Threads in the tapestry

An exploration of life, gender, and stuff

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Gordian knots and intersectionality

Intersectionality as a concept has been at the heart of my work in the last few weeks. Not just the feminist notion that feminism should be be viewed through a lens where every facet of a person should be accounted for; for me it seems to be broadening out into the notion that every person’s identity should be view through an intersectional lens. For me it is becoming increasingly clear both through my research and through cogitations that separating out a person’s identity into one box after another does neither them or you any favours. All you end up doing is studying one fragment of identity in aspic, gaining a fragmented understanding of that person’s totality.

I believe it matters because it explains the shades of grey in debates, takes the sting out of black/white issues, and allows each of us to hold competing views that at may at first be at odds with one part of our identities. When you clump people under an umbrella, be it Arsenal fans, stockbrokers, LGBTQI+, you make a who range of assumptions about those people. Obvious stereotypes abound, and yet within every group their are myriad intersectional identities. Only be exploring and discussing those intersections can you get a clearer understanding of what it means to be that person.

In as much that we only have a fraction of time to make a judgement about someone, it is always worth looking past the obvious cues and looking beneath the surface. Ideas and long held beliefs are there because a person is exposed to many different factors, each jostling up against the other for mental bandwidth and personal digestion. Each of us has to make a decision as to how we act and engage, and our experiences from all our personal intersections frame that conversations.

So, how do we undo the Gordian knots of personality when we engage and critique other people? It is very easy to may an obvious leap, judge someone on the bald fact or statement they are making. Sometimes that is the best way, fight the fire and starve it of oxygen. Oft times though, it is better to dig to the root of the issue, see why the person claims and feels the way they do, and try to address the intersectional nature of their thoughts and opinions. No argument is ever won by lambasting the opposition; rather, hearts and minds are changed when an open palm is given, nuanced conversation is had, and people can take in all sides. Being entrenched does no party any good, and only leads to a cratered no-mans land in the middle with both sides lobbing verbal shells at each other.

I do not pretend to have all the answers, just that I prefer to reflect and weigh up an opinion before committing against it. It is better to understand a person in their totality, see their intersections, and then engage than to simply go off the cuff. Maybe I am wrong, I stand to be corrected, though I will talk through my point before hand. Open palm, not clenched fist.

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Representation/Matters

Over the last six months I have been working on a research project for Nottingham Trent University looking at how to better engage with minority students for one of their programs. As part of this I have had to do a deep dive into representation, identity, and labels, most of which led me back to the idea of intersectionality and the labels we attach to ourselves. One of my motivations for doing the research is I wanted to push my research skills, as I want to follow up my current Masters with a PhD. Over the course of the research my desire to increase representation and what representation means led me back to a simple observation: representation must be a given, a statement of fact. If that is the case, then what are the practical applications and implications of this for business and society at large?

The very notion of intersectionality should be obvious, in as much that each of us has competing identities and labels we wear from the dint of being ourselves. We are not siloed off into female and then straight and then Christian and then mother etc. Rather, you are all of your silos rolled into one complex, intersectional identity. To reduce you down to one label at a time misses the wider context of you and your life. So, why does this matter? Why care at all? Simplicity is a marketing tool, a box used to sell you an idea, be it a product, political ideology, or religious dogma. Indeed, by reducing your complexity down to buzz words society, and you yourself, find it easier to relate to the world around you, to compare your complexity to others, and to find common ground. The flip side is that by bracketing yourself into a box you are then prodded into a ‘them v us’ dichotomy, as most boxes are touted to have an oppositional proxy that is ‘bad’. By making your complex whole easy to digest, society enables conversations, transactions, and oppositions. It makes it easy for you to be part of the whole, yet at the same time sells you this idea your box is never quite good enough.

So why does this matter enough for me to want to research? I take it as a given that we are all intersectional, that your boxes are more than the colour of your skin, the team you support, your gender, or your sexuality. Yet, if you want representative media, games/films/television, there has to be an understanding that there is a need to weigh up the needs of business with the needs of the audience. Creative projects cost money to produce, and while arguments about late stage capitalism are valid, the fact remains that the creative product still needs to find an audience to make a profit to at the very least enable a creative virtuous circle of finance and production. Minority representation, be it ethnicity, gender, sexuality, religion etc, matters because to break down barriers and overcome repressive ideas people need to see themselves in the media, not just white, cisgendered, heteronormative characters. They need to see complex characters that transcend stereotypes, ones which they can relate to and aspire to be. Representation matters, because the child of today who feels empowered will be the scientist, politician, teacher, tech guru, astronaut, coder of tomorrow. They see themselves transcending their boxes, crossing over their intersectional boundaries, and becoming what they dream of being without the limitations of societal expectation. That is dream worth fighting for.

Martin Luther King talked of black and white children playing together; I pitch to you that all children will play with each other irrespective of boxes and boundaries, and it is we, society at large, that silo them off and box them into limited horizons. We have to start somewhere, and this is why representation matters, for what better way to break down barriers than to see the possibilities are endless for all children, not just a select few.

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Gendered identity

Gender. One little word, so many battles. Bodies, minds, clothes, the very fabric of society. Each and every one of us has our own gender identities, some congruent with our biology, others not. Each of us makes conscious choices about how to wear our hear, make-up, clothes, which in turn signifies to everyone around us how we wish to be treated in a binary gendered world. The very notion of gender is inherent in everything we do, touch, consume. Marketing, media, friends and family all utilise a constructed idea of gender to navigate through our lives, which in turns filters through to us from the very moment we are born. You are XX or XY, and that is how society wishes us to remain.

Of course it is not that simple. It never was, and it never is. We all exist in a messy pond of gendered identities, based upon personal gender identity, biology, and external gender expression. Most people have an innate sense of gender identity based on the binary idea of male or female, with some some seeing themselves as both, neither, or more. Biology is complicated, as while external characteristics trend heavily to the XX or XY there are a plethora of in-betweens forces to fit into the binary. Then you have gender expression, which is the wrappings we bind ourselves in each and everyday based on personal tastes, fashion branding, and societal expectation. This messy pond of identity, biology, and expression take many forms, and each of us have our own unique gendered identity that we take and run with everyday.

The recognised idea of transness is based on the assumption that there is a clash between biology and identity, that a person’s innate internal gender is at odds to their external biology. This then gets conflated with gender expression, meaning that there is this notion that those who transgress gender boundaries with clothing, toys, hobbies, and attitudes are falling onto the trans spectrum. Surely the idea that clothes, toys, and hobbies have an innate gender is misplaced, as those are societal decisions dictated by marketers keen to put us into neat demographic boxes. No colour, article of clothing, or hobby is innately male or female. None. Yet society is insistent that the constructed binary gendered system tracks people into toys, clothes, and hobbies based purely on their gendered identity.

This in and of itself is inherently self-defeating, as toxic masculinity, #metoo, TERFs, and homophobia are a direct result of society’s ingrained notions of binary gender cause pain and frustration to all members of society, not just those who transgress gender boundaries. Gendered identities that are rigid and fixed benefit no-one except marketers and demographic experts. In an ideal world gender expression becomes morphed and fluid, with identity and biology in sync/become synced. Ideally everyone has the opportunity to find what works for them, men and make-up, women and short hair. No judging, no shaming, no slaying of the gender transgressors. Utopian, yes, pragmatic, hopefully. Trans people face the choice of assimilation through passing and melting into the background, or exceptionalism/othering if they cannot or choose not to. In this ideal their syncing of biology to internal identity would be treated as one of those things, no more exceptional than puberty or going on holiday. This is the ideal, this is the complication, and this is where society needs to get to in order to see gender as more than the XX/XY dichotomy.

For all our gendered identities we only have one life, and for modern society to live in harmony we need to transcend the notion that there is a ‘normal’ way of existing. That somehow a rigid binary system works for everyone, and that by punishing anyone who transgresses the binary, in identity, biology, or expression, society at large will benefit from this. Rigid systems ultimately benefit no-one, for at some point in our lives we all transgress those boundaries, be it in small or large ways. Therefore the utopian ideal of personalised gendered identity is not some flight of fancy; rather it is an acknowledgement that we are all individuals and have the right to construct our own gendered identity.

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Looking forward

A couple of days ago I posted a link to a petition relating to trans issues, and I wanted to provide a bit of personal context to what seems to be a raging debate after the C4 program. I want to make it clear this is my opinion, and does not reflect the views of anyone else, I speak for myself alone.

First of, personally I do not associate myself as a 'trans' person, rather, I see myself as female. That said, I am never shy in discussing my gender transition, and I am entirely comfortable with my personal history. The reason I do not like personal 'trans' labels is that I did not transition from male to female to self-identify as a trans-woman; rather, I transitioned to orientate my personal sense of gender to female, and that is how I see myself. All of that said, being 'trans' is not something that I have a personal choice in the public sphere over, as invariably other people will choose to apply that label to me, which, in the end, is their prerogative, just not one I would choose for myself.

Second, I personally feel that gender identity and gender expression as two separate things, and that while my personal gender identity is very much fixed, my externalised gender expression is pretty fluid on a daily basis. In my view a lot of what we wrap up in gender expression is contrived through life experience growing up and exposure to the culture we live in. The traditional expectations of gender expression for male and female are very much curated by societal norms and media/fashion/advertising expectations, and as such when you exist in a bi-gendered world you invariably seek to gravitate towards either end of the binary. Funny thing is, most of us inhabit the hinterland between both ends of the spectrum, and for me I am quite comfortable forging my own external gender expression without feeling like my gender identity is under threat.

With those two points made, I believe that the debate surrounding gender, especially currently in the UK, conflates the two, almost to the point where to express oneself outside of the accepted trans of feminist narratives is to not have a voice at all. I admire many trans and feminist voices, yet when the loudest speak they do so seemingly ex cathedra, with all the subtlety and nuance lost. The media in general has no place for the voices that have a different map of the gender world, society at large is being spoon fed a distorted view of holistic gender because it is easier to pit trans v society than to actually engage in the shades of grey reality of gender identity and expression that actually exists within society. Is it right that only a handful of people on both sides of the debate get to dictate what gender identity/expression are valid? I cannot answer that question in a vacuum, as while personally I cannot identify with most of the trans argument, I feel that I also cannot invalidate anyone else's experiences by seemingly downplaying them either. This leaves a very complicated situation, as while it is easy to think of the trans community as a single voice, the reality is that on the one hand you have right-wing Republicans like Catlyn Jenner and on the other you have radical voices like Paris Lees, each with their own stories and modus opperandi, each valid in their own way, yet neither speaking for me. In the vast middle in-between are hundred of thousands of voices unable to be heard, yet each living their daily lives under an increasing burden due to those voices on all sides of the gender debate who speak for and against them. I am one of those in the middle ground, living my life, existing in a way that is comfortable and content for myself, yet increasingly aware that I cannot simply sit on the sidelines and let the world slip on by.

Does this mean I am going to be more active in the gender debate? Probably, though given the role I am taking up in July I feel that I need to tamp down my personal view and actively start to listen to those voices who fall into that middle ground that are not able to speak up. This is why I want to fight the 'all right jack' mentality I perceive in certain quarters, this is why I want to lance the boil that is festering at the heart of gender identity/gender expression, and this is why I am accutely aware that my voice alone will achieve nothing without the willingness of others to engage and learn with me. To paraphrase Sun Tzu I now live in interesting times.

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Of rope swings and purple hair

Image is everything. How we dress, how we style ourselves, how we allow others to perceive us for who we wish to be seen. I have always believed strongly that your externalisation of who you are inside is a key part of being human, and a major human right that no-one has the right to suspend. It took me a long time to come to that conclusion, to allow others the freedom of expression without inwardly judging them for it; that, and the realiasation at around 14 when I was bullied for not standing up for myself that the only way they would stop is if I actually believed in myself and externalised who I was.

 Much ink has been spilled in the discourse of hijabs, trans people, queer identity, race theory, and fashion, topics that meld and twine just as much as they are disparate and obtuse to one another. The thread that binds them all together is an externalisation of the inner self, whether through choice like fashion, or not as in race. People instinctively judge others for their outward appearance, even if it is a second glance that sums up a stranger’s life for the rest your time with them. We have all been socially conditioned to do this, to pick out the differences in people, to perceive a thread amidst the tribe. This is why differences are so jarring, our psychology instinctively tells us that difference from the norm is a danger to our own tribal identity. In Britain a turban or hijab is as much a subconscious social threat as a bear headed woman in Pakistan or Saudi Arabia, it breaks down social barriers and rules, forcing the observer to critique both the taboo and their own inner identity. To be sure, this is usually only a fleeting thought for the majority of people, but even so, when you have a transgressive externalisation of identity people are naturally inclined to question it. Dissonance is dangerous when unleashed on societies that are not educated or willing to allow it, hence the many hate crimes against minorities and those outside the perceived tolerated visual safe space.

 This is why I have always been uncomfortable with the notion that to be a woman has to be wrapped up in the feminine. Time after time I read, watch, and hear stories of cis and trans women couching their womanhood in the feminine, which is especially true of the trans narrative, as the present discourse is centred around the idea that a male comes into the female space primarily by taking on the feminine externalisation of womanhood. If being a woman is simply putting on the appropriate clothing, and then being read socially as such without causing the dissonance mentioned above, what does that say about being a woman? Hand on heart I identify as femme, I love fashion, make-up, perfume, the occasional high heel; yet the counter-point to this is that I am more at home in a pair of jeans, comfy walking shoes, t-shirts, and no make-up. Does this make me any less of a woman? Does it make any women any less female if they eschrew the trappings of socially acceptable norms?

 Of the answer to this is no, it does not. A woman is a woman if that is the gender she acknowledges within herself. No matter the externalisation of that gender identity, no matter what front she chooses to wear she is a woman regardless. This is an issue that creeps into every trans woman’s discourse, the idea that you have to be socially feminine in order to be female. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being femme, more power to those who are, but to dismiss the panalopy of female gender expression to the feminine is to cage women in an identity that does not fit everyone. A girl can play on rope swings, wear jeans, rough house, and still be a girl, much as a boy can play with barbies, be the nurse in doctors and nurses, and prefer sewing to football. Just because the social norms say that a gender has to be a certain way does not mean that a gender expression is that way.

 Ultimately gender expression is about as much finding your own inner voice, what you are comfortable with. If you choose to wear a hijab, or jeans, or a ballgown then that is your choice, and no-one has the right to take that from you. I personally may not think that said item of clothing may suit you, but then that is my own personal taste, nothing more. Female gender empowerment comes through accepting diversity of all gender expressions, not just the narrow lens that we choose to view it through. So here’s to all the rope swings and purple hair in the world, bruised and bloodied knees, prom dresses, and the confidence to be ourselves without fear of being judged. One can wish.

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Joy and silver linings

Over the last year or so I have watched trans everything blow up in the media, especially how tough and rocky it can be for trans people living on the margins. The mainstream media is full of tales of lives lived on the edge, of people in precarious situations, and of a dire need to improve the rights of the global trans population. Which leaves me in something of a quandry.

I have wrote before, both on here and Facebook, of my present situation; namely that I am pretty much as open, or as closed off, about my gender as I want to be. Most of the time it is my personality that gets my into trouble, I seem to have a chronic case of foot-in-mouth disease, and gender is never overtly used against me. My predicament is that while I see and appreciate the many, many problems that the trans community has, personally I feel like they are happening to a whole ‘other’ group, one that I have become dislocated from, making it hard for me to see the real issues at the heart of the problem.

I think the singular reason for this is that my life is full of people who simply don’t care about gender or sexuality, of people who see me for the flawed person I am, not the gender I externalise. Being trans has never really been a cross for me to bear, though in the past it has been a personal rod of iron with which to beat myself with. Society has never given me a free pass, yet when it comes to my gender I am accepted holistically, my imperfections being the route cause of my woes.

Being trans, for me, is a blessing, a singularity through which I have achieved a deep sense of self, a knowledge that I will get through and see another day, and that the worst things in the world can be worked through. I find joy in my womanhood, find deep seated contentment when I look in the mirror, and feel satisfaction that I made the right choice at sixteen to take this path.

It was not easy, a suicide attempt, addiction to spending, lack of trust and emotional attachment to people, and a deep rooted malaise all happened along the way. Yes I have to fight demons, especially the echoes of depression and suicidal tendencies, but they are put in their place. I am not perfect, and I expect to be judged on my imperfections, yet in my eyes my gender is not one of them. There is serenity in being me, one that I doubt I would have found otherwise.

Others have heavier crosses to bear than me, and I offer my hand to those who do. I am not afraid. I am not scared. I walk with my head up high, look the world in the eye, and smile. I am a woman, was raised a boy, and I am not ashamed. That is my silver lining and joy.

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Remix culture - reboots and the Bard

July and August 2016 are full of reboots and remixes, part of the ever expanding culture of remixes, reboots, and sequel  that seem to feed the media behemoths. In cinemas we have Independence Day: Resurgence, Star Trek: Beyond, and Batman vs Superman. At the Globe we have Macbeth, Taming of the Screw, and Mid Summer Night’s Dream. At the Proms we have yet another rendition of Revel, Debussy, and Mozart. All reinterpretations of existing music and plays, a clear sign that we have run out of creative ideas.

It is okay to bash low brow media for remixes, reworkings, and reboots, yet we readily accept that opera, theatre, and classical music will reshape, revive, and reimagine old ideas into something contemporary for modern audiences. Why is it that we cannot accept that 20, 70, and 50 year old ideas can be reshaped for the current generation? Are there not bad reworkings of Shakespeare and Mozart, Revel and Marlow? What makes high art so sacred that we can readily set aside one bad revival and easily consume the next without questioning our innate reason why?

Shakespeare was the ultimate popularist, playing to the crowds, pleasing his pay masters, and giving the audience what they wanted. As was Mozart. As were any number of classical composers who we now revere on a plain far beyond Dizzee Rascal and Stan Lee. The Rolling Stones command audiences far in excess of any that a typical orchestra can pull in season, yet they are viewed as emblems of their time and nostalgia, rather than as classical artists plying their trade, while Philip Glass and his contemporaries are feted as a generation of exceptional composers with a limited audience.

Remixes refresh and reimagine; listen to an episode of A State of Trance to listen to up-to-the-minute takes on classic trance, each a journey into what the original means to the modern producer/composer, much as a Theme on Thomas Tallis by Vaughan Williams is a wonderful reimaging of a prior work. Is it churlish to chide a remix when we lap up a Theme? Is it wrong to like a lyrical flow reworking classical into a hip-hop beat? It drives to the heart of what low and highbrow mean, and what we as consumers come to expect from our media intake.

Personally I enjoy the original and critique the rework based on my personal tastes and memories. I thoroughly enjoy Shakespeare and Star Trek. I find passion in ballet and a three minute trance track that makes me cry. All of these pull on my emotions and make me want more, to experience more. That a director, writer, or producer has reworked source material to get me to that moment does not worry me, as it is much the layers of intrinsic cultural knowledge added to the new elements that make the whole complete.

So yes, enjoy your reimagined plays, your revivatalised opera, your reworked ballets, those remixes of the grand traditions for modern tastes. Find joy in the reboot, remix, and sequel, stories retold and re-invigorated to give us a slice of freshness built upon the halcyon memories of the original. You never know, you just may like it.

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Facing up to demons

There is a point where I look at myself and wonder whether I should just succumb to my inner demons and rage loudly at my perceived injustices. It would be easy, blame everything on a few simple problems, externalise onto those around me, and make a big deal about the issues that in reality are just splinters in my finger.

My gender is one of those demons, and as I’ve written about before being transgender does not mean my life is hard or easy; rather, it comes with a whole raft of issues and sacred cows that I consciously and wilfully choose to ignore most of the time. My gender is a pet demon, choosing to rear its head at times of stress and depression, reminding me that despite my best intentions I will always be an ‘other’ within the world I live in.

Yes, I appreciate that I have it far better than most people in my position, but that does not mean that I can simply sweep these feelings to one side and pretend that I am less valid than those who go through grinding struggles on a daily basis. There are times I want to flee the world, curl up, and hide away. Those moments have become more frequent as the year has progressed, especially now that my hormones are chaotic due to manufacturing issues. All of this means that my demon is loosed, and I have to accept that my frame of mind is not entirely receptive to my own well being.

If I could have a conversation with myself as a stranger I think I would be merry and glib about it all, which is how I usually am; but in the quiet moments when I have only myself for company the small voice of twisting truth rears, soft and honest as the moon reflecting on the water. I wish I could be easy on myself, accept that my gender is pure and free, yet the lacerations of Christian spent youth cloud my lemonade and make it bitter to drink. 

The word of the moment is dysphoria, dissonant notes in my gender symphony that strike jagged on the ear. I know who I am, I have the body that I am utterly comfortable with, yet I somehow still struggle to remain relevant and genuine with myself. How do I ever square the circle that this demon runs me round in? It may be another sixteen years, or thirty two, before I find peace, but for now I will have to go on facing them and finding what every peace of mind I can.

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Bravery

What is bravery? Standing in the line of fire? Battling an intractable disease? Crossing the road to protect the innocent? It is a loaded term that each person defines through their own eyes.

Personally I would never consider myself brave for anything I have done in my life. Quite the opposite, as I feel I have done what I done simply because it needed doing. For me being LGBT is not an act of bravery, I am not taking a vocal stand against the man, and I stand on the very broad shoulders of giants who sacrificed their lives so that I could live without the need for bravery. People who are unsung, whose sagas will never grace the airwaves or awards ceremonies, and whose stand against the tides of history diverted rivers to flow in a more peaceful and progressive manner.

More than once have I been the first, or at least the first visible. More than once have I fought the bathroom battle long before the bathroom battle was even a thing. I championed trans rights at the turning point in history, a small voice taking small actions in small ways to make the small things better for those who followed. I emulated the titans of the cause, those whose voices clarion called to action, who fought and won, though often fought and lost.

I am of the generation that roared, that took the small voices and made them matter, who showed that equality can be on all terms, not just the most visible or vocal. I am of the generation that gained so much, yet fights for all the big and small things for the generations to come. Our voices are not drowned out through apathy or changed channels, our voices are firm and defiant. We who dare to dream of total equality, yet knowing that we could be Icarus touching the sun falling to earth unless all share in our fortune.

So, what is bravery? Is it daring to touch the sun when you know you could get burnt? Is it speaking up for the sake of those to come? Or is it fighting a cause that is noble despite what all around may say? I am not brave, but but for me those who get burned, speak out, and fight for the generations to come are.

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The mirrors of what might have been

Somewhere along the line things go wrong between two people, lives that were on a singular rail split and become two, or it could be you only share a brief spark for a night or two. What could have been? What has been lost?

I rarely loose touch with my previous partners, they form part of my tapestry that I learn and draw strength from, and occasionally I find myself thinking about their lives, seeing that they are doing well for themselves, and happy they are thriving. I never hold malice in my heart, so to see someone I once cherished succeed is always a joy for me. Is it odd to have such thoughts; to see them as sparks that flared, and then faded into my personal firmament on the edge yet still visible? 

I never squared the circle of letting go of loose ends, of putting former loves in their compartmentalised boxes to forever remain closed. Each of them holds a spectre that haunts, almost always in positive ways, as the corrosive memories burn away in the afterglow of separation. It is easy to feel anger and jealousy, natural emotions that demand to be heard; yet it is harder to accept those who slip away as something more - precious in their own right as friends, acquaintances, stores of all the positive things when the negative consumes the relationship.

I the mirror I can look at myself, certain I walk the right path in love, knowing that each person gave me something that I can never thank them for, a deeper understanding of who the right person is for me. Each left their mark, and for that I am forever grateful. Without them my life would have twisted in ways I could never imagine, and I would not be in the place I am today. Hence when I look through the mirrors of what might have been, I see lives that belong to someone else, another me, not the woman I am today.

In the end I am what I am because my bond broke with that person, we parted, and our lives grew beyond. Each of us touched the other’s lives, and for that I cannot regret or wish things were different.

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The art of seeing through cow manure

How often do you hear people complaining about the Kardashians? Wishing that that particular family would die, disappear, or somehow vanish from the face of the earth? My Facebook feed, media commentary, and social group all seemingly loathe them with a passion, presenting them as the next coming of some ordained dumbed down apocalypse. It all feeds back into one giant loop of loathing and referencing this family, that ultimately feeds back into their bank balances and cache. The same goes for any celebrity, movie star, or personality. They thrive on the oxygen the media gives them, and without it they would wither away into the wilderness.

That’s the thing about being able to cut through to the heart of it. I have no opinion either way about most celebrities; aside from a select few who I actively avoid and will never buy anything produced or endorsed by, I really am celebrity agnostic. Which is why I find it so intriguing why people get worked up over celebrities like the kardashian. When I started this blog I never imagined I would write a piece about them, and the fact is that this flies in the face of my lack of oxygen theory, but there she blows. 

Professional celebrities, like the afore mentioned family, are paid to be in the media, paid to be as big and as pushy as they can be, to grab headlines, and ultimately to keep us talking about them. If you don’t like a celebrity, don’t bitch or moan about them, as your oxygen fuels their celebrity fire; rather, ignore them, have nothing to do with them, and advise other people to do the same. That way the magazines, news papers, blogs, and other media outlets will realise said celebrity is not worth the cost of publicizing, and will move on to the next big thing - most likely another professional celebrity puffed up out of obscurity.

Ultimately who you like or dislike if your own matter, and no-one can tell you otherwise; but if you actively choose to publicise a celebrity through your vitriol you are feeding the very same machine that built them up in the first place. The choice is yours, and I know the active choice I have made.

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Broken

I feel broken today, my mind just won't settle. Feelings of paranoia, self-loathing, and abandonment, as if a psychosis has gripped me. I know this is all chemical, and my life is actually on the up. I know that the voice in my head is wrong, and that all I have to do is talk about my problems to gain perspective.

So I am trying to talk.

This is not the first time I have feel on the verge of a breakdown, my head mashed by neurological chemicals doing weird things to my body. I know that if I am patient things will pan out. I know that I am loved and cherished.

Yet... yet.

My mind keeps telling me that no-one cares, that I should end it, that it would be easier on everyone else around me if I walked away from it all. I tell myself I am worthless, that everyone else is better than me, and that everything I do/touch turns to dust. That every promise made will be broken, and every time I try I will always fail. That is the voice inside my mind, goading prodding. My shield against the stress of life.

Yet...

There is always hope. I only have to speak, and someone will listen. I only have to ask for help, and a hand will be offered. For me the hardest step is the first one, admitting that I have a problem that I am ill-equipped to define. I do not want to be labelled or medicated. I simply want to express how I feel, find some way of coping with stress that is not internally destructive. I need to be positive, I need to have trust and faith in the people around me, to stop the corrosive thoughts from eating away at what is good in life.

So I am trying to talk.

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Why XY equals whole world of trouble

Ian McEwan, author, card carry member of the intelligentsia, and up until last weekend not someone you would expect to drop a gender clanger. In seeking to clarify his position, he stated:  “I proposed that the possession of a penis or, more fundamentally, the inheritance of the XY chromosome, is inalienably connected to maleness. As a statement, this seems to me biologically unexceptional.” 

To most people this would indeed be an unexceptional statement, a GCSE level statement of unimpeachable fact. Yet, to anyone who bothers to follow up this golden nugget of assumed biology, or has a passing interest in the Olympics, or indeed expands their horizons past the mundane, this unexceptional statement is indeed predicated on the false notion that human chromosomes always fall straight and true to the assumed birth gender of a child. I haven’t got room in this blog post to detail the reams of scientific data, but this Google search will give you a tip-of-the-iceberg look at how screw ball nature can be, and this is even before getting into XXY and other more unusual arrangements.

To assume that a particular set of chromosomes automatically maketh the gender is both illogical and frankly debunked by hard evidence. You can no more tell a person’s chromosomal make-up by looking at them than you can tell their sexuality. To make a snap judgement, especially when it is ill informed, leaves you open to critique and a sharp re-education.

I appreciate that Ian McEwan meant well in his initial answer about men with penises sharing dedicated women’s spaces, and his total bewilderment at how a short answer at a Q&A session blew up the internet, but it is typical of people who have no vested self interest in educating themselves outside their own personal preconceptions. Ignorance is bliss, ill informed comments based on that ignorance is a whole world of trouble.

Soap box aside, for me the crux of the matter is that if public figures can make such a misjudgement without intending to let off a gender hand grenade, what hope do the majority of people have who do not have access to elite level education and research? Outside of the trans bubble and researchers very few people are inclined to re-educate themselves on the finer grain details of chromosomes, gender, and externalising one’s inner gender. It is far easier to accept the spoon feed XY and XX basics, ingest the media driven gender norms, and not question any of this. This is why intelligent people make mistakes, are called out on those mistakes, and are left floundering when those mistakes are broadcast over the internet.

The moral is that education and exposure to non-binary genders, scientific education, and generally engaging your brain before you need to be cured of foot in mouth disease would go a long way to preventing ill informed and misjudged comments. Plus, next time you get asked a Q&A question at a literary festival, always assume your answers are going to be blogged and Tweeted the world over. Just a thought, may save you the red face.

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Trans visibility and workplace equality

Last night I had a great night with a friend, and in passing she mentioned I have become a bit of a meme at one of my old employers because of my gender, which was actually rather sweet in a positive way. She also mentioned that I seem very chilled out and relaxed about it all, which got me thinking about how I am perceived by those around me, especially in terms of my gender.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no complaints or issues about the way people treat me, quite the opposite in fact. I am always treated as the gender I present externally, and everyone just goes with my flow without any comment or irony. Indeed, because of this I find it had to cognitively get my head around the real issues that a lot of trans and gender noncomformists face in mainstream society, to the point where I have to actively force myself to be more attentive to those issues.

I am extremely fortunate to have worked for companies that treat my gender as one of those things, and while I never out myself, except in passing when I talk about life, I also never hide my gender identity. I know that I get read as being gender dissonant, occasionally enough for people to cotton on, but no matter what, people never react negatively to my face. I have heard through the grapevine the occasional comment or whisper, but no-one has openly challenged me in the work place in the last fifteen years.

Am I exceptional? Lucky? Or are people simply reacting to my own relaxed approach to it all? I don’t know. I think it is more likely that I am experiencing both passing privilege and a more enlightened attitude towards trans issues, though given the easy ride I have had throughout my gender odyssey I am more inclined to believe it is a mix of passing privilege and zero fucks being given because I am not raising my head above the parapet.

 So, with this in mind, how visible should I actively be with my gender identity? Is it a positive thing for me to wear my gender identity on my sleeve? or am I better off simply resting on my passing privilege laurels? It is a paradox that I would prefer not to answer, as my life is significantly less complicated by keeping stum about being trans and letting the milieu question behind my back. If I am open and challenging about it that could have a negative impact on both my professional and personal interactions with strangers, to the point where the ease of social access I enjoy evaporates.

 Does this make me a coward? A hypocrite? Yes and yes, to a point. My fear of loosing social capital and social mobility play a part in how willing I am to bang the drum. I appear, in my eyes, to be saying ‘I’m alright Jack’ to the trans community, to passively accept that my own privilege blinds me to the meta reality, and in my heart critique those who actively seek to make life genuinely better for those who do not enjoy the level of privilege I do. It is a hard thing to admit, and potentially I am being overly harsh on myself, but what exactly have I done to forward the trans cause? There was a point I was an activist back at university, but that was 15 years ago. Since then I have retreated back into my comfort zone and left the politics to others, whose voices are loud and clear.

There was a time when I was the first trans woman to play university sport, I implemented one of the first trans inclusive policies at a British university students union, and especially in the first ten years of my career I have been the first trans person in my work environment. Even today I am often the only trans person in the office (though not vocally so), which continues the trail blazing in a small way. Given this, what role should I mould for myself? Could I actively seek to make other trans lives easier and better? Yes, but at what cost to my own personal work situation?

It is a tough choice I have to make, as it does leave me feeling like I am not doing enough. I want to be more active, need to be more active, yet only this blog acts as my space to actively discuss and promote trans issues, amongst the others that I have close to my heart. Once I have re-established myself in a permanent role I can actively look to aid others, so in the mean time the best I can do is offer the hand of friendship, a receptive ear, and a cup of tea to those who would like my help and support. That seems like the best solution, though, if I am honest with myself, not nearly enough in the long run. 

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Poverty shaming - the sport of Tories

Forget fox slaughtering, polo, or some other Rolex sponsored horse fest, if ever there was a national sport for Torries and Torry wannabes it would be poverty shaming. You know, the blaming of the poor for the ills of society, one upping each other to denounce the ‘feckless’ work shy benefit class. That the landed classes, Royal Family, and City of London have all enjoyed significantly more State intervention than those in dire social need is never mentioned; simply put those who fall outside the nice narrow Tory voting class get pilloried at every turn.

Champions of this sport of toffs including the Daily Mail, a paper so enamoured of middle class middle age female voters that it will devote acres of newsprint to Kim Kardasian’s derrière while junior doctors are fighting for their livelihoods (and possibly their sanity) and the tax and welfare cuts strand millions in a poverty trap that is nearly impossible to get  out of. If Paul Dacre could play the fiddle he would presently be standing on top of Somerset House facing east. The cries of benefit scrounging, chants of pulling one up by the boot straps, and hymnals to the blessed land of the private sector raise high to the heavens from the terraces of New Market, Westminster, and Epsom, let the state pay the rich to crush the poor into even smaller isolated pockets, lest they gave and speak as a unified voice ever again.

Ten years ago I was very much of the mind set that hard work, patience, and a positive attitude will get you anywhere in life. Now I am thoroughly jaded and disgusted by the way the UK has devolved from a country that had a solid social security backbone to one where only the rich get any meaningful state help. Poverty shaming is a cruel and unusual sport, rigged to make us hate those who least deserve our spite and cruelty. I am a proud British citizen, I love this country for its sense of fair play and tolerance, yet by shaming the poor we all loose sense of what it means to be not just British, but also decent honourable human beings. If we cannot get past the injustice being done by the sport of Tories then I believe we have ultimately failed as a nation.

Ultimately the only way to fight against poverty shaming is to be poverty positive, show that everyone is equal and no-one is more equal than anyone else. Each and every one of us is in this together, each a part of a great nation that can pull together to bring hope and a positive solution to deprivation and poverty that no amount of entrenched austerity ever will. Let us change the rules of the sport of Torries, and shame the Government into effectively tackling poverty through equal and fair taxation, just social security, and compassion for those who most need it.

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Risen Lord and other tales

Ever since I renounced my faith I have always held an absolute scepticism about religion, religious holy books, and the tales therein. I have had numerous conversations with street preachers attempting to draw me back into the fold, namely that they are giving me hope, redemption, and eternal life. Sadly for them I have been quite inoculated against the virus of religion, especially the kind that plays upon the idea that the wellspring of human goodness is religion/God/faith.

Why write this now? The obvious answer is that it is Easter weekend and there is wall-to-wall coverage of Christians of all denominations declaring their faith to the masses. There is also the spectacle of the main stream media declaring that we all should come back to religion of the good of humanity, the nation, and our souls. A muslim shopkeeper was stabbed to death because he wished everyone happy Easter, and if that is not fucked up, then I could list a hundred over such crimes from this year alone that make me really angry that religion is not getting a harder time. So, the answer is, when would be a better time to raise the issue of religious hypocrisy and lies?

Globally we are spoon fed the idea that religion should be off-limits from scrutiny, that a person’s faith is theirs alone and you should not challenge them over it. I stand by the idea that each person’s faith should never be punished or be a crime, yet that does not mean that faith in a supernatural deity or the supernatural should get a free pass. Indeed, it is the very fact that we give the notion of religion a free pass that enables the extremes of religious faith to flourish in the vacuum of reasoned debate. From Isis to Bathroom Bills, marriage equality to abortion, education to Sunday/Friday/Sabbath working hours, all of these are cultural touchstones effected by religion. We blame extremists, yet it is the middle-of-the-road believers who enable the fringe to dominate the conversation.

To atheists I plain speak, to religious people dangerous heresy and apostasy, personally I see it simply as the truth. Marx wrote: “ Religious distress is at the same time the expression of real distress and the protest against real distress. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is required for their real happiness. The demand to give up the illusion about its condition is the demand to give up a condition which needs illusions.” In this I read much truth, as I personally see that religion is a crutch through which people seek answers to the basest of human needs, wants, and desires. Take away the need for such a crutch, alleviate want, poverty, and injustice, and the succour of religion suddenly feels a whole less appealing.

I used to believe that religion was the root of most of the world’s problems, that without religion we would have a better and brighter future. Now, with the benefit of experience and a not so healthy dose of Realpolitik, I think the root of the problem is tribalism, ignorance, and lack of empathy for others, all problems that religion so successfully seeks to both curb and incubate. So, on this happy Easter Sunday, what pithy answer can I provide? Honestly, the best answer I have is for the scales to fall from the billions of religious eyes, see the world through rational and sceptical eyes, and set aside the tribalism that is so endemic amongst all nations and peoples. It is a trite answer, but one that carries at least the flicker of hope with it. Now that is an Easter message worth listening to.

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Once more on the winds of fate

So once again I have been cast back into the job market, this time due to a combination of not being a fast enough learner and being told I am too talented for the role I was doing. Part of me is utterly frustrated, especially given that my financial situation has literally just settled given the turmoil of 2015. On the other, having my ego fluffed for thirty minutes by the manager that was letting me go was one hell of an exit experience. Overall while I am disappointed things did not work out, this could well be a very positive thing as it gives me a huge kick in the pants to push myself even harder to get where I want to be.

This is the second time in six months I have been told I am too creative for a role and that I should realistically be looking for be looking for roles that are more creative and rounded. That is awesome to hear, yet financially it leaves me in a quagmire. Personally I am now seeing it as challenge accepted, to spur myself this weekend (four long lovely days at home) to put together a portfolio that cannot be ignored. It can be done, and there is no point in being maudlin about things, as where would that get me?

Ultimately this is a set back, I cannot hide from that, yet it is also another feather in my cap for having worked at a large multi-national. My CV is getting a nice rounding out for the gaps it previously had, so hopefully next time round the rodeo will be for a lot longer than a couple months.

Chin chin and all that jazz.