I felt that shit. Heavy. Any of eleven names could have fallen off that list, and my body felt the weight of being conveniently forgotten as the trans guy whom the college wouldn't want its trustees seeing in public.

I guess the reason I need to write about this here is that I've been thinking a lot lately about the intersections of my identities--about the shift from being perceived as a South Indian American woman who would be a model minority to show off to trustees, alum, and friends to being the trans guy that's best when kept under wraps, explained away, bound by contracts and silenced through omission.

I need to voice the kind of isolation that can come along with coming out as trans. For me, I just hurt inside. A lot. Even when I'm happy, even when I feel good about the things I'm doing, even when I'm around the people I love. I hurt inside because I feel the things I've done to try and make myself "normal." I loathe the parts of me that bent to society, that starved, cut, and hated me; that hid pain behind long hair and blouses; that crumbled when called a dyke.

When little things happen, like being denied recognition in a public forum, like being placed on medical leave, like seeing pain and confusion in a parent's eyes because they don't understand how I came to be this way, like remembering high school, like being told I must be intersex b/c trans people are just intersex people who were "fixed" at birth, like being poked and prodded by a doctor whose never seen such a strange specimen... when little things happen, I hurt more. Not because of other people, but because of how much I have denied myself and because of how I am therefore implicated in other people's denial of me.

And so I write explicitly from my transgender voice because I need to hear one right now, commiserating and forgiving.