Calling In Phil Anselmo

This is kind of old hat by now, but I wanted to get this post up anyway because it's important. As a blogger who writes about social justice and the metal scene, I don't think I ought to be silent on this, even if I am late to the party. (Or the slaughter, as it may be.)

Anyway, in case you don't listen to metal, or pay even less attention to news than I do, about a month ago Phil Anselmo, former lead vocalist of Pantera, made several racist gestures and comments while performing at Dimebash (the annual event in honor of deceased Pantera guitarist "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott). A fan caught him on video performing a "Sieg Heil" salute and shouting "White power," and he apparently made a comment using the N-word backstage to Robb Flynn of Machine Head. Robb later posted a rambling rant against Phil and racism in metal in general.

While Robb Flynn wasn't the only one in the metal scene taking Phil to task for his racist remarks, I know there's also a portion of the scene going "Who cares, extreme music is supposed to offend," or, "Yeah, that might be racist, but I just like the music, I don't care about the politics." Seeing as that's what so many people say about NSBM (nationalist socialist black metal), misogyny in the metal scene, etc. Because sometimes people with shitty views do make music that sounds really good, and when that bigoted person is on the other side of the world and you're listening to their music on Youtube, it's easy to feel like it doesn't matter.

I've been there. I used to like the music of this one band, probably the most notorious NSBM band, although I didn't know it at the time. When I found out about the neo-Nazi activities of the person behind the band, it took a long time for me to sort out how I felt about it and what to do. A similar thing, but even more intense, happened a while back when I found out that a science fiction and fantasy writer who was one of my faves when I was a teen was giving part of his book profits to anti-LGBT organizations. It took years for me to figure out how I felt about it, but eventually I decided I would never read any of his books again, nor even say his name. It was tough at first, because I had been so moved and inspired by his books, and at first I regretted not being able to continue reading or even recommending his work. But at the same time, I didn't want to give one iota of support, whether in terms of money or publicity, to those sort of views.

Same thing for that one NSBM band, or any other one I might come across, no matter how awesome the music. I decided that I can't separate any act from its social or political impact, and I can't stomach doing anything that would contribute even tangentially to hate or supporting any person who expresses hate in any way.

When I thought of it that way, it helped me to let go of the books I wanted to read and the music I wanted to listen to. I mean, what's more important, being able to enjoy this one band's music, when there are also zillions of other bands out there I could listen to, or the lives of people who will be negatively impacted by the racist and neo-Nazi views and actions the band is encouraging? (Some credit for the phrasing of this thought goes to Metal Chris of DC Heavy Metal, who made the point "there are so many other bands to listen to" in a Facebook discussion about the Phil incident.) Certainly it isn't easy giving up a favorite band, or author, but then again doing the right thing often isn't easy.

But my conscience does rest a lot easier knowing I did the right thing.

So does this mean I will never listen to Pantera again? Well, this story actually has a slightly different ending. For one thing, Pantera was not all Phil, and Rita Haney, Dimebag Darrell's girlfriend, came out condemning Phil's white supremacist actions, while also accepting his apology for the same. Not only that, but later, on February 4 or 5 (judging from tweets of some of the same text) Phil posted another, heartfelt apology, which appears as the splash page of his website:

Since he says, "My band mates are now experiencing the consequences of my behavior," to the point that he has "privately suggested to them that they move on without" him, it seems that, this time the metal community has actually stood up and not made excuses, but has held him accountable for his actions and words at Dimebash, and he is feeling the pressure. Some performances of his current band Down were cancelled even after the new apology, it seems.

And I really want to believe him when he says that "Every citizen in this entire world has the unalienable right to live with dignity and respect without hate or oppression" and "I am utterly responsible for the mistakes I have made, and can only give you my word to no longer do them in the present, through ACTION, not just mere words." I want to believe he really means those things -- not just because I believe in the inherent goodness of people and in giving them a second chance, but because I believe in those things that he said and yearn for other people to believe and work toward them, too.

A couple days ago while working at the library I happened to skim through a book about one of the dogs from Michael Vick's dogfighting ring. At the end of the book was a timeline of the case, what happened to the dogs, and Michael Vick's life afterward. He apparently went bankrupt from being suspended from the NFL and losing his endorsement deals, but then three years later in 2010 he was starting quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles. My first reaction was, "WTF, they not only let him back in the NFL but gave him a star position, after what he did to those dogs?!" My second thought was, "Well, he did go bankrupt -- is it possible he suffered enough already for what he did, and perhaps ought to have a chance to go on with his life?"

Well, I just looked into it, and it seems like actually, he did not suffer that much -- never served time for animal cruelty, nor expressed any remorse about it, despite the fact that not only did he run a dogfighting ring but brutally tortured and killed the losing dogs.

But anyway, back to Phil Anselmo -- my reaction to the book did lay the groundwork for my reaction to Phil's apology. He has already done more than Michael Vick just by apologizing with such apparent sincerity, and the path is still open for him to atone for his actions. Only time will tell, but the tone of his apology makes me think that this time, maybe he will.

That is why I titled this post "Calling In Phil Anselmo." He has been called out by so many people in the metal scene. He has been sanctioned for what he did. In terms of negative reactions toward his actions, there's not much left to do. It's up to him now to change himself, to make amends, to show he's fit to rejoin the metal scene, a scene that, now in 2016, will no longer tolerate blatant racism from public figures. Because I'm so optimistic about human beings, I hope he will do that and we can invite him back in. (Not that I have any authority to do such a thing. I would guess that POC metal musicians and/or fans would be the most appropriate judges of whether Phil has atoned, although in reality it will probably be some combination of record labels and the media who decide when Phil is "acceptable" again.)

The scene's rising up to speak out against Phil's actions at Dimebash, while awesome to see, was kind of surprising, actually. After all he had been saying stuff like that for decades. But then again, this incident came at a time when race tensions are especially high and the topic is at the forefront of attention in the U.S. It couldn't be worse for him but in a way, it couldn't be better. There couldn't be a better time for us, the metal scene, to practice holding each other accountable, and for us, all of us, including Phil, to work for a more inclusive and equitable scene, and society.

Sometimes a Dress Isn't Enough

I wish I could wholeheartedly recommend Jacob's New Dress by Sarah and Ian Hoffman.

There are so many things about it that are wonderful. First of all, just to see a picture book about gender non-conforming children is great. The main character, Jacob, is a preschool boy who loves to wear dresses. When his teacher asks him what he wants to imagine being while playing dress-up, he says "proudly, 'I'm the princess.'"

Not only that, but the book shows Jacob's parents and teacher being accepting and supportive of his desire to wear a dress, and even addressing the bullying that he inevitably receives. "There are all sorts of ways to be a boy," Jacob's mother says while helping him to make a dress to wear to school. "It's not what I would wear, but you look great," Jacob's father says when he sees him in the dress. When the class bully wonders why Jacob is wearing a dress, the teacher points out that "Not long ago little girls couldn't wear pants."

At the same time, the book doesn't sugarcoat things. It shows the bullying and anxiety experienced by kids like Jacob - male-assigned kids who like "girl" things, whom the authors call "pink boys." Jacob is teased at school whenever he dresses up in dresses, and experiences a "can't-breathe feeling" as he embarks on wearing a "real dress" to school. The book even depicts the mom's trepidation about Jacob wearing a dress to school, as she hesitates before answering him when he first asks. A realistic reaction and probably something that will resonate with parents of GNC kids, no matter how supportive.

While bias and harassment are an unfortunate reality for a lot of GNC people including youth, these problems are particularly severe for those assigned male who want to present in "feminine" ways, due to society's misogynistic attitudes. So, it's great to see a book taking this on, and at a kid's level, where it can help those most vulnerable (GNC kids) and also maybe open up the eyes of other kids and parents.

So after all this good, I was super disappointed when I got to the end of the book, almost the very last line. On the last page, the authors, Ian and Sarah Hoffman, explain that their son "had long hair, wore dresses, and loved the color pink" as a preschooler. They talk about how they educated themselves about GNC children so they could support their son, and point out that "Studies also show that support and acceptance from family, peers, and community make a huge difference in the future health and mental health of these kids." But then they go on to say, "And it's not possible to know whether a gender-nonconforming child will grow up to be gay, straight, bisexual, or transgender. (Actually, we think it's too early to know this about any young child.)" (emphasis added)

Whoa! After all that heartfelt acceptance and support of GNC kids, I'm suddenly hearing denial of transgender kids' identities. I almost put the book back on the shelf at the library, not wanting to bring that message home with me.

While googling about the book and about pink boys, I stumbled upon this essay by Alice Dreger which shed some light on the authors' stance. Trying to ignore the references to "gender identity disorder" (which is no longer the accepted term for transgender leanings - the accepted term is now "gender dysphoria" - and the old term has surprisingly started to get under my skin) I read through it. And I find I agree with the gist of Sarah Hoffman's and Alice Dreger's thoughts on acceptance of GNC children, but I wish they wouldn't formulate them at the expense of children who are indeed transgender.

It's funny because I often find myself on the opposite side of this issue, blasting the stereotype that trans people know from a young age that they're "in the wrong body." Because I didn't. But some trans people do. Jazz Jennings and Tyler, a trans boy profiled by the Washington Post, are two examples who made the press.

Hoffman and Dreger, meanwhile, are worried that kids may be pushed onto a trans treatment trajectory unnecessarily. I can see how Hoffman might have experienced pressure in this direction as the parent of a GNC boy, which might have prompted her to say (as quoted by Dreger):

Most of these gender-nonconforming kids are just kids who don't fall to the most-masculine or most-feminine ends of the spectrum, and that's okay. They don't need treatment, they don't need sexual reassignment, they just need a supportive home life, schools with anti-bullying protocols, and therapy for any harassment they face for being different.

In the essay, she and Dreger both campaign for "more space for boys to fully express who they are," including in ways that are traditionally deemed feminine. That's something I can certainly get behind, being a masculine person with waist-length hair who wears eyeliner or tight pink tops on occasion.

But just as GNC kids should have the chance to be who they are, so should trans kids. If a male-assigned kid wants to wear a dress, cool. And if a male-assigned kid wants a "girl's" name and to be called "she" - shouldn't that also be ok?

What Hoffman and Dreger seem to be really pushing back against is transgender medical treatment, which can indeed start pretty early, as the article about Tyler shows. He was getting checked out to start puberty blockers at age 8. This is still years away from starting hormone replacement therapy, though, and about a decade away from the possibility of gender confirmation surgery, which Dreger makes out to be potentially devastating: "Surgical sex change will render a person infertile, in need of lifelong hormone replacement therapy, and carries significant risk to sexual function and physical health."

While these points are technically valid, I think bringing them up in a discussion of preschool children is fearmongering. Even among adults, most trans people can't afford gender confirmation surgery, which means that at this time these side effects don't even affect most trans people. Much more dangerous to trans people is the bias, harassment and violence they face from an intolerant society.

Lifelong hormone replacement therapy (HRT), meanwhile, is something that many more trans people are faced with, seeing as it's much more affordable than surgery. But how is this any different from any other chronic condition that requires lifelong treatments to stay alive or maintain quality of life? I compare my own fate of having to take a testosterone injection every week, probably for the rest of my life, to diabetics having to take insulin shots. If they deal with it, so can I.

HRT does also have the effect of making a person infertile, at least temporarily, by stopping sperm production or menses, but it can sometimes be reversed, as the many stories of trans men having babies go to show. Also, if sperm banking and egg harvesting were more easily available to trans people, that would also improve their ability to have children. It's not that trans people can't have children, but that the social and medical supports they need aren't there.

To address Dreger's last point, gender confirmation surgery does carry a risk of going wrong, as does any major surgery. But on the particular point of sexual function, my girlfriend and I are both expecting an even more satisfying sex life after her surgery. Just being on hormones has done wonders for our sexual satisfaction, especially hers. She physically couldn't function having sex in a male role. Now that she has a more feminine body, she can finally have sex that she enjoys. Obviously, this is just her experience; other trans people's may differ, but I hardly think most transitioned trans people feel as dismally about their post-transition lives as Dreger would make out.

Lastly, all this is irrelevant to a discussion about young transgender children, because preschool kids are years and years away from these treatments. Surgery is generally not allowed until the age of majority, i.e. 18 in many places; hormone replacement therapy isn't usually started until adolescence (around age 16); and puberty blockers don't come into the picture until puberty begins, around age 9 (WPATH Standards of Care v. 7). For preschool children, all we're talking about is letting the child dress and be treated as a member of their preferred gender - something that can be easily reversed if the child has different wishes later on. The child, family and their mental health provider will have years to assess whether medical transition is necessary. There is no need to raise the specter of the risks of HRT and gender confirmation surgery when we're talking about preschool kids.

I do agree with the basic point that we, as a society, need more space for boys who like feminine things. And Dreger and Hoffman make a good point that some parents may want to "normalize" their effeminate male-assigned child by having him transition into a girl, which might give the child more of a "normal" life. What they are saying is in fact even more radical than supporting trans kids - it's supporting kids of any gender to express themselves however they want.

I just don't like that this is worded in a way that could cast doubt on the actual transgender feelings of some kids. Trans kids need our support just as much as GNC kids. There has got to be a way to support both.

To Dreger, this is an intractable problem:

The problem is, it just isn't clear which children are children like them [transgender people], the children in whom significant gender dysphoria will persist.

What we know is that, in a large percentage of children, gender dysphoria appears to go away (or maybe to become accepted as part of their personalities, so that the pressure to change stops?). We also know that a significant number of gay men report having had interests in wearing typically-feminine clothes and doing traditionally-feminine activities as children. So how on Earth can we know when a boy who wants to wear a dress will need an endocrinologist? Or even a psychologist? It's not that simple.

It is actually really simple. Listen to the kid. There is no way for another person, even the child's parent, to know whether their kid is trans. The only one who can know is the kid themselves.

I understand, of course, that it's not always clear even to the person themselves. I'm still sorting out my own gender identity, after a year and a half of intense reflection and over a decade of submerged questioning. But several things have become clear to me - that using male pronouns and a technically male name, taking testosterone and living as male are infinitely better than what I was doing before. I'm definitely trans, definitely happier having transitioned (because that is possible without surgery, even without hormones - it's called social transition). I'm just not sure exactly what type of trans person I am, so I live under the broad labels "transmasculine" and "genderqueer."

And although I prefer living masculinely, I do have a "feminine" side, too - to the point that I want to go out in a short skirt someday when it'll be clear I'm in drag. So I certainly understand and support wanting a space for boys who like dresses.

And I can see why Hoffman might feel the need to push back against a certain pressure for "feminine" boys to transition - after all, being a boy who likes dresses is perhaps even more stigmatized and at risk for harassment than being a trans woman.

But just because a certain group - pink boys - needs their space, doesn't mean that trans kids don't need theirs, too.

Toward the end of the essay, Dreger quotes Hoffman writing:

I want to be clear that I believe that people who are truly transgender should have societal support and access to whatever therapeutic care they need. If my own son were transgender, I would love and accept him as I do my gender-normative daughter, just as I will love them whether they are straight, gay, or bisexual. My position does not come out of lack of trans acceptance, it comes from wanting to see broader social acceptance for the entire spectrum of gender expression so that kids can really figure out who they are and not be pushed into a box that doesn't fit.

I don't like the way she uses "truly" - it makes it sound as though she is the arbiter of who is "truly" transgender, when this is not something for cis people to decide, not even cis people who are the parents of GNC or transgender kids. But I agree with her on the need for "broader social acceptance for the entire spectrum of gender expression." It should be more open, so that we can have boys who like dresses as well as male-assigned kids who become girls, and all sorts of identities and expressions in between.

And again, I can see why Hoffman might feel the need to push back against pressures to label her son trans or gay, but I'm still disappointed that she chose to end a book that was supposed to be a tool for creating that "broader social acceptance for the entire spectrum" with a statement that negates the experiences of transgender children. Sarah Hoffman's son may not be trans, but there definitely are young children who know that their gender is different from what they were assigned, and who need the full-out change of living as their preferred gender. For all the good that the book Jacob's New Dress may do, I fear that that comment at the end may actually limit the acceptance and support for those kids for whom a dress is not enough.

Non-binary Identity: A Never-ending Journey

I'm back! I haven't had time for this blog (or my other blogs, or my music writing) since about mid September. Before NaNoWriMo even got in the mix, my freelance work really started to pick up toward the end of September, so that I was pulling 18 to 20 hour days for a while. Now things have calmed down a little so that when I do get freelance work, it usually only means a 15 hour day (yay O.o) and when I don't, I sometimes actually have free time! (It's been so long that when I do have it, I don't know what to do with it. Chores? Sleep? Eat chocolate and stare at the wall in a daze?)

I have been thinking about things and about writing, though. I want to write about Zella Ziona, the Transgender Day of Remembrance, and Seneca Valley High School's production of The Laramie Project (and I'll probably cram those all into one post, just because). But I got inspired to steal the time to get back on here because over the past few days I've read pieces about non-binary identity by two of my favorite bloggers (Sam Dylan Finch and Pax Ahimsa Gethen), and I thought it was time to throw my hat in the ring.

In his post about creating spaces that welcome non-binary folks, Sam talked about how he was kicked out of a non-binary group because he had identified as transmasculine and therefore someone in the group considered him a trans man and thus not non-binary.

As Sam goes on to explain, this shows a fundamental misunderstanding of non-binary identity and the fluid nature of gender in general. And I think it also shows a lack of understanding of the term "transmasculine," which is a much broader term than "trans man" and can include anyone who is AFAB (assigned female at birth) but leans toward masculinity.

It also struck home with me because I myself identify not only as transmasculine, but as both a trans man and a non-binary, genderqueer person. I identify as a trans man because I am part of the group of people who were assigned female at birth, but have taken steps to change their lives to live as male instead. Even though I don't think of myself as "being a man" as strongly as some other trans guys might, my experience of transitioning to and living as a man are so much in line with theirs that I do see myself as a trans man.

At the same time, I've known for a while that my internal sense of gender is unclear and/or nonexistent, and lately I've been thinking more and more that I really do not have a gender. I'll have moments when I see myself just as a person, with no gender, and that's how I feel most comfortable thinking of myself.

I am actually genderqueer (non-binary), even though I live largely as a binary-appearing trans man.

In his post, Sam talks about how non-binary identity can include fluidity and uncertainty, and may not look like how cis people expect it (ie. androgyny and complete disavowal of the binary genders). That is, non-binary identity can include elements of the binary genders, and non-binary folk may even look or act like binary gendered people.

That doesn't make their non-binary gender identity any less valid.

I want to add that non-binary and binary shouldn't be mutually exclusive. That would be setting up another binary, between the completely androgynous or genderless, and the completely male or female, and leaving no room for anything in between. I don't see myself as completely male, and definitely not as female. But I do identify a lot with masculinity, to the point that I'd generally rather people call me by male pronouns and perceive me as a man. I'm living in the binary, but not of it.

After reading and reflecting on Pax's post, though, I also discovered that I seem to lean a lot more toward non-binary than I thought.

In their post "Be a Man," Pax, who also presents masculinely while identifying as non-binary, wrote a line that resonated with me strongly: "I cannot “Be a Man.” I can play the part of a man in public..."

I identified a lot with that line. As I've written before, I present as male, ask people to address me as male, and hope to be perceived as male, while not necessarily actually feeling that I am a man. And Pax's post led me to think about whether I do that because it's what I really want, or because it's easier to be accepted that way, as a trans man, than to try to explain to people that I actually have no strong sense of gender at all, and easier to not be seen as female if I clearly present as male.

I'm pretty sure I do like presenting masculinely - wearing big cargo pants, having a flat chest, well defined muscles and a deep voice, playing "the guy" in a relationship. But thinking about Pax's post made me wonder: do I really want male pronouns, or would "they" be better instead? Do I like being my girlfriend's boyfriend, or would I rather be her partner? Do I really want to be called "Mr." and "sir"? I'm constantly telling people - everywhere from the bank to the dentist's office to organizations I volunteer with - to call me Mr. not Ms., because it's a concise and effective way to get the point across and get them to stop doing something hurtful (ie. addressing me as female). But is it what I really want or just the easiest way to avoid what I don't want?

If I were to tell people to use 'they' pronouns and refer to me as my girlfriend's partner and not to use any formal titles at all, I'd probably get a lot less cooperation, a lot of arguments about how 'they' can't be singular, and a lot of misgendering since people might default back to female pronouns and forms of address rather than neutral ones. Part of the reason I swung over to living as male rather than as genderqueer was that I could not get away from being seen as female while living as genderqueer. I couldn't get people to stop treating me as female until I gave them a "valid" reason by coming out and living as a trans man. A binary trans identity is given a lot more credence and respect that a non-binary one.

This isn't something I was really consciously aware of when I came out as transmasculine in September 2014, though. I was just doing what I thought I needed to do to live authentically and have my wishes respected. At the time, being seen as a man was something I definitely wanted, and it's hard to say whether I wanted that for its own sake, or because that would mean definitively not being seen as a woman. Around the time I made my appointment to start HRT, I even identified as a man, no trans prefix attached. But funny enough, the further I go with my physical transition, the less I feel like being a man. When not being seen as a woman was founded entirely on my insistence that I'm not, that I'm trans and a man, then it was an important point to make. Now that my muscles, facial structure and deep voice help make the point that I'm not female, I no longer need to belabor my identity so much.

Not being seen as female has freed me up to consider what and who I really am. Male? Agender? Something in between? Sometimes one thing and sometimes another?

After a few days of thinking about it, I still don't know. But I don't necessarily have to know right now. Something Sam talked about in his post, and which is an important but often overlooked aspect of non-binary gender, is being open to uncertainty and fluidity and questioning and exploration. This is a struggle not just for binary people, but also non-binary people who are figuring themselves out. It's hard to live with uncertainty. But seeing as there is no obvious answer, it's something I have to learn how to do - to "hold the questions," as Pema Chödrön says.

Carving out one's identity as a tran person isn't easy in the first place.  There will be times of feeling like you don't belong simply because you weren't socialized or don't have the same physiology as cis people of your identified gender. For a long time I've longed to be "one of the guys," yet when I try, even now when I "fit in" a little better after 9 months on testosterone, I don't always feel like I belong or am doing it right. And I don't know if that's simply because I haven't yet learned how, or because the type of guy I am isn't quite traditional, or because I actually am not totally male.

I don't know if I'll ever know. The moments of genderlessness I've been feeling lately, which tend to happen when I'm alone and stem from how I see myself rather than how others see me, seem to indicate that genderlessness is a key part of my identity. But what about being male sometimes too? I don't know about that part. The only thing I can do, though, is keep on going with my gender journey, trying on new hats (to borrow that metaphor from Sam), seeing which ones fit and feel good and which ones don't, keeping the good ones and discarding the uncomfortable ones. And if some hat fits for a little while - whether the reason is my own identity or how I am perceived - it's ok to keep it as long as I need, and then discard it if a time comes when it no longer fits.

After all, there are no rules or boundaries to being non-binary. That's what it's all about, transcending a limited view of gender where you have to be definitely one thing or the other - even to yourself.

My Sexual Orientation is a Lie

Recently there was an article on Everyday Feminism about "9 Lies People Tell You When You Come Out as Bisexual," which I found to be pretty true. If you call yourself bisexual, which I don't anymore, since I find the term misleading and vague.

For the longest time, though, I (reluctantly) identified as bisexual. Reluctantly because of the many misconceptions talked about in the article, and not wanting to be associated with them -- especially the bit about bisexual people not being able to be faithful, since I got that exact (unfounded) complaint from my first two serious romantic partners when I brought up my bisexuality. Combine that with the biphobia in the gay community, and I preferred to not label my sexuality and/or to explain it as being able to be attracted to any gender. But even once I found out there was another word for that (pansexual), I kept calling myself bisexual because it seemed the most convenient and easily understood way to say I can be attracted to more than one gender.

I finally left the label "bi" in the dust when I departed the gender binary in the summer of last year. Calling myself bisexual - literally, attracted to the two sexes (the two most commonly acknowledged ones, out of several that exist) - didn't make any sense when I myself didn't feel female or male. So I finally, again reluctantly, started calling myself pansexual. Reluctantly because I knew I'd now have to explain the meaning of my sexual orientation to just about everyone, and then explain why I couldn't just be bisexual, and then still have to deal with their erasure.

(To go on a little side rant, no matter what EF may say, the term "bisexual" is a little trans- and intersex-erasing, because while individual bisexuals may not be transphobic or have problems with dating trans, non-binary or intersex people, the term itself implies that there are only two sexes, which most people take to be synonymous for genders. If you want to actually show support for trans, non-binary and intersex people, and not just make excuses, use a more inclusive term like "pansexual.")

But the thing that's really invisible is the fact that these labels don't even come close to actually describing my sexuality. I'm not bisexual - attracted to (feminine) women and (masculine) men. I'm not pansexual - attracted to every person of every gender. I'm actually, to make up a word, a queerophile, and when it comes to intimacy tending slightly on the side of gynephile. I like masculine women, feminine men, androgynous and non-binary and queer looking and acting people, and I seem to like to fool around with female or feminine bodies more than with male or masculine ones.

This doesn't mean I'll never fall in love with someone who doesn't obviously fit this description. There are notable exceptions, and also ways that the queer gender expression of my loves has played out in unexpected ways. So even given that, there really is no definite way to label my sexuality. The best word for it may be "queer" - a word so broad it barely says anything.

So it may seem like in the last 15 years I've come full circle, right back to where I started at not wanting to label myself. But this time, it's not because I'm worried about what other people will think of me. This time, it's because I've come to know myself, to know what I like in a partner. A broad label such as "gay," "straight," "bi" or "pan" can never fully capture that, for any person. They may be useful for other purposes, such as activism, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I prefer to just be known as - me.

What's (Not) in a Name

I recently legally changed my name, and that process led me to reflect on why it is that trans* people can (and should) expect to be able to change their names and have people respect that, while the vast majority of people go through life with their birth names unchanged, no matter how much they may dislike them. (In most places, of course, anyone can change their name for any reason, even just plain not liking it, and some people do, but I feel that most cis people don't, even if they dislike their first name and go by a nickname instead.)

I started to think about changing my name last summer, when I identified as agender. Sometime in July or August, it started to be unpleasant to introduce myself to people with my birth name. It was very clearly a "girl's name," so I felt like it caused people to assume I was female - or more likely, confirmed the assumption they'd already made based on my body (since most people seem to think that's the end-all arbiter of which gender someone is >.<).

So I started going by a different, kind of gender-ambiguous name in September (it's a male name in Finnish, but often assumed to be a female name in the States). But that unpleasant feeling persisted whenever I had to show my ID to a bank teller or nightclub bouncer, or hand my check card to a cashier, or fill out paperwork with my then legal name. It got to the point where I started doing things like saying, "Don't judge me," to a bouncer when I handed him my ID with my girly name on it while presenting masculinely.

This June, I was partly goaded into the name-change process by my girlfriend (risk-averse me had been planning to live under my new name for a whole year before legally changing it) but I'm glad she did because as of last week, the situations where I have to show or use my birth name are rapidly diminishing.

When I still do -- such as when I picked up a prescription under my old name last week -- it's now doubly painful, since I'm so close to almost never having to see or use that name again.

And yet, I have nothing against my birth name itself. For most of my life, it felt like me, and I liked it well enough. The fact that I was always having to tell people how to spell and pronounce it (even though it was only five letters long and didn't even have four consonants in a row like my last name does!) probably contributed to the formation of my stubborn, self-righteous character. (So it's fitting that for my new name, I picked another five-letter name that I'm still having to teach people how to spell and pronounce.) I even identify my old self with my old name, without any discomfort -- it wasn't awful to live under that name, as that person, just different and not wholly myself.

Along with wearing different clothing, styling my hair differently, and talking and walking differently, taking on a new name is and was part of the process of changing how I present myself to the outside world, so that it better reflects the person I am inside, rather than the person my parents or the rest of society expected me to be.

Addressing me by my preferred name affirms my identity. It's like saying, "I see you, I get you, I accept and support and love you for who you are. I believe in and support the way you see yourself."

Refusing to do so and using my old name instead is a way of rejecting my identity. It's like saying, "I don't like and can't accept this version of you. Go away. I want the old you back."

Obviously, bank tellers and store clerks may not even know that there are a new me and old me -- they're just going with what's on the card in front of them. But when they use that old name, along with the uncomfortable sense of being called the wrong gender, it also calls up the feeling of hurt and rejection that comes with people who do know choosing to use the old name.

Parents sometimes feel like they have a special right to a trans* person's old name, because they picked the name. I compare this to how parents view their children's careers. Of course, some parents are determined that their kids will be doctors and lawyers, no matter what the kids want. But our modern conception of parenthood tends more toward parents nurturing children's innate talents and encouraging them to choose the schooling and career path that best suits their desires and abilities. I feel like parents should view their children's genders and names the same way. Just like you can't tell by looking at a baby whether they'll be a surgeon or rock star when they grow up, so you also can't really know the kid's gender identity just by looking. That is something parents ought to be flexible with, not just while the child is growing up, but on into adulthood, since as my case shows, these things sometimes take decades to figure out.

Names are some of the most powerful words we have. Moreover, they're strongly tied to gender and identity. As such, they're one of the most powerful and meaningful markers of the "new," more comfortable and authentic identities that trans* people forge for themselves. It's about more than just the name. Using (or misusing) someone's name speaks volumes about how much you understand and care about that person, and what they're going through. For complete strangers, it's a mark of respect. For family and friends, it shows that you accept and love the person as they are, instead of resentfully clinging to what you wanted them to be.

If there's any magical quality to names, it's not when they're bestowed at birth, but when they're lived, authentically and to their fullest. And that's something to celebrate, not to try to blot out with a name that no longer fits.

Enforce behavior, not our bodies or identities

I've been doing some email activism this week -- urging a local Starbucks to come in line with company policy regarding gender neutral bathrooms, and having a dialogue about bathrooms and locker rooms with the manager of the Planet Fitness where I work out. (Company names not redacted because these companies are both fairly supportive of trans* rights, so this is mostly good publicity, and also, you all deserve to know what's going on.)

The Starbucks issue will hopefully be taken care of, as the district manager assured me she'll make sure the store's restrooms are in compliance. (And she happened to be the secretary of some sort of Starbucks internal pride organization, so I'm sure she gets it.)

The Planet Fitness issue probably won't go away, because it would involve building a whole new bathroom, something they're unlikely to do on just one person's request. My issue was that the only bathrooms in this PF facility are in the locker rooms, which of course are divided into "Men" and "Women." As a transitioning trans person, I don't feel safe going in the men's locker room yet, which means I can't use the bathroom while at PF. Like I said in my email to the manager, "that sometimes leads to some really uncomfortable times while working out." :( I also pointed out that intersex and nonbinary people may also feel uncomfortable going into the gendered locker rooms, which leaves them without a bathroom, too.

The manager wrote back expressing general support for people using the locker room of their gender identity, and stating that "Currently there are no plans to put another bathroom in place at this location, but I have passed your request along for possible future consideration."

I would have been satisfied with that result - after all, I didn't expect them to build a whole new bathroom right now; I just wanted to bring the issue up so that hopefully it will happen sometime in the future. Except that, in his discussion of people using the locker rooms based on their "sincerely held self-reported gender identity," he also said, "If there is suspected fraudulent or inappropriate conduct, the staff will request documentation verifying the members sex."

That statement made me very nervous, for two reasons. (1) For many trans* people, their gender identity and physical sex don't match (that is kinda the definition of being transgender, after all). For some people, hormones and surgery can bring their physical sex into line with their gender identity, but not all trans* people want or have access to those treatments, or have completed them to the point of matching cisgender expectations. I'm one of those people - I currently consider my physical sex to be between male and female. Anyway, verifying someone's physical sex would be very intrusive, so my hope was that Mr. Manager had slipped up and meant to say gender identity instead. But that brings me to #2.

(2) Many trans* people don't have accurate documentation of their gender identity. Changing legal documents costs money and often requires proof of medical treatments, which not all trans* people want or can get. In my case, I simply don't feel ready to change the F on my license to an M, and so even though I'm about to get a license with my newly legal name on it, it will still have the wrong gender marker. You might wonder why I don't just change it to avoid potential problems like this -- but I actually feel safer and more comfortable with the F, for now, because people still perceive me as female a lot of the time. Having an M on there at this point in transition would be to blatantly state my transness, and I just don't feel like doing that.

So if someone complained about me in the men's locker room, what would I do? Would I have to bring in my therapist letter or my hormone prescription or something, to "prove" that I'm male? Would that be accepted?

The thing is, if Planet Fitness wants their trans* members to feel safe and comfortable using the locker room of their "sincerely held self-reported gender identity," then why is that identity called into question at all? A self-reported identity is just that - self-reported. You simply take the person's word for it. No matter how the person looks or whether they identified the same way yesterday. Appearance and identity don't always match, and some people's identities are fluid and change day by day.

But what about "fraudulent" or "inappropriate" behavior? I'm assuming that means people claiming to be trans so they can go do unwanted icky stuff in the locker room of the people they're attracted to -- to be blunt, mainly cis men claiming to be trans women so they can go harrass women in the locker room.

It's simple. The problem with that isn't whether or not someone is trans. The problem is someone being a creeper in the locker room. It doesn't matter if he or she or they is wearing a dress or shorts, or has a penis or a vagina, or says they're trans or an alien from another planet. If someone is harassing people in a locker room or restroom, the problem is that someone is harassing people in the locker room or restroom, not that person's identity, appearance, race, religion, ability status, favorite color, or any other irrelevant characteristic. Punish people who are creepers in the locker room or restroom. Not people who are just minding their own business, but happen to look different from other people in that room.

Planet Fitness actually has changing stalls in their locker rooms (at least so they say -- I've never actually been in either locker room there) and so it's not like members even have to be subjected to the shocking sight of genitals or chests that might not match up with their expectations. I know people sometimes like to hang out nude in locker rooms. I can promise you that the vast majority of trans* people will not want to hang out nude or in any other way show their private parts in the locker room. Mostly out of fear of being discovered, and sometimes also out of loathing for their own dysphoria-inducing bodies. They will also not linger to stare at anyone else, but will get in and out of there as fast as possible with as little eye contact or interaction with anyone else as possible. Us trans* folks are much more scared of cis folks, and what will happen if they figure out that we're trans, than they need be of us.

The Planet Fitness manager wrote back to me acknowledging he made a mistake, swapping "sex" for "gender," but he didn't address my concern about needing to show documentation of gender identity in case of a problem. I'm still thinking about how to respond, since this touches on problems central to the bathroom issue. Trans* people should not be automatically cast as the instigator in locker room or bathroom incidents, and should not have their identities unfairly policed, when legal documentation is so hard to obtain. Harassment and predatory behavior are what need to be persecuted, not trans* people just trying to use the bathroom.

I Reject Your Gendering and Replace It With My Own

Of late, I've gotten more and more comfortable with simply mentally telling people to bug off when they may be making incorrect assumptions about me based on my appearance. "Assuming makes an ass out of u; but me? I'm awesome."

I've seen "non-consensual gendering" mentioned in a couple places recently, and I think it was this concept that gave me the grounds and confidence to finally grow a sort of armor against other people's misgendering of me. (Of course, the fact that I'm on HRT, which is changing my body and thereby causing misgendering incidents to be drastically fewer than before HRT, helps too.)

It clicked for me over this past weekend. On Saturday, I went to the county fair and then to a folk metal concert in Baltimore. Since I was going to be spending time outside, I wanted to wear a tank top; since I was going to a folk metal show, I had to wear something with a fitting band on it. I had the perfect shirt to fit the bill: a tank top I made out of a too-big, brightly colored Amon Amarth shirt by cutting the sides into lots of strips and tying them back together.*

*I know, I know, Amon Amarth isn't folk metal, but it's about Vikings, so it's relevant.

Just one problem: I made said awesomely colorful Amon Amarth tank top two years ago (the year Amon Amarth brought their Viking ship to Mayhem Fest, and one year before the start of my gender journey). So it's of a somewhat form-fitting, "feminine" cut. On top of that, those sort of cut-and-tied-back-together T-shirt tank tops are generally seen on women.

Well, screw all that, I said to myself. I wanted to wear my Amon Amarth tank top. So I would, and a mental finger to anyone who might misgender me because of it.

But the first gendered comment I heard that day? "Nice shirt, man," from a passerby at the fair.

Apparently even in a "feminine" tank top, I am "man." That comment gave me a boost of confidence that carried me through the rest of the weekend.

It also made me question, for the umpteenth time, which restroom to use while out and about with my kid. If even in that tank top I was "man," then was I going to get called out for going in the women's restroom? (Which I still do with my kid for safety reasons.) I decided to stick with my plan, though: use the women's restroom with my kid until someone calls me out. That will be my sign that even with my kid, I need to start using the men's room.

I thought this might be the time. It didn't help that as we were about to go in the door of the women's restroom, my kid said to me, "But you're not a woman."

"I know," I said in a weary voice. "But we have to go in here."

And still, nobody said anything. Even though I now have a deep voice and kinda visible mustache hairs and macho arm and shoulder muscles.

I had to wonder whether, in this liberal suburb of Washington, DC, the message of "pay no mind to that person of questionable gender in your restroom" has gone home so deep, that out of respect and politeness, no one said anything.

Or perhaps I was accurately read as a trans man, and therefore "not a threat" in the women's restroom - problematic thinking, even if it did save me from harassment.

Whatever the cause, my kid and I got in and out of the restroom without any hassle, and surprisingly, no damage to my self-esteem. As an avoider of conflict, I was relieved no one questioned me, but I also found it hard to believe. Someone had just called me "man." And yet I was also acceptable in the women's restroom?

I guess maybe I come off as gender ambiguous, until some factor (such as a metal band shirt and my macho appearance, or my going into the women's room) causes people's perceptions to swing one way or the other. Most people aren't equipped with a box for gender-neutral/ambiguous/less, so they have to force everyone they see into either male or female. Someone who is questionable has to be figured out and sorted into one of those two.

This is, of course, nonconsensual gendering. Even if someone does seem to clearly fit masculine or feminine norms, you still can't say for sure that they're male or female, since presentation and identity don't always correlate. Take me, for instance. If you saw me at a metal show, with my cargo shorts and band shirt and arm muscles and sprouting facial hair, it might be easy to assume I'm a man. But I'm not - I'm a masculine-presenting genderqueer person.

The thing that I grokked this weekend was, "It's not me - it's you." (Ok, maybe not you, dear reader - you're probably my friend and/or supporter - but other people in general.) There's nothing wrong with me, or they way I present myself. The problem is with other people, with society's forcing of male and female and their attendant restrictive gender norms on everyone, to the point that people feel compelled to force everyone they see into one or other of these boxes, without asking, without taking the whole picture into account, and usually based on superficial features like the shape of my chest and butt.

So fuck all that. I'm-a do what I want. I now care a lot less how other people judge my gender, because you know, they are often ignorant and just plain wrong. Usually through no fault of their own - it's the fault of social conditioning - but it's not my fault either. Fuck society's idea of what makes someone "male" or "female." I reject that and replace it with my own declaration: I am male, genderqueer, and myself, no matter what the fuck I'm wearing, or which bathroom I'm using.

Anyway, the folk metal show went great, and gender was not an issue at all (more about that in my upcoming review). And the next day, I felt enough like honeybadger that I spent all day in, and went out shopping in, just a sports bro rather than a binder. (I thought I was only going to wear it for sleeping and for the drive home, and planned to shower and put on a clean outfit including binder before running my errands, but my watch broke in the mosh pit on Saturday, and the place to get it fixed was along the way home, and after going there in just my sports bro, I said "screw it" and wore it all day.) There was a very slight bulge, too low to be pecs or manboobs. T has considerably deflated by moobs, though, so it was just barely noticeable. And it was so amazingly comfortable wearing just a sports bro, after having my whole torso squeezed by an Underworks 997 binder for most of recent memory.

I was tempted to just wear a sports bro to work today - but I didn't. It was mainly for the reason of consistency. I've been flattening my chest more and more since last summer. Wouldn't it seem strange if I suddenly stopped doing so? Might I start getting more looks and questions in the men's restroom again? And I gotta admit, even though a sports bro is much more comfortable, I really like the "masculine" look of my chest in a T-shirt when I've bunched my moobs up inside my binder so it just looks like I have kinda big pecs. It's not as obvious with a button-down shirt on, but there is a slight difference, which I can see every time I go to the restroom and see myself in the mirror.

And ultimately, that's what matters - what I see, what I want to see. Not what anyone else sees or thinks of me because of what they see.

At this point, I have to admit that part of my freedom - to wear what I want and to feel confident doing so, largely without fearing or experiencing harassment for it - stems from the privilege of living in a liberal area and being a trans man. Like I was saying above, I think people around here have learned to respect trans* people (the concert venue I went to was even a designated Safer Space). And as a trans man, I don't call down the waves of sexism, misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia that trans women are subject to. I do get to do what I want freely, because people around me really don't give a damn, most of the time. The worst I might get is being called "miss" or "ma'am" at a store. It's a far cry from the verbal abuse, discrimination, and violence that often happen to trans* people in other places or situations.

So nonconsensual gendering is about more than just hurt feelings. Making assumptions about other people's gender, whether it's because of their body, clothing, name, gender marker on their ID, or any other factor other than their own stated self-identification, is cissexist, transphobic, and plays a part in transphobic violence. It's time for our rigid obsession with sorting everyone into male and female boxes to end, so that everyone can be free to be who they are. To do any less makes us all assholes.

Local metal photographer Tigran Kapinos caught me running around

in the pit in that Amon Amarth tank top. Check out his other photos

from the show; they're awesome!