We Few, We Happy Few, We Band of Brothers by H. Tucker Rosebrock ‘10 (@Tuckneverending)
I can’t remember exactly when it happened – I’m not sure if it can even be quantified as a moment, or a distinct point in time – but there came a time after I had been on T for a few months and my voice had lowered and I was passing pretty consistently when I realized something:
I really nailed that one. Seriously, hit it out of the park. Lucked out. Whatever you want to call it. For all the angst that comes along with being trans, I’m still able to regularly cash in on that privilege I am now rewarded, and it’s important to me that I am aware of that.
See, most people have never a met a trans person, at least not that they’re aware of. It’s just not something that registers for them. I’m constantly impressed at the mental gymnastics people will do to explain ‘inconsistencies’ about my history, my body, and my gender. I’ve had people tell me that they ‘just assumed’ Wellesley had gone co-ed, after I told them I had graduated from there, even after mentioning that I had women roommates all four years. Once, I had a guy see my top surgery scars and jokingly ask: “Damn, bro, did you get your tits lopped off?” He didn’t mean it to be offensive (or certainly not that offensive); it was just a joke for him. So when I replied, “Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what happened,” he laughed again, because he thought I was playing along with him. The entire idea that I was born a woman was just too preposterous to entertain. It never even entered his mind.
Now, I recognize I may be unique in that this kind of stuff doesn’t bother me. I’m very fortunate that I can pass as a white dude almost all the time, so it’s my choice if I want to then explain my trans identity and educate. And, like people in other minority communities, I can take advantage of code switching. But because of my nice blue eyes and blonde hair and deep voice, I get an extra bonus: I can partake in frat boy brodowns and then, with a mention of my transition, join queer spaces with a relative equal degree of comfort.
This is an incredible privilege. One that I am constantly aware of, in awe of, and do my best to be respectful of. When I realized I was now seen by the vast majority of the wider world as a nice white guy, it was a little frightening. I mean, I had never seen myself as a white bro, but that’s how the world saw me now, so it was my duty, my responsibility, to be the best white dude I could be.
My time at Wellesley, as well as the large chunk of my life spent living as a woman surrounded by strong, smart women, gave me the foundation and the education to be able to use my newfound privilege for good. It makes me feel like some kind of secret agent, a spy working from the inside of the patriarchy. Because, whether I like it or not, my voice means something different now just because of my perceived gender and the color of my skin. When I talk now, people listen because my voice is deep. And, by contrast, if I’m riding the train home late at night and the only passengers are myself and a woman, it means something different to her if I smile at her, or try to strike up a conversation. That camaraderie we would have once had when I was read as a woman isn’t there anymore, and my actions are seen as potentially predatory (though they clearly are not). I’ve gained many things from my transition, but I’ve also lost some too. To borrow a quote from Hedwig: ‘in order to be free, one must give up a part of oneself.’
So what does this all have to do with the whole trans issue at Wellesley? I’m getting there. It’s a little tough for me because I realized I’m falling a lot more on the conservative end of the spectrum here and that’s a very different experience for me – being conservative – so I’m still sort of working through it myself.
See, the thing about being transgender is that there are just not that many of us. And that’s okay – I would never wish the struggle and anxiety that comes along with being born in a body that feels so wrong on any other person. For those of you who are comfortably ciswomen, I am overwhelmingly happy for you. For all the privilege I do now receive in the world, this is still my personal struggle, and while I ask and expect to be treated with kindness and respect (like any other person), I do not expect the world – nor Wellesley – to change to accommodate my needs specifically. There are a great many other issues facing Wellesley that I would rather talk about first, that affect a much larger portion of the student body – financial aid, mental health resources, increased support for all LGBT-identified students, to name a few. Do I think there are ways Wellesley could help improve life for trans students? Sure, absolutely. But there’s a big difference between being listened to, as one voice among many, and being catered to.
I don’t want to look at numbers too much here, because gender is something that’s very hard to quantify, but I think it’s important we get a sense of scale. The entire College is comprised of roughly 2500 students, with about 600 students per class. Out of those 600 students, how many would identify as male, trans* or otherwise gender-nonconforming? This is where things start to get tricky, and there’s certainly no good way to quantify things. I’ll speak from my experience and say that in my time (2006-2010), I knew roughly one to three, maybe four, people per class who I knew were openly and actively exploring their gender identity while at the college.
That’s about 0.5% of one class. 0.25% of the school.
So it seems presumptuous to demand that the College change its very raison d’etre for me, for us. Certainly, there will be the few of us who are transgender at Wellesley, and while it’s important that we feel safe in this space, we are still men in a women’s space. All I’ve ever excepted is to be respected and treated like human being, and Wellesley has never been anything but accommodating and respectful of my transition and my gender identity and, honestly, I don’t know what else I could ask for. The rest of our lives will be spent as men in a man’s world, so why not use this time at Wellesley to listen to the voices of our sisters, to learn how we can one day promote positive change and gender equality in the wider world?
As Caleb Wolfson-Seeley put it so eloquently, this is not about us. Wellesley is an institution that has a long important history of empowering strong women, and, as a man of Wellesley, I could not be more proud of my alma mater’s commitment to single-sex education. It is the reason I am aware that my male voice carries a different weight and can be louder, and easier to hear, than others. But the very fact that such a privilege exists is why we need places like Wellesley for women.