Inclusion isn't inclusion if it stops at the bedroom
Aleisha Cuff / Vancouver / January 01, 2009
I'll admit I winced when someone handed me a copy of the Dec 4 edition of Xtra West. Two men in bed, not exactly groundbreaking news for an LGBT paper.
Then I saw the title of the piece splashed across the photo: "Shifting Desires: How Trans People are Reshaping Same-Sex Attractions." I winced again.
Truth be told I don't read Xtra West very often. That's not meant as a singular slight against the paper, I just don't do many LGBT community things anymore. I don't go to Pride parades, I haven't been to a bar in years, and I rarely go to any other mainstream LGBT event.
The reason I wince, and why I don't do these things anymore, is because I am a queer transsexual woman, and being a queer transsexual woman in Vancouver is, to put it mildly as I can, a difficult proposition.
There have been a great many words written about Kimberly Nixon v. Vancouver Rape Relief Society, and I don't have much to add to that. To begin a discussion of the relationship of trans women and Vancouver without acknowledging it, though, would be remiss.
The ripples from the ruling in that case (where a BC Supreme Court judge sided with Rape Relief that a trans woman is not a woman) are still being felt, and the implications for trans people and all minorities are still yet to be fully realized.
But I don't want to debate a court case, and I don't want to debate my identity. Having spent years involved in the trenches of these discussions I'm tired, and I don't think I'm going to change anyone's bias based on a good argument anyway.
I think, however, those biases will have a harder time if faced with stories about people. It's a great deal harder to hold essentialist beliefs about someone you know.
My path to being queer was in many ways extremely similar to the cisgendered women I've spoken to (cisgendered means those of you who aren't transsexuals. It's a mouthful, sure, but so was heterosexual when it started being used). I'd spent a number of years dating men, and was in a long-term relationship with a man when I realized the people I kept falling in love with were women.
With this realization came a range of emotions, but ultimately the strongest of these was trepidation —and the excitement of coming out and finding this part of myself was tempered with fear.
Although I'd been living in the straight world, I knew that Nancy Burkholder had been escorted off the land at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival in 1991 for being transsexual, and I had heard from queer trans women I knew that I should brace myself for shunning, exclusion and anger.
Whipping Girl, by American writer, trans activist and biologist Julia Serano, reads like a primer for a feminism that includes trans women. Her primary thesis deals with what she calls trans misogyny —a kind of misogyny perpetrated on trans women, but having far deeper implications. Serano argues, and I'd agree, that much of the anger and fear of trans women speaks to a deeper misogyny that is somehow legitimized when it is aimed at trans women.
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