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After being misgendered* in class by my teacher earlier that morning, I had already spent a good five minutes hiding out and crying silent tears in a bathroom that most folks on campus would wrongly think I shouldn’t have access to. This day was headed for disaster from the start.
Some people might make the false claim that Harper is a safe space for all – that there is no bullying or prejudice, and that all are welcome.
As a transgender* persyn – more specifically, a genderqueer*, primarily butch* transwomyn – I live in a world that is inherently unsafe, uninviting, and unfortunately cruel if you do not conform to the rigid expectations of the gender binary*. It is not my responsibility to make sure that you are not a bigot, but I will give you a piece of my mind if you’re acting like one.
But I digress. This is my story.
I was sitting in the A building lunchroom, eating my lunch and doing a bit of homework. I casually looked around the room to see who’s who and what’s what. I was alone because I have one, perhaps two friends on campus, and I spend the majority of my days at school in isolation, for one reason or another.
One conversation in particular seemed to catch my attention, not so much because it was truly interesting or that I thought I might join in (respectfully, at least) – no, it was more because it was so ridiculously offensive and invasive that I couldn’t help but listen and mentally drop my figurative jaw, picking apart how problematic every statement really was.
Where to begin? Much of it was talk from the resident patriarch* at that particular table about how he’s alright with “bisexual chicks” but he just can’t be attracted to lesbians (as if dykes like me wanted anything to do with this scumbag), moving on to how he just love Asian women – because they’re all the same and fetishizing an entire group of people isn’t offensive, right? Choke on sarcasm here. He left for a brief moment, and upon his return, he asked if two of the womyn at the table had kissed yet. They said no, and he confirmed that he “hadn’t missed anything.”
Now, all of this was horribly offensive, but at this point, none of it seemed directly targeted at people like me, so I said “fine… perhaps this isn’t my fight, even though I am a queer womyn and everything he’s saying is homophobic and totally sexist. I’ll walk away and let another patriarchal scumbag dominate a conversation and say tons of ****** up ****. I don’t have the backup for a confrontation.” I hung my head and went back to eating my lunch.
Finally, the aforementioned misogynist worked up the nerve to start talking about a “shim” that he saw at Wal-Mart. What he means by “shim” is someone who looks like a “she” and a “him” at the same time – a slur typically directed at gender-nonconforming and transpeople. Perhaps androgynous, gender-variant, or genderqueer might be a better substitute? I’d pick an identity marker over a derogatory term any day.
He started talking about how disgusted he is by these “men in skirts,” with their deep voices and their hairy legs. As if it is any of his damn business as a straight, cisgender* male to communicate his feelings about transpeople! Especially in such a negative, oppressive way. Thank Jesus Christ for American social norms! Oh, how I appreciate being shown and told time and again that I am a spectacle of amusement and/or an abomination!
Finally, I worked up the courage – after listening to this endless, unchallenged hate speech – to tell him what I thought. I interrupted his phone conversation (as if he took a moment to be considerate to anyone) and told him the following:
“I just need you to know that you are an ignorant, bigoted piece of junk, and you ought to consider yourself lucky that I’m just giving you a piece of my mind. You should really watch your mouth. The next transpersyn you piss off might not be so courteous as to meet you with only words.”
He handed off the phone, rose from his chair and said “Excuse me Sir” – I cut him off abruptly with a middle finger in his face and said I’m a womyn.” He formed a fist and said “alright, you’re about to get punched in the face.” I had no intention of turning the confrontation violent, seeing as it is illegal to meet oppression with appropriate resistance, and I detest and am terrified of the police. I turned and walked away, and said “**** you, no I’m not, you bigot.” He sat down and called me a “boy in a skirt,” which is something I am certainly not.
Some might say that I am “hurting my cause” or holding back a movement by yelling at bigots with profanities, but I am not interested in building movements that allow this sort of hatred to be tolerated. I am subject to this treatment every day, whether it is in the form of public verbal assault, or the recitation of this sort of violent rhetoric, without a care for who is present. Actions that belittle trans people and those who do not conform to social standards erase people like me and perpetuate the notion that we are less than humyn, and I am sick of it.
No space is safe.
A Note on Language and Spelling:
As a member of multiple marginalized and oppressed social groups, I am aware that folks from different identities and backgrounds may not understand my struggle or some of the terms I use to describe things that are so glaringly obvious to me. If you have privilege, it’s your responsibility to educate yourself, and it is not my responsibility to guide you. However, I feel comfortable providing a few explanations in writing.
