Blood is not thicker than water.

Many times over the years of my life, I hear from time to time, that blood is thicker than water. I have always understood this to mean that the blood of family is a stronger tie, than the water of any other connection that is not family.

Well basically, this is just bullshit.

It’d be a nice thing if it wasn’t bullshit in a sense, that you could actually always count on your family standing in the gap for you. That you could know, no matter how much you get it wrong, how many times you make the same mistake that the love and care of your family would hold. And I suppose in some families it does, but I don’t believe it is anything like as common as what the neat little maxim of blood being thicker than water leads us to believe.

I made a choice to go non contact with my immediate family nearly 20 years ago. I can count on one hand the number of times I have had contact with them since. The blood in my family has never been thicker than water, not least when it has come to me personally.

My father, is a mean, nasty, abusive, angry, and horrible man. The decision to go no contact with him was not such a hard choice. What was difficult, was the resultant non contact with the remainder of my family my mother and two siblings. That was a lot tougher.

My mother, became in many respects very similar to my father, my relationships with my siblings were always fraught. I had hoped that somehow the remaining members of my family would somehow be able to compartmentalise and maintain some relationship with me without an expectation of relationship with the horrid human that is my father.

I was completely wrong about that. No contact with my father meant no contact with any of them. It’s something of an impossibility to unpack what is going on with that, all the whys and how’s and co-dependencies and everything that goes on with all that.

Going no contact was the absolute best thing I could do in the situation I was in for the preservation of my life, the preservation of my mental health and the ability to grow as a human and become a better human unfettered by the chains of connection with a toxic family.

The thing about no contact though, is it’s really real, and it does in fact really hurt. And life as we know it shoves in our face on many occasions throughout every year we exist that because of the choice we made we have to grieve that loss all over again.

Blood is not thicker than water, not a chance, but it is thick, and it does tie us strongly to a group of other humans, whether we like it or not.

Going no contact, the act itself was not that hard. It was in fact an easy choice to make, when that thing that happened, that thing that made it abundantly clear that the situation was irredeemable. That act of saying do not contact me again, that in itself was easy.

Over the approximately 20 years of no contact with these people I have learned a few things. One of them is that the grief of losing that family is relived again and again and again.

Every birthday.

Every Christmas.

Mothers Days

Fathers Days

Anniversaries

Weddings

Funerals.

And so the list could go on. It is as though the pain of the loss of a situation where blood really was thicker than water, rises itself up again every time one of these significant events occur. And these are just a few of the predictable situations, the situations you can be ready for, with an answer when asked about those situations by others.

The really had part, at least for me, is the unpredictable moments. That moment in a cafe or restaurant and looking over and seeing multiple generational gatherings of family who clearly care for and love each other.

Those situations where acquaintances and friends, are able to ask their family for help, when it comes to childcare, financial help, being there when you’re sick or injured.

Those situations where you see your friends receive cards and gifts randomly from their families.

Those situations where you see sisters having relationships that are healthy, supportive and mutually beneficial for each other.

Of course, one only looks in to these situations, as through a rose coloured glass, but what these situations tend to do, well for me at least, is to slap me again with the reality that my family is and was an experience of abuse and pain and that I don’t have what I see others have. That I never did.

In a sense, it is like re-experiencing a cycle of grief in a short compressed space of time on a regular basis.

It’s not the same as when a person physically dies, it would be presumptuous to think it was, it does have similarity, death and finality of a relationship, a connection and a shared future.

And so, yes, I do think it is a grief experience, and a grief experience that is reencountered often and with regularity. There’s a difference though, and I think that difference at least in some way, is the presence of hope.

Hope, hope for and hopes dashed. Time and again. Every. Single. Time.

When each birthday comes around, hope longed for that it could be different, that change could have occurred. But no every single time that hope is dashed and I plunge back into the grief swirling with images and memories of all the painful past, yet again.

Blood is thicker than water, it’s a nice ideal, but in reality it’s bullshit, a line used to keep people in line, to sell a lie that just because your related to someone you owe them more than someone you have chosen to develop a friendship, relationship, love for.

No blood is not thicker than water, and everytime I hear that line, it conjures up memories, images playing on the screen of my mind, not images of joy and fun and care and safety, but of trauma, pain, loss and realisation that this thing called family, that was supposed to protect and nurture and grow me into the best human I could be in every sense failed abysmally.

When people go no contact, they don’t do it lightly. It is a decision to protect themselves, to promote their wellbeing and growth, to escape toxic situations.

We don’t need to be told blood is thicker than water, we don’t need to be sold a false hope that maybe things could be healed. We do enough of that to ourselves on a regular basis.

When someone tells you they have gone no contact, just accept that it was a thing they needed to do. Don’t question it, criticise it or try to suggest it might just be for a little while and people change.

Really, just don’t. Accept that the person made that decision for very real reasons, and understand that it is an easy thing, it’s actually very fucking hard to see it through.

Autistic Pride Day.

It’s June 18 and right in the middle of LGBTQQIA+ month we have another special day. It’s autistic pride day. It’s important. We autistic people use this day to proclaim Pride. Pride not in that we have what is deemed a condition outlined in the bible of mental health conditions the DSM, but, in who we are as human persons.

Autistic Pride day, is a day we reclaim the word Autistic from being something that has negative connotations, we reclaim it is an identity. This is of course, extremely wrapped up in our belief we are in fact not broken, not sick, not wrong, not disordered but simply we are different not less.

Autistic Pride day, stands out in contrast to the pathology bound negative campaigns of Autism Awareness campaigns of April. Where people light up blue to raise awareness about us, because in their view there is something inherently wrong and broken about us. We are such a broken and terrible representation of humanity that people must be aware.

April is for many autistic people a month of horror. Due to our differences in social communication many of us maintain a lot of our connections via social media connections, and we are throughout April confronted continuously with ads and posts about being aware of us, Bewareness campaigns abound.

Thanks to the algorithms social media sites run our feeds are full of this type of post, we simply can’t escape it. Well, we can, by essentially cutting ourselves of of social media for the month, yet, even then, the print media, the television media, are rampant with stories about autism and how terrible it is.

April is a fresh level of hell for many a proud autistic person, and it feels like it lasts for a year. I couldn’t count the number of times I saw a post from an autistic friend asking ‘is April over yet?’

Autistic Pride day, stands in contrast to all of this. It’s where we declare ourselves just as complete and fully human as a allistic person is. It’s when we declare no we don’t have something, autistic is who and what we are.

We are proud, because yes we are different, but we are proud, because we understand why we are different, and that it is perfectly ok. This is not to pretend that we don’t have our own struggles, we do. It’s not to say our life is perfect, it isn’t. But that doesn’t detract from the reality that we are proud to be fully human autistic people just like others are proud to be fully allistic human people.

We claim the autistic moniker with pride, it provides us with answers, insight and understanding about ourselves, our relationships and interactions with others, and how and why life has often been something of an incomprehensible maze to negotiate, particularly prior to receiving a diagnosis.

Autistic Pride Day, it reminds us of all those ah ha moments we have been able to have since diagnosis. It’s a day we can reflect back and realise and understand why some things went wrong, or why we responded to situations in ways we did.

Throughout the year, we are autistic people are bombarded with a narrative around autism that is inherently negative. It is focused on causes and cures. It is impregnated with a sense of parents as martyrs just for parenting us. It is a narrative that is spoken, mostly, by non autistic voices talking about autism, as experts and consultants, and diagnosticians, and therapists and so on. They speak like they know what it is actually like when they in fact have, in most situations, zero lived experience of being autistic.

Throughout the year, a community of parents, who label themselves Autismmom and AutismDad post relentlessly to social media about how terrible it is to have an autistic child, they video their kids in distress and post it to facebook and YouTube and hope it goes viral.

The light relief to the horror of these autism parent communities is that whilst they claim their autismmommy title with claim they react with horror if you call their child autistic. No they’re not autistic they have autism, autism doesn’t define them, they are more than their autism.

Well duh. In a sense this is right, I’m left handed, but I am more than my left-handedness, I am a transgender lesbian woman, and I am more than my transness and lesbianness. I’m a runner, but I am more than just a runner.

And yet, autism does define us. It does so, because everything about me, my relationships, my work, my writing, my communication, my thoughts, my feelings, my everything is through a filter of being autistic.

I suppose it is like a filter that permeates everything I do, think, say and feel. It is not something I can put down. I don’t carry it around in a bag with me and so in a very real sense, yes I am defined by my autism.

It’s Autistic Pride Day, and it is with Pride that I proclaim myself Autistic. It is with Pride that I say I am different not less. It is pride that I say nothing about us without us. It’s autistic pride day and yes I am proud.

Because, for something like 40 years of my life I did believe I was broken, I walked this journey of life in a state of believing I was somehow wrong, broken, a failure and never able to amount to anything. I spent my time never understanding why it was that I always said the wrong thing, was the last one to pick up on the social cues in a situation, why it was I always got the social interaction so wrong that I ruined relationships.

Autistic Pride day, it allows me to say, no to all of that and to reclaim my life, all of it, my past, my present and my future as an autistic person and not a broken wrecked and doomed to fail person.

Autistic Pride Day, it exists, because we are proud.

Autistic Pride Day, we are proud because we are human just like you.

Autistic Pride Day, because:

We are Different Not Less!

Invoking the no true Scotsman… Nope!

All over the internet the logical fallacy referred to as the no true Scotsman defence is used as an excuse. It’s used in the guise of no true Christian more than one can imagine. And as a Christian person I get it, because I am so often dismayed at the hate, the bigotry, the nastiness, the frankly so non Christ like behaviour of those that claim the name of Christians.

All over the internet we see prominent Christians spreading hatred against all manor of minority groups, not least of which, the LGBTQIA+ community. In the name of Christianity, the horror of Orlando happened. In the name of Christianity, the Westborough baptist church exists. In the name of Christianity James Dobson declares transgender humans should be shot if found in the bathroom not of their assigned sex at birth.

A facebook page, known by the moniker Warrior for Christ, recently posted that anyone using the Facebook pride react or rainbows emoji would be immediately banned from the page.

It’s all so ugly, and frankly, antithetical to the message, ideals, and life that the human Jesus espoused and lived 2000 odd years ago in the land of the Fertile Crescent. There is nothing remotely Christian in the behaviour of these actions and attitudes espoused by these hateful individuals, churches, organisation and social media groups.

As such, the reflex action is to invoke the no true Scotsman defence, because my heart breaks at the subversion of the message of Christianity that has occurred in order to hold such attitudes. But that defence is not appropriate, not acceptable, and is a mere distraction from the issue.

Because here’s the thing, whether I like it or not, these horrendous people with their horrendous attitudes are true Christians. As difficult and depressing as it is to admit this fact, it is a fact no less. You see all that is required to be able to claim oneself a true Christian is to adhere to the text of Romans 10:9 – paraphrased as If you believe in your heart that Jesus is Lord and proclaim with your mouth that God raised him from the dead you will be saved.

You see to claim yourself a true Christian, as you can see, not much is actually required. There’s no list of rules and regulations, no bylaws, no rules to follow to be able to claim Christian status.

Oh yes, the Christian texts are full of rules, regulations and so on. But the thing is, adherence to them is not a requirement to be Christian.

Therefore, the no true Christian argument really is a complete fallacy of a defence.

I for one am sick and tired of seeing these people expel hate and bigotry. I am tired of the actual message of Jesus being diluted down by such hate and bigotry. I am sick and tired of having to be embarrassed by hateful people who claim the same faith that I do.

So whilst these people can’t be claimed to not be true Christians, what can be said is that they are completely out of touch with the actual teachings of Christ, and are not behaving as Jesus exhorted them to. They have not gotten insight and understanding in what the universal acceptance of God proclaimed by Jesus really means.

The life of Jesus, as we see it recorded in the Christian texts, shows a man, dedicated to justice, mercy, compassion, inclusion and love. A counter cultural teacher taking aim squarely at the established religions. We see a man, who when confronted with one who was shamed by the establishment and the general populace, sat down in the dust with them, spent time with them, and asked of others, if they were without sin, then they could cast a stone.

It is this reality, the reality of the way this man lived that directly led to his violent and horrible death on a Roman cross in the first century CE. Yes, prophetic speaking of these things are found in the words of the Bible, but it is not those words that led to the actual events happening, it was the life and work of Jesus.

I am sick and tired of bigots usurping the wonderful love, mercy, compassion and justice of the life of Jesus and tainting that into bigotry and hate.

In the prophet Micah, a question is proposed. What does the Lord require of me? The answer is simple, if one of the most difficult things any human could aspire to – To Do Justice, to Love Kindness and to walk humbly before their God.

The Jewish people have always considered themselves to be God’s special people, set apart, called to be Holy, because God is Holy. It’s right there in the Hebrew Bible. There can be no denying that. But what is often forgotten, and not talked about, is that always, scattered throughout that same Hebrew Bible, is the call for this set apart God’s special people to cater for and care for the outsider, the other. In the words of the time this was expressed as caring for the widow the stranger and the orphan. In effect, the other.

Jesus, the Palestinian Jewish man, lived a life that exemplified this. And he called his followers to do the same. Those of us that are Christian, because we believe in our hearts he is Lord and confess God raised him from the dead, should move beyond that simple maxim and aspire to live a life where we exude justice, mercy, compassion, care and love for our fellow human persons. Whether they share our faith or not, whether they share our gender identity or not, whether they share or sexuality or not.

Never did Jesus place a caveat on people being Christian in order to qualify for being treated with dignity, respect and justice. Indeed, Jesus, made it very clear that all, both the insider and the outsider should be treated with that dignity and respect.

When the rich young ruler came to Jesus to ask what he must do to be saved, Jesus declared, follow the commandments, the young man declared he had. Jesus replied, you lack one thing, give all your wealth to the poor and needy

Evidently, this was a hard word for the rich young ruler as he walked away in dismay as it was too hard a thing.

Elsewhere Jesus was asked what the most important commandment was, his reply was again a hard word, to love The Lord with everything you have, and to likewise love your neighbour as yourself. On this hangs all the law and all the prophets, he declared.

In the intimate gathering of Jesus and his 12 closest confidants, Jesus declared, a new commandment I give you, to love one another as I have loved you, by this shall all people know you are my disciples, that you have love one for another.

What this all means, I believe, is, that whilst these hateful bigoted horrible Christians can claim rightly they are Christian, they are but babes in their understanding of what that means.

Whilst I can not claim no true Christian as a defence, I can call into question their dedication to the emulation of the life and teaching of the one they claim to follow.

In the end, I am not embarrassed to be known as a follower of Jesus, I am not embarrassed to be one attempting to do justice, to love kindness and walk humbly before my God, and to love my neighbour as myself and to provide care for the widow the stranger and the orphan.

But I am embarrassed, horrified and angry that what my faith really means is so regularly and horribly subverted in the perpetuation of hatred and bigotry.

I suppose as it has been said, this Jesus, I like, not so much those who say they follow him.

Yes, I am a Christian, I follow the way of Jesus, or at least I try to. That most excellent of ways, mercy, justice and compassion.

It’s a good thing to be an ally…

Minority communities need allies, there is really no question about that. It’s a thing we need. I need allies that are neurotypical and non autistic when it comes to autistic issues, and I need allies that are not LGBTQIA+ when it comes to trans and sexuality issues.

This is not really news, but, the thing is, there are plenty of so-called allies out there who are actually pretty shit allies. They make their being allies, being all about all the wonderful good things they are doing to support people. This happens even to the point of claiming any blowback they receive for being an ally as oppression in it’s own right.

To be totally clear I am thankful to the allies I have, I appreciate their support, friendship, standing in the gap for me, whatever it is they do to support me.

To also be totally clear, that doesn’t make them a member of the oppressed community for which they are an ally. A good ally, a real ally, never makes it about themselves and what they may or may not go through in order to perform that role as an ally. To do so, is, well, it’s just really fucked up. It’s like saying you deserve something special just for doing the right thing.

My thinking about this in the last day or so has resulted from some discussions online where a so-called ally, appropriated the A in the LGBTQIA+ to mean ally. When they were corrected and told that no it doesn’t mean that at all but it refers to Asexual or ACE people. The response was to say no I and a number of others were totally wrong and to right out in their post in full words the acronym as they saw it “lesbian, gay, bi, trans, queer, intersex, allies”.

Myself and others, attempted what I thought to be a reasonably respectful response, that stated simply that no it really doesn’t mean that at all, it is a representative letter for Asexual people, and that allies are not an oppressed minority.

From here the thread kind of exploded, when the said so-called ally, provided us with a treatise of how “you people” should be thankful for all the shit they had to put up with for being a good ally. Essentially they made a several paragraph rant where they showed exactly why they were not a good ally at all. Why in fact they were all about themselves and that their acts of allyship were like good works for ‘those people’.

So without going in to it too much more, because others have written so much more and better than I on this issue. For me the big take away on this is just a couple of thoughts.

If being an ally becomes about the good things you do, the difficulties you encounter, and the blowback you receive, and you spend time telling the people you are supposed to be an ally to that you put up with these things for them, well you’re not being a good ally, you’re being a shit ally.

The second thought, is, that if you need to be seen as an ally, have status by being an ally, gain kudos as it were for being an ally, and that in doing so, your actions silence and erase the voices of those communities you are supposedly an ally for, then you’re not being a good ally, you’re being a shit ally.

Allies are really important. We wouldn’t be were we are in fighting and gaining equal rights if we didn’t have them. Good allies are brilliant and helpful to oppressed and minority groups of people.

If you want to be an ally, don’t be a shit ally and make it about you, be a good ally, and make it about equality, equity and justice. You could start by reading this piece

Allies are important, just don’t be a shit one, be a real one.

It’s not always about you but it might be.

I suspect most of us have heard that phrase, it’s not always about you. And for the most part, I believe it is mostly true. We humans have an amazing capacity to think it’s all about us, all of the time.

Thing is it’s not always about you at all, and I think when we scratch the surface of our consciousness we know in some way that this is absolutely the correct thing, that it isn’t always about us.

We know this, and yet, we act like it is about us, or we act like at least it might be about us.

Rationally, logically it makes sense to us that of all the billions of humans inhabiting the planet, there really only a relative few that have an interest in us and make what they are saying, doing, feeling etc, all about us. It makes perfect sense for us to say to ourselves that no it’s not all about you.

And then again…

As a trans person in transition, a different tilt is put on that whole phrase, and I think, it kind of becomes, more like; it’s probably not all about you, but it might be.

This isn’t because we are all narcissistic egomaniacs. To be sure, to engage in the act of transition, at least at some level, we do engage in some level of selfishness. Not a selfishness that says, well fuck you and everyone around me, but more a selfishness that gives rise to the internal strength to begin a journey that is going to be tough, scary, wonderful, creative, enlightening and, in a sense, never ending, but with an end in mind that is being the person we were born to be and not the caricature many of us feel we are living as prior to transition.

So yeah, we are in a sense selfish people, but not selfish for selfishness sake, but selfish so that the person we are is the best one can be and therefore can give the very best of ourselves to the world at large. Whether that be our families, our friends, our work or whatever. It’s as though, this selfishness needs to happen so we can in fact give of ourselves the best we can give.

It’s not all about me, no, but it might be. It’s kind of the question that I have to ask myself in so many situations now, not because I am being self absorbed so much as it is an act of personal safety and well being. Thinking about situations, they happen moment to moment.

That strange look the barrista gives you as you collect your morning coffee.

That whispered conversation at the next table in the restaraunt.

That group of ‘alpha male’ types you run past on the bike track.

That group of teenage girls who suddenly go quiet and then begin to giggle to themselves as you enter the room.

The gathering of men at the local laundromat.

That walk home in the dark along the footpaths that you walk during daylight hours.

That innocent greeting of mate, as you pass another runner on the trail.

Just a short list of situations that as a trans person, you can’t help but wonder if it is somehow all about you. Probably not you tell yourself, and mostly that’s correct too, it’s not. But the second half of the question must be considered.

But it might be.

And as we address that part of the question, but it might be, that’s when it kind of gets a bit scary, because, then it becomes, shit, what if it is. If it is, it gives rise to a wide array of thought patterns running through the brain.

Am I safe, oh fuck them, bloody transphobia, but am I safe, oh they’re just not used to seeing us, but am I safe, is my make up gone off, is my tuck showing, but am I safe.

Do you notice a theme here?

That’s right, it’s a constant, ever present thought, am I safe.

I am thankful I live in a social democracy and that on the whole it is mostly safe to be me. But that doesn’t mean it always is. And the reality is it’s not always the case for all trans people in modern progressive society. One only needs a cursory look at the statistics of the number of trans people murdered each year to realise that as fact.

So whilst we know it’s not about us most of the time, please be patient with us as we ask the full question of ourselves and the situations we find ourselves in. It’s not about us being self absorbed with everything about us. It’s just us wanting to be safe and free to inhabit this world we live in, with the same sense of safety that a cis person does.

Yeah, we know, it’s not always about us, but, it might be, and if we don’t check, if we don’t consider, if we don’t ask ourselves as examine the situation we may find ourselves in a situation that is not just uncomfortable and difficult but downright dangerous.

So please, cis sisters and brothers, be patient with us, understand that we just want to be safe and OK. We know it’s not all about us, but you know, that glance, or grimace, or look that you might not even see, yeah, that could be the difference between us being ok in a situation and being in actual physical danger.

Be patient with our hyper vigilance, be patient with our journey. Please, we know it’s not always about us, but it might be, and what if it is? Will you be there standing with us if it is?

Things that make you go hmmmm…

Life is full of coming out moments, and some coming outs are in stages and some are required to be repeated many times to many different people, and groups and it can be exhausting and it can make you go hmmm, maybe I should just have a great big sign on my forehead or something.

But, I think in fact these moments are important. They are important for us in knowing ourselves, and allowing ourselves to be known. Sure, it can be frustrating, it can be annoying, it can be scary and downright frightening but it is what it is.

This, though, is not what I want to talk about, and why I started that way, I am not 100% sure, perhaps it gives a starting point, a point at which this thing that I am going to talk about started to shift and change and started to make me go hmmm.

Reflection. Specifically, my reflection, that image that stares back at me from the mirror when I look at it. Transition has impacted it in physical ways, there is no denying that, when I look at images from a few months ago, I can see that there are definite physical changes to my face. But here’s the thing, and it’s a big thing!

Actually it’s a massive humongous thing. A thing that I never ever believed could be a thing. But it is a thing. And it’s kind of joyous.

I don’t hate the reflection that looks back at me anymore. It’s not ugly, disgusting, horrible and something I cringe as soon as I see it.

This is truly a remarkable thing. before coming out, before beginning transition and most certainly before commencing medical transition, it was always the case that I could only see myself, in terms of physical features as ugly and unattractive.

I suppose that over the years of living a life of pretence in the wrong gender, not suppose, but in fact, from time to time I was told I was attractive or cute. I could never ever believe it though. It was a compliment I couldn’t accept. No matter how much I thought I wanted to accept it I couldn’t because what I saw was only ever ugliness personified staring back at me.

It all stands to reason, I think, that I felt that way, that I percieved myself that way. It makes sense, that whilst living in a pretence, no matter how well I had myself fooled about that across my life that, there were always kind of bubbling up things that came out. My self perception of my physical features is one of them.

A fundamental change happened when I came out though. Suddenly, I didn’t see an ugly person staring back at me. I say suddenly, and it was suddenly, because there really was a sudden change that coincided with the moment of accepting myself that my gender was not what I had been pretending it had been.

It was nuanced though. It started, I suppose with, hmmm, that’s not so hideous after all, gradually it has morphed into a sense of looking in the mirror and seeing an image that I find pleasing. It’s not been instant, but it has been profound.

Interestingly, as that has changed and progressed, my ability to accept compliments about my appearance has too. It’s been like a parallel journey of acceptance. And this seems to run parallel with my growth in confidence as a woman, my strength in maintaining that I am a woman, my confidence in expressing being a woman, choosing how I express that, choosing how my femininity is shown, to both myself and the wider world.

Coming out is an act of courage, confidence, pride and acceptance of self. It is full of preconceptions that we lay on ourselves, it is full of scenarios we imagine that range from the wonderful to the terrible. I think though, well, for me anyway, it was a must do thing.

Living stealth, that was never going to be an option for me, as my self-image, and I have spoken of external physical stuff today, but it was just as much internal, was so fragile, so piled high with negativity, that to not come out would have eventually destroyed me. It nearly did so many times. It manifest in so many negative ways, many directed at myself, and many, I am ashamed to say, at those I loved.

Transition has played a massive role in my emerging and improving positive self image. It has from a number of perspectives, through experience, medications, self-understanding and acceptance, wrought a change within me, that has made me a better person.

It has made it possible for me to look into a mirror, to walk past a shop window and see my reflection, to try on an outfit in a dressing room and look in the mirror and, not just, not hate what I see, but to in fact like what I see.

Thanks to coming out, thanks to transition, thanks to acceptance, I have been able to move through self-hatred and begin to discover self-love.

Coming out as trans is a thing that makes me go hmmm.

Each letter has its reason for being.

Its Pride month, it’s somewhat hard to miss that that’s the case. Though here in the cold beginnings of a Melbourne winter most of what I am seeing is on the other side of the globe. But no matter, I am living my Pride through the eyes of my LGBTQIA+ friends and allies.

I was talking with one of my friends over the weekend and both of us, we both did it, stumbled over our acronym, and yes, it can feel at times cumbersome, and it can feel a bit like an alphabet soup. But each one of those letters are important, each one of them represent struggle for survival, tolerance, acceptance and celebration.

I try to always ensure to type out or say the full acronym as I know it, and I try to always put a plus sign at the end of it. It is, in my view, utterly important that all of those letters are included, and that the potential for new ones to be added is just as important.

In adopting an acronym as a short hand way of referring to our communties that by its nature has each letter representing a particular minority, then it is an imperative that each of the minorities has a letter. One does not have to look too hard to see that even within our own communities particular elements have been erased and silenced in the narrative.

The erasure of trans women from the stories of Stonewall is a prime example. The lack of acceptance for bi people another. The common dropping of the Q the I and the A yet another example.

It’s a mistake to think that we are just one homogenous group of people thrown together through oppression. Yes, we have been grouped together through oppression, but we aren’t a homogenous group, we are a bunch of groups, that have some things in common, mostly that society has oppressed us, sidelined us, abused us, discounted us, they have labelled us abominations and likened us to being of the devil.

A lot has changed since Stonewall. A lot of progress has been made, and we must celebrate it. As wonderful as it is to celebrate it we must not forget that we have much more to keep striving for. The recent happenings in Chechnya starkly and horrendously remind us.

Each of us, represented by one of those letters in that cumbersome acronym still have struggles to win, acceptance to find, and bigotry to face. We must resist the urge to do away with one part of the acronym, as that, is like doing away with the minorities that part of the acronym represent.

Sure it can be easier to just use a shorthand, I get that, but when we do, we turn down the volume on the parts of the LGBTQIA+ struggles for equality and justice when we do so.

I don’t think this is just my imagination, in recent times, we have seen arguments that fighting the so-called bathroom bills is not central to the LGBTIQA+’s mission.

Let’s stop for just a moment and think about that, because, when you do, what you are saying is, that the safety and rights of transgender and gender divergent people is not as important as an aspect of pursuits for justice under that wonderful rainbow acronym.

Sure, it’s true, the acronym is cumbersome, and it seems to get more cumbersome, but it must be allowed to evolve and we must use it in full, because when we start to abbrevieate it further, how do you decide which minority groups are important enough to be part of it and which are not. And if that becomes a thing, then it’s justice and equality that suffers.

I’m fortunate in a sense, that as a lesbian trans woman, generally, I don’t get cut out of the acronym. Yes there has been erasure and transwashing out of the history of the movement, but generally the shortening includes my identity, my reality.

But what of those that don’t. It is simply not good enough for us to think it’s ok to not make sure that Intersex, Asexual oriented are simply dropped. It’s damn well hard enough for asexual people to get the heteronormative pe0ple to understand that they exist, that their orientation is a thing. Intersex people have suffered greatly and continue to do so at the hands of the medical profession in the name of the gender binary, as long as by parents agreeing and pursuing that agenda.

We can’t we mustn’t forget them. And those that identify as Queer because those other letters in the acronym don’t quite fit, and those that are questioning, they haven’t worked it out yet, but they know, as we all know, that they don’t fit the heteronormative social construct.

Each and every letter in our acronym should stand, should stand with equal weight, and the very acronym itself must continue to be open to growing. And so what if it is cumbersome, and so what if those against us think it is ridiculous — they’re going to think that however we choose to define ourselves.

We must deal with the fact that it can be at times cumbersome and clumsy to say or write our acronym, but deal with it and get on with it we must.

We have to be better than them, it may not be fair but it is what it is.

We who are LGBTQIA+ are often on the end of some people trying to make a point. They make that point by othering us, by demonising us, essentially be depersonalising and negating our humanity.

But, as we all know we are of course, complete and wonderful human persons. Just as those that sling names and cast sharp pithy barbs at us. There is something to be said in critiquing these people, calling them out for the falsity, the wrongness, the bigotry and so forth, and this should definitely done.

Over the last week or so, there has been a bit of a frenzy building here in Australia. It concerns a famous Australian sportsperson, in fact the only person to hold more major titles than Serena Williams in womens Tennis. Margaret Court spoke out, she spoke out in a very public way. An open letter in one of the major weekend newspapers.

Her letter was to tell the Australian people that she was wherever possible, boycotting our iconic airline Qantas. Her reasoning was simple as it was bigoted. Alan Joyce’s public support for marriage equality in this country.

Margaret was, widely pilloried and critiqued. Calls were made for the renaming of a stadium at Melbourne Park, The Maragaret Court Arena, named, obviously, in her honour.

The outcry, as it is in this world of fast news cycles and internet publishing and of course tabloid TV. It was something of a pile on. And whilst her words must be resisted, must be critiqued, must be called out. The way we do so, I believe, must be better than how it is done to us.

Let us not become the very monsters that attack us.

Margaret then went on to do an interview with a prime time show called The Project. She came armed with minimal facts and lots of bigoted statements and spurious claims. She did not like being challenged on her stance and claimed she was now being bullied and persecuted for her Christian views.

https://youtu.be/0tYDysOus-4 – The Project Interview

As you would expect the internet kind of exploded at this point.

The unfortunate thing, for all of us that want to rightly critique and call out her bigotry is that, we do best when we do it in a way that doesn’t enable the bigot to claim victim status.

Margaret has done this, and to an extent she has become the victim. Instead of talking about the issues, we are all talking about Margaret and whether or not she was being fairly or unfairly treated.

To be clear, I don’t believe for a minute she is being badly treated in this matter. She has made horrendous claims, likening us to everything from Communism, Nazism through to ‘all the devil’. Not for a minute should we allow such bigotry to stand.

It’s clear for anyone who has thought for even a moment about privilege that Margaret’s claims of bullying and so forth are nothing more, when it comes down to it, than complaining one’s privilege has been called out, our been asked to be checked.

But here’s the thing, the bigots, those that want to continue to other us, to discredit us, to label us abominations, to dehumanise us, well, they hear her claims of bullying and persecution, they hear them and they rally around them and they scream about it loudly and suddenly, we the actual victims are forgotten and person saying the repulsive things about us become the victim, at least in many eyes of segments of the public.

We know she’s not a victim. We know she has multiple layers of privilege and we exist and eek out our living through multiple levels of intersectionality and lack of privilege. We know this. But that’s not the thing at stake here, it’s more about the fact that everyone has forgotten about the horrendous things she is saying and spreading and turned to worrying about how she is being treated, and whether or not a damn tennis stadium should be renamed.

So, I think, we have to be better than her. We have to respond to her words with reasoned and logical critique and dialogue. We don’t pile on her, we don’t give her any grounds whatsoever to claim any kind of bullying or persecution, regardless of how ridiculous the idea itself is.

What is more powerful, than piling on Margaret, is the contest of ideas, the calling out of her words. The reminding of the public of the ideas she professes, and in the case of Margaret, she has form of saying bigoted things over decades.

Let’s be better, let’s be more human, more reasonable, more inclusive, more everything that enhances and builds up the human condition and not what breaks it down, divides it and others it.

Another accomplished Australian Cate Macgreggor has spoken about this issue, and I think she makes some cogent and important points.

I encourage you to watch it here.

In the end it can be the easy option to yell and scream about these horrendously bigoted things, and there is a place for that at times too, but sometimes, we just have to be better than the bigots are.

This morning I watch this video

“Femininity”

When you look at it, it looks like just a word — and yet it’s so much more. It is, to me anyway, power in and of itself. I ran from it, repressed it, feared it and denied it pretty successfully for something over 40 years.

And yet, its power ultimately pulled me in.

I am a child of 1970, when being trans was deeply pathologized and often considered dangerous to your health.

I am a child of a conservative Christian upbringing where being trans was seen as some kind of abomination, even a personification of evil.

I’m also a child of humanity. And being that child of humanity, eventually the humanity of who I was caught up to me. The deep repression of my true self was peeled away, and the woman I am began to be exposed.

In some senses, it was like a peeling off the layers of an onion to find my womanhood and femininity at the center. It was something like dropping an egg on a hard floor, where suddenly I was exposed.

I think it is intensely important for each of us to find our own balance of femininity and masculinity. Because what is right for me may not be right for others. It might be in the ball park, and then it might be nothing like it.

Whether or not a woman displays more or less femininity is not the power of it at all, though. No, it’s far more primal than that. The power of femininity is in its wearer owning it.

When I came out as trans, the idea of my femininity was in so many ways a new and dangerous concept. I think at some level, I had it in my head that I was less feminine and perhaps closer to an agender or non-binary identity. But I was surprised.

Femininity snuck up on me. I put on makeup, ostensibly to hide my shadow. But it was more powerful than just hiding this part of myself: it was also joyous. Putting this product on myself and seeing femininity shine through…it was powerful.

It snuck up in clothes, in my choosing them and wearing them.

Dresses, skirts, stockings — they all powerfully impacted me and made me feel more feminine than I ever thought possible. Feminine clothing continues to make me feel free and powerful and more womanly than I ever thought possible.

I suppose in a sense, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe the empowerment I find in femininity is in direct contrast to the powerlessness I felt in the repressions, the denial, and the shame of my identity, and the bullying and taunts of childhood.

Feeling, knowing, experiencing and making space for femininity is where I find my strength. In a way, it is my superpower.

An Open Letter to Margaret Court

Dear Margaret,

It is with a heavy and aching heart that I write. But write, I must, I am compelled to, after your public decision to boycott an airline for bigoted reasoning, your doubling down that bigotry on national television, and now I see you trippling down with claims of ‘Tennis full of Lesbians’ and Transgender human persons being ‘all the devil’.

Margaret, let me say, right from the outset, that I believe you have lost the heart and soul of what it was that Jesus, whom you claim to represent, was actually all about. Your doubling down on your views and your claims of persecution and bullying are more akin to the pharisees and saducees than to Jesus.

I’ve just read this on Buzzfeed site, and I am truly appalled Margaret, at not just your bigotry but your sense of what good and evil are. Somehow Margaret, in your mind, a transgender person, simply for existing, is ‘all the devil’.

Wow, Margaret, I wonder how it is you reconcile Bible verses such as Micah 6:8 with such the stance you have taken. I wonder how boycotting an airline is in any way in line with loving kindness, doing justice and walking humbly before your God. I’m sorry Margaret, but it simply doesn’t square away.

If, by chance, Margaret, you read these words, Margaret, you may wonder who I am to say such things. Of course, Margaret, you have that right. I’m nobody much, just one of those ‘all the devil’ transgender people that have a moderate ability to string a few words together and make use of a social media platform here at Medium.

Of course, though, Margaret, I’m more than that. Much more. I’m a human being, and not ‘all the devil at all’. Let me tell you a little about me, Margaret. Let me share with you a little of my history with you.

I am, Margaret the product of what you say is the only valid expression of marriage. Born of a good Christian marriage. I hail, Margaret, from a long line of good Christian heritage. My mother, born as a child of a missionaries on mission at Roper River in the Northern Territory, she grew up with her parents, working as foster parents to indigenous boys in service of the organisation Bush Church Aid. My grandparents, were good people, they believed they were doing the right thing, encouraging assimilation of the indigenous.

My Grandmother, during her life of 90 plus years never ceased to desire to bring the love of God to all she came into contact with. My heritage Margaret, is dripping with Christian service.

But you know, Margaret, non of that made any difference to who I am. The fact that my family have a long linage of Christian service was not a factor in who I am, a transgender woman, and certainly not, ‘all the devil’.

You see Margaret, I call Jesus Lord also. Yes, Margaret, what you call ‘all the devil’ can in fact be your sister in the faith. But, Margaret, I sense you’ve lost sight of what it was our Lord was actually on about.

Margaret, I wonder, if you recall, what it was, the Jesus said when asked what the greatest commandment was? Do you recall that Margaret? Because I do, I will sumarise for you, essentially, Margaret, Jesus said to take all you have within you and, get it all together and use it to Love The Lord your God.

Of course, Margaret, Jesus didn’t stop there, though, did he Margaret, or have you forgotten. I would be surprised if you had Margaret, I mean, as you’re a pastor and all. No he didn’t stop there, did he Margaret, no he said love our neighbour as ourselves.

On this, Margaret, Jesus said, hang all the law and the prophets. So when it all comes down to it Margaret, in the mind of the man Jesus who walked those dusty streets of Palestine all those years ago, loving God and loving others.

Jesus, was pretty clear Margaret, he even made sure we could be clear about who our neighbour was. Do you remember the story Margaret, in our good churchy circles, we call it the parable of the good samaritan. You remember the Samaritans, don’t you Margaret? In case you don’t they were kind of the ancient equivalent of the LGBTQIA+ communities. They were the hated, the despised. They were the types people like you Margaret, have shown, would cross the street to avoid.

But if you recall Margaret, it was in fact ‘the good samaritan’ that Jesus used to show what it was to love your neighbour.

It’s not that difficult, you know Margaret, to see what Jesus was all about. He really was all about, treating people with dignity and respect as human persons. I mean, when the woman caught in adultery was brought before him for judgment, he showed compassion, he called on those accusers to examine themselves.

Oh, and Margaret, being reminded of your privilege is not the same as bullying and persecution. When the community you declare are not worthy of the same rights as you enjoy respond to you with criticism and counter argument, that’s not bullying Margaret, that’s actually called debate, argument, and sometimes it can even be a respectful dialogue.

But back to me Margaret, and my lovely Christian heritage. That heritage, Margaret, that heritage that should have ensured I grew up knowing I was loved by God, and his church, well, it didn’t quite happen that way Margaret. What actually happened, was that I was raped, bashed, thrown around and ridiculed by those good Christian parents.

You see, Margaret, humanity has this thing we call free will. It’s a bit of a tricky thing that free will. It places upon each and every one of us, the responsibility for our actions. So even though the actions of my parents against me would be more accurately described as ‘all the devil’ than my gender identity would be, it’s still wrong.

No Margaret, it’s not all of the devil, and you know what, Margaret, that Bible you keep trying touting as saying certain things, that you keep kind of trying to defend, you know what Margaret, it doesn’t need defending by you, it needs reading by you, because the clarity you claim is there when it comes to marriage equality, transgender issues and so on, you’re right, it really is clear. It’s clear that, crystal clear, from that very Bible you try to bash us over the head with, yes, crystal clear, Margaret, that who a person loves, is of far less consequence to God, than the quality and outworking of that love.

Margaret, the place of safety and sustenance for the stranger the widow and the orphan, was always assured under the law and the prophets of the Bible. And it was certainly reaffirmed in both the actions and words of Jesus, Margaret, but just in case, Margaret, let’s just remind ourselves of them again.

Jesus said, Margaret, to Love the Lord you God, with all of your heart and soul and mind, Margaret. Jesus said, Margaret, A new commandment I give you, that you love one another as I have loved you, and that by this shall all people know you are my disciples.

And how did Jesus love Margaret? Well, I’ll give you a hint Margaret, it involved standing up for and not against those that where considered, undesirable, dirty, sick, evil and outside of faith. Jesus’ love Margaret, was not shown in avoiding those others, those outsiders, those undesirables, but in going in and eating in their homes, bringing them into the wedding banquet.

That was how Jesus showed his love, Margaret, remember, that love, Margaret, it cost him quite a lot, you do remember, Margaret, what it cost him don’t you. Just in case you don’t Margaret, I’ll give you a hint, it involved A Roman cross, iron spikes, whips, fists, and death.

Margaret, please, if you really want to show your allegiance for Jesus, please, show us your love, Margaret, show us your love instead of your hate and disdain.