Julia Serano's Blog, page 11

Julia update May 2015 - new writings & stuff!

So today I sent out my latest email update. It offers links to some new (& newish) writings, including my op-ed on the Jenner interview in The Guardian, my contribution to the new illustrated sex-ed book Girl Sex 101, a French/Français translation of Whipping Girl, plus a February interview with me regarding recent online debates about "political correctness" and "call-out culture."

You can read the update in all its glory here.

If you want future julia updates emailed directly to you, you can sign up for my email list here.

enjoy! -j.

So about that whole Jenner thing

I had no intentions of writing this. Celebrities come out as trans once every year or two or three. For me, it's like a comet, or perhaps Mercury retrograde. It always keeps happening. I've lived through numerous permutations of this before. For me, this is history repeating itself, albeit somewhat differently each time.
I haven't even watched Jenner's interview with Diane Sawyer yet. I DVR'd it. On purpose. It is a buffer. The media often screws things up, so I wanted to hear about how it went before watching it. So I could prepare myself, just in case. Because it's hard to watch a newly out trans person answer a barrage of intrusive questions about their gender and identity, when you've personally been a newly out trans person who had to endure a very similar (albeit not publicly broadcasted) barrage of similar questions regarding your own gender and identity.
To be completely honest, I didn’t even want to watch it. Why would I? Coming out isn’t supposed to be a spectacle. Coming out is when one person tells another person, “Hey, you know that assumption that you’ve always had about me? Well, sorry, you were wrong. And by ‘sorry,’ I am not implying that it was my fault. I mean, it was your assumption after all. . .” (Although admittedly, it hardly ever goes like that in real life.)
But at the same time, I felt like I *had* to watch it. The Jenner interview, that is. Because I am kinda sorta professionally trans these days. I know that sounds awesome: “professionally trans!” As if someone somewhere is paying me a salary for, like, putting on a new estrogen patch on my abdomen every few days. In reality, what I mean is that I occasionally give talks about gender, sexuality, feminism, and queer and trans activism. So I know that someone somewhere is going to ask me about the Jenner interview. Given this, I am going to need to watch it at some point—probably on Monday, while I am cleaning my apartment.
While it was actually airing on Friday prime-time, do you know what I was doing? I was going through all of my Sheila Jeffreys notes. Seriously! Because apparently this is what trans authors do: We try to figure out the exact book and page number wherein Jeffreys says the most horrific transphobic thing imaginable, because we are working on the Notes section of our next trans activism-themed book, while the rest of the nation is enjoying the latest Diane Sawyer interview of the latest newly outed trans celebrity.
I enjoy writing. But I do not particularly enjoy working on the reference sections of my books. So unsurprisingly, I took short breaks to peruse my Twitter feed. And also unsurprisingly, a lot of the tweets were about the Jenner interview.
And I had *all the feelings*. Not about the interview per se (which I haven’t yet seen). But about people’s reactions to it:
 Immediate intense negative reaction to pronoun use (male/masculine, which the broadcast claimed Jenner approved).Many positive reactions to what Jenner had to say about herself and her story.*I laughed at @ParkerMolloy’s tweet: “I also coped with my gender dysphoria by competing in the Olympic decathlon.”I remember watching Jenner on TV in 1976 (when I was eight). It was the first Olympics I was old enough to remember. Jenner was the star of those Olympics (in the US, at least). I wasn’t even trans-aware yet. If I only knew then. Just wow. Lots of tweets from trans people who felt like this interview doesn’t help trans people at all. Some of the smartest were from Red Durkin (@RedIsDead), for instance: “Much as regular burns keep forests healthy, it's important, from time 2 time, 4 a celebrity transition 2 set back Media Rules 4 trans people”At the same time, it did seemingly impact a lot of people, both cis and trans. Someone close to me apologized tonight for her initial reluctance and ignorance when I first came out over a decade ago because she was so moved by the interview.
People seem to want to portray the Jenner interview as wholly good or bad. Perhaps we should view it as the mixed bag that it is: one that each and every individual person will likely react to differently.
Trans people often get defined by trans celebrities, for better or worse. And sadly, there have been several who have fallen into the “worse” bin. But we’ve been really fortunate over the last few years, where (arguably) the three biggest trans celebrities turned out to be awesome and righteous trans activists: Laverne Cox, Janet Mock, and Laura Jane Grace.
I remember having similar mixed feelings when Grace came out a few years ago. It turns out that she has used her status as “trans celebrity” to create lots of positive change for trans people. She (like Mock and Cox) has been an excellent ambassador for trans communities.
I really really really hope that the same ends up being true for Jenner as well.


*note: some have expressed concern about my referring to Jenner as "her" here, so allow me to clarify: While masculine pronouns were used in the interview, this tweet seems to indicate that this was a temporary usage specific to this coming out interview. Also, in the interview (from what I have read about it), Jenner explicitly self-identifies as a woman and on occasion used the pronoun "her" self-referentially. Given this, it seems that my use of feminine pronouns here is likely to be gender-affirming rather than gender-invalidating. If I receive any information to the contrary, I will be happy to fix my mistake.

Alice Dreger and making the evidence fit your thesis

So last week I found out that Alice Dreger's new book, Galileo's Middle Finger: Heretics, Activists, and the Search for Justice in Science, has recently been released. I have not personally read it, but I am well aware of one aspect of the book: the part where she describes the ensuing controversy surrounding psychologist J. Michael Bailey's book The Man Who Would Be Queen. And while I don't know precisely what Dreger says (or more pertinently, fails to say) about that controversy in her new book, I am very familiar with her views on the matter, as I am one of the numerous scientists, academics, and knowledgeable parties who contributed peer commentaries to her 2008 book-length article on this very matter that appeared in the sexology journal Archives of Sexual Behavior in 2008. (For those with access via academic institutions, her article and all the peer commentaries can be accessed here.)

If you were to suddenly develop a strong interest in this story and/or found yourself with an inordinate amount of free reading time to pour over those essays, you would find that most of the peer commentaries argued that Dreger's retelling of this tale was horribly one-sided, focusing almost entirely on how Bailey was bullied by a few "out-of-control trans activists," but with almost no serious discussion about how Bailey's book peddled anecdotes and conjecture as though they were science, nor any consideration of the long history of pseudoscience being used to reinforce the discrimination and delegitimization of marginalized groups. As I say in the last paragraph of my peer commentary:

As a scientist myself, I feel that it is important that we defend scientific freedom of expression. But we must also recognize that with that freedom comes the responsibility not to abuse our positions as scientists. Unfortunately, there has been a long history of dubious research that has lent scientific credence to prejudiced beliefs that already exist in the culture: studies that have claimed to show that people of color are inherently less intelligent than white people, that homosexuals are more criminally-inclined than heterosexuals, or that women are biologically ill-suited for leadership positions. Often, such studies are embraced by the public despite their methodological flaws because they reaffirm and reinforce presumptions and biases that already dominate in the culture. Bailey’s book claims to provide a scientific basis for three of the most commonly repeated sexualizing stereotypes of trans women: that we are either perverted men who “get off” on the idea of being women, gay men who transition to female in order to pick up straight men, and/or that we are “especially well suited to prostitution” (Bailey, 2003, p. 185). Like most research that merely confirms popular stereotypes, the data supporting Bailey’s claims are weak: He relies primarily on Ray Blanchard’s correlations and his own impressions, speculations and anecdotes. The cavalier way in which Bailey forwards these sexualizing stereotypes with no concern for the profound negative impact they have on trans women’s lives is scientifically irresponsible and a misuse of the institutionalized power that he holds over trans people as a psychologist. The fact that Dreger does not consider this institutionalized erasure of trans women’s identities, perspectives and concerns to be ethically important is troubling its own right.

You can read my entire peer commentary, A Matter of Perspective: A Transsexual Woman-Centric Critique of Alice Dreger’s “Scholarly History” of the Bailey Controversy, by clicking on that link.

Also, in 2010, two peer-reviewed review articles were published (here and here) detailing the overwhelming evidence demonstrating that Ray Blanchard's theory of autogynephilia (the one Bailey's entire book is centered upon) is scientifically invalid. Despite the fact that those reviews were published five years ago, I suspect that Dreger did not bother to cite them at all in her book. I suppose this because, in my experience, Dreger is someone who prefers to make the evidence (or the omission thereof) fit her thesis. And this concerns me as both a trans woman and a scientist.

crowdsourcing for instances where "autogynephilia" is used to sensationalize or invalidate trans identities - please help & share with others!

As many of you may know, over the years I have written a lot about Ray Blanchard's theory of autogynephilia, which wrongly argues that trans women are sexually-motivated in our transitions - I debunked the theory in the article provided in the link, and further discuss how it sexualizes and invalidates trans women here.  

I am currently working on a piece that (in part) compiles instances where people outside of science/psychology cite "autogynephilia" in their efforts to sensationalize trans people or to promote anti-transgender agendas and policies. 

I have a few examples of this in hand - most notably, from Sheila Jeffreys's recent book, one from an anti-trans Catholic organization, that horrible Rolling Stone article about Lana Wachowski published before she came out as trans, and of course, last year's New Yorker article in which Michelle Goldberg used the theory to slut-shame me. 

I have seen many more examples than this, but I have found them to be especially difficult to track down online, as the bajillion webpages and posts discussing and debating the theory itself overwhelm any and all search engine queries I have attempted.

So that's where you come in (hopefully!). Perhaps you know of articles, news items, or stories along this line? If so, please pass along a link, a description, or a few key words so that I can search for it myself. You can do so by:

1) leaving a comment below
2) Tweet it to me @juliaserano
3) email it to me - my address can be found here: http://www.juliaserano.com/contact.html

Thanks in advance! -julia

p.s., please no debating or ranting about "autogynephilia" in the comments section - this post is not intended to discuss the theory, but to compile instances of how the concept is misused/abused by lay people who wish to sensationalize/sexualize/smear/invalidate trans identities. Thanks in advance.

Nobody reinforces the gender binary & nobody subverts it either (plus some retrospective thoughts about Whipping Girl)

I usually don’t publicly respond to critiques of my writings. People inevitably interpret (or misinterpret) things that I have written in all sorts of ways, and I usually just strive to articulate my ideas better the next time around. However, in the last two weeks, I have stumbled across numerous instances where people have accused me of claiming that two-spirit and other indigenous non-binary-identified people “reinforce the gender binary.” This notion so goes against everything that I believe and have written in the past that I feel compelled to address the matter here.
I am not 100% sure how this meme got started, but I get the impression that it may have originally stemmed from this blog post by b-binaohan, which is a critique of a chapter of Whipping Girl wherein I critique the notion (which was quite prevalent within academia a decade ago when I was writing the book) that transsexuals “reinforce” the gender binary. As I argue throughout Whipping Girl and Excluded, as well as here and hereand here and here, I am strongly opposed to the notion that any gender or sexual identity is more radical or conservative than any other, or that some “reinforce” the gender binary while others “subvert” it. What we think of as “the gender binary” is driven by non-consensually projecting gendered expectations, assumptions, and meanings onto other people (i.e., gender entitlement), not by self-identifying or expressing our genders or sexualities in particular ways. The “reinforcing” trope is merely an attempt by some to establish yet another gender hierarchy—in Whipping Girl I refer to this hierarchy as the “radical/conservative binary” or as subversivism, where supposedly transgressive/radical genders are deemed “good” and supposedly reinforcing/conservative genders are deemed “bad.” I go on to say that we should be working to put an end to all gender hierarchies rather than creating new ones.
Anyway, during the aforementioned chapter of Whipping Girl, I critique certain claims made by anthropologists Will Roscoe and Serena Nanda, both of whom have argued that “third gender”* categories in other cultures subvert the gender binary, whereas transsexuals reinforce the binary. I chose to critique their work for the express purpose of challenging the overly simplistic radical/conservative binary that these (and countless other) academics were forwarding (and which was routinely used to undermine transsexual people). I was not in anyway attempting to comment or pass judgment upon indigenous cultures or gender identities—I was merely critiquing Nanda’s and Roscoe’s interpretations of those cultures and identities in relation to their views of transsexuality. In retrospect, I can see how by engaging in these anthropologists’ theories (as a white/Western person myself), I may have unknowingly/unthinkingly contributed to the systematic erasure that indigenous people have historically faced in academia and anthropological research. This is a point that b-binaohan makes, and it is a fair one—I regret my part in, and accept responsibility for, that.
Having said that, I never once in my critique of Nanda and Roscoe’s theories claimed or insinuated that indigenous non-binary gender identities “reinforce” the gender binary (as some comments I've seen on the Internet suggest)—as I have said repeatedly, I do not believe that *any* gender identities “reinforce” the gender binary). Nor did I state or insinuate that transsexual gender identities are more “natural” or “transgressive” or “oppressed” than indigenous gender identities or other non-binary gender identities. Whipping Girl is centered on transsexuality, not because I believe that it is the most important gender variant identity or experience, but rather because ten years ago when I was writing the book, transsexuals were viewed as one of the most suspect gender variant subgroups within feminist, queer, and academic discourses (as hard as that may be to believe today). At that time, and in those settings, genderqueer, drag, and other non-binary identities were often praised, whereas transsexuals who unapologetically identified as either women or men were routinely dismissed. This isn’t me playing the “more oppressed than thou” card—it was simply the zeitgeist of the time, and it is evident in many queer theory and transgender-themed books of that era.
Nowadays, during this very different time period when (unfortunately) most of the progress made by the “transgender movement” has seemed to benefit people of transsexual experience, I recognize that my focusing on redeeming transsexuality may seem to some like yet another example of a transsexual taking up too much space and pushing aside non-binary identities. But that was not my intention way back then; I was simply trying to create space for respectful consideration of transsexuals within activist and academic conversations, not to bring down other gender variant identities in the process.
Whipping Girl is a very particular book. In it, I focused primarily on challenging societal critiques of 1) transsexuals, 2) trans women, and 3) people who are feminine, as I found that these three aspects of my own person were rarely defended at the time, even (and in some cases, especially) within feminist, queer, and certain transgender circles. It is also a very personal book, full of my own stories and anecdotes (which of course, stem from me being socially situated as a white, middle class, able-bodied, “generation X,” out, queer-identified transsexual woman living in a U.S. urban area). I never imagined that the book would gain the notoriety that it has, or that it would be taught in classrooms, or that it would be considered to be an authoritative or definitive “transgender book.” As a “transgender book” (in a general sense), Whipping Girl has serious omissions—it offers little discussion about the issues and experiences of non-binary-identified people, intersex people, trans male/masculine-spectrum people, straight-identified trans people, trans people of color and other cultures, and so forth. Many people have subsequently expressed their disappointment in these omissions. Had I known at the time that Whipping Girl would one day be viewed as an authoritative or definitive “transgender book,” I would have written it very differently: less personal and transsexual-focused, and more general and intersectional. But, for better or worse, it is what it is: the perspective of one individual trans woman situated in a particular time and place. And like all books, it will no doubt seem increasingly anachronistic as time marches on.
I’d like to think that Whipping Girl makes some points that remain insightful or useful. But I will be the first to admit that it is far far far from the whole story, and I am grateful for the many other gender variant writers of various identities, backgrounds, generations, and geographies that are filling in the many gaps that Whipping Girl misses. And as I said at the outset, I will continue to strive to articulate my ideas better the next time around.


*I put “third gender” in quotes to indicate that this is the language that the anthropologists during that era that I was critiquing used as an umbrella term for various indigenous non-binary identity categories.  

How Double Standards Work (understanding the unmarked/marked distinction)

This is one in a series of blog posts in which I discuss some of the concepts and terminology that I forward in my writings, including my recent book Excluded: Making Feminist and Queer Movements More Inclusive. 
In Excluded, I argue that instead of focusing on only one or a few forms of sexism and marginalization, we should acknowledge that there are myriad double standards out there. And given this, it is crucial for us to more generally recognize and challenge double standards whenever and wherever they occur.
To be honest, I think that we as activists tend not to be very good at doing this—it is a main reason why people who are quite familiar with one particular form of marginalization (typically one that they are personally impacted by) will nevertheless continue to single out and invalidate other groups of people, often using the exact same tactics that they abhor when used against members of their own group. In other words, a failure to recognize and understand how double standards function in a general sense is what enables various forms of exclusion to run rampant within our movements. It is also what enables numerous forms of sexism and marginalization to proliferate in society at large.   
I discuss this issue over the course of Excluded, but I address it head on in Chapter 14: “How Double Standards Work”—it is one of the pieces of writing that I am most proud of.

In both these examples (and I would argue, in double standards more generally), the marked groups are considered to be inherently remarkable and questionable, which is why people have to “come out” as trans or gay or bi, but not as cisgender or heterosexual. It is why trans and queer folks are subjected to all sorts of commentary and debate that our cis and hetero counterparts never have to deal with. It is why we are often mischaracterized as abnormal, artificial and deceptive, and why we are often viewed as alien or exotic. As I put it in Excluded:
Essentially, people who are marked are generally viewed as “having something” that unmarked people do not have. That “something” can therefore be subjected to remarks, questions, debate, praise or critique; the unmarked person escapes such critical analysis by virtue of the fact that they are not seen as having that “something.”[p.178]
For the record, I did not invent the concept of marked versus unmarked. As I say in the Notes section of the book:
The concept of marked versus unmarked originated in the field of linguistics, but has since been applied to semiotics (the study of signs and symbols), sociology, and related fields. See Wayne Brekhus, “A Sociology of the Unmarked,” Sociological Theory 16, no. 1 (1998), 34-51; Linda R. Waugh, “Marked and unmarked: A choice between unequals in semiotic structure,”Semiotica 38 (1982), 299-318. This chapter is my own personal take on the unmarked/marked distinction and how it creates obstacles and double binds for members of marginalized groups.[p.316]
I decided to articulate double standards in terms of the unmarked/marked distinction because it elegantly explains why marginalization can be so effective and pervasive. Basically, when a group is marked, it is as if they become “sticky,” in that all sorts of assumptions, meanings, stereotypes, invalidations, etc., will “stick” to them, but not to the unmarked majority.
Why do we mark some people and not others?
This question came up a lot when I was doing book readings for Excluded. Some people may be looking for a “Back when our ancestors were living on the plains of Africa...” type of answer, but I am not a big fan of such evolutionary psychology-type handwaving. What I can say is that this phenomenon seems to be fueled by certain general perceptual biases that people have. For instance, social psychologists have found that we tend to perceive outgroup members (that is, people who we see as different from us in a fundamental way) more negatively, more extremely, and in a more stereotyped manner than we do members of our ingroup. We also tend to pay more attention to unexpected people or traits, and to view them more negatively, than people or traits that we consider to be expected or mundane. Together, these perceptual biases may lead us to mark people who we view as “other” for whatever reason.
Having said that, it is not simply the case that we are “programmed” to mark unexpected or atypical people. As I point out in the book, even though women constitute a slight majority of the population, we are nevertheless marked relative to men in our culture. And while the number of certified public accountants in the U.S. is roughly similar to the number of trans people (in both cases, roughly 0.2% of the population), trans people are clearly marked in our culture whereas accountants are not. So in other words, we are taught to mark certain types of people or behaviors—to view them as remarkable, unusual, exotic, potentially suspect, etc.—while viewing others as unmarked.
It is also important to recognize that marking people is an active process: When we look upon the world, we are constantly making decisions and determinations about whether the individuals that we see seem remarkable or unremarkable to us. But because this process generally occurs on an unconscious level, we tend not to notice it as an active process on our part, and instead we mistakenly assume that the marked individual is inherently noteworthy. However, the fact that marking occurs at the level of perception or interpretation becomes evident when we consider the fact that who is deemed marked varies from perceiver to perceiver. For instance, many people in our culture mark trans people (while deeming cis people unmarked), whereas I personally don’t consider trans people to be inherently remarkable, unusual, exotic, potentially suspect, etc.—after all, I am trans and many of my friends are trans, so to me trans folks and experiences are an ordinary part of my everyday life.  
Is marking someone the same thing as marginalizing them?
In Excluded, I make the case that unmarked/marked distinction plays a fundamental role in all forms of marginalization. In each case, the marked group is unfairly singled out and plagued by assumptions and stereotypes that the unmarked group does not face. This is why activist movements often work to name the unmarked majority (e.g., those who are heterosexual, cisgender, monosexual, white, able-bodied, etc.) and point out the many privileges they experience (many of which are directly related to them *not* being viewed as inherently remarkable, questionable, abnormal, artificial, deceptive, and/or exotic). To be clear, I am not insinuating that all forms of marginalization are the same—they each have different histories, they are institutionalized in different ways, they employ different assumptions and stereotypes, and so on. But recognizing the parallels between how marked/marginalized groups are viewed is an important tool for us as activists.
It should be pointed out that a person can be marked without being marginalized. Specifically, while some marked groups are stigmatized (as is the case for most marginalized groups), others may be glorified. Examples of the latter may include celebrities or people of considerable wealth or power. Because they are marked, people in these latter categories may be viewed as extraordinary and exotic, attract a lot of attention, garner commentary (in the form of praise and/or critiques), and others may consider it OK to invade their privacy. These are all potentially negative aspects of being marked, although it would be incorrect to say that such individuals are marginalized (as they are marked for supposedly being “better than” the unmarked majority, not “lesser than”).  
How does understanding the unmarked/marked distinction help us to become better activists?   Recognizing the hallmarks of double standards may allow us to more readily appreciate and learn to challenge forms of sexism and marginalization that we are less familiar with. In the talk I previously mentioned, I have found that my describing the parallels between cissexism and heterosexism in terms of the unmarked/marked distinction has been quite productive in getting audiences to recognize and appreciate cissexism. It helps them to see how being marked (for whatever reason) can lead to a predictable set of negative consequences, rather than them having to reimagine cissexism as a completely novel form of marginalization unlike anything that they were previously familiar with.
One of the most useful aspects of understanding the unmarked/marked distinction is that it allows us to become familiar with the numerous double-binds that plague marked/marginalized groups. In the chapter “How Double Standards Work,” I discuss some of the most prevalent of such double binds: invisible/visible, credit/detriment, disavow/identify, accommodating/angry, afflicted/chosen, dupes/fakes, ashamed/shameless, harmless/dangerous, pass/reveal.
To give you an idea of what I mean by double-bind, here is an excerpt from the passage regarding the accommodating/angry double-bind:
When we are marked, other people feel entitled to pay undue attention to, remark about, and call into question that aspect of our being. Such incidents can range from being slightly annoying to downright invalidating. When we are constantly being put into question like this, there are two general types of responses we might take. The first is to accommodate these actions. For instance, if people are staring at us, we just put it out of our minds. If people make remarks about us, we do not object. If people ask us questions, we politely answer them. This approach can be highly disempowering, as it places us on the defensive and perpetuates the idea that others are entitled to constantly call our marked trait into question, and that it’s our job to accommodate them.
The alternative, of course, is to challenge other people when they mark us. So if they stare at us, we tell them that it’s impolite to stare, or stare back at them. If they remark about us, we call them out on their comments. If they ask us questions, we remind them of how invasive it is to be interrogated like that. On the positive side, these are proactive approaches that challenge the double standard. But the problem is, the fact that we’ve been deemed marked means that they feel entitled to call us into question. So in their minds, it is we who are acting inappropriately, and they will likely interpret our righteous responses as an attack on them. Often they will interpret us as acting “angry,” even if we challenge them in a polite manner without ever raising our voice.
Understanding these double-binds allows us to see the futility of many one-size-fits-all approaches to activism that perpetually arise within our movements. For instance, more “liberal” voices within our movements may insist that we should act polite in our dealings with the dominant majority, while more “radical” voices may insist that we should be in their face and not let them trample all over us. But the reality is that neither reaction fundamentally addresses the core problem—i.e., the fact that marginalized individuals are marked and therefore viewed and treated differently. Another example I discuss in the chapter is how some of the approaches taken by both “sex-negative” and “sex-positive” feminists with regard to the virgin/whore double-bind (which I describe as an instance of the more general ashamed/shameless double-bind) do not actually address the core problem: that in our culture, women’s bodies and sexualities are marked relative to men’s.
The take home point is this: Those of us who are marked/marginalized may react differently to the double standards we face. Insisting that we as individuals should all react to instances of marginalization the same way will not address the primary problem—in fact, it will ultimately lead to exclusive movements. So rather than policing how marked/marginalized individuals respond to their particular circumstances, we should instead focus our efforts on challenging the primary act, which is our tendency to mark certain people and view/treat them differently from others. While this can certainly happen at the level of specific marginalized groups (e.g., trans activists challenging how trans people are marked in our society), I believe that it is crucial that we more generally raise awareness about the unmarked/marked distinction and how it creates double standards and double-binds in many people’s lives. I discuss this more general approach to challenging double standards in far greater detail in Excluded.

Transgender-themed artists, bands, music, songs & anthems

Last week, I encountered quite a number of posts & tweets in which people shared their favorite transgender music artists and trans-themed songs. I later discovered that these posts were initially inspired by an article in Bustle that featured videos of trans anthems by trans artists (e.g., Laura Jane Grace, Namoli Brennet, and Mina Caputo) in response a recent trans-themed song by Kate Pierson. Subsequently, The Advocate published a post called 37 Alternative 'Trans Anthems' by Trans Musicians featuring additional trans-themed songs/music videos by trans artists - definitely check all those wonderful songs out!

Since I have recently returned to making music, and since many people who know me primarily as a trans author & activist are not aware that I started out as a musician/songwriter, I figured that I would take this opportunity to compile some of my own trans-themed anthems to share with the world. So here we go:

My current music project is a solo lo-fi indie-pop endeavor called *soft vowel sounds*. I recently released my first record, and it contains two trans-themed anthems:

The title track Ray is my take on/parody of The Kinks' song "Lola." The video is admittedly not especially video-ish, as I wanted to highlight the lyrics of the song:



The record also includes the song Open Letter, which I wrote shortly after I came out to my family as trans back in 2002. My previous band Bitesize used to regularly perform the song, although we never formally recorded it.
Ray versus Macbeth & the Music Box (part one) by *soft vowel sounds*

During 1997-2009, I was the guitarist, vocalist, and primary songwriter for the noise-pop indie-rock band Bitesize. We had a number of trans-themed songs & anthems - here are the ones that we recorded:

Understudy is my very favorite Bitesize song. It is about a transgender teenage thespian who gets to play the role of Ophelia in a Catholic boys school production of Hamlet.
Sophomore Slump by Bitesize

Switch Hitter is an embellished story about how I first decided to change my sex at my little league’s all-star game.
The Best of Bitesize by Bitesize

Surprise Ending is about a trans woman who accidentally runs into the bully who picked on her as a child.
Sophomore Slump by Bitesize

In the Know is a heavily-veiled recollection of the first time that I presented as female in public (way back in 1989). I discuss the story behind the song more here.
More Songs About Cars and Body Parts by Bitesize

Finally, one of the first songs that I wrote for Bitesize was I Forgot My Mantra, a coy and flippant anthem that is mostly about me being a crossdresser (how I identified at the time). The chorus is the single line: "I'm a hermaphrodite, but that's beside the point." (For the record, I was not trying to claim an intersex identity with that line - I’m not sure I even knew what intersex was back then. I was just trying to express that I saw myself as harboring some combination of maleness/masculinity and femaleness/femininity within me.)
The Best of Bitesize by Bitesize

Anyway, happy listening! And if you like what you hear, you can sign up for my *soft vowel sounds* email list to stay posted about my future music and shows. . .

Julia Serano's compendium on cisgender, cissexual, cissexism, cisgenderism, cis privilege, and the cis/trans distinction

When my first book Whipping Girl was published in 2007, it was (to the best of my knowledge) the first print publication to include the terms cisgender, cissexual, cissexism, and cisgenderism.* I did not invent these terms - they had been coined and used by trans activists before me, albeit rarely and sporadically. And in the years since, as these terms have increasingly caught on, I find that people sometimes use them in rather different, or even outright disparate, ways.

So for those interested in the history and evolution of cis terminology, I have subsequently written three (freely available!) blog posts that explain various aspects of, and differing perspectives on, these terms. They are as follows:

1) Whipping Girl FAQ on cissexual, cisgender, and cis privilege (2009)

This article discusses:

the origins of cis terminologythe reasoning behind why many trans activists use these termsmy responses to common critiques of cis terminologya discussion of how the concept of "cis privilege" is sometimes misused
2) Cissexism and Cis Privilege Revisited - Part 1: Who Exactly Does “Cis” Refer To? (2014)

This article discusses:

the specific way in which I used the terms cis, cisgender, cissexual, cissexism, and cisgenderism in Whipping Girla discussion of how these same terms are often used in a rather different manner todayhow ambiguity regarding the terms "cis" and "cisgender" often erases the experiences of non-transsexual transgender-spectrum peoplemy proposal of an alternative (albeit not mutually-exclusive) "three-tiered" model for considering gender-non-conformity and social legitimacy - one that may better account for the gender-based marginalization experienced by those who fall under the cisgender umbrella and/or who do not fit neatly into the cis/trans distinction.
3) Cissexism and Cis Privilege Revisited - Part 2: Reconciling Disparate Uses of the Cis/Trans Distinction (2014)

Marginalized populations often have different perspectives on, and take different approaches toward, articulating the obstacles they face. Two especially common activist approaches are “decentering the binary” and “reverse discourse” strategies. In this essay, I discuss the logic behind these differing approaches to activism, and explain why they tend to result in very different understandings of cissexism and the cis/trans distinction. In fact, some of the most common complaints about cis terminology are actually critiques of "reverse discourse" approaches to activism. Rather than outright championing one approach over the other, I encourage activists to familiarize themselves with the pros and cons of each strategy in order to use them in the most judicious and effective way possible.



*note added 12-17-14: It turns out that the terms "cisgender" and "cisgendered" did appear in print on at least one occasion prior to the publication of Whipping Girl, namely, in:
Green, Eli R. (2006). "Debating Trans Inclusion in the Feminist Movement: A Trans-Positive Analysis," Journal of Lesbian Studies. Volume: 10 Issue: 1/2. pp. 231−248.
Also, in 2013 Cristan Williams reported that a variant of "cis" (cisvestitismus) was used to describe non-trans people in the German medical/sexological literature back in 1914:
http://www.transadvocate.com/so-i-hea...
However, there is no indication that the trans activists who first began using cisgender/cissexual were aware of that literature. It seems unsurprising that such terms may have been independently invented numerous times given the long history of the prefix "cis" being used as a complementary pair of "trans."

Julia update November 2014: upcoming events, new writings & music videos!

So earlier today, I sent out my latest email update (btw, you can sign up for my email list here). It offers links to some of my more recent writings, an interview, plus two speaking events coming up this week in St. Louis & San Francisco.

I also describe two music videos I recently created for my new solo music project *soft vowel sounds*. Since I couldn't embed them in my email, I will do so here:

Music Box is the first song on the record. It is about being a third wheel and it appropriately takes place inside of a vehicle:

Ray is my parody of The Kinks' song "Lola". The video is admittedly not especially video-ish, as I wanted to highlight the lyrics of the song:

The entire record is available for listen or download (for free or name your price) on the *soft vowel sounds* Bandcamp site.

and speaking of music, on Tuesday December 2nd, I will be performing a couple of songs for the Bad Dyke Book Release + Bawdy Storytelling, featuring Allison Moon, Dixie De La Tour and other storytellers TBA. At Awaken Cafe (1429 Broadway, Oakland), Doors at 7, Show at 8, Tickets $15 (available for purchase here). More show details can be found here.

that's it for now... -j.

Cissexism and Cis Privilege Revisited - Part 1: Who Exactly Does “Cis” Refer To?

For the record: this essay is intended to clarify misconceptions about, and to encourage more thoughtful usage of, cis terminology. Anyone who references this piece in their attempts to deny or eliminate use of the term "cis" (and its variants) is clearly misinterpreting or misrepresenting my views.
My first book Whipping Girl helped to popularize cis terminology—that is, language that uses the prefix “cis” to name the unmarked dominant majority (i.e., people who are not trans) in order to better articulate the ways in which trans people are marginalized in society. In 2009, I wrote a blog post called Whipping Girl FAQ on cissexual, cisgender, and cis privilege that explained my reasoning in forwarding cis terminology and addressed some of the more common arguments made against such language. That blog post ended with a section discussing some of the limitations of cis terminology and the concept of cis privilege—a topic that I will revisit in this two-part series.
Over the years, I have observed that many people now use cis terminology in a manner that is somewhat different from how I attempted to use it in Whipping Girl, thus leading to potential ambiguity—I will address such matters in this first essay. In the last section of this essay, I will suggest another possible model for describing how people are differentially viewed and treated with regards to gender non-conformity, and which may (in some cases) provide a more effective framework than a cisgender/transgender dichotomy.    In the second essay, I will describe two differing approaches to activism, each of which leads to very different understandings of cissexism and the cis/trans distinction. Rather than simplistically arguing that one approach is “good” and the other “bad,” I will instead forward a more contextual approach, one that acknowledges both the advantages and limitations of different ways of employing cis terminology, and that encourages us to strategically use whichever approach might be most effective within a given situation.
[note: I will link to the second part of this series as soon as it is published]
Cisgender, cissexual, and cissexism in Whipping GirlWhipping Girl was written from an explicitly transsexual perspective and addressed issues that I felt were overlooked by the open-ended approach taken by the transgender movement in the 1990’s (as that perspective continued to dominate in trans communities in 2005-2006 when I was writing the book). Here is what I mean by “open-ended”: Transgender was a broadly defined umbrella term intended to be inclusive of all people who defy societal gender norms. This includes many of us who nowadays identify as “trans” for one reason or another, but it was also meant to potentially include other people who are unconventionally gendered in some way.[1] This open-ended definition allowed a panoply of individuals to claim a spot under the transgender umbrella if they chose to do so.
This open-ended approach may seem counterintuitive to trans activists today, but there was an intentional logic to it. Trans folks had been largely left behind during the feminist and gay liberation movements of the 1970’s and 1980’s, primarily because these were identity-based movements centered on women and gay people, respectively. When movements are rooted in identity, there will inevitably be turf wars over who counts as a “real” woman or an “authentic” gay person. So despite the fact that trans people often face traditional sexism and heterosexism—the forms of sexism that feminism and gay liberation, respectively, were designed to challenge—we were nevertheless excluded from these movements.
In order to circumvent such problems, transgender activists during the 1990’s purposefully created an anti-identity movement, where one was not required to meet any specific criteria for being transgender in order to participate. Anyone could take part in trans liberation so long as they opposed binary gender norms. Transgender activists of that time often highlighted the countless ways in which *all* people (whether trans or non-trans, queer or straight, female or male or both or neither), to varying degrees, are negatively impacted by the same gender binary system. This strategy was extremely productive in creating alliances between trans activists and other queer activists and feminists.
I still believe that this open-ended approach has its merits—especially with regards to creating a larger and more diverse movement, and enabling the non-trans majority to see the benefits (for both themselves, as well as for us) in challenging binary gender norms. However, in practice, it can lead to the false impression that all gender norms are similarly policed, or that all gender variant people face the same set of obstacles. As I put it in the Introduction to Whipping Girl: “While I do believe that all transgender people have a stake in the same political fight against those who fear and dismiss gender diversity and difference in all of its wondrous forms, I do not believe that we are discriminated against in the same ways and for the exact same reasons.”[2]
Throughout Whipping Girl, I primarily focused on two such differences that are relevant to my own life. One was articulating how folks on the trans female/feminine spectrum face trans-misogyny. The second was highlighting the obstacles that are more specifically faced by transsexuals (i.e., those of us who identify and live as members of the sex other than the one we were assigned at birth). I focused on transsexuality because, at the time, it felt like most of the discussion about transgender issues (especially within feminist and queer circles) placed more interest and concern for those who challenge societal norms with regard to gender expression, while often ignoring or outright dismissing issues faced by transsexuals (who primarily defy norms with regard to gender identity and sex embodiment). Nowhere is this more evident than in the writings of many gender and queer theorists of the time, who often celebrated drag, androgyny, and female masculinity, while simultaneously dismissing transsexuals for supposedly being too conservative, assimilationist, or for “reinforcing” the gender system.[3]
I felt that this prioritization of gender expression over gender identity invisibilized some of the most pertinent obstacles faced by transsexuals. After all, while a non-transsexual drag performer, or feminine man, or masculine woman, may experience ridicule or harassment in their day-to-day lives for being visibly gender-non-conforming, their gender identities and sex embodiments are not typically called into question. They do not have any problems obtaining legal documentation (e.g., driver’s licenses, passports) that recognize their lived and identified genders; they do not run the risk of being locked up in the wrong jail cell or forced into some other inappropriate gender-segregated space; they do not have to deal with being mischaracterized as “deceiving” other people or being accused of “impersonation” when they move through the world as members of their self-identified gender.[4]
I wanted to address these issues in Whipping Girl. And as I was writing the book, I stumbled onto cis terminology and found it to be invaluable for articulating such differences in how transsexuals are viewed versus how cissexuals (i.e., people who are not transsexual) are viewed by society. Throughout Whipping Girl, I used the word “cissexism” to describe this particular double standard, and I most thoroughly critique it in Chapter 8, “Dismantling Cissexual Privilege.”[5] I make it clear in that chapter (and elsewhere in the book) that the purpose of using this language is not to reinforce the assumption that transsexuals are inherently different from cissexuals (as I do not believe that we are), but rather to examine the differences in how people are viewed and treated by others depending upon whether they are perceived or known to be transsexual or cissexual—I will return to this particular point in Part 2 of this series.
While the word “cissexual” is used throughout Whipping Girl (according to Google Books, it appears on a whopping seventy-six pages, and often multiple times per page), the word “cisgender” only appears six times in the entire text. I used the word cisgender in the same way that activists today typically do, namely, as a synonym for non-transgender. I also make a distinction between cissexism (i.e., the assumption that transsexual gender identities and sex embodiments are less legitimate than cissexual ones) and cisgenderism (i.e., the assumption that people who defy gender norms are less legitimate than people who conform to them). Cisgenderism only appears once in the book, and my usage of the term to describe the delegitimization of people who defy binary gender norms is consistent with how others have used the word.[6]
So why did I focus almost entirely on cissexual privilege and cissexism while largely ignoring cisgender privilege and cisgenderism? As I’ve already discussed, the main reason is that I felt that transsexual-specific issues had not been adequately addressed by the transgender movement. But in addition to that, it occurred to me as I was working on the book that there was an obvious tension or inconsistency between the broad open-ended approach of the transgender movement and the specificity that is necessary in order to discuss how some people may be privileged in ways that others are not. While transsexuals are a heterogeneous group, there are specific things that we share in common (i.e., we identify and live as members of the sex other than the one we were assigned at birth) that lead us to be viewed and treated in very particular ways by society, and this treatment (particularly with regards to our gender identities and sex embodiments) differs significantly from that typically experienced by cissexuals.[7] In stark contrast, the label transgender is used in an open-ended, all-encompassing way—it could refer to “full-time” transsexuals as well as people who occasionally crossdress; people who strongly identify within the binary as well as people who do not; people who come off as explicitly androgynous, butch, or effeminate, as well as people who superficially seem to be gender-conforming (that is, until others discover that they are transsexual, or genderqueer, or intersex, or two-spirit, etc.).
It was relatively straightforward for me to describe cissexual privilege—the assumptions that drive it and how it (or the lack of it) plays out in transsexuals’ lives. But cisgender privilege seemed more like a nebulous blob to me. There are numerous different cisgender privileges out there, many of which are experienced by certain transgender subgroups but not by others.
For instance, while I may not have cissexual privilege, I do have what might be called binary privilege, in that I identify within the male/female binary. And while my female identity may be viewed as “lesser than” or “not as real as” that of a cissexual woman, the fact that I identify as a woman makes my identity far more legible and understandable to most people than that of a genderqueer person who does not identify within the binary.
Similarly, while I am not especially gender-conforming as a woman (as I am somewhat tomboyish), I am femme enough that my appearance does not stand out as being particularly gender transgressive. As a result, I do not regularly face the specific forms of ridicule or harassment that visibly androgynous and butch women do[8]—this is another way in which one could say that I am privileged with respect to them, despite the fact that they have cissexual privilege whereas I do not.
Given that there are countless gender norms out there, and that many of us defy some of these norms while conforming to others, it did not seem clear to me that we can easily divide up the world up into people who have cisgender privilege and those who do not. The reality is that many of us experience both cisgender privileges and the lack thereof simultaneously in our lives. Furthermore, transgender activists of the 1990’s purposefully intended for “transgender” to be an open-ended label that anyone who defies gender norms could potentially embrace. For one to begin to discuss “cisgender people” as a class unto themselves, it seemed to me that we would necessarily have to precisely define who “transgender people” are. I felt uncomfortable doing this, as it would have defied the explicit intentions of the transgender activists who forwarded the term in the ’90s.
Anyway, for all of the aforementioned reasons, I decided not to delve too much into cisgender, cisgenderism, and cisgender privilege(s) in Whipping Girl.
Cis terminology circa 2014Language evolves. Some words catch on and others do not. And some of the differences in how cis terminology is used today seem to stem from aesthetic and/or political preferences for certain words over others.
One example of this is the failure of “cisgenderism” to really catch on. Perhaps this is because it is a somewhat clunky word. In any case, trans activists these days tend to use the word “cissexism” in its place. In other words, while I used cissexism in a transsexual-specific manner in Whipping Girl, nowadays trans folks generally use the word in a broad way to describe societal double standards wherein transgender bodies, identities, and expressions are deemed less legitimate than their cisgender counterparts. I have since gone with the flow on this, using this latter definition of cissexism in my second book Excluded and in other post-Whipping Girl writings.
Here is another language trend: People of transsexual experience often prefer labels like “trans” and/or “transgender” over “transsexual.” The most commonly heard justification for this preference is that transsexual contains the word “sex” within it, which plays into misconceptions that we transition for sexual reasons rather than to live as members of our identified genders (although I would counter that “sex” in this context is clearly meant to refer to femaleness and maleness, not sexual activity). Now this trend began well before I began working on Whipping Girl—in fact, I was purposefully trying to reclaim the word transsexual by using it in the subtitle and throughout the book. While I still proudly use it, many folks have moved away from it, which is totally fine. But this trend does have a significant unintended consequence: It means that few people these days (other than me) regularly refer to “cissexuals” or “cissexual privilege.” Instead, it is far more common to come across references to “cis” or “cisgender” people, and “cis” or “cisgender” privilege.
As stand alone words, “trans” and “cis” can sometimes refer to transsexuals and cissexuals, respectively—specifically when they precede the words “woman” and “man” (e.g., trans woman, cis man). But many other times, “trans” is used as a broad, open-ended umbrella term that is synonymous with transgender. Indeed, many folks these days put an asterisk on the end of trans (i.e., trans*) in order to emphasize its broad umbrella nature.
Thus, in practice, when someone says “cis people,” it is often unclear whether they are talking about cissexual or cisgender people. And this can lead to significant discrepancies, as there are far more cissexual people than cisgender people, and many cissexual people are in fact transgender!
This slippage in meanings between cis, cisgender, and cissexual is often acutely felt by people who are cissexual but who nevertheless fall under the transgender umbrella. Several friends of mine who identify as crossdressers, genderqueer, and/or intersex have told me that they feel uncomfortable with cis terminology because, on the one hand, they don’t want to deny the “cis privilege” they experience (by which they seem to mean cissexual privilege), but at the same time, they feel erased by the assumption that they are “cis people” (as they fall under the transgender umbrella). Still others who are cissexual and identify within the binary (and acknowledge those privileges), but have a history of being gender variant and participating in gender variant communities, have expressed unease with how the labels “cis” and “cisgender” seem to oversimplify their gendered histories.[9]
Admittedly, there are some people who clearly do not fall under the transgender umbrella (nor do they wish to) yet who reject the labels cis/cisgender and deny having cis/cisgender privileges. Such individuals will often cite definitions in which “cisgender” is described as being synonymous with being “gender conforming” or “gender normative,” and they will then point to various ways in which they are not especially conforming or normatively gendered. Thus, in their minds, they cannot be cis/cisgender, nor can they possibly possess cis/cisgender privilege. Because such claims seem to purposefully ignore how cis privileges play out in everyday life , it is easy to dismiss these arguments as examples of the knee-jerk denial that often accompanies discussions about privilege. However, while these claims may be misguided, it is worth recognizing that they are enabled by the same vagueness in the terms cis/cisgender that has also caused confusion and disillusion within transgender spectrum communities.
So to summarize: The terms “cis” and “cisgender” are often used ambiguously, and this is partly due to the fact they are defined in relation to the broad, open-ended, umbrella terms “trans” and “transgender,” which lack precise definitions or boundaries. This ambiguity has caused some concern within trans communities (regarding potential erasure of non-transsexual transgender identities) and confusion outside of trans communities (specifically, ostensibly cisgender people who misunderstand the purpose of this language and therefore reject it).
Rethinking gender-non-conformity and social legitimacyThere are a few things that we can do to help alleviate some of the aforementioned problems. For one thing, if we are specifically talking about privileges experienced by non-transsexuals, then perhaps it might be best to explicitly say “cissexual privilege” rather than “cis privilege.” And if we are talking more generally about privileges experienced by cisgender people, then maybe we should refer to them as “cisgender privileges” (plural), and make clear that these privileges can vary somewhat from person to person, both within the transgender umbrella and outside of it. Also, given that we (i.e., trans activists) often tout the diversity that exists within the transgender/trans/trans* umbrella, we should also keep in mind that diversity exists among cisgender/cis/cis* people as well, and that there is no clear-cut line that one can draw in the sand between these two groups.
Most importantly, we need to stress (both within trans communities and to the general public) that the primary purpose of the cis/trans distinction is not to simply describe differences in identity. Rather, its main purpose is to articulate differences in societal legitimacy. By this reasoning, what is significant about me being “trans” is not the fact that I have rejected my birth-assigned gender (as in a perfect world, that might not be particularly noteworthy), but the fact that my gender is deemed to be less socially legitimate than other people’s genders because of that fact. And cis people experience cis privileges, not because they are one hundred percent happy with their gender status or completely free from gender-based oppression, but because they do not face the same obstacles that I do as a trans person (as a result of their genders being deemed socially legitimate in ways that mine is not).[10]
I would argue that the terms transgender/trans/trans* are not especially suited for this task of discussing discrepancies in social legitimacy, as they are meant to be catch-all categories for people who in various ways “defy gender norms” or are “gender non-conforming.” And most people who are ostensibly cisgender can probably point to instances in their lives when they have defied certain gender norms and were criticized for it. I believe that it is in our best interest to encourage the cisgender majority to consider and express outrage over how gender norms negatively impact them, as such discussions are necessary if we want them to join us in a campaign to eliminate binary gender norms. But at the same time, not all gender norms are created equal. A man might wear a pink shirt, or a woman might choose not to shave her legs, and they may both receive negative comments from others. But they probably won’t get fired from their jobs, be accosted in public restrooms, have doctors refuse to treat them, or face transphobic violence on account of those acts. In other words, acts of gender-non-conformity may differ greatly in their social legitimacy (or lack thereof).
Given all this, perhaps a more advantageous way of discussing gender norms with regards to social legitimacy is to consider a three-tiered system rather than a cisgender/transgender dichotomy. These three groupings are not meant to define discreet classes of people, but rather three general tiers of social legitimacy.
Some people in our society are perceived as being gender conventional, in that they generally adhere to the accepted societal norms and expectations that are projected onto boys/men and girls/women in our culture. Because these individuals seemingly fall within those accepted parameters, their gender identities, expressions, and bodies are generally viewed as “normal” and legitimate. To be clear, this is not to say that such individuals are fully “gender privileged.” After all, while they experience certain privileges for being seen as conventionally gendered, they may simultaneously be delegitimized because they are a woman, or feminine, or because of the way their gender intersects with other forms of marginalization.
Other people might be perceived as being somewhat gender unconventional because they defy some of these norms. This group might include people whose body or build is somewhat atypical for their gender, as well as tomboyish women, flamboyant or effeminate men, or people who prefer unisex or androgynous fashions. It might also include people who espouse feminism, or who have interests or professions that are atypical for their gender. Maybe they engage in more extreme acts of gender-non-conformity, but only within certain socially sanctioned settings (e.g., while on a stage as part of an act or performance, or at costume- or role-play-themed events). Others may view such individuals as “odd” or “weird,” and they will certainly catch some flak for this. However, at the same time, these particular traits are also generally seen as being either a part of human variation (i.e., it is commonly accepted that some people will simply be that way) or as having more to do with politics, style, or social roles (which many people recognize as flexible and evolving over time). For this reason, gender unconventional people are generally seen as “outliers,” but are not viewed as constituting a pernicious threat to male and female gender categories or categorization. In other words, while they are not seen as entirely socially legitimate, they are usually considered to be socially acceptable or tolerable.
Still other traits are seen as belonging exclusively to one sex or another, or are considered to be determinative for gender categorization—examples may include primary and certain secondary sex characteristics, one’s gender identity, and the gender that one lives and presents as. When a person defies these norms, they are often viewed as downright gender transgressive.[11] So for instance, a man who wears a single item of feminine clothing may be seen as gender unconventional, whereas if they fully present as a woman with the intention of being read as female, then they will likely be deemed gender transgressive. A woman who wants to be on top during sex may be seen as gender unconventional, but if they always imagine themselves as having a penis during the act, they will likely be viewed as gender transgressive. Unlike gender unconventional traits (which are commonly viewed as “bending” gender norms), gender transgressive traits are often perceived as downright “breaking” the laws of gender. This explains why our society has historically condoned the punishment of gender transgressive people (e.g., via violence and dehumanizing acts, denying of legal rights, or ruining their lives in other ways), and why such individuals are often misconstrued as “deceivers” and “impersonators” (i.e., “criminals” guilty of the gender equivalent of “fraud”). Thus, gender transgressive traits are viewed as completely unacceptable and socially illegitimate.
At this point, a few crucial points about this model need to be made. First, to reiterate, these three tiers are not intended to represent identities (as I can assure you, I do not identify as “gender transgressive”—frankly, my gender feels rather mundane to me personally, having to live with it everyday). Rather, these tiers simply represent different ways in which gendered traits (and the people who possess them) may be perceived and treated by others. Second, these tiers are not intended to represent fixed and discrete classes. For instance, in certain times or places people might view the fact that I am transsexual as highly gender transgressive and punish me accordingly, whereas people in other times or places (e.g., communities that are largely trans aware, positive, or welcoming) that facet of my person may be seen as merely gender unconventional. Similarly, in more liberal or progressive settings, traits such as being a feminist or being in a same-sex relationship may be seen as ordinary and legitimate, whereas in more conservative settings (where especially rigid or fundamentalist ideas about gender predominate), these same traits might be considered to be transgressive and illegitimate.[12]
This model highlights numerous aspects of marginalization based on gender-non-conformity (and activism designed to challenge it) that are obscured by other models (e.g., a cisgender/transgender dichotomy). First, it accounts for the concerns of people who are viewed as gender unconventional—that is, it acknowledges that people who are ostensibly cis (yet gender unconventional) often face disapproval and penalties for their gender non-conformity—without trivializing the more extreme ramifications and punishments faced by many trans people (on the basis that we are perceived as gender transgressive).
It also helps to explain the slow arc of progression that activism often takes. Specifically, groups that are deemed transgressive (and dehumanized as a result) are not in a logistical position to claim that they are just as legitimate as the dominant majority, as such claims will not be taken seriously. Instead, such groups often have to make the case that they are merely unconventional, rather than a violation of the laws of society, morality, or nature. Upon reaching the status of being seen as merely unconventional (rather than transgressive), they can then more effectively work to completely eliminate the “convention” (in this case, the gender norm) that undermines them. This process involves convincing people that, while certain ways of being (e.g., with regard to gender) may be atypical or uncommon, they are nevertheless just as socially legitimate as more typical or common ways of being. Recognizing this progression may lead to an understanding that trans activism needs to be occurring on both of these “fronts” simultaneously, since individuals within a given population will likely differ in whether they view gender atypical people as transgressive, unconventional, or socially legitimate.[13]
Because gender unconventional people may be perceived as gender transgressive in certain contexts, and because trans people are slowly but increasingly being perceived as gender unconventional rather than gender transgressive, it is in all of our best interests to work together to challenge all binary gender norms, and to argue that all gender atypical traits should be considered socially legitimate. This is a cause that could unite numerous groups in addition to trans people, including many feminists, other LGBTQIA+ activists, other people who consider themselves to be gender unconventional in some way, and even gender conventional people who find gender norms to be restrictive or unfair. Indeed, this coalition is similar to the one that 1990’s era transgender activists attempted to build, although we seem to have gotten away from this strategy a bit in recent years (for understandable reasons that I will address in Part 2 of this series).
To be clear, I am not suggesting that we completely replace the cisgender/transgender dichotomy with the three-tiered system I have just described. Both are simply models that explain certain aspects of marginalization based on gender non-conformity. Each model is limited in its explanatory powers, and may be more useful in certain situations or contexts but not others. While the three-tiered model may be more likely to win over other activists—especially those who are gender unconventional but not transgender-identified—it is perhaps a bit too complicated to resonate with people who do not have an especially nuanced view of gender. And while I personally prefer activist approaches that focus on how individuals are differentially perceived and treated by society, history has repeatedly shown us that identity-based approaches (e.g., I am transgender, and transgender people are oppressed, whereas cisgender people do not face this oppression) invariably seem to garner the most momentum, both within marginalized communities and in persuading the dominant majority.
It should also be pointed out that many of the problems associated with the cisgender/transgender distinction that I detailed earlier stem not from the fact that this model is dichotomous (rather than three-tiered, or some other variation), but rather because of how it is employed. In the second essay in this series, I will discuss two common albeit different ways in which people tend to conceptualize and utilize the cisgender/transgender distinction, each of which arises from differing activist philosophies, and may lead to considerably different potential outcomes.
[note: I will link to the second part of this series as soon as it is published]
Notes:1. For instance, in the Preface to Transgender Warriors, Leslie Feinberg asked self-identified transgender activists of that era to list who they felt should be included under the transgender umbrella. The list included: “transsexuals, transgenders, transvestites, transgenderists, bigenders, drag queens, drag kings, cross-dressers, masculine women, feminine men, intersexuals…, androgynes, cross-genders, shape-shifters, passing women, passing men, gender-benders, gender-blenders, bearded women, and women body builders…” [Leslie Feinberg, Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to RuPaul (Beacon Press: Boston, 1996), p. x]. In Gender Outlaw, Kate Bornstein suggested that gay men and lesbians are excluded by society more for their breaking of gender codes than for their sexual practices, and for that reason, one could make the case that they are “transgendered” (although she quickly acknowledges that “this will offend everyone”) [Kate Bornstein, Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women, and the Rest of Us (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), p. 135].
2. Whipping Girl, pages 2-3.
3. I provide numerous examples of such claims, and thoroughly eviscerated this notion that transsexuals are inherently “conservative,” “assimilationist,” or “reinforce the gender system,” in Chapter 7 of Whipping Girl(“Pathological Science: Debunking Sexological and Sociological Models of Transgenderism,” pages 115-160) and Chapter 12 of Excluded (‘The Perversion of “The Personal is Political”,’ pages 110-137).
4. Here is why this discrepancy in experiences exists: The very notion that people either “defy” or “conform” to gender norms is anchored in the assumption that they belong to one sex (i.e., their assigned sex) while expressing themselves in ways that are more stereotypical of the other sex. Indeed, this is how many (albeit certainly not all) non-transsexual transgender spectrum people understand themselves. In contrast, transsexuals are typically misread as “misrepresenting” ourselves as members of the other sex. While I may understand myself to be a woman, others may interpret me as an “extremely effeminate man” or a “female impersonator.” This is why coming out as transsexual is often more fraught than coming out in other ways. After all, if someone comes out as a gay man, or a crossdresser, or a drag performer, other people will likely see them as they see themselves (i.e., as gay man, a crossdresser, a drag performer, respectively). In contrast, when I come out to people as transsexual, other people may misinterpret that as me confessing that I am “really a man” rather than recognizing that I have simply shared the truth that I am a woman of transsexual experience.
5.Whipping Girl, pp. 161-193. More recently, I discuss how cissexism functions in my second book Excluded, especially pp. 113-132.
6. Whipping Girl, page 20. A similar use of the term “cisgenderism” can be found in Y. Gavriel Ansara and Peter Hegarty, “Cisgenderism in psychology: pathologising and misgendering children from 1999 to 2008,” Psychology & Sexuality, Volume 3, Issue 2 (2012), pages 137-160. [http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/19419899.2011.576696#.UpJdPGQ6U2s] The term “genderism” is also sometimes used in a similar way.
7. Some might suggest that the cissexual/transsexual distinction is blurred by transsexuals who “pass” as cissexual. But as I argue in Whipping Girl, this is not actually the case: What these transsexuals experience is more accurately described as conditional cissexual privilege. It is conditional because they lose it as soon as they come out as, or are discovered to be, transsexual. Admittedly, the cissexual/transsexual distinction can become muddied when one retroactively views transsexual lives. For example, if someone consciously identifies as a man for many years before eventually coming to identify as a transsexual woman, did they experience cissexual privilege as a man in the past (since that's how they identified at the time)? Similar complications arise with regards to people who identify as transsexual for a period of their lives, but who later de-transition. The distinction can also get murky in those rare instances when people who are ostensibly cissexual live as members of the other sex, not because they identify as members of that sex, but for some other reason (e.g, to gain access to a gender-specific occupation or to write a bestselling book). In such cases, these individuals may face many of the same allegations that transsexuals do (e.g., of being “deceivers” or “impersonators”), although it comes without having their underlying gender identities invalidated in the process. Anyway, these exceptions aside, I believe that the cissexual/transsexual distinction is relatively sharp compared to the vague open-ended nature of transgender (which makes it impossible to precisely define cisgender) and the fact that different transgender subgroups are often perceived, interpreted, and treated quite differently from one another (which results in a multiplicity of cisgender privileges that are differentially experienced within transgender populations).
8. Of course, this can drastically change if people discover that I am transsexual, at which point they are likely to misperceive me as an especially gender transgressive “man” rather than as a relatively gender-conforming woman.
9. This is discussed in Helen Boyd, “Jeez Louise This Whole Cisgender Thing” [http://www.myhusbandbetty.com/2009/09/17/jeez-louise-this-whole-cisgender-thing/], en/Gender September 17, 2009, and A. Finn Enke, “The Education of Little Cis: Binary Gender and the Discipline of Opposing Bodies,” in The Transgender Studies Reader, Volume 2, eds. Susan Stryker and Aren Z. Aizura (Routledge Press: New York, 2012), pp. 234-247.
10. I discuss many of these privileges in Whipping Girl, pp. 161-193 and Excluded, pp. 113-132. I also highly recommend Hazel/Cedar Troost’s Cis Privilege Checklist [http://takesupspace.wordpress.com/cis-privilege-checklist/] for a thorough elucidation of such privileges as they play out in everyday life.
11. I appropriated this nomenclature from Kate Bornstein’s notion that some people are “transgressively gendered” (Bornstein, Gender Outlaw, p. 135), although I am using it in a somewhat different manner. To be clear, I am not insinuating that gender transgressive people are inherently transgressive or purposefully engaging in transgressions. Frankly, most of us just wake up every day and are being ourselves, just like everyone else. Rather, it is other people who view our genders as transgressive (because they believe that there are “gender laws,” and they perceive us as “breaking” those laws).
12. To be clear, I am not conflating gender and sexual orientation here. While members of a particular gender may vary in their sexual orientations (e.g., heterosexual, bisexual, homosexual, asexual), it is also true that there are societal gender norms regarding sexual attraction. According to these gender norms, a woman who partners with a man will be seen as gender conventional, whereas if she partners with a woman she may be viewed as gender unconventional or gender transgressive.
13. This helps explain certain disagreements that regularly occur within activist movements over what strategies will best serve the cause. For instance, the “we can’t help it, we’re just born this way” argument that many LGBTQIA+ people have forwarded can be quite effective in convincing people that our queerness or transness is merely unconventional rather than transgressive. Yet this same argument (which some may take as an admission that we represent biological “mistakes” or “anomalies”) can be a hindrance for those activists who are trying to make the case (often to a different audience) that we should be considered wholly socially legitimate rather than merely socially tolerable or accepted.
Here is another example: Back when I was first getting involved in trans activism in the early ’00s, one of the most common formats for raising awareness about trans people and issues was to conduct “transgender 101” workshops, wherein we discussed our lives, identities, and experiences. In other words, the implicit purpose of these workshops was to humanize trans people, and to convince others that while we may be “gender unconventional,” we are not “transgressive” (i.e., immoral, unnatural, deceptive). In the years since, I have heard many trans activists argue that we should be doing “cissexism 101” workshops rather than “transgender 101” workshops. While I agree in a general sense, I think that it is important to recognize that such campaigns have very different audiences and goals in mind. A “cissexism 101” workshop would encourage people to see trans people as just as socially legitimate as cis people, and while such work is vital, this particular approach might not be so effective on people who view us as downright “transgressive” and therefore unworthy of consideration in the first place.