Republican state lawmakers famously supported marriage equality in 2011 at the urging of Gov. Andrew Cuomo, despite the heated atmosphere and vocal opposition. Curiously, the same has not been true of trans* equality, even though:

• Public support for GENDA (78 percent in a 2008 survey) is at least 20 percentage points higher than for marriage equality in 2011.


• Trans inequality costs the state money - up to $7 million annually according to a recent study.


• There is no religious text opposing trans* rights, as many claimed there was with marriage equality. In fact, nearly 600 religious leaders actively support GENDA.


• Scores of women's and anti-violence groups support GENDA, including the National Organization for Women, the Women's Bar Association of the State of New York, the League of Women Voters of New York State, New York State Coalition Against Sexual Assault, Family Planning Advocates of New York State, New York City Alliance Against Sexual Assault, and more.


• GENDA has broad union support, including the AFL-CIO, the CSEA, and NYSUT.


• The discrimination and disadvantages faced by trans* people every day is far more rampant and directly destructive than those facing marriage inequality.

Where is Cuomo when there's an open-and-shut bill with widespread public, professional, and religious support that would outlaw discrimination against one of the state's most marginalized and at-risk communities? Why isn't Cuomo -- and Bloomberg, too, for that matter -- using his influence with lawmakers like he did with marriage equality? GENDA isn't about the right to share employment benefits and hospital visitation rights, it's about people being able to get jobs at all, it's about people being able to get into a hospital for treatment in the first place (17 percent of trans* New Yorkers are flat-out denied medical care).

Could it be that the support for marriage equality was really all about those wealthy gay campaign donors, and not about helping people at all? We trans* folks don't have that kind of economic firepower. The only thing we have going for our cause is that it's indubitably the right thing to do. Sadly, that doesn't seem to be enough for politicians anymore.

If Gov. Cuomo is devoted to progressive causes -- to fighting injustice -- he'd be doing more than just having his office parrot "The governor supports the bill" when questioned. Sorry, but the word "support" denotes action. The governor supported marriage equality. He does not support GENDA. He nods and smiles at GENDA. He gives it lip service. He does nothing.

If Gov. Cuomo is an ally of our community, as he says he is, then why is he so blatantly ignoring the T in LGBT? He says he'll be remembered for guns and marriage, but if he's not careful, he'll also be remembered for leaving trans* New Yorkers out in the cold. Again.

Because the theory of grassroots mobilization is easier to talk about vaguely in print than put into practice, and because I want to give anyone reading this (my fellow trans* people especially) some rudimentary tools and instructions to actually go organize and get some shit done, let's talk nuts and bolts.

These basic instructions are by no means exhaustive and problem-free. Sprawling tomes are written every year about organizing and advocacy, but with the few words I have in a space like this, I thought it would be good and productive to sketch out some guidelines. Besides, no matter how much research and reading you do, there will always be unavoidable problems. Solving them has more to do with inspiration, motivation, cooperation, and gruntwork than intimate knowledge of the organizational histories of labor and social movements.

So, no more of Part I's rhetorical academic onanism. No more Foucault. How do we create communities, coalesce, organize, and act effectively?

A lot of times, the first few seemingly fruitless interactions just lay the rails for future advancement. I can't tell you how many times I've looked back on my life and thought: "I was pissed and disappointed I went to that event at the time, but because I did, I met Person X, who then invited me to that party where I met Person Y, who was a writer for the local newspaper and ended up doing a story on our cause, and then Person Y later introduced me to Person Z who helped organize that meeting with the police chief."

Honestly, stuff like that happens all the time because I'm constantly going to events. Sometimes it feels like my fondness for alcohol and bars (both queer and straight) is both a smart career move and a radically savvy political strategy.

2. Hitting critical mass. As you invite more friends along to these events, parties, discussions, gatherings, or barhopping outings, they'll eventually hit a certain size; that's when it's time to organize. After hitting these social circuits for a while and forming some connections and close friendships, you'll get a feel for people's interests and be able to identify a core of queers and allies interested in social justice. During the formation of these connections, have some conversations about politics. Air some opinions on state and national issues, as well as the unmet needs of your local community that aren't necessarily even political. Naturally, some people will be more informed and opinionated on certain things than others. That's OK. Diversity of knowledge and experience is actually a good thing. Try to identify some common problems that people bring up.

If you already have a critical mass of friends and acquaintances who are interested in this stuff, congratulations! You can start at step 3, which makes things a bit easier.

3. Formation and identifying the mission. If there are queer/trans*/women's/social justice groups in your area already, evaluate whether they're specifically tackling the problems and needs you and your peers are identifying, or if this work is only one part of a broader mission. Evaluate if these groups are working on behalf of your oppressed community, or if they're mobilizing and empowering your oppressed community to lead the fight itself. Try to discern whether forming a new group would needlessly duplicate existing efforts or justifiably address unmet needs.

If and when you decide to actually form a group: promise food, at least for the first few meetings. I'm not kidding -- it's necessary. Even passionate friends and acquaintances can be prone to apathy and lethargy. Free food will get asses off couches. Promise food and they will come.

Many groups come together because of a prominent issue (HIV, marriage equality, sexual violence), but a singular, specific issue isn't always the motivating factor, nor does it have to be. In fact, member participation will likely yield an array of gripes and shortcomings. Don't be intimidated by the undoubtedly long list of problem areas. After taking stock of your numbers, time and resources, whittle the list down to problems the group believes it's able to tackle and prioritize them through discussion. It's still worth maintaining awareness of problems beyond your scope, though, to give your efforts context, and just in case you run into a person or group that can tackle them but needs to be persuaded to do so. (Sidenote: Hone those persuasion skills. More on that later.)

4. Process and leadership. There are many ways to do this and many opinions on which way is best. Part I of this essay makes clear my belief that participatory democracy is the best choice, as well as the reasons for why. To reiterate: Your means must reflect your ends. If your goal is trans* justice and empowerment across lines of race and class, then it should be evident that your leadership (especially), membership, decision-making process, and actions are part of that solution. This is not to say that you shouldn't welcome allies, but if you find the group you've gathered is all middle-class white people of a certain age, well then, repeat step 1.

Through an always-respectful participatory format and diverse membership, the most pressing needs and goals for the community can be identified, along with the strengths, weaknesses, resources, and personal connections of each member. The contributions of those members can then be focused on those strengths and optimized for the benefit of the greater group. Members should specifically discuss who they know in positions of political or community leadership. Who you know can help a lot. (Shocker, I know.)

You will need some sort of leadership or guidance, people who are willing (eager, if possible) to do the organizing, outreach and facilitation. Y'know, the gruntwork. Any power that these leaders have must be channeled into those gruntwork efforts, and not into decisions, judgments, and dictating actions. Leaders should be constantly encouraging other members to talk through the issues, share their opinions, and arrive at consensus. They should repeatedly stress respect for others in the discussion as a guiding principle of discourse.

Leaders should ideally put their opinions or recommendations last, if they're required at all. When in doubt, leaders can just stick with posing questions: "What does everyone think about this?" "Is this something we can or should take action on?" "What are some ways we can raise the visibility of this issue?" "Do we want to talk about this issue next time and move on for now, or should we try to hash it out at this meeting?"

Whatever the group's goals -- be they political or setting up a community support group -- members will have to reach out to others, both inside and outside the group, and do some persuading. Persuasion is a delicate art, and very different than arguing and debating. The goal of debate is the intellectual beatdown of one's opponent. This tends to be the default method of discussion these days, particularly in cases of disagreement. Our inner voices egg us on, saying, "They're wrong. They're so wrong. How can they not feel bad about how wrong they are? Make them see how wrong they are, and make them feel bad about it." Of course, good luck getting them to admit that they're wrong and change their mind. It just doesn't happen.

Persuasion, on the other hand, is gently guiding someone through a subject with leading questions and probing comments until they eventually come to see that your ideas fit their position all along. The only way to learn how to do this is to jump in and start doing it.

5. Growth, perpetuation and structure. The beauty of participatory democracy is that when everyone feels like their voice is heard and contributes to the decisions that are made, members feel they have a stake in the group's existence and success. They feel responsible for it. They identify with it when socializing with others out in the world, and they become natural recruiters for new members. The group becomes part of the community, and this ensures its continued existence.

A group might have a couple well-organized or charismatic leaders who are able to get a lot of work done and achieve the group's goals largely on their own. However, when those leaders have to leave the group or step down because their term is up or because of unforeseen circumstances like illness, relocation, a new job, burnout, etc., instability and chaos will threaten its existence. This is why member participation and group decision-making is so important. When everyone has a stake in the group, others will not hesitate to step up and fill a void.

This also is why leadership posts must turn over with regularity. The more people who can have a turn in a leadership role, the more responsibility they will feel for the group's perpetuation. Term limits are essential. Perhaps members could be allowed to run and serve as leaders more than once, but continuous, back-to-back terms risk imbuing certain people with more power and sway while leaving others feeling marginalized or disempowered. As for how to determine leadership, well, survey the group and ask how they want to do it (nominations, volunteering, open voting, private ballot...). After all, decisions should be made through consensus.

When and if groups reach a certain size, setting up committee structures for specific projects and steering the aim of the group as a whole is much more efficient than trying to pack everyone in and talk through all the issues in general, full group meetings. Forming committees also provides a chance for more members to take leadership roles in each of those subsets, which, as just mentioned, promotes perpetuation. The discussions and acts of these committees should be accessible to other members who might be interested, and should be transparently presented to the larger group with some regularity as well, so everyone feels informed and can contribute if they so desire.

6. Troubleshooting. There will be problems. There will be frustration when progress seems slow or unmeasurable. There won't always be consensus. Not everyone's views will always be met exactly. When this happens, stress respect for each other's perspectives. Be patient and don't react rashly. No one should discount the value of dissent. Dissenting opinions often get the group to examine subjects from unforeseen angles, broaden everyone's awareness, and often result in strategic compromise.

If after much deliberation it's apparent that the group cannot reach full consensus, explore whether members can pursue multiple methods without too much ideological conflict. For example, if the goal is as general as increasing trans* visibility and people differ on the best ways to achieve that, there might be space for two or more camps to work on their own methods or projects. If the goal is specific language in a public policy, however, there might not be. You can't please all of the people all of the time. Some members will be willing to accept that and realize that their opinion might prevail the next time around, while others will feel sidelined. If people are consistently at odds with the prevailing opinion, they might choose, justifiably, to leave the group. Allow them to do this with respect, and always be open to their return if they've also shown a commitment to respect and cooperation. If they haven't exhibited respect and cooperation, the best interest for the group's continued functioning, regrettably, must come first.

The last thing I'll say in this oh-so-brief primer is this: do not forgot to allow time to focus on the positives and have some fun, instead of always casting critical eyes on areas that need improvement. Celebrate your victories. Seeing that you made a difference is rewarding, but it's those few chances we get to truly celebrate those victories and congratulate and thank each other for the efforts we put in that keep people passionate, fulfilled and eager to keep fighting.

You can do this. It's not easy, but it's also not impossible. It's work, but it's good work.

A short, short list of highly recommended reading.

1. "From The Bottom Up: Strategies and Practices for Membership-Based Organizations" by Sylvia Rivera Law Project

2. "Normal Life: Administrative Violence, Critical Trans Politics and the Limits of Law" by Dean Spade

3. "Freedom Is An Endless Meeting: Democracy in American Social Movements" by Francesca Polletta

4. "The Revolution Will Not Be Funded: Beyond the Non-Profit Industrial Complex" by INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence

Perhaps one of the "technologies" most fundamental to reasserting control of our life choices and well-being is political movements -- advocacy and organization. Unfortunately, this technology is one about which we are most deceived -- not only about the what, why and how of the decisions and actions of those in power, but about the methods we the people employ to reclaim our rightful place in the process. The blindfold, the gag preventing us from doing so is that very same trickle-down ideology. (Blindfold and gag meant to symbolize oppression, not sexy time.)

The LGBTQ justice movement largely focuses on changing the system from within. We have PACs, nonprofits, lobbyists, special interest groups, super rich campaign donors, etc. We've bought in. We've been convinced that empowerment and justice can only be granted by a group of a few thousand legislators, most of whom do not come from and therefore do not fully understand the disadvantaged backgrounds of the minority populations we're fighting for. Even those legislators who do belong to certain minority categories of race, sex, and sexual orientation, still have a boatload of economic and class privilege.

The laws will say we're equal, they'll say we have justice, but will our lives magically change with the stroke of a pen? Does these pronouncements and achievements actually trickle down to empower us in everyday life? When queer and trans* people attempt to navigate or further their own lives within these technologies, do these laws actually affect how people are socialized to perceive us as transgressors? Or do they only force discrimination to go underground? -- still present, just unspoken and implicit.

Laws are not completely worthless, of course. Instances of outright, explicit discrimination will fall slightly as organizations will be forced to comply with awareness and training campaigns, and those instances that do occur can be more effectively countered. This is, however, only outright, explicit discrimination we're talking about. Moreover, in order to counter explicit discrimination, the trans*/queer folk in question must 1.) already feel personally empowered enough to stand up for themselves, B.) be aware of the laws and how they apply, and iii.) be able to access representation if legal action is required (newsflash: lawyers cost money).

These laws that purport equality do not help marginalized queer and trans* people to meet those conditions; they assume we possess these agencies and capabilities already. We don't. Some of us do, but we're a minority. Especially in the trans* community. Justice does not trickle down any more than wealth does. (Y'know, assuming those two things are separate in the first place, which, c'mon.) These laws are hollow victories. Icing for an absent cake.

It's the difference between equality and justice. Equality presumes a level playing field. It assumes our technologies of power are inherently neutral and serve everyone's best interests. They don't. We know they don't.

So, how can we marginalized communities empower ourselves not only to transform pronouncements of equality from window-dressing into effective, on-the-ground change, but also to confront and challenge the other intersecting technologies of oppression that produce injustice in our lives?

Answer: Not with "trickle-down," but from the bottom up. The rising tide lifts all boats. If we're able to provide basic aid, resources and opportunities to those in our communities who are the most at risk, the result will be a more educated, galvanized community willing and eager to fight for those legal equalities, plus a whole lot more.

And what activity or tool or method do we use to garner aid and opportunities? We do this via organizing the fight for justice itself. Through grassroots community organizing and advocacy, people are able to pool resources and rely on one another for basic needs while simultaneously gaining knowledge, skills, confidence, and experience, which then translates to other areas of life, such as qualifications for employment, personal responsibility, mental health, friendship and community, writing and speaking, organization ... the list goes on. Even if specific goals are not achieved, individuals still will have gained in untold ways anyway, and can continue advocating for issues of importance in the future.

It is crucial to note, however, that this fight must be one of solidarity. Focusing solely on trans*- and queer-specific causes only will effect change in that single aspect of trans* and queer lives. None of us is defined solely by those aspects, and it is not solely one's queerness or transness that perpetuates oppression; it is a range of factors such as the lack of a living wage, housing costs, prison systems that are sprawling and abusive, a legal code that criminalizes minorities and the poor, lack of educational opportunity, costly and inaccessible health care, the tax system, and more. Working across these multiple oppressive technologies to improve the standard of living of all those who are disadvantaged in turn buoys the queer and trans who are most disadvantaged, as well -- with the added benefit of helping others in need, and forming cross-cultural partnerships to support and strengthen each other's causes.

Furthermore, once any legislative goals are achieved, they'll find even greater efficacy -- thanks to the increased social visibility of an empowered community, its increase in resources and stability, and members' now-intimate knowledge of the policy's applicability, which comes as a result of fighting for it.

Simply put, we have to do it ourselves. Others can help, but we have to lead. The long history and current manifestations of trans* marginalization in the broader LGBT justice movement proves this principle is necessary. If we're not in the room, the justice for which we fight is not truly inclusive; and that will be reflected in actions and policies. No one else can represent us the way we can. Furthermore, when others speak and take action on behalf of us, even well-meaning allies to some degree, it is another unfulfilled opportunity for a member of that oppressed community. That could be a trans* person organizing that event or speaking to that rally, gaining confidence and valuable experience, stoking a life passion. That could be a disabled queer of color writing that letter/article, gaining our community exposure through the media or starting to feel like they could be a leader and reach out to others.

Our movement functions best when its processes strengthen the very people it fights for. The means must reflect the end. Empowerment is advocacy. Advocacy is empowerment.

Many of us are aware of the basic guidelines and operations of relationship dynamics based around the consensual yielding and wielding of power - negotiate and respect limits, use safewords, strive for self-awareness, communicate with your partner openly and honestly, be safe, sane and consensual... All good things.

It's not that simple, though, is it? It never is.

Because the guidelines listed above are so stressed and repeated in kink communities and in kinksters' practices, there's a tendency for us to believe that our relationships are less prone to confusion and emotional or physical abuse. This is a dangerous assumption.

Abuse, or rather the capacity for abuse, is most identifiable in online kink circles. Let's acknowledge this right off the bat: A large percentage of kink relationships form through the Internet, maybe even a greater percentage than vanilla relationships. (I have no proof or statistics for this, just the rationale that our numbers are fewer and we're not easily recognizable out in the physical world, so our niche naturally turns to the net to find one another.)

Anyone on Fetlife or any other kink websites who discounts the staggering amount of sketchy folks and predators who clog our inboxes every day is turning a blind eye to vast numbers who gladly and repeatedly use the premise of power exchange for abusive personal gain and satisfaction. They may be idiots, but that doesn't mean they're harmless, and that doesn't mean no one ever falls for it.

Most people with a decent head on their shoulders won't be taken in by guileless assholes with transparent, destructive desires, and I don't think online dating is inherently a dangerous practice, but kinky or not, my custom word of warning to anyone doing their dating online is: It's easy to be charming on the Internet.

Additionally, many of those "online-only" folks, as well as a lot of other kinksters will say they just don't prefer to be "in the scene." They keep their interests private. The scene - full of munches, discussion groups, parties, conferences - is highly structured and has a wealth of education and oversight available from fellow experienced members. It is, obviously, harder to take advantage of someone when you're surrounded by other people (though it does still occur).

This doesn't necessarily mean all those who prefer to keep things private are hiding abusive tendencies. Lots of people who keep kink private are incredibly experienced, knowledgeable and considerate; often the desire for privacy is because of a sensitive or public profession, or just the conviction that sex or play is a personal, private thing (weird, right?). Moreover, this preference does not necessarily make them more likely to err than those who are active in the community, but it does mean that some of the natural safeguards and learning opportunities that arise just from being in the community will be absent.

The Illusion of Control

Those 101, common-sense advisories out of the way, let's shine a light on some of the more insidious ways consensual power exchange malfunctions - even between knowledgeable, affectionate partners.

Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of kink, BDSM and power exchange is the illusion of safety. Negotiation of physical limitations and emotional boundaries that should not be crossed during play gives both (or all) players the impression that as long as you play within those lines, everything will be fine. Eventually, everyone who plays the way we play finds out this is not the case. Sometimes, we learn it the hard way.

It is impossible to negotiate everything - there will always be the unforeseen, the forgotten, the honest mistake, a slip of the tongue, the misplaced self-assurances of "I can handle it." We are going to screw up sometimes. If this is the way we're going to play, we better accept that and prepare ourselves to deal with the fallout of when things go wrong. Because they will. Hopefully not often. Hopefully not in a terribly damaging way. But part of preparing for play is preparing to deal with and accept responsibility for missteps.

When things do take a wrong turn, we have safewords in place for our protection, but that is no failsafe. There is a common misconception that even though the submissive partner relinquishes themselves to the dominant partner, the sub still retains the ultimate power to stop everything via the safeword.

However, this notion puts an unfair burden on the sub to always recognize and object if something isn't working. Is it really wise or fair to place the ultimate responsibility of judgment with someone whose adrenaline, endorphins and hormones are positively raging, who's experiencing extreme states of pain and pleasure? Who could keep their wits perfectly about them in such a state? Furthermore, there are times when subs are out of sorts, even non-verbal and can't safeword.

There may be times when a sub is flying high and wants more, more, more, regardless of consequences. The dom has to take responsibility in these situations. Perhaps its best to err on the side of caution.

Afterward, the sub may gain some clarity on what they felt during play. They may express regret or feel genuinely hurt, and placing the onus entirely on the sub allows a boundary-pushing dom the excuse of saying, "Well, you didn't safeword," or "You didn't let me know," thus shirking any responsibility, disrespecting the partner's feelings, and refusing to recognize a misstep and learn from it for future practice. It's unrealistic to expect a sub to never regret or feel differently about an experience after its over. That's when words like "communication" and "respect" take on their true meaning, and test who's using them as buzzwords and who's really devoted to their principles. Instead of becoming defensive and pushing blame, we have to honor each other's feelings of dissonance or violation, and work through them together.

In turn, a sub or bottom should not expect their dominant partner always will make the right decision, either. One doesn't have to hang around the scene for very long or participate in many group discussions to hear the familiar refrain of "I'm not a mind-reader," from doms and tops. Relinquishing power does not mean relinquishing responsibility for oneself. One may call their partner "master," but we're all still human. We all need help, guidance, and forgiveness for honest, repented mistakes - masters included.

This does not just stop at sex or play; expecting the dominant partner in 24/7 power exchange to bear the yoke of life decisions for both people is a heavy, heavy burden. Even those who identify as slaves cannot entirely surrender their agency. Decisions such as physical and mental health, career path, familial relations... these are deeply personal, complex issues that cannot just be dumped off on someone else. It is unfair to both parties. Furthermore, the long-term relinquishing of these issues might leave a submissive partner feeling genuinely disempowered and destitute should the relationship end.

Even those who are certain theirs is a lifetime commitment will still face serious illness and death at some point, and when those things happen, the partner who has willingly parted with their power for years and years better be ready, willing and able to shoulder that yoke of responsibility again - for themselves and perhaps for a now-incapacitated dominant partner as well.

Surrender power, surrender decisions - but do not surrender your life, and do not surrender your judgment.

An Equal Foundation

Let's stop claiming that the power dynamics in our relationships allocate more or less fundamental responsibility for each other's well-being to one or the other partner. To use an architectural metaphor: We consciously erect, engage and play with the structures of power, yes, but the foundations on which we build those structures must always be equal and level, just as they must be in healthy vanilla relationships.

The ways in which dom and sub, master and slave, tops and bottoms (etc.) must take responsibility for each other's well-being is certainly different than the ways a vanilla couple must, but make no mistake, the duty to do so still must be a shared and equal effort. Falling prey to the romanticized illusion of total power exchange, of an unbalanced foundation is when people get hurt, slowly marginalized, disenfranchised.

Let's stop claiming the negotiation/communication processes in our relationships automatically translates to everyone's needs and desires always being honored. Let's stop claiming the nature of power exchange results in fewer (or greater) instances of abuse than the general population. Let's see some real statistics first. Until then, clinging to this claim discourages, however subtly, victims from stepping forward, and transgressors from recognizing their actions.

To pretend what we do is always safe and sane is naive. There will always be mistakes.

Rather what we should do, all parties, is forge a contract before we play, before we yield and wield -- one that recognizes: Shit happens. We will do our absolute best to respect each other, our limits, our safewords ... There is no promise of 100 percent certainty that one of us won't fuck up, or that we won't veer into some dark, unpleasant territory; but we can promise that if someone starts to fall, the other will not hesitate to dive down after them. If it gets ugly, emotional, painful, we won't leave until we make it right -- or as close to right as it can be. We're in this together.

The main reason for how and why, I'm afraid, is no novel revelation: Money makes the world go 'round. Is it any coincidence that the steady progress for LGBT equality follows the wake of our increased presence as a target market of the corporate world? Those members of our community who are able to prove themselves valuable participants in our economy are the ones who gain a seat at the table. Money talks.

Queers started gaining more socially respectable visibility in the final third of the 20th century, and it did not take long for companies to realize gay couples were more likely to fall into that much-courted cash-cow category: DINKs -- Double Income, No Kids. It's easy to envision the covetous drool whelming the maws of skeezy, palpitating, pinstriped marketing execs.

When companies market or reach out to a marginalized group, the group feels seen, appreciated. Loyalties form. Business relationships form. Eventually, investments are made. The company and market come to rely on each other financially. Soon, the company uses what power it has to protect what has become a valuable market -- it institutes tolerant policies, its media/advertising presence grows more progressive, it donates to political campaigns, it awards grants to non-profits and donates to charities. The marginalized group comes to see these companies as allies. This sounds positive at first blush. However, this entire relationship is built on money, and it is only the interests of their market, i.e. those with disposable income, that are represented. Those without disposable income, often those intersecting identities of oppression, cannot buy in. Their interests are not represented, because their interests are not valuable.

LGBT rights organizations are still headed mostly by whites, men and the cisgender because they're the ones with the most scratch. That's no secret or leap of logic. However, there are broader, more covert forces that produce and protect that all-too-familiar outcome -- primarily, the prejudicial hegemony of Western capitalism.

At this point, you might be thinking to yourself: "OK, Comrade Cordes. Chill out. Capitalism may have started out prejudiced, but it's not the 18th century anymore. Capitalism is not some meticulously mapped-out global oppression conspiracy." To this I would respond: You're right. The dominance of the owning class comes about not through sinister, calculated capitalist plans for financial oppression (I mean, I hope not usually) -- it is just the default outcome of the system.

Our economic principles and societal foundation were set up by and for white, racist, wealthy, able-bodied, straight, cis men, and those institutional biases are still present to this day. They're present in our legal code, our tax system, our education system, they're all tied into capitalism to deliver income, security, education and other social privileges to certain groups over others ... Or do we think statistics like these just result from the same unrelated coincidences year after year after year? It's a certain type of person around which societies' founders and leaders create and shape our institutions of education, law, property, employment, etc., and that person is not trans*, not black, not foreign, not poor ... this is not done purposefully (again, I hope not usually), it's just the lens through which those founders and leaders see the world.

Unless everyone involved in each step of capitalism's functioning -- sourcing, production, investment, payment, management -- maintains awareness of this fact and makes just representation and reward a priority, the scales' tendency will tip back to the default. It's a problem that's more about astute education, vigilant awareness and social conscience, and less about pure greed, which is how many critics of capitalism misguidedly simplify the issue. Though, to be fair, there are undoubtedly a few Gordon Geckos out there as well.

Yes, Non-profits Too

Now you might be thinking: "OK, capitalism might be flawed, but lots of organizations are focused on social justice and do not care solely about profit. In fact, Drew, there's a whole industry of socially conscious organizations called non-profits! And not all of them are run by wealthy white men!"

Correct. But unfortunately, that's not so simple either. Even those non-profits with diverse leadership and completely just, altruistic goals are liable to be swallowed up by the machinations of capitalism. To explain how, I'll use a statement from INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence, a national activist organization of radical feminists of color, and make my own explications in italicized parentheticals. Brace yourself for some balloon-bursting.

The non-profit industrial complex is a system of relationships between: the state (or local and federal governments); the owning classes; foundations; and non-profit/NGO social service & social justice organizations. (It) results in the surveillance, control, derailment, and everyday management of political movements. The state uses non-profits to:

• monitor and control social justice movements (through restrictive bureaucratic channels wielding decisive power over what actions do and do not violate the qualifications for various legal statuses like 501(c)3, (c)4, etc.);
• divert public monies into private hands through foundations (through tax breaks for charitable giving);
• manage and control dissent in order to make the world safe for capitalism (by using its bureaucratic leverage, and allowing wealthy philanthropists to influence the direction and goals of the organization through the giving or withholding of funds);
• redirect activist energies into career-based modes of organizing instead of mass-based organizing capable of actually transforming society (i.e., activists' primary concerns become their own careers instead of mobilizing communities);
• allow corporations to mask their exploitative and colonial work practices through "philanthropic" work (i.e., the good PR of charitable giving trumps the bad shit -- see LGBT supporters like Nike, which still exploits foreign workers and faces allegations of child labor, AIG, the crimes of which we are all familiar ... Seriously, look up "LGBT corporate donors" on Google, and then spend some time Googling the name of each company plus the words "abuse" or "investigation" or "exploitation" or "labor");
• encourage social movements (to spend more of their time and resources fundraising and marketing themselves to possible donors, and thus) to model themselves after capitalist structures rather than to challenge them.

So, is it any surprise organizations like HRC routinely lose sight of inclusive justice objectives? HRC is a gigantic, fund-hunting, non-profit behemoth. It has donors to answer to if it wants to maintain its influence and if its employees still want jobs. Those donors want results, therefore, HRC needs victories to prosper. If a victory comes at the expense of the marginalization of a few, well, then in the long run it's worth it because it ensures its continued existence, which will get around to fighting for that marginalized group at some point anyway. Just be patient.

If you thought this was bad, consider the fact that the Supreme Court's infamous Citizens United ruling gave even more direct power to corporate donors by equating their political spending to the freedom of speech that individuals enjoy. The few limitations and restrictions we had on corporate capitalist influence in the social and political spheres are being stripped away. If the voices of queer and trans* people of intersecting identity were going unheard before, the Citizens United ruling may have cut out their tongues.

Fearful Symmetry

The fact that the latest manifestation of capitalist marginalization (brought to you by HRC, transphobia and xenophobia) occurred outside the Supreme Court's DOMA hearing illuminates some uncanny and discouraging symmetry -- because even U.S. v. Windsor centers on the queer contribution to capitalism. From Forbes:

The case before the Court involves Edith Windsor, whose partner of 44 years, Thea Spyer, died in 2009 when the federal exemption (ceiling for the estate tax) was $3.5 million and the top tax rate was 45%. Since, under DOMA, the couple was not considered married under federal law, Windsor had to pay $363,053 in federal estate tax.

That's right. The foundation of the marriage equality argument is that we must help super-rich people stay super-rich by avoiding paying more in taxes. Constitutional rights and freedom? Pursuit of happiness? Nope. It's the potential compromise of gay purchasing power that's on trial. We can't allow that money to be taken for social programs or ease the tax burden on the poor and middle class now, can we?

This is the true tragedy of our movement. Our few members whom capitalism favors, in turn, use their power and financial advantage to buy into the system further, whether knowingly or unknowingly. Money begets money. Power begets power. Our acceptance has become synonymous with assimilation into the very institutions that continue to oppress us and other minorities.

Queers of the World Unite

The struggle for trans* empowerment and justice (not just a legal pronouncement of "equality") will be particularly difficult since we lack both the financial clout (we struggle even to find low-paying menial work currently) as well as the numbers to ever constitute a niche market. Therefore, capitalism will not lay the road for trans* justice. It will, in fact, fight against us. If income equates to seats at the table, we won't have very many. We cannot court wealthy donors and corporations that view our existence as beneficial or profitable. We cannot make the "We're just like you!" claim that so much of the mainstream LGBT movement is based upon.

But the good news is: We shouldn't want to.

Equality bought is not equality; it's a sentence in a law book that will provide a handful of discrimination victories in court each year (which, by the way, are very hard to prove, assuming one has the money to bring about a lawsuit in the first place -- a lot of trans* folks are economically disadvantaged, remember). A sentence in a law book will not change how we are treated in everyday life. And subverting who we are and softening how we are perceived to get that sentence written is not equality either.

Equality earned is demanding to be seen as we are. Equality earned is directly addressing the institutions that kill, imprison, and marginalize us every day. Equality earned is individual, inspired, unfunded, grassroots mobilization. Equality earned is a fucking uprising.

Thanks to media portrayals and social privilege, trans* people like me (i.e., white, employed, well-educated) are able to have their voices actually reach some eardrums. Therefore, the cis mainstream actually has a surprisingly detailed preconception of what the story of a trans* person like me probably entails. But do these portrayals represent all of us? No. Do these stories help all of us? Again, no.

So instead of telling my story, I try to talk about the expectations and assumptions current Western culture has trained us all to have about trans* people, our experiences, and our stories. I see this manifested most noticeably of late in the emergence of an "acceptable" trans* narrative.

This is the story everyone can write: Ever since childhood, so-and-so felt they were "trapped in the wrong body." They wanted to wear the clothes and play with the toys of the other gender. They were bullied and ostracized. As they grew up, they became depressed. Perhaps even suicide was considered or attempted. Eventually they got the help they needed and transitioned to the opposite gender through hormones and surgery. They're much happier now, but things are still tough and they struggle sometimes.

It's not my intent to pass this narrative off as cliched or diminish its authenticity, but I would like us all to think about why it's so familiar - even those who don't personally know any trans* people know this story.

We all know it because this is the narrative our media and our political movements have chosen to portray, over and over. And why have they chosen it? Because it is the easiest to understand. Because it's the least threatening to the actually-somewhat-limited political goals of the mainstream LGBT justice movement. Because this is the scenario our health-care industry has a treatable, profitable answer for (not even the answer, mind you, just an answer). Because it does not challenge the established poles of the gender binary.

We know it because it is an entertaining, satisfying narrative - problematic beginning, turbulent middle, climactic confrontation, conclusive hopeful ending. Those who hear the story can slap a bow on it... and then walk away.

Don't get me wrong: Part of me is thrilled that trans* people are becoming more visible and gaining social acceptance. But the picture cis people and cis media paint of us is simplistic to say the least, and my concern is that it should not be only those trans people that our empathy, and thus, our resources, are going toward.

We don't want to hear about the messy cases. We're not as familiar with the stories of inner-city trans* women of color who grow up disadvantaged, below the poverty line, poorly educated, disowned by family, and turn to sex work or living on the streets to survive.

We don't hear those stories over and over, but they happen over and over. And usually those stories do not conclude on a hopeful note. Anyone who's ever attended a Trans* Day of Remembrance ceremony and heard the stories of all those murdered in the past year will solemnly corroborate this fact.

We don't hear about the huge chunk of the trans* population that rebels against going from one sex all the way to the other, against our notions of what male and female are in the first place. We don't hear about those for whom gender is expressed in myriad incarnations besides just the familiar two.

Where are the mainstream narratives for the femme faggy trans* men, masculine stone butch trans* dykes, intersex people who don't identify as male or female, genderqueer folks who favor a slinky cocktail dress Friday night and a three-piece suit on Saturday?

Many of my friends are somewhere in that short list. I'm in that list. We're out there in sizable numbers, but culturally, we are not yet allowed to exist. It would be too confusing or off-putting to readers, viewers, listeners, students, employees, audiences, etc.

Political Liabilities?

Politically, we are definitely not allowed to exist. To make even the tiniest strides toward justice that our easily spooked legislators will allow, our mainstream rights movement has decided it must put forth the most squeaky-clean, non-threatening, easiest-to-"fix" representatives of our community.

Think back to that "acceptable trans* narrative" we all know. Is the person a white, middle-class, decently educated trans woman who passes so-so and is somewhere between 30-65 years old? If it wasn't that, I'm betting it was the other "acceptable trans* narrative" that's emerged lately: a cute, white, middle-class decently educated trans* child who has insisted since a very young age that they were in the wrong body. Why is that?

How about the rest? The sex workers, the poor, the racial minorities, the homeless youth, the genderless, the intersex, the genderfuckers? They are invisible, voiceless. They cannot be understood by the cis, heteronormative mainstream, not in the way the "acceptable trans* narrative" can.

I don't wish to suggest that those who do fit the "acceptable trans* narrative" are unworthy of help. On the contrary, they deserve it. But there are countless trans* people out there whose voices you never hear, and I would like to suggest that maybe the reason we never hear their voices is because they are the very people who need the most help.

In those cases, we cannot just sit and listen. Because there's nothing to hear. We have to go find them.

Even if and when we pass non-discrimination laws and marriage equality, there will still be an absurd amount of work to do for trans* justice. Does anyone really think everything would be just peachy for trans* people even if an inclusive non-discrimination law were passed nationwide? Did all the problems faced by people of color vanish with the Civil Rights Act of 1964?

I'm not saying we shouldn't pass one if the opportunity arises; I'm not even saying that we shouldn't devote some of our resources to their promulgation. But it is imperative that we recognize that all this legislation does is treat symptoms of much larger systemic problems rooted in how our culture teaches us to read certain polarized meanings into and onto our bodies, our actions, our words, expressions and affectations, and into the bodies of others.

We Can Be More

To act like this is male. To look like that is female. To have this body part is male. To have that body part is female. To play this game is male. To wear that shirt is female. This is a systemic problem - the polarized gender binary - legislation can do a lot of good, but it won't begin to touch that. The real problem. Not the symptom, but the disease itself.

This sounds discouraging, but I'll also suggest that it doesn't have to be. It just depends on how we choose to look at it. Consider this: with legislation, our goal is gated off; we must pander to cis legislators for the approval we seek. But with our narratives, our culture, our social interactions, we are in charge every minute of every day. All it takes is a decision and a little effort to stay mindful and aware of the institutions of power that silently control our perceptions of gender, of race, of class. And then, we must act accordingly.

There's a famous quote from Gandhi that says, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." Bullshit, Gandhi. It is not enough to simply be. It is not enough to embody change internally. We must do. We must act. We must exemplify the change we wish to see in the world, because change and social progress are wonderfully contagious.

When we encounter subtle racism or bigotry, or even catch ourselves acting out of prejudice (we all do it sometimes), we need to address it and start respectful conversations about what happened and how it happened. When we hear someone use hurtful language, we must talk to the person, politely, about the effect it has on us and others we love. Our children must be taught to welcome people's differences. When we encounter political ignorance, administrative exclusion, media bias... we can't be afraid to talk about the impact on real, disadvantaged people.

Cis and straight allies especially can be great agents of change for trans* issues because (sadly,) people are more receptive to them -- they hear what is said about us when we're not around. We have to seize these opportunities. We have to exemplify change. We can all be leaders in the fight for justice by our actions every day. That is how we expand the narrative. That is how we begin to empower the marginalized -- from the gender-nonconforming to homeless racial minorities. It is not the answer for the totality of our multifaceted struggle, but it is how we must begin.

It's not easy to do these things. It requires discipline to maintain such mindfulness, and it's a little intimidating, sometimes even scary, to broach these subjects. But I will say, from experience: We can do it. And every time we do it, it's easier. It even starts to feel good.

These difficult conversations become something to look forward to, because it becomes clear just how much they matter. I will say, again, from experience, that seeing the difference these conversations make in friends and family is profoundly moving, and there is an immense pride in seeing those loved ones then start to lead by example as well.

It feels like we're part of something larger than just ourselves and just our immediate community. Because we are.

Or rather, we can be, if we want to be.

The Gender Expression Non-Discrimination Act would extend protections against discrimination to trans* and gender-nonconforming people in New York state. Just about everyone agrees, even on both sides of the aisle in the legislature, that it's wrong that trans* people can be fired, kicked out of their homes, denied medical care, and more just for who they are.

GENDA is not a controversial bill. A Global Strategy Group poll of 600 New York voters found 78 percent supported its passage (margin of error +/- 4 percent). Support was strong across the state - upstate was 74 percent, New York City was 79 percent, downstate suburbs were at 82 percent - and even Republicans and independents supported the bill at 67 percent and 78 percent, respectively.

However, we have seen in other states (most recently Maryland) and here in New York that some lawmakers will not vote for basic transgender civil-rights bills, and they are univocal in their (terribly misinformed) reasoning. Bathrooms. It's all about bathrooms.

Sixteen states, Washington, D.C., and many of New York state's largest cities (New York City, Albany, Buffalo, Rochester ...) have passed anti-discrimination laws for gender identity expression. Minnesota passed its version all the way back in 1993. There has yet to be a single incident like the one conservative groups are implanting in the minds of legislators. Would police chiefs from Rochester and Albany be speaking in support of trans* rights, along with scores of women's and anti-violence organizations, if there was any truth to these arguments?

This argument is not about bathrooms, personal safety, or children. It's about bigotry: the institutionalized bigotry that convinces people that the freedom and equality of a marginalized group will cost them a piece of their own. We've seen it over and over. (It just happened in Maryland, as Del Tashlin recently wrote.) We've even seen these same manifestations. Back in the Jim Crow era, it was people of color whose presence posed a threat in public bathrooms. During the movement for the Equal Rights Amendment the opposition was rooted in a false fear that the amendment would require genderless bathrooms. Under "Don't Ask Don't Tell," the opposition to repeal was largely rooted in fears of sharing locker rooms with gays and lesbians.

Now it's us.

This scare tactic is used repeatedly. It has been proven falsely prejudiced over and over, and those who promote it will be seen in the eyes of history as equally ignorant and hateful as all the people we see holding pro-segregation signs in those old black-and-white photos.

There's more bad news for anti-GENDA lawmakers as well. Namely, that trans* people are already using public bathrooms, and even if the bill is shot down again, we're still going to be using public bathrooms. Because we hate the cisgender conspiracy? Because we want to make everyone uncomfortable and be all up in your face with our gender? Because we want to force our beliefs on everyone? Because we won't back down no matter what? ...

Well, no. Actually we are and will be using public bathrooms because we have to pee. That's about it. Odds are that anyone who's scared of sharing a bathroom with a trans* person has probably unknowingly done so already. It is actually trans* youth and adults who are much more likely than the average New Yorker to be scared of using public bathrooms: None of us want to be physically attacked, harassed, ridiculed, or judged.

The twist in all of this is that many trans* people had these rights before they transitioned, but once a person begins to live as their authentic and true self, those rights just disappear. Can you imagine waking up one day and being fired just because of who you are?

I can. It's time to end that.

Trans* equality in New York NOW.

New Yorkers who want to help fight for trans* rights can contact their state senators by phone or email and urge them to support GENDA. Also, join me in advocating for GENDA at Equality & Justice Day, April 30, 2013, at the Albany Capitol building.

Now, I can tell you definitively, because I'm the one who said it, this statement is complete bullshit. This reasoning of mine is faulty at best, and downright dangerous at worst.

I have a number of trans*-identified friends and lovers who are non-op and do not desire hormone replacement therapy. The fact that I failed to recognize as valid the existence of people I was already physically and emotionally intimate with shows the sobering extent to which trans* identity has become pathologized by the medical community/industry and the dominant cultural narratives that reinforce the diagnosis.

To be transgender is to harbor a gender-related dysphoria for one's body, it all says; and because this is the most easily understood narrative (and therefore, the most popularized and familiar), and because people in white coats who went to school for longer than us have devised some (debatably effective) treatment methods for it, "transgender" and bodily dysphoria have become synonymous.

Bullshit.

The hyperfocus on what has become (for me, at least) the loathsomely simplistic and familiar "trapped in the wrong body" narrative only reinforces the gender binary system that causes trans* people such pain in the first place.[1] For many trans* people, our bodies are perfectly correct, thank you very much. The problem is how our body determines the way we are viewed and treated by a society that does not hear our voice, respect our wishes, or make much of an effort to change even once those latter points are acknowledged. For non-op, no-HRT trans* folks, their bodies are fine; it's the lens through which everyone views them that is wrong.

There is no treatment option for these trans* people, and with good reason -- they are perfectly healthy. It is the heteronormative gender binary that is the disorder, the disease. I guess we shouldn't be surprised that our cis overlords focus on medical treatment for the symptom instead of the real problem. Acknowledgment of those trans* people who are asymptomatic would be to acknowledge that real problem -- the binary lens -- and that would inconvenience the cis, heteronormative status quo, so don't expect it to happen without profound struggle.

Furthermore, the equation of trans* identity to medical condition divides our own community and alienates us from ourselves. Friends of mine who have serious issues with their gender identity and how it is perceived in the world feel hesitant and dissuaded from identifying as trans* because it is so ingrained in us that the "transgender" label is something one must qualify for via diagnosis, pills, therapy, or surgeries. This notion not only invalidates the feelings of those who do not want to change their bodies, but also drives a wedge between them and the rest of the community, since many will not want to claim trans* identity or inhabit trans* spaces because of some well-intentioned but fallacious notion of respect -- not wanting to infringe upon or misappropriate from those who do "qualify" and claim trans* identity.

The thought that there are gender-confused and gender-nonconforming people out there who willingly isolate themselves instead of bonding with and learning from others in the trans* community because they do not think they qualify or belong ... That is unacceptable. We cannot abide these delusory divisions. Just like any other, the trans* community is strongest when it is diverse.

We must remind ourselves of the most fundamental principles of gender and transness -- your body is not your gender; your physical sex is not your fate. If you can be a man with breast tissue and a vagina, if you can be a woman with a penis, you can be trans* with whatever body you possess, whether you choose to alter it drastically or maintain it the way it is.

[1] My more paranoid, pessimistic aspect worries the increased acceptance of this iteration of transness is the first step toward my greatest fear: assimilation -- erasure cloaked in acceptance, the smiling destruction of individuality, diversity, and culture. No word chills me more.

With the LGBT rights movement having been focused for so long on marriage equality, we're now starting to see some pushback drawing attention to other aspects of our community's struggle for justice - employment, housing, access to medical care, homelessness and abuse of youth ... unfortunately the list goes on. The LGBT fight thus far has focused on marriage equality largely because of our institutionally biased systems of power - i.e. the concerns of our white, wealthy, less threatening, male members become the primary concerns of the entire LGBT movement. (I'm not saying marriage equality shouldn't be a concern, but have you seen the homeless/abuse/suicide/depression statistics on LGBT youth? Go take a look and then earnestly tell me all the movement's eggs should go into the basket of helping the wealthy, white, gay male couple.)

Justice and empowerment for trans* people unfortunately has often been among these causes non celebre, but lately it's starting to gain more attention and vocal proponents. CNN recently reported on the obstacles trans* people face with employment. Mainstream press has shined the light on the GOP's most recent attempt to gut protections for gender identity (among other things) from the Violence Against Women Reauthorization Act.

As I see it, New York state was and is a bellwether battleground for LGBT equality, as well as a representation of our community's own internal conflicts. The marriage equality victory in 2011 was huge, both nationally and even internationally. (New York state means New York City after all, and the whole world pays attention to goings-on in the Big Apple.) However, my home state and its capital, my hometown of Albany, fell prey in the past to the same institutional bias outlined above. In 2002, New York finally passed the long-kicked-around Sexual Orientation Non Discrimination Act, which extended protections to the LGB population. LGB, that is - not T.

Since we trans* folks were excluded in 2002, we've been advocating for the Gender Expression Non Discrimination Act, which would extend protections to trans* people. Since its inception, GENDA has always stalled in the state Senate. Now, I and others readily acknowledge that GENDA is not perfect (what legislation is?) -- the bill would expand existing hate-crimes laws, and there's much debate on whether hate-crime laws actually help or hurt minorities. Personally, I belong to the latter camp for reasons concisely outlined in this informative interview with Ryan Conrad of Against Equality. However, ethics are messy and compromise is often required, so while I'm against hate-crime legislation, I am actively advocating for GENDA -- this year more than ever.

Bluntly stated, the window of opportunity is closing with each passing day. This is the year to pass GENDA.

The Empire State Pride Agenda, an organization at the vanguard of the GENDA effort, is once again organizing the state's largest LGBT advocacy event, Equality & Justice Day, at the Capitol in Albany, April 30.

From its website:

This annual event is a unique opportunity to show the strength and support of the LGBT community in Albany, featuring a rally at the Capitol, workshops, caucuses and visits with elected representatives. It's also the largest statewide gathering of our movement, helping us strengthen our ties and build the coalitions so critical to advancing our goals. ...

In years past, thousands of activists have converged on Albany to lobby and rally for passage of the Marriage Equality Act, Dignity for All Students Act and Gender Expression Non-Discrimination Act (GENDA). This year we focus on building support for transgender non-discrimination and the essential health and human services our community needs.

Believing this cause to be worthy of taking a personal day from work, I'll be volunteering. Furthermore, in a totally non-guilt-tripping manner, I gently encourage more folks to volunteer or just show up and make noise for Equality & Justice Day. More information can be found here.

April 30 will be the day LGBT voices reach full throat literally within earshot of New York legislators. The clock is ticking. Let's queer the Capitol.

Additionally, many languages go a step further to masculinize and feminize various nouns and adjectives. In Spanish, for example, one can be femininely attractive, "guapa," or masculinely attractive, "guapo," with no neutral option. Similarly, even simple objects are gendered -- car, "el coche," is masculine; table, "la mesa," is feminine. (There is apparently no rhyme or reason for how objects are gendered; they just are, which is pretty much universally frustrating to neophytic students of Spanish-as-second-language at some point.)

Seemingly all of life conspires to support the binary. The sinister aspect of this being that it nestles largely unnoticed under our collective nose. There is no mainstream cultural dialogue about "the pronoun problem" in English-speaking countries. Native Spanish speakers don't perceive their language's gendered means of addressing objects and adjectives as an issue. It just is.

That is hegemony -- the domination of cultural archetypes and methodology enforced and reinforced so slyly that one struggles to even perceive the influence. Frightening, yes? Makes you wonder how much of your life is truly yours, and how much you just unwittingly perform and submit to -- a conglomeration of customs and standards socialized and conditioned into what you consider You.

What has been raising my neck hair the most lately is the manifestation of this hegemony that occurs when life itself begins. Birth.

This may seem all theoretical and abstract, so let's get concrete with some examples of how this might affect someone personally. An acquaintance of mine with a trans child recounted the story of her delivery at a recent public trans event. After giving birth, she said the doctor told her, "We think it's a girl." She said her response was, "You think?!" Then the doctor assured her, "It's a girl. It's a girl." In this moment, the joy of birthing a healthy child and that universal, unconditional phenomenon known to us as a mother's love is supplanted by fear and outrage at the inability to group the child into a preconceived standard. Our language and the standards it creates can come between even a mother and child.

Let's look at another hypothetical situation. Two mothers birth two respective children -- one intersex and not able to be immediately assigned a definitive gender by our highly sophisticated glance-at-the-genitals-and-proclaim technique, the other a cis, vagina-possessing "traditional" girl. One OBGYN declares, "It's a girl!" The other hesitates, uncertain. When asked by the mother and father if the child is a boy or girl, the doc has no choice but to admit uncertainty.

However, before the issue can be discussed or the child carefully passed and entrusted to the exhausted parents eager to start loving and bonding, life-threatening complications are detected in both children. Both are whisked away to the always-heartbreaking NICU. Shortly after, the problems prove insuperable for both children, and both die. The doctors cautiously re-enter the respective delivery rooms to break the bad news to the parents:

"I'm sorry, but your daughter has passed on. She had serious breathing problems we were unable to remedy, and she died soon after she arrived in the NICU."

"I'm sorry, but your baby has passed on. It had serious breathing problems we were unable to remedy, and it died soon after it arrived in the NICU."

Which will be easier for the mother to get over: the death of a little girl, or the death of an It? Does the humanity of an It not feel inherently less than the humanity of the little girl? The little girl we can almost picture in our mind. Not so with an It. Does giving birth to an It not smack of some unthinkable monstrosity? Nothing inspires fear in humans like the undefined, after all (See: most good horror/suspense films -- Alien(s), Jaws). And nothing trumps love quite so effectively as fear.

The reason this happens, as far as I can deduce, is that babies are pretty much a blank slate. We have no other means of connection, no other way to identify or empathize with them human-to-human. Their brains are undeveloped, so there's no intellectual interaction; outstanding physical characteristics are minimal (aside from that temporary-but-still-freaky, cervically smushed alien skull) -- even eye color is still in flux, and hair, if they have any, is liable to change as well. Gender is all one can latch on to.

And latch we do. We're a pack of leeches when it comes to humanizing our infants via gender. Hell, as soon as they can, hospitals plop pink and blue caps on top of those aforementioned alien skulls. Parents take them home to gendered nurseries and toys. It goes so far that doctors used to regularly (and sometimes still) perform unnecessary surgeries to make intersex infants' genitals look more "traditional," rendering judgment on what the kid's gender should be for the rest of its life before its eyes can even focus. All this in the name of subscribing to familiar definitions, adhering to the standards set by the tool we innately rely upon far, far above all others combined to countenance the world around us: language.

The gender binary is the most fundamental way people unconsciously attempt to connect, because it has been absorbed from the gendered structure of language. The first thing we do with everyone we encounter, infancy to senescence, is gender them. (Anyone doubting this claim need only monitor their actions and thoughts the next time they espy someone whose gender they cannot automatically place. The need to lump becomes a momentary obsession.) The gender binary and its linguistic buttress make empathy possible, it bestows humanity, it grants personhood.

When we don't subscribe to its qualifiers, we lose something in the eyes of society. We become less than. We become Other. We become "It" -- a thing. A human is hard to disregard (says I, the hypocrite who routinely walks past homeless people asking for money), but anyone can disregard a thing. Even beyond infancy, which do you think is easiest for a shitty parent to abandon or abuse: a little girl, a little boy, or an It? Though greatly expounded, it is this same principle that has led to some of the most horrific crimes in human history. It's unthinkable to us how so many seemingly unfeeling Germans in WWII could coldly kill off so many Jewish people and other minorities. The answer is actually quite simple. They didn't think they were killing human beings. They were killing things. Each one an "It." Hundreds upon thousands upon millions of Its.

The difference, however, is that Hitler manufactured Jews' "otherness" via propaganda and scapegoating; in the case of trans* and intersex people, our otherness is congenital to our culture, our language, in the words I'm writing and you're reading right now. It's present. We're already othered. We're already "It."

So, how does one combat hegemony? How does one combat language? As you might expect, the answers are unclear. This is not like a political battle, where the road of lobbying and campaigning is tough, but at least you can see the road. Here, we're basically groping in the dark. (This is unfortunately the case all too often in the struggle for trans* empowerment.) All I can do is suggest the same small, humble actions I usually do for problems of this sort: visibility and friendly person-to-person interaction/education.

You cannot change the machine, especially not overnight, but as is happening right before our eyes with the (admittedly much simpler) issue of marriage equality, you can change individual hearts, and before too long the sea change of all those hearts can reach critical mass and deliver the status quo one hell of a thump.

There are two important reasons why this is wrong. Naively well-intentioned, perhaps, but still wrong.

Conversely, someone who does feel that prior forms of their identity or presentation were false or incomplete is absolutely justified in saying "inside I was always a man/woman/etc." Because that's their decision and their source for meaning.

You don't get to tell me how to feel, and I don't get to tell you how to feel. OK? Didn't we go over this in, like, kindergarten?

Some will persist, though, taking the medical science route, citing the leading research about fetal hormone washes' effects on brain development vs. body development. And I will not dispute the leading research. Even my slightly too-healthy ego has no problem yielding to the scientists on that stuff. (I'll just pick apart their grammar later for some consolatory ego-stroking.) Their argument is that the brain has always been its "true" gender from day one.

This position is absurd for a number of reasons. Really, choose your own adventure here for how to refute it. Shall we start with its equation of an infant brain to an adult brain, ignoring the years of development and countless things that might happen to it in between?

Shall we point out that it ascribes a gender onto an infant and deconstruct the idea that babies have a gender at all? They have genitals, yes, but their own gender? C'mon. The pink or blue hat means something to us, but I assure you, it means nothing to the speechless thing happily sitting in its own poop.

Shall we highlight the underlying fascism of slapping a label on a person before they even attain full consciousness and maintaining that it will hold true for an entire lifetime?

Shall we bring up that this theory changes nothing about our unthinking and obsessively rigid, binary-focused sex classification system besides shifting the focus from the mechanics of one body part (genitals) to another (brain), without any regard for what a person experiences or feels to be true?

I'm not discounting medical research here. It's invaluable. We need more of it for trans people. I won't deny that trans folks undergo an in-utero hormonal brain bath if the research says so. My point of contention is using that one piece of data to gender someone, independent of what their own wishes might be. The urge to rigidly classify via observable data while disregarding one's expressed humanity and experience is not the proper path to understanding and acceptance. That's just another cell in the same prison.

The "gendered brain" claim for inflexible identity certainly does fit into the cis-written mainstream narrative of the trans experience, as well as the simplistic cis-written medical diagnosis of "gender dysphoria," both of which I think many of us self-apply because of: 1.) the lack of more nuanced narratives on gender (or their lack of visibility); 2.) our excitement in finally finding a diagnosis or narrative that touches some of our long-unacknowledged feelings; and 3.) its dubious notions that a surgery will "cure" or "fix" us.

Therefore, I can understand how some trans people would come to embrace it as The Answer, especially if they want to transition and need to procure those (again, usually cis) doctors' letters of recommendation. But again, if someone is fully informed and aware of these issues and genuinely feels the unchanging, internal "gendered brain" identity narrative speaks to their experience, then that's their choice and I don't get to tell them they're feeling the wrong feelings. And they don't get to accuse me of that either. OK? OK.

Now, on to the second, more complicated aspect of identity validation.

When I attended college, I was a very masculine gay man and identified as such. During a discussion on gender theory, I asked my professor and our class, "Even though I'm a man, if I feel I'm a woman inside, why can't I be a woman?" I was insistent that all that mattered was what a person felt to be true about themselves inside. (It's important to note that at the time this occurred, my conflict with gender was still buried deep and, for all intents and purposes, it was a cis man making this argument.) The discussion ran way over the end of class, and the professor and I talked more about it afterward and on a few future occasions as well.

The sticking point we came to regarding why feelings kept solely internal do not add up to a valid identity was essentially socialization. If gender is a social construct, it must receive some form of social corroboration. We are socialized to recognize all sorts of identity divides (whether we want to or not): race, nationality, wealth, sexual orientation, gender, etc. One cannot just arbitrarily decide that their identity lies with one group or another, even if a solely internal yearning is present.

I may feel a great kinship with my local black community and feel accepted and understood among them in ways I never am among others; I may strongly identify with them - but I can never identify as one of them, because I am white and will always be seen and treated as such by a society that inherently and unconsciously perceives our difference. Furthermore, that perceived difference plays out some rather drastic social inequalities in class, education, justice, and all sorts of other areas of privilege that color how we grow and exist in the world, all of which push that already unbridgeable gap between black and white identity a little wider. (I should hope we're all nodding and mouthing "duh" at this paragraph.)

Well, the same is true of gender. I may have truly felt I was a woman inside (actually that kind of turned out to be the case), but I couldn't justifiably lay claim to such an existence without taking any steps beyond just saying "Hey everyone, I'm a woman now. Treat me as such." If that's all I did, people would definitely not treat me as such. Not until they saw some tangible evidence of those internal feelings, at the very least. (Please note: This does not mean that the feeling or desire isn't valid - the feeling is real, but the identity isn't, not yet anyway.)

As for what the "evidence" must consist of, there's nothing set in stone, but one thing I should absolutely specify that it need not be is passing. Passing certainly will get you treated like your desired gender, but it's not the only way or even the best way (there is no set best way - this is a person-specific process); and just because someone passes doesn't mean they even identify with the gender they're presenting. There are drag queens out there who pass effortlessly and will never identify as women.

But until the way others treat me reflects that internal truth, and until I go through life and interact with others, even just one person, who recognizes me in this new identity (in any way, good or bad), I cannot validly claim it.

Yes, in this case, the tree that falls unheard makes no sound. In other words, the gender identity that is never expressed is not identity; it is instead only a tragic, secret longing.

(Transgender symbol graphic via Bigstock)

I feel my inner state shifting almost moment by moment. Two minutes after being in the mood for stockings and heels, I'll instead decide on my pork pie and a half-windsor. I often joke that I'm a trans guy trapped in a trans girl's body. Sometimes it doesn't feel like a joke. Whatever my gender presentation, I seem to feel the absence of the unexpressed foremost. This dysphoria can be a gift. Celebrating and playing with gap between gender performativity and self can be an extremely empowering thing. Other times, though (and this seems to be where I am currently), it can feel rudderless and unstable, its constant shift tantamount to a whitewashing of self.

I've learned enough to let my feelings and tendencies with gender go where they will, without pestering myself too much with the causes and possible effects (that's kind of the only way a gender transgressor survives), but there are some unpleasant internal hurdles I'm encountering.

It's almost akin to the Sisyphus myth -- the toiling journey of gender transition and pushing the boulder higher up the hill, and as soon as the perceived summit of inhabiting the other gender is reached, the stone rolls down the other side as I realize this gender doesn't provide any lasting reflection of my inner self either. So, it must ascend again, over and over, each day, as the most fitting expression continually changes. As I said before, one can choose to celebrate this (Camus argues for exactly that in The Myth of Sisyphus), but lately, for me, I can't ignore that it feels more like a burden than a joy.

The other aspect I'm having trouble coming to terms with is being seen as a man again. Having identified as a trans woman for the majority of the past decade, being addressed as male can really sting. If it's a genuine error and the person is willing to correct it, it was and is no problem. But it is easy for someone to use words like he, him, dude, man and sir in a disrespectful manner for the purpose of hurting me. And it does hurt. In an improper context it really hurts. It's dehumanizing.

This can cause internal conflict if I present androgynous or genderqueer. Part of presenting as such is that some people read me as female and others read me as male. I can't know if the man they're seeing is the man I'm OK being seen as. Are they calling me a man because I'm "some genderbender freak who looks like he started out as a guy then chopped his dick off so it's really just a guy"? Or are they trying their best to empathize, and possibly they see me as a trans man (which happens often), or a gender-nonconforming person presenting masculine and therefore maybe probably most likely prefers "he" and "him?"

I feel increasingly pulled toward identifying as genderqueer. The flux state of my gender expression, as well as the dysphoria I still feel with whatever my current choice is -- that's sort of the all-and-none approach that "genderqueer" signifies. If I identify as genderqueer, though, I still have to make peace with a few things. If I'm read as a guy, or if I feel like identifying as a guy at some point, I have to reassure myself that I am not back where I started and that the accompanying perceptions do not invalidate me as a trans or queer person. It won't be easy. But gender transgression rarely is.

Once upon a time, Projectors Drew Cordes and Wintersong Tashlin had the idea to have some conversations about some prickly subjects related to sexuality and gender with the goal of promoting discussion and understanding. After the two hug-sealed their plans for a discussion date, Drew said, "We are going to piss off sooooo many people with this." Winter replied, "I guess that's part of the problem though! How the heck do you have these sorts of dialogues without pissing off or disenfranchising someone out there?" With the sensitivity of such subject matter and the volatility of Internet dialogue in mind, Drew and Winter would like to stress at the outset: These are opinions. Theory. Not law. Many of the "answers" are only arrived at through the process of talking them out. Others surely will disagree on some points. The goal of this dialogue is not to decide or cement any principles, but rather to promote the civil discussion these important subjects deserve.

Drew: So, queerness ...

Winter: Indeed. It's hard to even know where to tear into it as a topic. I guess one thing I should get out of the way is that I'm bothered by people who date trans* folk who are the same gender as themselves and use "queer" as a descriptor, because somehow a gay cis dude dating a trans* dude isn't "gay." It's something I've encountered quite often.

Drew: I think in that case, a LOT would have to do with how the trans partner felt about "gay" v. "queer." Does the trans person identify as a genderfucker at all, or do they want to be stealth? Would their cis partner identifying as gay feel validating and supportive of their gender -- i.e. being seen as the man they are? Or would a cis partner identifying as gay feel like a lie of omission if the trans person was very open about their status? (These are scenarios of course, and not situations I ascribe to all people they might fit.) So yeah, if the trans partner wants to be seen and express himself as a gay man foremost, "gay" might fit better. If the trans partner wants to be seen and express himself as "trans man" foremost, "queer" might fit better. ... Odd how I hold these identity expressions to be so personal yet I'm now advocating their usage relies on the other person in the relationship.

Winter: An excellent point! Most (but not all) of my trans* partners have identified strongly within the gender binary. ... Surrounded by people who are exploring their sexual orientation and gender identity, as many of my friends have been over the years, I find myself in a strange place of not trying to really figure out who I am, but just what the hell to call myself.

Winter: Yeah. Well, I never really wanted to identify as gay; it was just that I didn't feel like I had any claim in "queer" anymore. But I'm a really bad gay guy, as our generation tends to see it.

Drew: (Laughs)

Winter: To be honest, if I could get away with it, I'd probably ID as a queer-faggot, or at least a queer-fag.

Drew: What makes you insecure about identifying as queer?

Winter: That's an interesting one. It's not so much that I'm insecure about my identity as queer, as that I feel like an interloper. Identifying as queer, I have to spend a huge amount of time coming out as cisgender to people who see a somewhat femme boy and read me as trans*. Which wouldn't bother me all that much except that the revelation that I'm cis bothers a lot of trans* and fluid people. And to be honest, it also bugs me because I'd love to take advantage of some cis male privilege to land some play with cis guys once in a while. Beyond that though, there's the issue of being excluded from queer space and culture, which has become really synonymous with the incredibly problematic and outdated "women and trans* only" spaces and culture. That bothers the shit out me. Not being welcome in those spaces and environments is way less of a big deal to me if I'm not identifying as queer. (More on this topic from Winter.)

Drew: I'm OK with "women and trans only" spaces, as long as they don't say, "Hey! Party for queers! Come have a good time! (Women and trans only)" No misleading advertisements, please. But I very much agree with you that "queer spaces" should make an effort to welcome queer-identified cis men.

Winter: I'm bothered by the number of "women only" spaces I see that allow or encourage trans* men to attend. It's a common thing, which is why more and more are using "queer."

Drew: The current sparse attendance of cis men in such spaces I'm guessing is because the number of cis men who identify as queer is lower than the number of cis women, and gay men have their own thriving community, which they see no need to branch out from; whereas gay women are still looking for those spaces, and therefore go to a "queer" space.

Winter: I guess the thing is that I don't necessarily think they should allow or welcome cis men. I'm OK with the idea that language has moved on and definitions change. ... If I may ask, before your transition, how did you identify your sexual orientation?

Drew: I identified as a gay man primarily. I had some confusing attraction to women, but it was mixed up with gender stuff, and didn't know if I wanted to be them or be with them ... but basically gay man. Then straight woman after starting to live as female. And now trans queer woman.

Winter: It's weird, on the surface one would think that gay identity would work fine for me, but it just doesn't. First and foremost, I had a long-standing relationship with a woman (who later turned out to be a man, but I didn't know it at the time). And I play with women in BDSM spaces, too. But beyond either of those points, I can't seem to embrace the ideas/ideals of masculinity and heterocomformity that are deeply entrenched within what we are told it means to be "gay" in the U.S. in 2012.

Drew: So you're stuck either way you go. If you identify as gay, you feel you have to work at redefining what people expect "gay" to mean in order for it to fit you. And the same is true for identifying as queer. ... Um, how about "quay?"

Winter: Quay sounds too much like someplace to tie up a boat! I just read the engrossing book Why Are Faggots So Afraid Of Faggots? and saw many reflections of myself in the essays therein, but the same can be said for more "butch" elements of gay culture. ... So why do you see cis male inclusion in queer space as important?

Drew: I think that the whole movement toward identifying as queer is one that so many people make precisely because it is such an inclusive, and thus, ambiguous heading/identity. The motivation for a lot of people is rejection of the gender binary. They recognize the fluidity of the gender and sexuality spectrums and want a term that can reflect all those possibilities. That is the purpose of "queer." So, when we start to see a prevailing demographic, or even worse, outright exclusion of certain people from identifying as queer, it goes against the very spirit of the term. I often call queer, "the label for people who hate labels." It has no set definition. It is defined by what it's not. It's not gay. It's not bi. It's not lesbian. It's not trans. It's not cis. What it is, is you. You decide what it means. "Queer" is a general starting point. You tell someone you're queer and they know you're open to possibilities, and if they want specifics they have to inquire further as to what "queer" means to you. It's a way of saying you're more complex than a single word. Once we're able to start being able to pigeonhole "queer," when it starts leaning toward a qualifying checklist, it will have lost its power. Right now, I think there's a danger of that. "Queer" spaces are heavily populated by cis women and trans people. We need more cis men to preserve the balance. If "queer" ever becomes an identity with a definable demographic, I will promptly move on to another, vaguer word. Basically, cis men need to queer up "queer" a bit.

Winter: I totally agree with your point. I see two issues: 1.) Do cis guys want to identify as queer, and if so, what distinguishes them from cis guys who identify as gay, bi or pansexual? 2.) Can the queer community and queer spaces be persuaded to be accepting of cis men?

Drew: 1.) Well, you're a cis guy who wants to identify as queer, and I know a few others, too. I know a cis male-cis female poly couple and they both identify as queer and no one doubts their legitimacy for a second. Once you meet them you see that it totally fits. I think more cis men are starting to recognize it as an option. As for what distinguishes them from pansexual people, I think not much. I'm all for pan-identified cis men in queer spaces. Bi and gay, I'm not so sure, because queer and pan are very much rooted in their openness to everyone on the gender spectrum. Queer signifies that you're capable of attraction (not just fetishization and objectification) of trans and gender nonconforming people. Though, I'd say if you identify as bi or gay, but are still open to trans people in that way, I'd be happy to welcome you to queer space. If you're not bound by the binary, I'll extend an invitation to queerworld. 2.) Ay, there's the rub. I think they can and I hope they can. That's one of the main reasons I wanted to have this conversation.

Winter: See, I'm not sure I agree with you that queer identity requires one to be open to all genders in terms of attraction. It depends on if queer is more a modifier or a distinct identity. Whereas I'm distinctly uncomfortable with pan-identified people who only are attracted to one or two gender identities, with a queer person, I really don't care.

Drew: Actually, I think you're right -- queer spaces, now that I'm thinking about the difference between modifier and identity, should be open to all non-straight folks, I think. I was wrong there.

Winter: But then, it does bother me when someone who is only attracted to the opposite gender IDs queer, so maybe I'm full of shit.

Drew: A straight cis person identifying as queer you mean? A cis opposites-only straight person?

Winter: Sure. I know some queer-identified people who are very open about the fact that they'd never engage sexually or romantically with someone of the same gender. But then, why do we draw a line at straight folk? (But by all means let's keep the fucking line.)

Drew: Because they're not queer! (Laughs) Are they cis and opposites-only? And have they been their whole life? If so, I call bullshit under the Social Component of Identity principle. What about this person is queer? They're a tourist. They've never been with anyone who wasn't the opposite sex. Never will. And they're cis.

Winter: But they are poly and kinky, which causes as many problems with straight identity for them as it does for gay identity for me. It bugs the crap out of me, but I find it hard to argue with in some ways.

Drew: Maybe I'm being insensitive here, but -- boohoo you poor straight cis person! (Are they white, too?)

Winter: But aren't we then walking dangerously close to playing the oppression Olympics? You're making the same argument I hear about male privilege and excluding cis men from queer identity.

Drew: So now I'll give the one exception to my former rule about "queer" needing a lack of definition. Queer is inherently an LGBT-derived identity. Queer is sexual- or gender-identity minority. Again, the social component has to be there.

Winter: But if what distinguishes LGBT people is who we love and how we play, it's hard to separate that from poly/kinky people, who love and play differently, too. Argh! Reality is so damn fuzzy sometimes.

Drew: Let me think ... They may be limited by society in their hetero polyamory, but not to the level that LGBTQI people are. We're still fighting to gain the rights that hetero poly kinky people already have. And we are targeted and identified as "minorities" or "radical" to a much greater degree and more widespread than they are. If we're going to be so concerned about line-drawing, why not non-poly kinky people? They love and play differently, and there are laws on the books that deal with assault that affect them. In that case, we've just opened up "queer" to everybody who's ever bought some fuzzy handcuffs and delivered a sound spanking. I maintain: queer must be a sexual-orientation or gender-identity minority. Poly is not sexual orientation. It is relationship orientation. It is not inherently about the who, but the how many. If you are poly and have partners of many genders, then, separate from being poly, you are a minority based upon sexual orientation, and therefore, queer it up if you like. The same is true of being kinky - it's not about the who, but the how. If, separate from how you're fucking or playing, the partners you're interested in range in gender, then you're queer.

Winter: Is that disenfranchising?

Drew: I don't think it's disenfranchising; it's claiming what is ours to claim. The only exclusions we're talking about here are hetero cis people. This is akin to a white person complaining about "reverse racism." You're the majority, the privileged. We're the minority. We have our own community. No, you're not invited. We need our gathering places for us.

Winter: I feel like we've landed right back at the arguments I hear in favor of excluding people with cis male privilege from queer spaces. We're slamming face first into the fundamental problem with the incredible open-ended nature of "queer." It is a fungible word, defined by its users, rather than an outside element.

Drew: We can't exclude a queer person (as I've previously defined it) just because they have one privilege or another -- a trans person with passing privilege, a lesbian with white privilege, or a black gay man with cis privilege. While they may not be oppressed in one area of their identity, they are in others.

Winter: That's an interesting way of looking at it.

Drew: You can have certain privilege and still have "minority due to sexual-orientation or gender-expression" apply. I have white privilege, passing privilege (when I want it), and class privilege. And I'm very aware of how far those things have taken me. But I'm also openly trans and not at all straight, and therefore, a giant fucking queer. A queer cis male is still marginalized due to sexual orientation. He is still LGBT.

Winter: I've got cis privilege, white privilege, male privilege and class privilege. But I'm also not remotely straight. Which is how I ended up identifying as queer, but what takes someone from LGBT to queer? Or is that something only the individual involved can know?

Drew: Right, that's personal. Like we were talking about earlier, I think it has a lot to do with its ambiguity, and rejection of the gender and sexuality binary.

Winter: See for me, I feel like it has a lot to do with a rejection of the HRC-dominated narrative of what it means to be gay.

Drew: I think that fits in with the general "queer" notion of rejecting preconceived roles that we should play. I think that sort of is encompassed in the binary.

Winter: Huh, I guess I'm so bound up in gender land that it wouldn't have occurred to me to classify rigid expectations of what it means to be gay as within the binary, but I can totally see it.

Drew: So, the one crucial thing, and maybe we should end with this, is how to encourage cis male acceptance in queer spaces? I think we both agree we'd like to see this, yes?

Winter: I would, and because 1.) it sucks being excluded, and 2.) I think that our community can benefit from having one identity that is inclusive.

Drew: Hear hear. And here's where my weakness pops up. I'm not so good with solutions. I'm more of the theory end of things.

Winter: Solutions actually kind of are my thing. But my brain juices run dry on this one every time.

Drew: There's no easy answer for it. Outreach into gay male communities?

Winter: The thing is, Drew, outreach into gay communities just isn't going to work in my view. The men who will or do identify as queer often aren't comfortable there, and the men who are, are NOT interested in queer spaces. Take it from me as an event organizer! Gay men don't want to go into mixed gender sexual spaces (i.e. leather/BDSM).

Drew: I'm thinking the only thing that might slowly work is recruitment through personal relationships.

Winter: Unfortunately, I feel like one thing that needs to happen is cis guys who consider themselves queer need to advocate for inclusion into queer spaces. But I don't know how that works, and personally don't have the spoons for it.

Drew: Baby steps, I guess.

Winter: Equally important, there would need to be another reframing of "women and trans* only" space.

Drew: How so? (And by the way, my greedy id loves that there are women and trans only spaces.)

Winter: We aren't trying to say that those spaces shouldn't exist (personal feelings on my part aside), but that they don't get to claim "queer" for their own, narrow vision.

Drew: We're agreed on that. You can have women-and-trans-only events and spaces, but don't you dare claim "queer" is women and trans only.

Winter: Right, that's what I mean.

Drew: Well, there, we've solved everything!

Winter: Next week: the budget deficit!

Drew: (Laughs)

Once upon a time, Projectors Drew Cordes and Wintersong Tashlin had the idea to have some conversations about some prickly subjects related to sexuality and gender with the goal of promoting discussion and understanding. After the two hug-sealed their plans for a discussion date, Drew said, "We are going to piss off sooooo many people with this." Winter replied, "I guess that's part of the problem though! How the heck do you have these sorts of dialogue without pissing off or disenfranchising someone out there?" With the sensitivity of such subject matter and the volatility of Internet dialogue in mind, Drew and Winter would like to stress at the outset: These are opinions. Theory. Not law. Many of the "answers" are only arrived at through the process of talking them out. Others surely will disagree on some points. The goal of this dialogue is not to decide or cement any principles, but rather to promote the civil discussion these important subjects deserve.

Drew: I talked about this awhile back with a cis female friend of mine who's dating a trans male friend. She went back and forth between identifying as a lesbian and as queer. Obviously, "lesbian" doesn't quite fit when you're a woman dating a trans guy, and "bi" might not be so accurate either, but she had issues with the history "queer" has as hate speech.

Winter: Ah, not a fan of reclaiming words? I encounter that a lot when I identify as queer, particularly from gay men.

Drew: Resistance to reclamation words?

Winter: Yup.

Drew: Yet gay men use "fag" all the time! At least ones that I know.

Winter: It varies. It's funny, I'm much more comfortable with gay men using "fag" than "faggot" but I couldn't tell you why.

Drew: I'm the other way. "Fag" still hurts a bit, even if said by a queer friend or lover. "Faggot" ... actually turns me on. (Laughs)

Drew: Yeah, "tranny" bothers me regardless of who says it. I hate that word. I can't even speak it. I despise even typing it. This is actually leading to the point my friend was making about her discomfort identifying as queer: Can you "reclaim" a word that hasn't been used against you? E.g., trans men and "tranny," cis women and "fag?"

Winter: Huh, that's a good one. My gut says no. That's just "claiming."

Drew: BUT! Have you ever been called "queer" derisively? Has it been used to hurt you? I haven't ever heard it directed at me as such. (Mostly because bashers had better, more hateful words by then.)

Winter: Sure, I grew up gay in the '90s after all. But I'll admit, it hasn't been used all that much. Of course, as I discussed in the essay about my Tourette's on Bilerico, there were way more exciting things to go after me for than my sexual orientation, so I'm a shitty guide.

Drew: (Laughs)

Winter: It's a weird comment on my life that "retard" and "dog-boy" are way more hurtful to me than "queer" or "faggot." But I think that the generation just ahead of mine did a lot of the legwork of reclaiming both queer and fag for me.

Drew: So, would you say I have the right to identify as queer?

Winter: Sure I would.

Drew: "Queer" has never been used against me, personally, but plenty of other terms have. Does that experience cross over?

Winter: How so?

Drew: Well, I've never been called "queer" with the intent of harassment. I have been called fag, faggot, gay, sick, etc., with that intent, though. Do I get to reclaim "queer" via some that's-close-enough policy? Is it the intent of the torment? They are targeting me because my sexual or gender identity, therefore all epithets that might possibly fit me under that heading are mine to reclaim?

Winter: I'd say not because of a "close enough" policy, but because the queers, fags and LGBT people who came before you fought to make that word yours as their heir. Just like we haven't had to riot in the streets of New York or San Francisco to earn our equal place in society.

Drew: Right.

Winter: There are some epithets that are distinct to a segment of our population. Hence why I think "queer" belongs to everyone, while I don't like cis women using fag.

Drew: Right, because "fag" denotes "male" identity. And admittedly, it makes me a little uncomfortable to say women can't appropriate the "male" term. But if you flip it -- a cis man identifying as a dyke? I don't think women would like that.

Winter: I feel like it'd be super weird for me as a cis guy to say that I had a right to "dyke."

Drew: Exactly. Though, with this argument we're also going to get into patriarchy and male privilege; and women have more a license to claim male things than men do female things, because men still have (most of) the power.

Winter: There's something to that, but I feel like there's a point where that becomes unfair (says the guy with male privilege).

Drew: So a cis woman using "fag" bothers you, but does it offend you? As a gay man?

Winter: Hmm, I'm not sure if it does or not. ... I suppose it does a bit at that. Although I should note that in the last two months I've become extremely uncomfortable being identified as a "gay" man.

Drew: I spent about 10 years of my life as a gay man, and even more than that being perceived as a gay man, so most of the hate speech directed at me was of the "faggot" variety, so if I can get back in touch with my inner gay man here ...

Winter: Go for it.

Drew: As someone who used to get called a fag, cis women identifying as "fag" doesn't offend me or make me upset. It just sort of furrows my brow. I wouldn't really understand the why of it, and I'd want to have a conversation with her and see where she's coming from. I'd question its validity, but I don't think I'd dismiss it as invalid or misapplied until I talked with her.

Winter: A fair enough point. I see it a lot as a term used by cis women who play with gender through drag or as another form of dyke identity.

Drew: There's a large contingent of people who think you have to right to identify as whatever the hell you want, without taking the social component into account. Identity almost always must have a social component. It's extremely personal, but identity is also social. (I will be writing about this in a future Bilerico post.)

Winter: I'm inclined to agree with you. I guess for me, identity has a tribal element.

Drew: Going from your example, I'd say drag is a legitimate gender expression. It plays a huge role for some people. So, that actually makes sense to me. "Oh, the cis woman does drag a lot and identifies as a fag while she does it? Gotcha! Makes sense!"

Winter: OK, what about in the case of butch cis women?

Drew: In everyday life you mean?

Winter: Yeah. It's super whiny and privileged, but it doesn't seem fair for women to get dyke and fag! (Pouts like a child.)

Drew: (Laughs) Maybe "fag" has to be linked with masculinity for me. So, to me, it feels misappropriated with femme cis women. But butch cis women, who are harassed for their masculinity -- both in having it and not having it enough to "equal" a man -- it makes more sense.

Winter: And now to play devil's advocate for a moment: Using that argument, how come it isn't OK for male-identified drag queens to use "tranny?" (Although, I don't think it is.) Because the argument you just made does apply in my hypothetical. Cis men who do drag are harassed using that word.

Drew: I will need a second to ponder that one. ... I think it's twofold -- 1.) Again, it's the social component of identity. Drag happens on stage, not on the street. They're not living across gender battle lines 24/7, in the workplace, with family, friends, etc. They are not radically changing their expected appearance in daily life. They are not changing pronouns or their names and dealing with the consequences of that. Their gender expression might be a little femme, like gay men sometimes are, but that is not connected to 2.) their body. For trans people, it's about the body. Some of us are non-op, yes, but dysphoria regarding the body is always there. All the drag queen needs is duct tape at showtime.

Winter: True, but you opened the door when you said, "Oh, the cis woman does drag a lot and identifies as a fag while she does it?" I know cis women who ID as fags in everyday life, based on the fact that they do stage drag and have some fluidity to their gender sense, if not their presentation. But I do agree that the comparison to trans* experience starts to break down.

Drew: It's difficult for me to be objective on the subject of "tranny." I'd prefer nobody use it. Ever. But that's me.

Winter: And it's equally difficult for me to have an opinion with any real weight to it, as someone who is cis. It's not my word to use or hate.

Drew: But that gives you some objectivity that I lack, which is good.

Winter: I hadn't thought about it that way. ... It's funny, I know trans* people who embrace that word, but if someone called my partner that in front of me, I know I'd be upset.

Drew: You know, I think I'd actually be OK with a cis man who was a butch drag queen identifying as dyke in reference to that aspect of himself. But "tranny ..." I'm trying to think of a scenario where cis appropriation wouldn't bother me. Well, actually, a recent friend I made identifies as a cis gay man and a drag queen, but he was very confused for years, and thought he might be trans. He ended up living as a woman for three years, but never went through any physical transition. Before I knew about that part of his life, he used the word "tranny" one night (apparently that's what the Transylvanians in Rocky Horror productions call themselves sometimes) and I asked him not to use it and said that it was offensive, etc. He complied. But now that I have some emotional distance when I ponder it, I think he has a right to claim that word if he wants.

Winter: I will admit I use "tranny" in an automotive context, because that's where I first heard it. I've been told that I need to stop, but I find that kinda silly.

Drew: Yeah, I remember once soon after I started living as female I took my car in for an oil change and went over the other stuff that had to be done with the mechanic, then right after we were done, he leaned out the door to the people working on my car and YELLED, "Tranny on lift 3!"

Winter: Oh my! (Laughs)

Drew: I tried not to laugh. So yeah, mechanics can have that word, too, if they want.

I wouldn't mind growing up to be like them. They actually seem pretty cool and successful and happy.

In the past few years of my life, particularly in the past few months, I've started becoming aware of just how important it is to have role models in one's life, especially when young.

Merely 15 years ago, when I was 15 years old, there were not many people I could look to. I knew I was not straight, I knew I wanted to be a girl, and I hated myself for both of these things.

I knew I was different, but what did that mean? Was I supposed to act differently? Have different interests? I knew I'd have to find my way in the world in a different manner than my family and my peers, but I didn't know how, or why that was so.

I knew Elton John was gay, and I liked some of his songs, but I did not identify with him (nothing against Elton). Plus anytime his music came up a faggot joke was sure to follow.

Ellen was gay, and holy shit did she do some great things, but I didn't identify with her either. She was a cis gay woman, whereas I was a gender-confused queer man. While watching her primetime sitcom did clue me into some important things about being queer and being oneself, she also was ousted from the public eye a little more than a year after coming out, banished to relative obscurity for several years, before her more recent return and triumph on -- and the irony of this is still crazy for me to think about -- mainstream daytime television.

Aside from a few limited then-contemporary public figures and representations, there wasn't much else out there -- at least not as far as I could see from my limited, small-town vantage point, lacking as it was in access to broader cultural exposure. All the evidence I saw about my sexuality suggested the life ahead of me was going to be full of derision and disenfranchisement.

Media depictions of trans people conveyed a similar message. The only portrayals of people who gave voice to the disturbing things I felt deep inside were on channels like Discovery or on semi-exploitive daytime talk shows like Phil Donahue's. They usually featured only older trans women or crossdressers who didn't pass and endured torment because of it; or people who lived double lives filled with shame, deceit and alienation from friends and family. If my choice was that or denial, I was choosing denial.

I wanted, with everything that I had, NOT to be trans. I wanted this for a long time -- pretty much from my earliest memories until only a few years ago. Even after I had started living as female and passing well, I still wished I'd been born a cis girl.

It dawns on me now that this social/cultural void is a big reason why I so loathed my difference. There were no trans or queer people I could look at in the generations before me in the media or in my community who were successful, happy, or (most importantly for a teenager) cool -- someone whose life not only seemed awesome/fun/rewarding, but conceivably attainable. As much good as people like Ellen and Elton did, they did not fit that bill. They're more celebrities or idols than role models. Not to diminish their importance, but a role model is someone you can see yourself in, someone you could see yourself becoming if you apply yourself. Usually, the most influential role models are people who are already in your life -- family, friends, teachers, etc.

It is at this point that I will reveal the reason the importance of role models has been at the forefront of my mind lately is that, at 30 years old, it dawned on me that there finally is one in my life. More surprisingly, it dawned on me that I still need one, and that you're never too old to benefit from a role model.

I assumed that after I transitioned to female and started passing, my gender issues would be pretty much resolved. However, I soon found growing disillusion at the lack of visibility that is often congruent to passing. I was no longer seen as queer, which had been the most defining characteristic of my life thus far. My sense of identity was facing a new, very different challenge. I also started to realize there were some things I didn't hate about masculinity once it lost the anchor of chromosomal/biological sex. It was my body, and the trappings of social expectations that came with it that had to change.

It was around this time that I first met my friend Laine Campbell in a queer discussion forum. I was all femmed up, and she was all butched out, dapper and dressed to the nines. We were talking about these very issues -- visibility vs. invisibility, the expectations of gender expression both pre- and post-transition. She mentioned she was often mistaken for a trans man, a misperception I'd just fallen prey to. She also touched upon her reassignment surgery, which she'd had roughly 10 years prior. At the time, I was in the throes of my own research on the subject.

Weeks later, we emailed and chatted about reassignment surgeons and surgery, as well as some other things. We became social media buddies, and when I perused the photos on her page I was shocked to discover she used to be femme like me. She transitioned at 19, and many of the pictures of Laine in her mid-20s (roughly my age at this time) featured makeup and girlier clothes. Apparently, gender expression was still free to evolve even after transition.

As Laine and I met a few more times at the occasional conference, I learned more things about her. All of them were impressive and cool as hell. She grew up in New Orleans and returned frequently -- I adore New Orleans and visit as much as I can as well. She lived in a chic Greenwich Village loft -- living in the village was a daydream of mine since I cracked my first Kerouac and cranked The Velvet Underground in my early teens. She owns and runs a highly successful database management company (PalominoDB) and jet-sets to places like San Francisco, London, Miami, Chicago, Amsterdam, Las Vegas (these were just in this past year alone) -- places just about anyone would love to visit. Her manner is calm but confident, and I never see her in a single article of clothing that fails to make a stylish statement.

Having recently turned 37, Laine isn't even much older than me. Yet, whenever I had a question about my upcoming surgery, Laine answered it as best she could. She'd been there. When we discussed gender and our shifting relationships with it, her experience enlightened me. I still remember her telling me that it was her transition to female that finally allowed her to accept her masculinity, because now it was on her terms. This made so much sense to me. When people talk with me about my gender journey and my current butch/androgynous presentation, I use Laine's line just about verbatim, because it fits so perfectly.

And here's the funny thing: If you asked Laine if she was aware of this role she played in my life, or if she felt like she was THE ONE person her friend Drew could come to with concerns about transition, sexuality and gender, I'm confident she'd say no. Because that's the truth. We talked periodically, but not super frequently. We are friends, but we're not extremely close. My support system has many cogs. Laine is certainly among them, but that's the fascinating thing about the inspiration a role model can provide -- often they're not even aware of it. The inspiration they create comes simply from being, from living openly and awesomely, which Laine does with great aplomb.

Could and would I be following the same progression in terms of my gender expression and identity without Laine in my life? I probably would. But it would be a lot more uncertain and intimidating. To be able to look at someone whose path mirrors your own so closely, and see that they're already doing it -- succeeding and celebrating it -- immensely helps you to feel more secure and confident in your own next steps. They can remind you that you not only can achieve your goals, but wildly exceed them.

Laine recently reminded me of this, yet again, when her company was employed by the Obama campaign at its Chicago headquarters for Election Day/Night. Even when I think I no longer require guidance or inspiration, or when I think she couldn't possibly provide any more, there's Laine, in a photo, hugging our fucking president. Barack Obama. The president who has done more for LGBT people than all others put together (in just his first four years). Laine shook his hand. Hugged him. Thanked him personally, face-to-face, for health care reform. She heard his tearful words of thanks firsthand. My friend did these things. A gender-nonconforming queer trans woman. Just like me.

Maybe I can finish writing that novel.

This is just another reason why it's so important to be out, to set an example, to be part of your community. Someone might need a person to look up to. They might not even be aware of this need. I wasn't. You might not even realize you're someone who can fulfill that purpose. But you can. Laine might not have thought of herself as a role model before, but she is to me.

Similarly, I don't think of myself as much of a role model, but someone else might disagree, so I put my face out there, I put my words and my story out there, just in case there's a confused kid somewhere, lonely, depressed and scouring the Internet like I used to 15 years ago. Like me, they might not even know what they're looking for, but they deserve to be able to find it.

It took me awhile, but I found what I was looking for.

Thanks, Laine. Rum and cigars on me next time.

At first blush, this hypothetical can sound appealing to many of us (both trans and cis) who often feel disadvantaged or persecuted because of our sex/gender. If there's no more gender, women and trans people can't be marginalized! No more pay inequality! No more clothing restrictions! No more nightmares in bathrooms, Customs, the DMV, etc. You can imagine the possibilities.

What many of us gloss over in this daydream scenario is that we'd be throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

Stripping away gendered meanings would certainly eliminate a tool of oppression, but it also would eliminate an essential part of identity. Part of the reason many people transition is that the gendered meanings assigned to our bodies militate against our very sense of self. Our identification with the opposite or nontraditional gendered meanings is so strong that we undergo surgeries, terrible pain, emotional turbulence, social stigma, alienation from family and friends... the list goes on. We do these things to be able to express the gender we wish. That's how much gender means to us - that's the empowering side. We're willing to fight to possess it.

The trick, and a particularly difficult one at that, is to banish the stigmas and disadvantages associated with certain gender expressions, while maintaining the associations that resonate within us as joyful, empowering, and meaningful. The dress can still be "pretty," but "pretty" should not be linked to subjugation or political and economic inequality. The suit and tie can give the wearer some added swagger, but it should not cross any lines into misogyny or patriarchal social dominance.

A genderless society is a fascist society. Your unique gender expression, and those of everyone else, would cease to exist, instead replaced with uniformity. To indiscriminately banish the meanings associated with gender expression is to annihilate an essential part of the self. I'll keep my gender, thanks. Despite all the struggles, I love it too much not to.

(Correct answer graphic via Bigstock)

T.E. Lawrence is a man who's struggling very much with who he is, where he belongs and what he can do to write his own fate in the face of great challenges and opposition. Sometimes he succeeds beyond his wildest dreams. Sometimes he fails miserably. This should sound familiar to just about all trans people.

With each success leading the Arab army, Lawrence's confidence swells, and he begins to see himself belonging with them more and more. He becomes so overconfident that it often borders on God complex:

• As he is departing Aqaba for Cairo, Auda asks him, "You will go through Sinai?" Lawrence muses with a smile, "Why not? Moses did."
• A report delivered to Gen. Allenby on Lawrence's progress says of the Arabs, "They think he's a kind of prophet;" and Allenby responds, "They do or he does?"
• When he is clipped in the arm by a gunshot and asked if he is hurt, Lawrence says, "Not hurt at all. Don't you know? They can only kill me with a golden bullet."

If those episodes weren't enough to convince viewers that some psychotherapy might be in order, things become even more explicit when Lawrence advances toward Deraa, deep in enemy territory, with a paltry 20 soldiers left behind him. Morale among his most loyal followers is understandably low, but Lawrence is still blindly optimistic. Sherif Ali confronts him.

Ali: "Give them something to do that can be done. But no. No, for you they must move mountains! They must walk on water!"

Lawrence: "That's right. That's right! Who are you to know what can be done? ... Do you think I'm just anybody, Ali?" Teetering on delusion, he turns to the troops, asking, "My friends, who will walk on water with me? Who will come with me into Deraa?"

The troops are justifiably skeptical, and one asks, "Aurens, can you pass for Arab in an Arab town?"

Lawrence whips out a zinger, "Yes, if one of you will lend me some dirty clothes."

At this point we have another You're-Kidding-Right? moment of parallelism. For many trans people, passing is crucial. It is not just a matter of having a preference as to how you're seen, though self-expression is certainly a big part of it. In addition to that, trans people know that passing (or not passing) can result in harassment, abuse, even death.

This is something that never fully leaves my mind. It's easy for bigots to single out those who don't pass and target them. For many, every step along the street is a step along the tightrope. In his robe and headscarf, Lawrence is now walking this tightrope, too (though not in heels). He is no longer safely among allies in the British and Arab armies. Just like a trans person, if he does not pass, there may be severe consequences.

Lawrence's overconfidence is his undoing in Deraa. He quickly draws stares while walking the streets in Arab dress. This is something trans people must also guard themselves against. After a while, one becomes accustomed to walking the world comfortably and without fear, but all it can take is one wrong turn and one moment of I'll-Be-Fine overconfidence for trouble to surface, just as it does for Lawrence, who is captured and beaten. And raped.

This film being made in 1962, Lean is unable to detail this aspect of the torture, but it is detailed in the real-life T.E. Lawrence's memoir Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Lean, instead, merely suggests the sexual aspects of Lawrence's torture. (The audience can put 2 and 2 together. The words "Turkish prison" alone have acquired enough winking, surreptitious significance that we all know what this torture will consist of.)

This most-personal of assaults draws another dimension in which Lawrence's failed experience in passing may mirror trans people's, whose sexual difference too often begets sexual violence.

Lawrence tries mightily to endure the torture. With the first strike of the rattan, his unflinching resolve causes his Turkish torturers some puzzlement. Did he not feel the pain? But the second strike jerks Lawrence's head up and his face betrays anxiety. That second strike imparts to him a fearsome truth: He is not above pain. He is not always the exception. He, too, has his limits. From the matches of Cairo's basement office to the battles in the desert, Lawrence has been playing with fire, and he has finally been burned.

This Is the Stuff that Decides What He Wants

Shaken to the core by the previous episode, Lawrence decides to retreat to British headquarters. Before leaving, he confides in Ali and, much like a trans person might, bemoans the limitations and consequences of his current body.

Lawrence: "I've come to the end of myself, I suppose."

Ali: "And the end of the Arab Revolt?"

Lawrence: "I'm not the Arab Revolt, Ali. I'm not even Arab."

Ali: "A man can be whatever he wants. You said."

Lawrence: "I'm sorry. I thought it was true."

Ali: "You proved it!"

"Look, Ali," says Lawrence, pinching his pale flesh. "Look. That's me. ... That's me. And there's nothing I can do about it."

Ali: "A man can do whatever he wants. You said."

"He can. But he can't want what he wants." Lawrence wistfully looks at his milky flesh again. "This is the stuff that decides what he wants."

For trans people, this final line is only too true. Whether one desires surgery, hormones, a change of clothes, or a haircut, the reality of our bodies weighs on our decisions. Sometimes we feel like it's holding us back, as Lawrence does here, and other, less ponderous times we may feel at peace or even happy with it, but it is always there. Always a factor.

Lawrence's identity as belonging among the Arabs has been broken, as has the steely willpower on which he prided himself. The temptation to turn tail back to British headquarters and live in denial is overpowering. He doesn't know where else to turn. He admits to Ali, "You may as well know, I would've told them anything. I would've told them who I am; I would've told them where you were. I tried to."

Ali: "So would any man."

Lawrence: "Well any man is what I am. And I'm going back to Allenby to ask him for a job that any man can do."

As much as Lawrence once boasted of his difference he now wants to be anything but. He'd be glad to return to his former pencil-pushing duties in that "nasty, dark little room" at this point.

Following humiliating, frustrating, or sometimes violent failures, the temptation to return to living in denial is present for trans people, too. Stories of the binge-and-purge cycle are ubiquitous among crossdressers and trans people - wardrobes of other-gender clothes are built up then thrown out, then built up again. (As if transitioning wasn't expensive enough.)

Certainly I had my own experiences with it. With everything that I was, I wanted not to be trans. I ignored it and buried it and retreated to what I knew: masculinity. It worked, for a while. But it can't last.

Ordinary/Extraordinary

Lawrence knows it can't last, also. At headquarters, he finds he cannot run from his difference. During a brief chat with comrades, he mentions his uniform was stolen. The two soldiers assume it was taken by an Arab and offer the bigoted, epithetical comment, "Bloody wogs," which takes Lawrence aback. As they part, Lawrence overhears a catty comment, "Lays it on a bit thick, doesn't he?"

Despite the professional respect, Lawrence is still an outcast. When he tries to resign himself from Arabia in a meeting with Allenby and Dryden, Allenby angrily reminds him of who he really is:

Lawrence: "The truth is I'm an ordinary man. ... And I want an ordinary job, sir. That's my reason for resigning. It's ... personal."

Allenby: "Personal? You're a serving officer in the field, and as it happens a damned important one! Personal? Are you mad?"

Lawrence strains to hold himself together (more masterful stuff here from O'Toole): "No. And if you don't mind I'd rather not go mad. That's my reason, too."

Allenby: "Look Lawrence, I'm making my big push on Damascus the 16th of next month and you are part of it. Can you understand that? You're an important part of the big push!"

Lawrence becomes enraged: "I don't want to be part of your big push!"

Allenby: "What about your Arab friends? What about them?"

"I have no Arab friends! I don't want Arab friends!" grits Lawrence, desperate to deny himself.

This is a low point. Much as despairing trans people do, Lawrence wants nothing more than simply to be someone else. I can remember a similar moment from my past, which is likely representative of more than a few other trans people.

I sat in the car of a friend who had just bought female clothes for me at the mall, which I was too ashamed to buy myself. I felt terrible. She did her best to console me, saying, "It's nothing to feel bad about. This is just your thing."

At that point, I broke, blurting out in a mixture of shame and anger, intonating similarly to Lawrence's aforementioned line, "I don't want it to be my thing!" (I got better. I rather enjoy "my thing" now.)

Allenby is in a bind. He needs the fractured man standing before him for his own military purposes, so he continues trying to convince Lawrence of who he is, but not before changing gears to a more sensitive and flattering pep-talk approach.

"I believe your name will be a household word when you have to go to the war museum to find who Allenby was. You're the most extraordinary man I've ever met."

Lawrence, on the verge of tears and still wanting to escape himself, says only, "Leave me alone."

Allenby: "Well that's a feeble thing to say."

Lawrence concedes, "I know I'm not ordinary."

Allenby: "That's not what I'm saying."

Lawrence surrenders: "All right! I'm extraordinary. What of it?"

Allenby encourages him: "Not many people have a destiny, Lawrence. It's a terrible thing for a man to flunk it if he has."

Suddenly Lawrence, ever susceptible to a good ego-stroking, has a lightbulb moment and embraces his ability to lead the Arab army. However, it will not be as a loyal British officer; it will be as El Aurens. The relationship between he and Allenby becomes a pas de deux.

Lawrence: "They (the Arabs) will be coming for Damascus, which I'm going to give them."

Allenby: "That's all I want."

Lawrence: "All you want is someone holding down the Turkish right. But I'm going to give them Damascus. We'll get there before you do. And when we've got it, we'll keep it."

Lawrence is not only embracing the role of leader again, but is using the word "we" to refer to himself and the Arabs. He also is back to using supremely ego-centric language as well, hyperbolically noting that he personally will deliver an entire city ("I'm going to give them ...").

The full leap back into the brazen role of El Aurens is completed with a frame of Lawrence dramatically looking out over the courtyard and (of course) milking the moment, saying of his army, "The best of them won't come for money. They'll come for me!"

David Lean then cuts to the gathering army in the desert accordingly cheering the name of their approaching leader: "Aurens! Aurens! Aurens!"

Trans people may not have a cheering crowd to encourage us to overcome setbacks (though, I'm sure if many of us asked our friends to indulge us they might enjoy doing so), but we do have a community of allies who see us as we want to be seen and encourage our self-exploration, the same as Lawrence does in the desert.

No Prisoners

This iteration of the Aurens identity, though, differs from the past. Lawrence immerses himself so deeply that he becomes prone to the "barbarous and cruel" Arab customs he once (misguidedly) decried. (This movie has a whole study-in-ethnocentrism thing going on, as well. That last pre-parenthetical sentence is a multicultural can of worms, I know, but this essay is long enough already. The differing cultural perceptions of the characters could be - and I'm sure is, somewhere - an entirely separate paper. Again, I am omitting a lot of stuff.)

Trans people, too, cannot forget all the dangers the rest of life has to offer after one's more natural identity is embraced. Transition, hormones, surgeries - these things are not end-all answers; they are improvements. They get the trans person (hopefully) to a level playing field of emotional existence. From there, the same threats and challenges faced by everyone else are still present.

In convoy to Damascus during the night, Lawrence and Ali notice the sky lighting up above a distant city suffering a downpour of British artillery. Ali says to Lawrence: "God help the men who lie under that."

Unmoved, the Lawrence for whom once "mercy (was) a passion," coldly answers, "They are Turks."

Ali shows his compassion again: "God help them."

The following day, Lawrence gives in fully to the dark side of his Aurens identity. As the army marches north, they come across a band of retreating Turks, defeated and wounded. Some of Lawrence's new recruits, hired mercenaries, salivate like wolves before wounded prey, urging, "No prisoners."

In what has become a full reversal of temperament, Ali is now the one beseeching Lawrence to show compassion. "Aurens, not this. Go around. Damascus, Aurens. Damascus."

Lawrence can barely hold himself together. O'Toole plays this scene as one would a starving man set before a buffet of forbidden food, or one struggling to hold back raging sexual arousal. (If the opportunity to personally avenge my own severe torture and rape presented itself, I'd be pretty tempted, too.)

Lawrence's face twitches, his breath is heavy and uneven. A solitary Arab soldier whose village was destroyed by the Turks then vengefully charges by himself and is shot dead. Lean gives us a frame of his blood spilled in the sand, and we, the viewers, know that Lawrence has the excuse he was looking for. He raises his hand and with bloodlust screams the order to his army: "No prisoners! No prisoners!"

When the massacre ends, Ali finds Lawrence covered in gore and visibly shaken. As he once admired himself in the knifeblade of his Harith robes, born again with a new sense of self (remember that moment?), he now holds up the knife to find a very different reflection looking back at him. Another low point. "Aurens" may be a truer representation of who he is, but it is not without its own treacherous pitfalls and corruptions.

Going Home?

In Damascus, the political showdown between Lawrence and the Arabs against Allenby and the British is disheartening. The various tribes struggle to unite and work together as a cogent governing body, and eventually must compromise with the British.

Facing failure and the knowledge that even among the Arabs he has flaws and limitations, Lawrence dejectedly sits in the now-empty town hall with Ali and Auda. Auda has had enough of politics and appeals to his friend to return with him to desert life, "Come with me, Aurens. ... Back. I know your heart. What is it? Is it this? This is nothing. Is it the blood? The desert has dried up more blood than you could think of."

Lawrence: "I pray that I may never see the desert again. Hear me, God."

Auda: "You will come. There is only the desert for you."

When they take final leave of their friend, Auda confronts Ali, "You love him."

Ali: "No, I fear him."

Auda: "Then why do you weep?"

Ali: "If I fear him who love him, how must he fear himself who hates himself."

Lawrence is no longer running from himself, either as Brit or Aurens. Instead he has taken a step back to survey the extremes of himself he has explored.

His brushes with death and bloodlust have taught him that though he is accepted and capable of extraordinary things in the desert, that he cannot escape the darker aspects of his nature. However, neither can he run from his nature by hiding himself in the guise of an ordinary Brit.

The answer to selfhood Lawrence seeks is in neither place. He ends the film similarly to how he began it - between worlds, knowing that he must decide who he is, but for everything he's been through, no closer to knowing how to do so.

I often speak to people, both trans and cis, about a similar phenomenon of transition that isn't voiced nearly enough. And that is that no matter what you go through - surgeries, changing voice, growing/losing hair, hormones, changes in how you're perceived - you're still you.

None of these things will make the dysphoria you feel all better. There will always be problems. Some may be solved in the process, but new ones will indubitably pop up in their place.

Transition can be a journey to hell and back, like Lawrence's, but physical changes and accomplishments are not the same as finding and strengthening your inner self. You can pill, slice and pluck your way to the body you always dreamed of, but "you" will still be there, inside, waiting to be dealt with.

At the end of his adventure, Lawrence finds this is only too true. The film's wonderfully minimalist final scene illustrates this perfectly. After being granted discharge by Allenby (at the polite request of Feisal), a British soldier chauffeurs Lawrence along a desert road.

He sees a pack of Arabs traveling by camel along the shoulder and stands in the car to see if he recognizes any friends. He does not. He then sits back down. His escort speaks a pleasantry, "Well, sir. Going home."

Lawrence is mildly baffled: "Hmm?"

The chauffeur repeats: "Home, sir."

He only remains silent as the film's fitting last image, Lawrence's face partially obscured by the dirty glass of the windshield, fades to black.

Lawrence has no "home." He is left only with himself. And who that is, we, and he, can only partially see.