Not Impressed

Sometimes imagining oneself on the political left can be a drag in this nation. When one looks around at (what remains) of the United States, it’s downright depressing. Six and half years of mismanagement, war, corruption, and greed has left the nation in economic ruin. The U.S. dollar is becoming as valuable as used toilet paper in Europe (and even Canada!). Most people in the U.S. seemingly feel no sense of responsibility for their fellow citizens (much less a commitment to global human rights). The earth is leaking ozone. News media channels won’t stop talking about Brittany Spears or the gay men who obsess about her. Taken collectively, all of that can drive GayProf a little nuts.

What can be even more grim to me is the way that the left eats its own in this nation. The mess around the recent passage of the Employment NonDiscrimination Act (ENDA) has left me remarkably depressed. If signed into law (which is unlikely), the meek measure would provide (very limited) protection of gay, lesbian and bisexual employees. To get it passed, however, required the intentional exclusion of the transgender community (or others who don’t conform to gender expectations (which, to my mind, is really the entire queer community (but that is another issue (I wonder if I use too many parenthetical asides)))).

While I disagree strongly with those gay men and lesbians who supported the revised ENDA that excluded transgender protections, I understand the reasoning that “some protected is better than none.” Two things about this debate, however, left a chill in my heart (as Annie Lennox might say).

The second most chilling thing to come out of the ENDA debacle was the number of prominent members of the (white) male gay elite who delivered a message that members of the left should just “shut up” about transgender rights. Instead, they argued, we should be grateful for this allegedly historic moment (which is arriving decades later than other nations and has been promised to be vetoed anyway). Fuck off. Measures like ENDA are about protecting our rights, not granting us rights. We needn’t grovel or idolize members of Congress for doing their job. I will also never celebrate a measure that protects my rights at the explicit cost of another’s rights.

By far, though, the most chilling element about the recent ENDA debacle was how quickly and easily so many members of the queer community dehumanized and denigrated transgendered individuals. One needs to only poke around the comment sections of various gay blogs (including this one) to discover unashamed declarations of hatred, stereotypes, and fear that gay men use to justify the exclusion of transgender people. At the heart of almost all of their arguments was a notion “they aren’t like me, so therefore they don’t deserve equal treatment (or, in many cases, to even be considered fully human)”. Shockingly, many of the accusations coming from gay men about the transgender community are almost identical to the argument that the right uses to justify denying gay men of their rights (an alleged propensity for drugs, “not normal,” menace to society, etc. etc.).

Twenty years ago, the African-American and openly gay civil rights activist Bayard Rustin declared, “The barometer of where one is on human rights questions is no longer the black community, it's the gay community. Because it is the community which is most easily mistreated.” To be honest, I always felt like this quote from Rustin wrongly presumed the battle to end racism was over (which it still isn’t). If we use his logic, however, I think that we can now say that barometer is no longer the gay community, but is now one’s perception and commitment to the transgender community.

Let's not even talk about employment. Right now, the murder rate of the transgender community is 17 times higher than the national average. The rate of physical assualt on the transgender community is the highest of any minority group (either by race or sexuality). The rate of violence committed against transgendered people of color grew the fastest over the past few years. All transgendered individuals in the U.S. have a 1 in 10 chance of being murdered in their lifetime. In comparison, other citizens in the U.S. have a 1 in 18,000 chance of being murdered.

It’s easy for safely employed (white) gay men who have cushy jobs in political organizations or the queer media to tell the transgender community that they have to “wait” for their rights until the general society learns to tolerate them. That, however, is entirely unacceptable. The measure of our success is not how well we succeed in protecting the rights of people like ourselves. Instead, the measure of our commitment to real sexual liberation and social justice is how well we defend people who are the least like us. Forgive me if I don’t open a bottle of champagne.

Starting Over. . . Again

Rain finally came to Midwestern Funky Town. Since moving here last week, it has been ungodly hot. It was more Midwestern Melting Town than Midwestern Funky Town. Let me tell you, I didn’t move to a place where the state flower is an icicle just so that I could spend my days sweating.

If I am talking about the weather, that also means that not much is really happening in my life. Sure, I am super busy. Boxes are being unpacked, organizing is being done, and work on the never-ending-research-project of doom is proceeding. None of that, though, makes particularly scintillating blog reading. It’s not as if I am going to discover a hunky naked man in one of those boxes. Nor is it likely that we would then have hot, hot monkey sex upon that discovery. After all, I have all my hunky naked men shipped via UPS.

So, given that I don’t have enough energy/ambition to create a coherent post, I will cobble together an entry from several thoughts that I have had over the past week:

*Starting over seems like a slow process. One also has to get acclimated, clean, connect utilities, and update all those online profiles. These things take even more time when there is only one of you in the move. After all, there are certain contents in a household that remain the same whether there are one, two, or four individuals in the unit. Everybody needs cookware. Everybody needs towels, etc. When there is only one of you, it takes that much longer to unpack all of that crap.

*Starting over also requires a lot of emotional energy. No matter the circumstances, there is something viscerally unsettling about suddenly living in a new place. Still, if Jesus has the power to rise up from the dead and take to the sky, then so do I.

*In all of my unpacking, I have concluded that I own way too many books and way too many dishes. At least I can justify the former (somewhat) by the fact that I am a professor. The latter, though, is seriously out of control. I am volunteering myself to the American Psychological Association as a case study to update the DSM with a new diagnosis of "Dish Mania." Why – WHY – do I need four sets of dishes? Three of those sets are seventy years old – the other forty years old. Why? Why? Why?

Do I seriously think that Fergie and her posse are going to drop by at any moment and will require massive catering? And, let’s be honest, if Fergie and her posse did drop by, I would use paper plates. This whole dish thing is out of hand. I need help.



*Unpacking those dishes was slowed by placing shelf-liner in all of my new cabinets. To be honest, I have never really seen the purpose of shelf-liner. Before she left, though, my sister and I went shopping for household items needed in a new place. When I informed her that I didn’t really plan to line my shelves, she looked horrified. As a result, I dutifully bought several rolls of the stuff. Seriously, though, why do I need this? Does it protect the dishes from the shelves? Does it protect the shelves from the dishes? Why is there such an antagonistic relationship between the two that they need a neutral zone of paper?

*Beyond unpacking, watching ancient t.v. shows, and starring blindly at a text that needs revising, I have also poked around the town a bit. Yesterday, I went out to search for a birthday gift for my other sister (Yes, there is another). She is a Leo (which fits her perfectly).

I decided that the funky downtown of Midwestern Funky Town would be an ideal place to find a funky gift.While wandering around, I discovered that every shop, regardless of its actual contents, was a “gallery.” If there was a 7-11, it would have been renamed the “Big Gulp and Slurpee^© Gallery.”

It seems to me if you are selling a vinyl LP that has been melted into a chip and dip bowl, you have forfeited your option of claiming “gallery” status. Don't get me wrong. I understand the quaint appeal of the item, but it's not really a "gallery piece."

Trust me, they weren’t selling this item with a sense of Andy-Warhol irony either. Midwestern Funky Town is not that funky – yet.

*I am in a major hurry to get the Texas license plates off of my car. I don’t want anybody in Midwestern Funky Town mistaking my unfortunate tags with an endorsement of that state’s atrocious politics.

*When I get those new plates (Monday – probably), I want the traditional blue plates of my new state. I hate all of these novelty plates that every state keeps issuing. What is with pasting lighthouses, sunsets, or boats all over vehicle tags? It’s a means of identification not an ad for freshness.

Yeah, I know a lot of these plates represent a minor donation to some worthy cause. This leads to its own absurdities, though. Like the idiot who drives a giant pickup truck but has the nerve to buy a “wildlife” plate. Clearly he reasons that forking over an extra ten bucks a year is going to undo the eco-damage of his four-miles-per gallon gas milage. It’s a little like Dick Cheney suddenly sporting a peace button on his lapel. Sure, the message is great, but it’s a little hollow when it’s resting on somebody slightly to the right of Kaiser Wilhelm.



*Meeting my new colleagues at Big Midwestern University certainly contrasts with my first weeks in Texas those many years ago. It’s great to have so many people interested in the history of race, gender, and sexuality all in one place. They seem happy to have added me to the faculty and have really gone out of their way to make me feel welcome.

I can’t say that this will last my entire time in MFT, but it sure is different than my Texas institution already. During my first week in Texas, in contrast, several senior colleagues came by my office to inform me that a) They didn’t want to hire anybody in Latino studies but were overruled by higher ups b) they didn’t think that Latino Studies was a legitimate historical discipline (too regional, don’t you know?) c) they really, really didn’t think that sexuality studies was a legitimate field of inquiry (too “trendy”) and d) they hoped that I didn’t take any of that personally, but thought I “should know.” Still.Not.Over.It.

*Before leaving Boston, I finished reading the latest Harry Potter book. There are some things to say about it, but I will wait to write about it until it is out of date no longer topical won’t be a source of spoilers for those who haven’t finished. What I can say is that it was an adequate book that answered most of the questions raised by the other books. Overall, though, it took a bit of the magic out of the series for me (especially the dreadful last chapter). I suppose, though, she didn’t write it for me.

*Moving still sucks.