By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
By Roy Edroso
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
By Zachary D. Roberts
Do trannies belong in the lesbian and gay movement? There's been a lot of skirmishing over that question, in such debates as whether antidiscrimination statutes should include "gender expression" or whether the creaky Michigan Womyn's Music Festival should admit male-to-female (MTF) transsexuals. Seeing how despised trannies are, hearing the familiar accusation that they're going "against nature," I've wanted to side with thembut I hadn't seen why they couldn't accept the bodies they'd been dealt, like the rest of us.
Don't we all wince at the gap between who we are inside and what shows up in the mirrorespecially past age 40? Didn't feminists and homos aim to open both "woman" and "man" to a wide range of possibilitiesmasculine, feminine, and in-betweenwithout surgical intervention? That's how I saw thingsbefore a revelatory conversation turned me around.
It seems unfair to discuss other people's bodies without exposing my own sex-and-gender story, which starts with a nightmare. I was an adolescent just beginning to have terrified inklings that I might be (oh God, no!) like Miss Olsen, the gym teacher. Suddenly in my closet there appeared an enormous hairy man dressed up in girls' clothes, menacing behind the louvered doors. I'd wake up petrified. Though obvious now, this nightmare took me years to decode: I was afraid I was not really a girl at all, but a man in disguise.
What stopped my nightmares was feminism. Feminism taught me that I had a woman's body, therefore I was a woman. It was an unspeakable relief to know that, no matter how confident my stride or how queer my desire, I am what woman looks like. That was true when I wore a baby-dyke buzz cut and got stopped at women's rest rooms; it was true when I was playing with girliness, wearing long dresses and letting men flirt with me at parties. I had a female body; all the rest was Play-Doh. The guy in my closet disappeared.
Then came the sex wars of the 1970s. As butch and femme lesbians explained that their look felt as "natural" to them as unisex overalls then did to me, I came to a new understanding of what's now called "transgendered." Slowly I saw that what defines you as queer has shifted across cultures and eras: Sometimes it's the sex you have, and sometimes it's the sex you appear to be. Many of us who are homoqueer, or queer in our sexual desires, are also at least a little genderqueermore butch or sissy than we're supposed to be. To many in my generation, homosexual desire feels like the most queer thing about us. But that's because we entered history at a post-Freudian moment when everyonenot just homoswas seen as defined by desire.
A century ago, the pansy was the real queer; macho men, whomever they fucked, remained normal guys. For lesbians as well, genderqueer (a masculine woman) has at times trumped homoqueer (a woman who has sex with a woman) as the defining stigmata. This model may be upon us again. As many gender-passable homos win a place at the Thanksgiving table, our genderqueered sibs are still beaten, fired, harassed, and murdered not for the sex they have but for the sex they appear to be.
Psychological researchers have found that one's understanding of gender is fixed somewhere between ages two and five, and rooted as profoundly as the sexual object of one's desire. Apparently, most people feel comfortable within some "natural" gender range, from which we select the elements of style that are read that way to our culture. Some of the more extreme elementsnose jobs, boob jobs, face-lifts, spending half one's life pumping ironstrike me as body hatred. Which is how I thought about transsexuality.
As a feminist, I could stand up for girls too butch or boys too fey. And I could almost understand MTF (male-to-female) trannies, since men so cruelly punish other men's gender deviation. We girls might be free to tromp around in Doc Martens with free-range leg hair, but let a boy wear a dress and he risks a trip to the ER, courtesy of his local masculinity patrol. That point of view was reinforced when many MTFs told me that, yes, if the culture allowed men more gender variety, the need for surgical intervention might dwindle.
But the recent wave of FTMs absolutely shocked me. These were butch dykes with full feminist politics who already could sleep with girls and dress like boys. Were they surrendering, late in life, to the idea that gender and sex had to match up? The idea of being a "man in a woman's body" seemed ludicrous and archaic. The whole point of my feminism is that I am a person in a woman's body; that what you feel inside is correct no matter what you have outside. What were they thinking?
So I asked. I asked a lot of people. I read a lot of things. Nothing helpeduntil I talked with Shannon Minter of the National Center for Lesbian Rights, who generously kept answering when I asked questions that were way too personal: "I did not transition because I think one must have a male body to do certain things or behave in certain ways. Not at all. I did it because I was miserable having a female body, and I'm so much happier having a masculine body. I prefer to have facial hair, more muscle mass, denser bones, rougher skin, no menstruation, no breasts, less body fat, a penis rather than a vagina, etc. The desire to have a differently sexed body is the essence of being transsexual. It is a very immediate, somatic, physical thing. It is the difference between living with a degree of unhappiness and misery I wouldn't wish on anybody, and feeling good."