faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
I have ended my hunger strike. Last night I started having difficulties apparently as the result of having my electrolytes out of wack. As the one health risk I was trying to avoid was electrolyte imbalance, I decided it was time to eat again.

This is not how I was hoping my strike would end, but I am not despairing. While it is true that my strike has not led the Chicago Dyke March Collective (CDMC) to make any policy changes, I have had a few small victories. For one thing CDMC finally got in touch with me. Granted, its response left a lot to desire: The collective failed to so much as acknowledge that its actions have been in any way sexist or misogynistic or that I have and need boundaries. However, CDMC did admit that it had once again disregarded my privacy, which is more than it had done over the previous three months.

It is also encouraging to see some of the community discussion that has come about as a result of my open letter. This is the first time many of the participants have talked about Shame Weekend or the surrounding incidents. What’s more, some of the participants have been people who do not readily identify as activists.

I am grateful for all the people who have supported me or expressed concern for me. This includes anyone who e-mailed me to say, “Don't fast.” I was putting people into a situation in which two principles—“Respect the autonomy of the oppressed” and “Preserve health”—came into conflict. I strongly believe that the former principle trumps the latter, but I know that the people who were acting in accordance with the second principle did so, because they cared about me. I am also thankful for the people who have supported my cause, understanding that the past two and a half years have been hell for me, and have written to CDMC or eaten with me at the last meal before my strike.

When I began my fast, I felt sorrow in part because I felt that there were few other people in Chicago who cared about all that has happened. I see now that this is not true, and this gives me hope that one day CDMC will be held accountable for its actions.
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
To: "Chicago Dyke March Organizers" <dykemarchchicago@gmail.com>

Chicago Dyke March Organizers,

I am writing in response to what the Chicago Dyke March Collective (CDMC) called in a rare moment of forthrightness the “transmisogynistic violence” it has perpetrated against me. My purpose in writing is to explain why I plan to begin fasting on November 24 and what it will take for me to avoid or stop fasting.

My Restatement of Grievances

I remember expressing concern in May of 2009, shortly after I became a member of CDMC—I was the only transsexual woman who was a member at that time—because the collective had received a complaint that performers at Dyke March 2008 used a sexist, cissexist* slur in the context of a cheer that fetishized women who face multiple oppressions. The other members could have acted swiftly to address the problem. Instead they dragged their feet.

I remember making myself vulnerable to members who were using CDMC’s private e-mail discussion group, confiding that I had heard the aforementioned performers use the same slur at Dyke March as far back as 2005. The other CDMC members could have—indeed, as self-declared allies, should have—respected my privacy. Instead a CDMC member forwarded my message, including my name and e-mail address, to the parties who were responsible for using the slur; other members were aware of this but did not tell me.

I remember calling out the cisgender members of CDMC for their inertia. They could have taken the opportunity to educate themselves and grow as activists. Instead they responded with fear-mongering, tone-policing, derailing, and gaslighting.

I remember deciding that avoiding Dyke March 2009 would be safer than attending. CDMC members could have recognized the tragedy in excluding a trans, queer woman from attending Dyke March on the weekend of the fortieth anniversary of the Stonewall riots and held a moment of silence for me and the other transgender people who had been silenced over the previous forty years, as I had suggested. Instead they held a celebratory “moment of noise”, making what should have been a weekend of pride a weekend of shame—Shame Weekend, as I have come to call it.

I remember contacting CDMC members, trying to find a win–win solution to problems they and other members caused before, during, and after Shame Weekend. They could have taken the opportunity to organize with me to find a mutually satisfactory resolution. Instead they failed to maintain contact with me, if not failing to respond altogether.

I remember sitting down to talk about Shame Weekend and surrounding events with two CDMC members on 2011 May 25—one day short of being two years after the collective received the complaint about the slur. CDMC could have used the following months to make good on the agreement the collective’s representatives made with me. Instead the collective resumed foot-dragging.

I remember discovering in August that CDMC had once again shown disregard for my privacy and writing to the collective about this and another concern, expressing that I wanted another opportunity to talk to CDMC members. CDMC could have taken the minimally decent step of listening. Instead the collective has not so much as replied.

Since the events leading up to Shame Weekend, I have for the most part avoided queer spaces, as I have no way of knowing whether the people I was snitched out to are seeking revenge or what Chicago Dyke March organizers will do to hurt me next. Because I contacted CDMC for the first time on the day I came out to myself as a woman, CDMC has effectively robbed me of queer women’s community before I ever found it. I did recently find something in the way of queer community, an organization that was initially attractive in part because no CDMC members were in it, but a member of the collective has entered this space as well. When allies fuck up, they tend to concede space to the oppressed people they have hurt. CDMC, on the other hand, has not so much as given me the opportunity to talk to its members about boundaries.

In the two and a half years that have followed my initial attempt to organize with CDMC it has failed to take an approach that is survivor-centered or focused on the oppressed. CDMC has taken advantage of the fact that because I am a trans, queer woman, I am already prone to being pathologized as a “narcissist”, putting that much more pressure on me to remain passive rather than assertive in the face of oppression. While the intersection of sexism and cissexism is a matter that concerns my well-being and even my life, it is a matter that CDMC, as an institution, has been able to treat as less than urgent or even ignore with little consequence.

This ends now.

My Direct Action

I have designated November 24 to be the day I begin a fast, which I will avoid or end only when Chicago Dyke March organizers meet my demands. These can be found in the following statement:

Demands for Reduced Harm

The survivor, Veronika Boundless, issues these demands. In this context Chicago Dyke March organizers means everyone who has the privilege of voting or participating in deliberative decision-making at Chicago Dyke March organizing meetings and everyone who has served as a marshal at a previous Chicago Dyke March and intends to serve as a marshal at a future Chicago Dyke March.

1. Because Chicago Dyke March organizers have not made a clean break from past violence, they will at least give other organizations fair warning. Thus, they will not collectively partner with another organization or join a coalition that another organization is a part of without first disclosing to the organization that over a period of at least two and a half years the Chicago Dyke March Collective perpetrated violence against a trans woman.

2. Further, Chicago Dyke March organizers will do less preaching of what the Chicago Dyke March Collective has failed to practice. Specifically, no one will, while remaining a Chicago Dyke March organizer, serve as guest speakers or authorities at forums organized to discuss verbal abuse, emotional abuse, or sexual assault.

3. Further, Chicago Dyke March organizers will concede some space to survivors of violence. Specifically, no one will, while remaining a Chicago Dyke March organizer, join or remain a member of another group other than CDMC, if it is part of the group’s primary mission to end verbal abuse, emotional abuse, or sexual assault or offer support to survivors of verbal abuse, emotional abuse, or sexual assault.

4. Because no one deserves to join Chicago Dyke March organizing without knowing what they are in for, Chicago Dyke March organizers will make these demands accessible to every person who attends an organizing meeting.

5. Chicago Dyke March organizers will acknowledge the violence against trans women found in their history using at least two of the following four media: Chicago Dyke March organizers’ most widely read public Facebook group, Chicago Dyke March organizers’ most widely read public blog, the Chicago Indymedia web site, or a full-page ad in the Windy City Times; this acknowledgment will be in no way cisnormative, reductionist, minimizing, or survivor-blaming.

6. Using the same two media that Chicago Dyke March organizers select while conceding Demand 5, they will explicitly concede these demands.

7. Chicago Dyke March organizers will honor these demands until they or their representatives meet with the survivor on her terms and reach a mutual agreement with her or until 2019 September 1, whichever comes first.

I am writing now to give you plenty of notice; I am not confident the body of someone who has my health problems will hold up as long during a fast as the body of someone who does not. Even so, I am prepared to carry out this fast to the end, whatever form the end might take.

With a fiery love for every trans woman and transfeminine person,
Veronika Boundless

*Cissexism is prejudice against transgender people plus the power cisgender people—that is, people who are not transgender—have over us.

faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
As LiveJournal user labelle77 and Lisa Harney at Questioning Transphobia have reported, a certain radical feminist has been using a WordPress blog to post the pictures of trans women she reports to have entered the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival (hereafter, MichFest) along with commentary that has a high probability of inciting some of her blog’s visitors to commit acts of physical violence against trans women. (Out of respect for trans women’s lives and well-being I will not be posting a link to the blog here.)

If you do not know already, MichFest is a music festival whose organizers have long had a policy of excluding trans women from the festival or, as they code it, of hosting a festival that is only for “womyn-born womyn”. There was a time when the organizers prevented trans women from entering. Beginning in 2006, however, the policy has been to put the burden of policing on individuals, asking interested trans women to respect that the festival is not intended for them but not denying them ticket sales. With this change many trans women began to attend the festival, but several outspoken people who attend MichFest continue to oppose trans women’s presence.

The woman whose blog is the subject of this entry is one such person. Having seen the offending post myself, I have a few observations. First, I believe it is, if anything, an understatement to say as Lisa Harney has that the post “practically incites violence against” trans women. At least one of the people leaving comments have has called for trans women to be bodily thrown out despite the fact that there has been no change in MichFest’s policy, and I believe that someone who already has misogynistic, transphobic inclinations would be inclined to do worse. Second, this is a matter that affects more people than just those trans women who choose to attend MichFest. The woman who was the radical feminist blogger’s original source of information has said she believes that two of the women listed in the post were not at MichFest, but the blogger has not removed any names. This suggests that any woman the blogger perceives as trans could have her name and picture listed on the web site and be made the subject of ridicule for failing to meet her standard of womanhood. (Of course, this would be a tragedy, even if the women already listed were the only parties who were affected.) My third and final observation is that by any reasonable interpretation of WordPress’s Terms of Service the WordPress staff should take action against the blogger. WordPress’s inaction when it comes to this matter is as deplorable as the blogger’s action.

And so I leave you with a question, dear reader: Where do I take Faithful Image now?
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
Donzell Francis, the San Francisco man accused of raping and killing Ruby Ordenana, will not face the death penalty.

Francis has already been sentenced to eighteen years in prison for the sexual assault, beating, and robbing of a transgender sex worker. He now stands accused of attacking two other transgender sex workers, including Ruby Ordenana, who was found dead on March 16, 2007. (All three of the sex workers were female-presenting people of color.)

According to an article in The Examiner District Attorney George Gascón will not be pursuing a death penalty conviction, reserving this for cases that are “very heinous”.
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
Dear Slutwalk Chicago,

I am writing to ask that you remove my blog, Faithful Image, from the list of allies currently available at your web site. Though I did request information from you regarding opportunities to volunteer and help spread the word via my blog, I have never expressed a desire to be an “ally”. The more I learn about both SlutWalk Chicago and the SlutWalk movement that flows from Toronto, the more I have concerns about both. In all likelihood I would have requested removal sooner, but it was only recently that I learned that you had added my blog to your list. This is the sort of matter I ordinarily like to handle in private, but because you have without my consent implicated that I have aligned my mission “with the mission of SlutWalk Chicago”, I feel the need to make my objections public.

As you say on your web site, SlutWalk Chicago’s mission statement is “adapted from Slutwalk Toronto’s satellite guidelines”. Even outside of any context these guidelines raise some red flags. One is that though men are mentioned three times, apparently to make sure men do not feel excluded, many people who face multiple oppressions are not mentioned at all. As a trans woman, I find the lack of any mention of trans status to be significant. There are at least four reasons why actions aimed at ending sexual violence in North America should explicitly include trans people:
  1. Trans people are at higher risk of sexual assault than our cis counterparts.
  2. The popularity of the stereotypes of the transsexual prostitute and the stealthy deceiver play into the slut-shaming of trans women and transfeminine people.
  3. It was only within the past five years that a serial rapist–killer in North America was targeting sex workers of color who were trans women.
  4. The feminist movement has a history of saying that through our feminine presentation trans women and transfeminine people invite rape; accusing us of the rape of cis women simply because we express ourselves as women; and excluding us from social justice movements by violent means or, short of that, calls for our violent deaths.
If it seems that I am reading too much into SlutWalk Toronto’s silence, I think we only need to look at its recent response to Aura Blogando to see that it has not paid adequate attention to the concerns of people who are the targets of multiple opressions. Aura is the woman who wrote the critique “SlutWalk: A Stroll Through White Supremacy”. Though I feel the post is worth a read, I believe it would be a detour to defend it. The point I want to make here is that whatever the accuracy of Aura’s piece, I find little to commend and much to deplore in SlutWalk Toronto’s response. This response began with “SlutWalk is NOT all white and not white supremacy at its finest”, a piece that reaks of white privilege and a sense of entitlement. Rather than attempt to improve on greatness I will refer you to the response found in Struggling to Be Heard. Because I initially sought to participate in SlutWalk Chicago without raising critical questions about its inclusion of women of color and other people who are targets of oppressions that I benefit from, I cannot claim to hold any moral high ground. However, I do not believe that this sort of negligence is something I should strive for, and now that the SlutWalk Toronto’s reactionary stance is manifest, I have no desire to be a part of an action led by people who desire to follow its guidelines.

I believe there is another matter we need to consider: Even if SlutWalk Chicago renamed itself and distanced itself from SlutWalk Toronto, would the voices of people who face multiple oppressions be heard? I do not have enough information to give a justified answer to this question, but I can speak to my own experience. When you gave the call for committee “leaders”, I told you that I could not lead, but I volunteered to sit on one of the committees. I never heard any response to this. If a leader was chosen for the committee I volunteered to be on, I was neither given an opportunity to cast a vote nor so much as told who was chosen. If SlutWalk Chicago or any of its committees has ever held a meeting where trans people can express our concerns, I was never invited, and my voice has never been heard. This is not for a lack of time or resources; I have received several announcements from SlutWalk Chicago, always telling me what I can do to help the walk. If SlutWalk Chicago’s aim is “to engage” me “in dialogue”, the onus for insuring this dialogue occurs has rested entirely on my shoulders. So while I do not claim to have absolute certainty, I am not confident that SlutWalk Chicago, as it is currently organized, leaves enough room at the table for women of color, trans women, and other people who face multiple oppressions.

I believe most people who get things wrong have good intentions, and this belief has not been challenged by recent events. I believe most people involved in SlutWalk Chicago, including its leaders, are acting out of a desire to confront sexual violence and sexism, and I can only hope more people will come to share your concern. I also have another hope, which is that anti-sexist activists in Chicago and elsewhere will ask people who face multiple oppressions what we are already doing to confront sexism before creating yet another institution that includes us only as an afterthought.

Veronika Boundless
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
Last night I accompanied two members of Bisexual–Queer Alliance Chicago (BQAC) to a meeting of Chicago’s LGBT Advisory Council where they would submit the report Bisexual Invisibility: Impacts and Recommendations. One of the two was Brother Michael C. Oboza, a co-founder of BQAC. During the public comment portion of the meeting Michael gave each of the present council members a copy of the report and shared some of the information from the report, much of which brings sexism as much as monosexism into the open:
  • Thirty-five percent of bisexual men and forty-five percent of bisexual women “have attempted or seriously considered suicide”. This rate significantly exceeds the rates for straight people, gay men, and lesbians.
  • The portion of the bisexual male population living in poverty is greater than the portion of the gay male population living in poverty by more than fifty percent. The percentage of bisexual women living in poverty is more than twice the percentage of lesbians living in the same state.
  • Contrary to what their lack of visibility suggests, bisexual people make up the largest portion of the TBLG community.
In regards to the report Elizabeth Kelly, the chair of the LGBT Advisory Council, said, “This is very important.” Michael committed to sending an electronic copy of the report to the council members who were not present, and among the members there was talk of endorsing the report at the council’s next monthly meeting.

Edited on 2011 March 19 for the sake of factual accuracy. I had originally indicated that the report made comparisons regarding the number of bisexual people living in poverty, when it really presented percentages, which is more significant. I am sorry for my error.

faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
I just spent a lot of time composing a reply to a post entitled Dyke March Diaries: Coming Out on the IMPACT Program’s blog before realizing that it does not allow comments. So I thought I would post my comment here instead:
This is a very well-edited video, and the people in it are so inspiring! I am glad you and other folks are doing the vital work of recording the experiences of people in our community.

If I were to add anything, I would highlight the adversity that some people aligned with the T faced at Dyke March in 2010. In 2009 I, a transsexual woman, had tried to be involved in the Chicago Dyke March Collective (CDMC) and found the collective to be hostile towards trans people, especially those of us who are women or who have a feminine presentation. In response to this a number of trans folks, trans-questioning folks, and allies joined me in going to Dyke March to both celebrate our pride and resist CDMC’s marginalization of trans people. It is excruciatingly difficult to find queer “community” after facing rejection from mainstream society, only to find out that the “community” rejects us well. Despite this and a number of personal hardships, the other members of Stellar took a stand in 2010 and showed me what real community looked like. If Dyke March is a safer place for trans people this year, we will be indebted to the people who have been standing with us all along. Thank you, trans folks, trans-questioning folks, and allies, for the amazing demonstration of resilience!

I will be posting more about Stellar in the next month or two. For anyone whose interest I may have piqued I will at this time just link to a press release we sent before last year’s Dyke March:

Stellar calls for resistance on two fronts at Dyke March

faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
Last night I decided to watch the pilot episode of the newest animated series in Fox’s Sunday night line-up, Bob’s Burgers. The series is produced by Kimberly Smith, which told me nothing, because up until this point Smith has mostly worked on children’s shows, which these days I only watch if they are especially good or about dinosaurs. The fact that the show would air on Fox was no more helpful; this is the network that gave us Futurama, which I love (or loved—the episodes that have aired since the move to Comedy Central have left a lot to desire), and Family Guy, which I disdain. Thus I went into Bob’s Burgers ready to experience one of either end of the passion continuum.

Bob’s Burgers is about the misadventures the titular character’s nuclear family has while running a burger joint called Top Notch. No—you got me—it’s called Bob’s Burgers. The other family members are Bob’s wife, Linda, and his three children, Gene, Louise, and Tina. Though it is by no means a great indicator of sexism or the lack thereof, I always like to look at how closely a show approaches gender parity. Bob’s Burgers throws me for a loop by having men provide the voices of Linda and Tina. Even if I did not care about feminism, I would question this odd casting choice. Kristen Schaal, whom I first became acquainted with in Flight of the Conchords, provides the voice of Louise, and she gave the stand-out performance of the first episode. Why wouldn’t the makers want to give other women an opportunity to breathe life into the family at the focus of the series?

Some viewers, if they did not determine that the show was sexist upon noting its casting choices, might have reached their conclusion about a minute in, when Tina discloses that she has a crotch itch. I have not yet figured out if this offends me as a feminist, but I will say it was annoying as a running gag. The introduction of the plots was hardly more promising. The A plot concerns the fallout of a rumor that Bob’s Burgers uses human meat from the mortuary next door. In the B plot Bob is feeling inadequate as a husband, because Ricky forgot Lucy’s anniversary—no, wait, Bob forgot Linda’s anniversary. The plots are linked together when Hugo, a health inspector who dated Linda before she and Bob were married, capitalizes on the situation by requiring Bob’s Burgers to display a sign saying that the burgers may contain human meat.

Lest you come away from this review thinking that I have taste, I found the cannibalism allegation to the be funniest element of the episode. I smiled when it became apparent that Louise was the one who started the rumor, even if the smile faded when a flashback told me what I already knew. Was the show trying to tap humor from repetition, or was it condescending to me? I smiled again during the plots’ resolution, when Hugo relents and decides to give Bob’s Burgers a clean bill of health only to have Bob shush him, because he has found clients that want to try human meat for fifty dollars a burger. Unfortunately for the show, capping each end of a plot with funny moments does not make it any more interesting.

I was not at all impressed with the show’s other attempts at edgy humor. When Bob leaves Louise to run the store, she changes the sign to announce that the burger of the day is “the Child Molestor”. In another scene the writers try to generate laughs by having Gene and Louise taunt Tina with the suggestion that she is autistic. I did not notice any homophobic content, but if the pilot is an indication, the series will offer plenty to offend viewers concerned about social justice all the same.

As for the characters, Linda, Gene, and Tina are mostly forgettable (or perhaps I would just like to forget Tina’s contribution to the episode). If there is any hope for the series, it lies in Louise and her relationship with Bob. Louise is easily the most intriguing character—and not just because we never see her without her pink bunny-eared hat. She pulls shenanigans in territory where Bart Simpson fears to tread. Unlike Bart, however, she has a father who instead of responding by strangling her gives the most understated responses imaginable. Of course, making her more central to the plot could lead to other problems. This character needs to remain an enigma to work, and too many unvaried responses from her father would be dreadful. I do not envy the writers who will be doing the tight-rope walk required to keep the show fresh.

Of course, the above presupposes that the show can be kept fresh. Personally, I found Bob’s Burgers to be rank after the first viewing. And even in the absence of the humor I found offensive I have little incentive to watch a show that never made me laugh and only made me smile twice. Bob’s Burgers falls far short of the heights that sitcomes like Arrested Development soared to on the same network. If I know Fox, this is a sign that Bob’s Burgers will be around for a long time to come.
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
I recently wrote a post about cis feminists who misgender trans women (and more generally about feminists who marginalize women). This post is for cis people who say they understand trans people and in all likelihood sincerely believe that they understand trans people, but after talking to them for a while I have to wonder if they understand trans people.

When I enter a space I consider to be relatively safe, I am usually quick to disclose that I am a queer woman. Upon the disclosure cis people tend to respond in one of two ways. First, some cis people respond by asking creepy questions about my experiences as a trans person. They ask all about my sex life or, more commonly, my genitalia. They want to know if I am going to have “the surgery”. Offhandedly I can think of eight surgeries a trans woman might want as part of her transition, so I am put off when cis people make the surgery a homophoric reference to the one that involves a penis. But I digress. Other cis people respond by asking non-creepy questions about my experiences as a trans person. For example, they might ask me whether I have encountered discrimination on account of my trans status. There is nothing inherently wrong with this. In these situations my problem is not with the questions that are asked but with the questions that are not asked.

Can you, dear reader, guess what the lacuna is in cis people’s responses? What sort of question do you suppose I would hope to hear upon my disclosure that I am a queer woman? If I disclose that I am disabled or working class, do you suppose that I expect to hear people ask, “What is it like to be trans?”

There are two questions cis people do not ask me:

  1. What is it like to be a woman?
  2. What is it like to be queer?
If someone wants to argue that these are overly broad questions that no one would ask a cis queer woman, I would concede the point. But the trouble is that cis people do not even ask me more specific questions like, “Do you encounter sexism at such and such a place?” or, “Do you encounter heterosexism at that other place?” Cis people do not ask me, “Do you think our organization is falling short of meeting the needs of women?” even while soliciting my feedback on how well the organization is meeting the needs of trans people. Cis lesbians do not ask me specifically, “Doesn’t a woman seem so much hotter when you find out she’s queer?” even though I have known them to ask this question in other situations.

It is not for a lack of opportunity. There are people who have visited this blog, undoubtedly seeing the subtitle “A Queer Woman’s Blog”, and still only want to engage me in conversation about my trans status. There are often situations in which I find it natural to ask cis women about their experiences as women or cis queer folks about their experiences as queer folks, and they do not hesitate to answer. But they do not follow up by asking, “And what is your experience?” When an opportunity to ask me what it is like to be a queer woman presents itself, cis people are silent, and that silence speaks volumes.

Some cis folks might say, “Oh, Veronika, I do get that you are a woman. It is just that your experiences as a woman are so different that I do not know what to ask you.” I don’t buy it. Most cis folks know a cis woman who has to shave her facial hair, who does not menstruate, or who does not have noticeable breasts, and they still find a way to talk about their experiences of gender. Also, if it is a lack of common ground that keeps cis folks from talking about my gender, how is it that they have no difficulty asking me questions about my experience as a trans person—an experience that by definition no cis person has had? As I said before, a non-creepy question that involves my trans status is not bothersome in and of itself. So why don’t cis people ask, “What is it like to be a woman, when everyone around you insists you are a man?” or, “What is it like to be a queer woman, when everyone around you insists you are a straight man?” If they did, they might uncover differences that would help them better approach topics of gender and sexual orientation with me. Or they might find out I am not so different from cis queer women after all. Either way, they will have learned something about my experience as a queer woman.

And, yes, I am generalizing. There have been times when conversation naturally led to talk about my experiences as a woman or as a queer person; I do not remember now if these situations began with questions, but I felt that the other parties got it, so I will count them as exceptions. Also I do recognize when cis folks get it, even when they are simply making a statement. I was recently at a party where someone turned to me and said, “It is hard being a woman,” and I knew from her delivery that she was not saying this to inform me but because she knew I would understand. I get teary-eyed just thinking about this—this moment that would have been unremarkable, had I been a cis woman—because for me moments like this are so few and far between.

As you have probably guessed, if a cis person comments on this post merely to ask, “What is it like to be a woman?” or, “What is it like to be queer?” I will not answer. After all the point is not to take just one moment to ask a trans person a couple of questions, never to engage them on the matters ever again. My hope is that the cis folks who read this will make a continued conscious effort to recognize when they fail to seek input from trans folks, when they would seek the same input from other cis folks. I will believe cis folks are sensitive to me as a trans person, when they treat me the way they do other people who share my gender or sexual orientation. I will believe cis folks are sensitive to me as a queer woman, when they understand that they cannot know about every queer woman’s experience without asking me about mine.

faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
CHICAGO—People ordinarily take the expression “Have a ball” as an exhortation to celebrate, but no one was celebrating last night when nearly one hundred Chicago residents gathered outside Wrigley Field to hold the first annual Vigil in Memory of Flesh-Toned Balls. According to Stephen Stone, one of the planners, “This is a new event, but we’re trying to address an old problem: blue balls.” Stone planned the vigil with the help of Saul Sachs who said the pair deemed the event necessary “due to increased media sensitivity to women who turn down men’s advances without presenting the other side of the story”.

Stone said, “I wanted to make this vigil for men like me.” He then recounted his own story: “There I was in a local bar, and a woman refused to come home with me, so I asked, ‘Why would you accept my offer to buy you a drink, if you didn’t want to have sex with me?’ Then her friend said, ‘Maybe she just wanted the drink, dumbass,’ and they both laughed. How could anyone think it was a laughing matter when my balls were as blue as Jokey Smurf?”

Sachs is also no stranger to blue balls. “I got tired of living in a country where a woman can say, ‘Your freedom ends where my “no”s begin,’” he said. “Sexual interest unrequited is a tragedy as awful as a serial killer murdering a hundred people, a nuclear bomb destroying the city, or the Chicago Bears failing to go to the Super Bowl. I knew Steve understood that. That’s why I was happy to lend a hand when he said he wanted to host a vigil for men who don’t have the balls that they once had.”

In preparation for the vigil Stone and Sachs took their message to the streets. “It has been an uphill battle,” said Stone. “We stood on the street corner, distributing flyers while dressed as a couple of blue testicles. Some people were receptive, but most of them looked at us like we were nuts.”

“People don’t understand our predicament,” Sachs added. “There is a dearth of resources for people like us. Take the Internet, for example. You can find guides for everything from how to knit a hat with bunny ears to how to make a strawberry–rhubarb pie. But where are the web sites for men looking to relieve their sexual frustration?”

At the vigil Stone and Sachs unfurled a banner that read, “Women, it is time for us to chat balls out!” Abigail Glick, a passer-by from the nearby Boystown neighborhood, shouted into the crowd, “Cisgender, straight men aren’t the only people who get blue balls!” Sachs asked, “What? Do you expect us to invite gay dudes?” Stone expressed his own concern: “If we let a gay man with blue balls come to our vigil, he might want me to be the one to relieve him. Why can’t people understand that a man’s discomfort doesn’t outweigh my right to refuse to have sex with him?”
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
Most people who know I am a queer woman will assume that I am ecstatic about recent legislation: The bill approved by the Illinois General Assembly making civil unions legal and the bill approved by the US Congress repealing Don’t Ask Don’t Tell (DADT). However, people who have known me for some time might wonder. You see, I first delved into queer rights activism on Pride Day of 2004, when I joined a number of queer anarchists and allies in entering the Pride Parade, which we saw as a corporate sell-out, without a permit. A number of us commented on marriage, characterizing it as an oppressive institution. I do not remember whether we specifically addressed the issue of queer folks in the military, but people who saw the banner that read, “No war but class war,” might have inferred what the majority of us believed. We were not interested in reforming marriage or the military, we wanted to abolish them both.

Seven years have passed, and I am happy to learn about both pieces of recent legislation. Even so, I am not ecstatic. Though I am no longer an anarchist, I am still a radical. Marriage and the military have long been the primary concerns of white, cisgender, middle class gays and lesbians. Meanwhile organizations that have been in touch with the needs of working class queer and trans youth of color—organizations like Chicago’s Gender JUST—have tended to focus more on the systemic discrimination that is not codified into law, such as bullying in schools and the inequitable distribution of funding for AIDS prevention. When it comes to queer liberation, some of us have a longer way to go than the mainstream gay and lesbian rights organizations let on.

I am sincerely happy for the TBLGQ folks in Illinois who will no longer face institutional discrimination, but what about the problems it leaves unresolved? Even though the level of domestic violence in same-sex relationships is similar to the level of violence in straight relationships, the former is a lot more likely to be neglected. As the recent discourse regarding the accusations against Julian Assange shows, a ridiculously narrow definition of rape dominates in our sexist society, making it even more difficult for bisexual and queer women to be taken seriously. Considering that Illinois law formalizes a narrower definition of rape for victims whose perpetrators are their spouses, how attractive an option is marriage for those of us who survived sexual assault in same-sex relationships? As a trans woman who suffered abuse, including sexual abuse, at the hands of a transphobic woman who was my partner, I can tell you my personal perspective: The idea of being married is terrifying.

It is good that Congress has repealed DADT. Considering the rate at which black women were discharged under DADT, it was not only a heterosexist policy but also a racist and a sexist policy. However, repealing DADT will have no direct bearing on the fact that members of same-sex households are disproportionately more likely to serve. And why have they served? So that the US could destabilize Iraq to the point that it is arguably the worst country for TBLGQ people to be in? So that the party that is purported to be the party of “family values” could initiate a war in Afghanistan that has led to the daily death of 850 children? How does DADT—or any other legislation proposed by the mainstream gay and lesbian rights organizations—address the fact that it is straight folks’ war and queer folks’ fight?

If I could go back and relive my first day of activism, there is little I would change about my message. If I were to spend less time speaking out against marriage and the military, I would use the time I gained to speak out about the mainstream gay and lesbian community’s complacency when it comes to domestic violence and war. In the real world Illinois does not yet have equal marriage. Future generations will judge us based not only on our approval of reforms that would change this but also on whether we let focus on these reforms divert our attention from the plight of the most vulnerable members of our community.
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
While preparing to revise a piece I wrote entitled Five Things White Activists Should Never Say, I read people’s comments on the original version, including criticism. (The revision, Version 2.1, is now available at zinelibrary.info. Some of the comments I read can be found at People of Color Organize!.) A number of people, mostly people of color, gave thoughtful criticism that was crucial to helping me fill in some of my blind spots. There were also a number of white people who attacked the idea that white privilege exists. There can be no white privilege, they said, because there are rich people of color. Because Five Things is a short piece that was never intended to be an exposition on the fundamentals of anti-oppression, I did not respond to this criticism in my revised version. However, I will give a response here: Privilege is relative. As people who do anti-oppression work often put it now, there are intersections of identities, and people live at these intersections. The criticism fails, because you are privileged as a white person and you are oppressed as a working class person are not mutually exclusive claims.

It is not only those activists who fetishize class who have failed to account for intersectionality. Feminists have been guilty of this as well. Second-wave radical feminists believe that women’s bodies, as they conceive of them, have preeminence over all else, and vestiges of this belief can still be found among third-wave feminists. As an aside, there is an enormous failure here that should be obvious but which for some reason seldom gets mentioned: If feminism is, as bell hooks put it in Feminism is for Everybody, “a movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression,” then it is wrong to make women the exclusive focus. Feminists must never forget that two-spirit people, intersex people, genderqueer people, and other people outside the gender binary suffer some of the most painful and violent expressions of sexism. Returning to the main topic, the problem with ignoring other forms of oppression, as Audre Lorde famously pointed out, is that discourse on the people who are oppressed in regards to gender ends up being centered on those who are the most privileged in other respects. Though second-wave radical feminists do not say it—indeed they may not even realize it—the abstracted womanhood of their discourse is a white womanhood (and for that matter a middle class womanhood, but I will save that for another time).

Let’s take a moment to look at some specific problems with this. If we ignore race, we cannot address the injustice found in the way that women of color are held to a beauty standard that demands that they straighten their hair, lighten their skin, or lose weight. (Though there are white women who experience pressure to do the same, there is a significant difference of degree.) If we ignore race, we cannot explain why it was a woman of color who not all that long ago was told she had to leave the lobby of a Hampton Inn. If we ignore race, we cannot adequately account for the murder rate of transfeminine people of color. In short if we ignore race, we ignore people, most of whom are are themselves the targets of sexist exploitation.

There is a flip side to failing to take intersectionality seriously. This is manifest when second-wave radical feminists and those influenced by them subsume oppressed identities under women’s identity. The accompanying idea is that in some way all women are the primary stakeholders when it comes to the matters of sex work, trans status, and rape. Because acknowledging that sex workers face an oppression distinct from sexism amounts to making a concession to intersectionality, second wavers must construe sex work as a manifestation of the sexist system that harms all women, casting women who do sex work as dupes contributing to sexist exploitation. Second wavers are similarly unable to offer a rationale for how oppression against trans women is oppression against all women, and so perversely invert the oppression, arguing that trans women are men who appropriate cis women’s bodies and in doing so commit rape (I could not make this stuff up). Finally, to focus on rape survivors would be to throw a monkey wrench into the project of rooting all victimization in cis women’s bodies—after all, not all survivors are cis women—so second wavers talk about statistical likelihood of being or becoming a rape victim to redirect attention to cis women. (To be sure, women are more likely to be raped than men. The problem here apart from the marginalization of trans women is that women who are not survivors cannot truthfully claim to be stakeholders in discourse on rape in the same way that survivors are.) When people ignore intersectionality, they end up twisting reality to maintain the appearance that they are the focus of all anti-oppression work.

And who suffers the most from this flip side of intersectionality denial?

  • When feminists make women who do sex work out to be dupes, it is women who take the blame for the oppression of sex workers. Indeed there was a time when some feminists curried favor with legislators in the US and convinced them to make laws that were tougher on sex work; the result was that more women were thrown into prison, while pimps and johns carried on as usual.

  • When feminists make trans women the targets of ridiculous slander, it is women who suffer discrimination. Consider that the Michigan Womyn’s music festival remains one of the largest institutions that tells women they are unwelcome because they are women.

  • When feminists make rape survivors a footnote in a narrative about people who are likely to rape and people who are likely to be raped, they exclude a number of people, including folks outside the gender binary, men, trans women, and women who are raped by women. One consequence of this is that often when activists decide it is time to discuss rape, they segregate their collective into two focus groups, one for those who are likely to rape and one for those who are likely to be raped, and invariably put trans women into the former group, even though trans women are statistically more likely than cis women to be raped.
To summarize, when feminists deny intersectionality, they either erase people who suffer sexist oppression or co-opt the oppressions they suffer apart from sexism. Either way it is the people who are oppressed under patriarchy who are the most alienated. Just as white workers have time and time again played into the hands of employers who use racism to divide and conquer the working class, feminists have all too often aligned themselves with patriarchy in its war on the most oppressed women. Feminists must acknowledge intersectionality, because if we do not, we will contribute to sexism.

faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
I recently started watching the PBS series Dinosaur Train on a somewhat regular basis. The show is obviously aimed at a younger demographic, but I was drawn to it, because, well, dinosaurs are awesome, and when was the last time a show all about dinosaurs aired almost daily? Of course once I started to watch the series I noticed sexism, some of it subtle and some of it not so subtle. Because I wanted to be sure that the subtle sexism wasn’t all in my head, I thought I’d analyze five episodes to see if my suspicions about the show’s trends were confirmed.

The show focuses on the family of Buddy, a young tyrannosaurus rex. The rest of Buddy’s family is made up of pteranodons—Mom, Dad, Tiny, Shiny, and Don. In a typical cartoon members of the Pteranodon family take the Dinosaur Train to meet other animals from the Mesozoic era. While on the train, a troodon called Mr. Conductor tells the family members all about the animals they’ll be meeting. At some point Buddy will say, “I have a hypothesis!” After each cartoon Dr. Scott, a paleontologist, interacts with children, and he expands on what they might have learned from the cartoon. During the Dr. Scott segments there is often a man who suddenly bursts through a door to make an announcement that begins with, “Point of fact,” and usually ends with a denial of one of the obviously fanciful elements of the show, such as, “Therizinosaurus did not practice the martial arts.” (Yes, martial arts. I’ll say more on this later.) Each episode consists of two cartoons and therefore two Dr. Scott segments.

Though it isn’t of much social consequence, there is something I see in every episode that bugs me: In the introduction a song recounts Mrs. Pteranodon’s experience of finding Buddy in her nest. According to the lyrics she explains why Buddy belongs in the family by saying, “You may be different, but we’re all creatures. / All dinosaurs have different features.” Pteranodons aren’t dinosaurs, dammit. Now I know there’s been at least one cartoon in which a character says that pteranodons aren’t dinosaurs, but when it’s insinuated at the beginning of each episode, it’s bound to create confusion.

With that out of the way I can get on with the meat of my review (which is available for everyone’s digestion, not just carnivores’): Even after casually watching a few episodes a few problems become immediately apparent. Though the show seems to offer something approaching gender parity—the Pteranodon family has an equal number of males and females, and there are a lot of girls represented among the children Dr. Scott interacts with—it is nevertheless male-dominated. Buddy is obviously the main character of the series, not only because t-rexes are more recognizable than pteranodons but also because he is the only character who always takes the dinosaur train. (This contributes to a problem with the PBS Kids block: When different characters appear during station breaks or on the web site to represent different series, there are often no girls among them.) Mr. Conductor, Dr. Scott, and the Point of Fact guy are also all males/men. Though the show welcomes girls to enjoy dinosaurs, it sends the message that it’s mainly boys who get to hypothesize and speak about them authoritatively.

Upon closer examination the show reinforces gender roles in other ways. In the episodes I watched Mom alone took the kids out in four cartoons, Dad alone takes them out in two, and Mom and Dad take them out together in one. (The other three cartoons did not have Pteranodon family members leaving the nest.) Dad only went out when he got to play the role of the great outdoorsman, as when he took the children out to go fishing and look for dinosaur tracks. On the other hand Mom’s primary motivation seemed to be that she was always eager to please the children. The one exception is when she has the opportunity to get the autograph of a cryolophosaurus patterned after Elvis Presley. It’s hard to see how the writers might justify this. I don’t know what the current scientific consensus is on pteranodons’ child-rearing tendencies, but this scarcely matters. The series already makes a number of departures from reality in an attempt to appropriately socialize children (I always have a very hard time suspending my disbelief when Buddy nonchalantly tells a herbivore that he eats meat and the herbivore doesn’t show a hint of fear). Why can’t we have more females/women actively involved in learning and teaching about biology?

The cartoon I found to be the most irritating was the therizinosaurus cartoon and not just because Mom’s expression of support was so over the top. (Mom is in the background, silent and motionless until one of the kids suggests to Buddy that they visit the therizinosaurus family “today”, and Mom suddenly leaps into action to say what a good idea it is.) Throughout the episode traditional Chinese music plays, and the viewer finds that the therizinosaurus family practices a martial art that looks like Tai Chi Chuan. Why? Well, often in the series a dinosaur will have attributes associated with the people who currently live in the land it was discovered in. For example, Archaeopteryx was discovered in Germany, and Arlene Archaeopteryx has a German accent. The therizinosaurus practice a Chinese martial art and are accompanied by Chinese music, so where was therizinosaurus discovered? That’s right, Mongolia. Wait, what? Yes, apparently the show’s writers find Chinese culture and Mongolian culture to be entirely interchangeable. I must confess that I was blindsided by this racism, which probably says more about my white privilege than the likelihood of its inclusion.

If it weren’t for the therizinosaurus cartoon, I’d be a lot quicker to endorse Dinosaur Train. There aren’t enough shows that teach children about a subject they’re already enthusiastic about. To the extent that gender parity is present in the episodes, it’s encouraging. Though the females of the series aren’t very well developed, the same is true of the males. I suppose some adults would gag on the simplicity and cutesiness of the cartoons, but I for one appreciate the occasional escape from heavy topics. I just wish there were less sexism and racism in the series; I prefer that my escapes be not so short-lived.
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
I came out to myself as a woman on April 14, 2009, and when that happened all my confusion about my sexual orientation ended, and I realized I was queer. I came out to my friends two days later. By the time I came out I was already a feminist and a queer rights activist. I knew I would encounter sexism and heterosexism, but I figured I wouldn’t encounter much until I had started to take hormones and “pass” as a woman. Now that I’m on the verge of taking estrogen for the first time (I hope to have it on the 19th), I thought it would be a good time to write about how wrong I was.

One reason I was taken by surprise was that I failed to appreciate how much my social interactions were mediated by the Internet. In cyberspace nobody knows my trans status unless I tell them, so even people who would otherwise dispute my gender identity see me as a woman. This was most noticeable when I joined lesbian chat rooms. Upon entering I was inundated with private messages from men who were soliciting sex. Some of them didn’t even bother to pose as women. All I wanted was to find a supportive environment where I could talk about the struggles we face as queer women, but even when I devised ways to block private solicitations, there was little I could do about men’s disruptions in the chat room. I ended up giving up on using chat as a way to network with queer women.

Women also contributed to the problem. When I made the switch from the m4w to the w4w personals in the “Strictly Platonic” section of Craigslist, the homophobia came at me like a punch in the face. A number of women had posted ads that said, “No lesbians,” (if they weren’t using epithets) or, “Straight women only.” As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t a manifestation of heterosexism alone. If you take issue with women who form intimate, supportive relationships with other women, you are engaging in sexist behavior. The one small comfort I took from this was that I was unlikely to meet anyone who secretly hated me on account of my sexual orientation.

I also learned that while my male body might keep me from some encounters with sexism, it guarantees I’ll have others. Shortly after I came out as a woman I joined the Chicago Dyke March Collective (CDMC). Apart from a few insensitive but ambiguous remarks I saw no sign of a pervasive tendency to regard me as something other than a “real” woman. On the contrary, the more time I spent in the collective the more I felt self-conscious about being a woman. I raised some concerns about how trans people were being treated in Dyke March, and I wasn’t the only trans person to raise such concerns. What became obvious almost immediately is that if anyone perceived that transmasculine people were being marginalized, the other members were quick to step in. It also seemed that trans men were the barometer by which other members of CDMC determined that they were doing okay in regards to trans people. But when I talked about the concerns of transfeminine people, trying to engage other members in dialogue was like pulling teeth from a badger. In 2009 the Chicago Dyke March Collective would have been more welcoming to trans straight men than it was to trans dykes. Considering that CDMC members have gone back on their promises to work with me and other trans people to improve the situation, I doubt much has changed since then.

I could mention other times I’ve encountered sexism and heterosexism, but I think I’ve made my point: Being a trans woman, even one who looks “pre-transition”, does not save me from being the target of sexism. Sexism hurts all women, as well as people who don’t fit in the gender binary. Heterosexism hurts all queer people. If we want progress, we need to stop fighting over who is more oppressed, and work to abolish the systems that oppress us all.
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
What should we do when people in the mainstream media spend inordinate amounts of time talking about parts of a woman’s anatomy? Should we refrain from pointing out the sexism at the root of the focus? Or should we call the responsible parties out on their sexism, knowing that it will pique the curiosity of some readers who might not have otherwise heard about the ordeal? I’ve decided that the latter is the lesser of the two evils, but if you don’t want to read further, I certainly don’t blame you.

If you haven’t heard yet, a music video featuring Katy Perry and Elmo from Sesame Street was released to YouTube, and Perry’s cleavage is visible in the video. In the wake of this conservative parents in the US have howled words of protest, and entertainment news reporters (I’m looking at you, Access Hollywood) have engaged in the sort of snickering I grew out of before I entered my freshman year of high school. And, yes, I did say that this is conservative outcry. No, I will not be silenced by people shrieking, “Won’t somebody please think of the children?” There were breasts, and they were jiggling. That’s what happens to breasts when people who have them run, and it doesn’t take a physicist to explain why they move that way. There is nothing inherently erotic about this. Despite what patriarchal culture tells us it is not the case that we cover breasts because they are erotic. Rather, breasts are erotic because we cover them. In some societies women routinely go topless, and people don’t find them especially arousing. In other societies people blush when they see a woman in a sleeveless shirt, because they’re not used to seeing bare arms. If sensible people were interested in keeping erotic images of breasts from appearing on television, encouraging Katy Perry to keep her breasts covered would be the last thing they would do.

Yes, I’m sure there are people who eroticize Perry’s breasts in the video. But there are people who eroticize everything. Parents, if your kids are prepubescent, they’re not going to be all that interested in Perry’s cleavage. And if they are pubescent and wired to like women, there aren’t enough layers of clothing that will keep them from becoming aroused. In fact, when I hit puberty one of my first vivid sex dreams was about a woman who appeared regularly on Sesame Street. (Talk about the day my childhood died; the street just wasn’t the same after that.) It had nothing to do with the way she dressed—she always dressed conservatively, if my memory serves correctly—and probably the most titillating thing she ever did was announce that the day’s episode was brought by the letter O. But my newly hormone-infused body responded all the same, because I was a healthy, young queer girl.

As much as the uproar angers me as a woman, it absolutely infuriates me as a queer person. Why? Well, it wasn’t too long ago that Katy Perry appeared in another music video. In this video she showed a lot more skin, and one of the aims of the video really was to titillate the audience. I’m talking of course about the music video for “I Kissed a Girl”. Was there outcry then? Well, actually there was, and it came from the queer community. The video features a woman (Perry) who is presumably straight, singing about trying on same-gender intimacy for her own temporary gratification. In other words she plays the trope of temporary lesbianism entirely straight (no pun intended), abjectly failing to respect the many women for whom same-gender attraction is not a choice. Were children hurt by this? Well, the target demographic of music videos is adolescent youth, and as someone who was once a queer girl, I imagine this depiction of girls’ kissing would have left me wondering if the first girl I kissed would be using me as a disposable means of pleasure. Even if we set aside the fact that some of the fathers who now complain were all too happy to see Perry gyrate to music and sing about kissing girls—even if we set aside the fact that some of the mothers who now complain were all too happy to imitate Perry and try on lesbianism to make the men in their life horny—the current outrage is infuriating, because our society, dominated as it is by straight men, has given Perry a free pass until now. If the mainstream media is our guide, when the potential injured parties are queer youth and the people who object are also queer, it doesn’t deserve nearly as much attention.

So what do I think of Perry? I understand that our sexist society holds women in entertainment to a double standard and expects them to appeal to men in a way men are never expected to appeal to women. But it’s not like her producer was putting a gun to her head, so I don’t think she can be excused for her role in exoticizing queer women in the “I Kissed a Girl” video. Even so, none of this excuses the attention the same sexist society is now giving her and her body—not the least bit. As I can’t emphasize enough, it’s awful that I should feel the need to address this topic at all. Really can anyone honestly tell me that one one third of a cis man’s breasts has never been visible during children’s programming?
faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
There are many queer women with blogs. I just happen to be the only one who has this blog.

Being a woman, I will use this blog to write about my experiences as a woman. Being queer, I will use this blog to write about my experiences as a woman who is attracted to people other than men. In accordance with who I am I will write about my desire for women’s liberation (I’m a feminist) and queer liberation. I will also detail my love of women’s culture and queer culture, writing everything from analysis to praise of movies I enjoy.

Though my primary purpose is to write about being a queer woman, I cannot be reduced to a single adjective and a single noun. So I will also describe what it’s like to be transsexual, disabled, and working class. Some people have tried to convince me that talk of this sort is a distraction from women’s issue, but I’ve noticed that society expects women to step aside and let the men talk about issues related to trans status, disability, and class. For this reason I see speaking out on these matters to be not only part of the struggles for transsexual, disabled, and working class equality but also an act of feminist resistance.

This is the place where I will share my thoughts, unrestrained. Welcome.

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faithfulimage: A photograph of a button displaying a symbol of queer women—namely, an inverted black triangle. (Default)
Veronika Boundless

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