Showing posts with label PhD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PhD. Show all posts

Sunday, August 31, 2025

Burning


Interlude III: Burning

Tuesday, August 2, 1983.  Reagan Strongly Defends Policies On Minority And Women's Rights

I'd had enough.  I was done being a freak.  Goddamn it- I was a MAN (on the edge of seventeen!), and it was time I started acting like one!

Puberty finally kicked in about a year before, but I was still much shorter than my peers.  And still looked like I was twelve, which meant getting a date was all but impossible.  I used to go to dances with a friend named Cheryl, but I screwed that up a year before as well.  She'll probably never speak to me again.

Senior picture: July 1983

I was tired of being bullied by neighborhood kids, by my brother, by everyone.  So, I started studying martial arts in a dojo run by one of my mom's co-workers.  Beat the shit out of one of my bullies, and word got out.  His having a cast on his arm from a compound fracture was a good deterrent.

I would model myself after the men I saw in comics, but also after my dad and show no emotion, but Anger.  Endure no insult.  Defend.  Punish.

It was early afternoon when I started a fire in the backyard burn barrel using all my girl stuff: all the clothes, a wig I bought at Halloween in ’81, a little kindling wood, and lots of lighter fluid.  I put the makeup and shoes in a trash bag, and deposited it in the dumpster at Burger King, where I worked.  My family were all away in Delaware for the week, so no one would disturb me.

The hot, sticky sun beat down, as it had all summer.   As I watched and sweated, the flames rose to the music of my Sears boom box.

Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace

I dream at night, I can only see your face.

 In the shade of the oak tree, our German Shepherd Sabre lay resting, indifferent.  He was an old dog at this point, and tired.  As the smoke and flames consumed my shame, I felt lost- Like I was burning a part of me I'd never get back.  I felt like a heavy veil descended over me.  Suffocating.  Drowning out all emotions.

Sabre.  1982

A week later, Sabre died suddenly of brain cancer.  

He'd been my confidante: the only one who I could talk to about all this.  I felt like he understood.  Or at least, didn’t judge.

Now, I had no one.

I spiraled into a depression that even my co-workers and few friends noticed. It's never left me, even after decades of denial and therapy.

No one could ever know.  After all…

Men don't share stupid feelings. 

 

 

 

 

            I saved Sabre’s dog tag and put it on my keyring.  It’s still there.

A month later, I started my senior year.  Priority one was applying to colleges.  Drexel University was my primary goal, but I also applied to Penn State, as well as Temple’s Tyler school of Art. 

Then in January ‘84, I met this girl from St. Pius high school at a school dance.  Her name (in my book) was Julianne.  A girlfriend would cure me of that… foolishness. 

Right?



Thursday, March 6, 2025

March of Questions

The cold rain falls here in State College, flutily trying to cleanse the Earth.  Evil has gripped the US.  It was on full display the other night during a televised speech to Congress.


Rainy days always make me reflective.  Perhaps rain are the tears of God or the dead.  Perhaps they are a metaphor for renewal and life, as water evaporates, rise, condenses, falls back to Earth just to eventually evaporate again.  


Wow.  Corny metaphors... and I'm not even drunk.


In any case, In the past week, people asked me questions that really gave me pause.  I figure writing them down would help me think through and process my answers.  You lucky people.




Recent pic

The first was asked  to me by a co-worker the other day, then by a therapy student last night:  What would healing look like for you?

This first came up during a discussion about Justice.  My coworker (who is against carceral state) believes that punishment doesn't help the victim at all.  My counter-point was "so the perpetrator just commits a crime, and gets away with it?"  Their point was that these are two separate issues- that society cares more about punishment than restoring the victim.  The coworker was once the victim of a hideous crime (I'm not at liberty to say what) while living in Hong Kong, and said that the first thing the authorities there did was to help them recover from the crime.  (yes, the perp was caught and punished.)  Hence the question. 

My answer: Wow.  I really have no idea. I've lost so much and have the scars to prove it. Move to a different house with Wife and daughter and live as a family again?  (and drag Linda along as well.)  The issue here is that if someone comforts me (like says "I'm proud of you), I don't believe them.  It bounces off my armor and doesn't get through (just like compliments.)  I've thought of this for a couple of days... am I beyond healing?  I mean- there's no way to have my years restored to me.  Apologies, while helpful, don't restore.  The "plate is still broken" so to speak.  

Of course, I could just let go of the past, and all the Pain.  But that Pain defines me- drives me.  



Without the experiences that caused the Pain (and other experiences) that make me who I am, for good or for ill.  That Pain gave me my drive and passion for justice.  Would justice on those who hurt me long ago bring me healing?  Not now.  Justice must be swift to be helpful.  That said, there are some graves that it would me great pleasure to, ahem, defecate upon.  

This is a question I need to really consider.  A lot.  


I thought of the second the other night while watching Casablanca.  That's a movie about many things, with regret being a major theme.  I thought about the losses I've endured- the many regrets I've piled up in my life.  Then I asked myself: Is it worse to regret something you did or something you did not do?

I posted the question on facialbook and received some good answers.

My answer: Something I did NOT do.  It's the hell of "what if."  When I regret something I did, I at least tried and found an outcome.  For example: I transitioned, and the following happened: blah blah.  I maintain that those results are better than wondering where my life would've been had not transitioned, but still wanted to.  If that makes sense.  (I already know what the alternative to transition would've been: death.)  


The third question was asked to me at a presentation I frequently do here at PSU: it's a brief LGBTQ 101, followed by the stories of the presenters, then a Q&A.  Usually the audience are undergrads, as we (me and the other presenters) are invited to speak to classes by the professors.  An F2M person (they told me) asked me the following:  What is your favorite part of being a woman?

In my eleven years of presenting about transgender issues, no one has EVER asked me that.  A question I get frequently is "What do you miss about being a man?"  (I usually steal Jennifer Finney Boylan's answer to that: "Pockets.")  Yet never the opposite.  The student said they couldn't imagine wanting any part of being female.  I get it- that's dysphoria.  

The answer I eventually gave was the 'permission' to feel and express emotions.  Guys really aren't allowed to do that lest they be accused of being "gay."  (Masculinity is a rigid, narrow course.)  Now, if I wish, I can cry, laugh, express all the emotions I wish.  After all, there's no 'restrictions' on women for expressing emotions.  Also, the estrogen allows me to feel more emotions.  There are emotions I experience that I can't even name.  (Did I install an emotion chip?)


In any case, all three are questions I need to keep considering.  If nothing else, to take my mind off the hell on earth that MAGA has made the world.


Be well.


Saturday, December 21, 2024

Solstice Scribblings

As I type this, the sun has set on the shortest day of the year.  This entry will be a mish mash of bits I've written over the past few months, some stuff I'm just typing in randomly, and whatever I feel like.  Call it a "clip show" if you will, but without Commander Riker.  

Bonus tribbles for anyone who gets that reference.


I dolled up last weekend.


Anyway, as I mentioned, today is the winter solstice, also known as Hibernal solstice, and, to my friends of the Goddess: Yule.  The Yule celebration is where we in the US get most of our Xmas traditions.  I think I wrote about that once.  Oh yeah- HERE it is!  As to those friends:

"Wishing you blessings this yuletide and every day. This Yule, may you and yours enjoy the blessings of the season and the joy of rebirth. As the light is reborn this winter solstice, may your heart lift with the joy of new beginnings and nature's blessings."


I forget where I dug that up, but I like it.  I didn't write it.  Cut and Paste is your friend.


I'd love to report incredible progress on my PhD but nope.  Still stalled.  Still my fault.  Same reasons, really.  Depression.  Imposter syndrome.  In an effort to kick my ass into gear, I decided to apply for a post doc kinda thing.  


The good news is that I had a class with Dr. Hil Malatino, who is in charge of this.  The bad news is that I also had a class with one of the other professors on the team during my first semester of my PhD studies, and, well, we didn't see eye-to eye.  In any case, I spent several days updating my CV, filled out the application (which included two essay questions of at least 500 words) and submitted it last night.  Do I have a prayer of getting it?  Doubtful- especially since I don't have my PhD yet.  But I COULD have it by August if I get my ass in gear.  So there's that.


As I showed above, I dolled up a few times this month.  I guess I just wanted to feel something.  Maybe it was because it felt so good dressing up for the reunion.  A big reason was that I've lost a lot of weight due to Ozempic and diet change (diabetes sucks), and I was going through my closet trying on things I stopped wearing because I was too fat.  I found several including my jeans!  Another reason I dolled up was because I kept practicing with false eyelashes.  Again and again.  Eventually, I was successful.  So, I dolled up to celebrate.


Look at what I did!

Another piece I fit into was my fave purple sweater.  


Bathroom selfie!

So that was a good thing since my last blog entry.  


Xmas is next week.  Wednesday in fact.  I won't see Wife or Daughter that day, but I may see them on Monday.  I hope so. 


What else is going on?  The usual end of semester money woes which mean trips to the food bank.  Added to that was the fact that my roomie/bestie Linda was sick for 5 weeks and out of work.  My income barely cuts it when both of us work, so that was crippling.  To distract myself from concentrating on that and spiraling deeper into my usual holiday depression, I decided to help a Vampire bride.  She was in a nasty car accident, which totaled her car.  As she ran her own driving business, this is devastating.  Add to that her injuries and broken glasses... it was a stake to her heart.  Like me, she is too proud to ask for help, so I started a GoFundMe for her.  

Hopefully this link works.

Oh, why am I calling her a Vampire bride?  Because we met when we were both in Dracula together at the Forge Theatre.    (Hmmm I thought I had a pic of all four brides, but I don't.)


Two of the four Brides rehearse getting Harker all "bloody."


She has it worse than me.


Penn State won its first playoff football game at Beaver Stadium today against SMU.  It was 25 deg F with a windchill of 10 deg, which I'm guessing was far too cold for those Texans.  Also, it was a "White Out" so it was LOUD.  I didn't score tickets in the student lottery, so I watched it from my couch.  Oh, here's a bit of trivia: at PSU we say "WE ARE PENN STATE!"  This started because of our last game against SMU in 1948.  


Oh, back in July I wrote a blog entry wondering what I would do if fascism won the election.  It did.  And they've already started clamping down of TG people.  In any case, I decided what I'm going to do.  I'm staying here.  There are a few reasons.  The first is that Linda doesn't have a passport, and I won't leave without her.  Second is that I simply don't have the money to leave.  Third is that if I left, I'd feel guilty for leaving.  I can't leave and let my transgender sisters fight on without me.  I've fought all my life (and have the scars to prove it), and I won't stop now.  Fascists need to be fought.  To do any less is to dishonor everyone who fought it last time- in the 40s.  


In any case, that's all I have.  Enjoy whatever holidays you observe.  Be well.




Sunday, September 15, 2024

58 and 11

As I write this, it's mid September.  Long time readers know that I hate September more than Green Day does.  I was thrown out from my family very late August (that counts), I last saw Lisa Empanada in September, and she died Sept 17.  Then there was the funeral. All of these events were in 2013: eleven years ago.  But there's another reason I hate September that repeats every year so far- my birthday, which this year fell on a Friday.  Friday the 13th.  Insert joke here.  Oh, in case you're interested, I was born on a Tuesday, not Friday, despite my bad luck.  

Friday, September 13, 2024


I'm now 58, a fact I don't hide.  So many don't get this far (Lisa was 52.)  I don't deserve to be this age.  I planned to exit quietly when I turned 50, and a few times before that (like when I was 24.) I absolutely wanted to drink myself to death before I was thirty.  

What have I accomplished this past year?

Absolutely nothing.  

I am still at the exact same point in my PhD studies now as I was at this time last year (I wrote about that here.)  In fact, with the exception of a presentation I did on LGBTQ history at Penn State, I haven't written anything aside from the occasional blog entry and a sparse amount in writing notebooks.  I've sat in front of my computer, staring at the IRB screen for hours, blankly.  I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, or hugging a pillow for dear life.  I no longer have hobbies.  My therapist no longer takes my insurance.  I spent Christmas night in the Emergency room in agony.  No more gall bladder.  Over $10,000 in medical debt.  A Group of coworkers turned me down for a job for which I was very qualified (and, when I re-applied after the job was re-posted, HR said I "wasn't qualified.")  Oh, and 45 has a very real chance of winning the election and implementing his fascistic "Project 2025" which will mean suffering and death for many, including people like me. (Yes, I've read the whole 900+ pages- and I urge you to do so as well.)

Ok, but as several people I know would say- let's look at the positive.  I received a fellowship which covered fall tuition.  That helped.  As a last resort, I started a GoFundMe for my debt which raised almost $5,000.  That didn't cover everything but combined with settling up payment plans, it made the medical debt almost manageable.  Using the fellowship, I was able to purchase student insurance that covers so much more than what I had previously- including dental, which means I can get long needed dental work.  I've lost over thirty pounds which put me back into pre-diabetic stage (and means I can fit in a few things again.)  I saw Wife and daughter this weekend, and we had a nice lunch.  

So it is, the positive and negative.  

I often wonder what Lisa would be like today, had she lived until now.  Would she be happy?  Would she be at peace?  What would she think of the world today, and the situation people like us face?  What  would she think of me now, and who I have become?  


Lisa and Ally (who posted this pic), undated.

Obviously, no one will ever know the answers.  Tuesday will mark eleven years since Lisa was found.  For nearly all that time, Lisa's earthly self has resided in various urns and small amounts of ash scattered at various locations.  Those who knew her can only guess, wonder, and endure.  

Eleven years.  Yes, time has assuaged some of pain.  Time does that- it's one of the few favors it allows.  There is still, and will always be, an empty part of my soul, and what is left of my heart.  That part was ripped away when she decided to die.  She died alone, as she planned, with none to stop her.  

This week, I remember Lisa, and also cope with age- something she never had to do.  

Be well.

Tuesday, August 20, 2024

Branches and Paths

The other day marked five years since returning to State College for my PhD.  I wrote about it HERE and HERE, if you care.  For five years, I've worked on my degree- filling my head with academic articles, books, experiences, losses.  For the past two though, I've been kinda stalled.  I'll come back to this.


I've written here and elsewhere that Penn State is my happy place, and, if I could not live with Wife and Daughter, I may as well be in my happy place.  I dragged Linda (roomie/bestie) with me, and I don't know if she's happy about that.  (I think not, really.) In any case, for the past five years, my life has revolved around academia.  Eventually, I found a series of jobs, both at Wegmans and, for the past three years, here at the LGBT Center (I mention that a bit HERE.)


Since returning, I've taken a LOT of pictures (2,444 as of this second).  It's easy when one has access to a camera on the phone at all times.  I didn't have many photos from my undergrad days, and the ones I had were done with borrowed cameras.  Most of those were for the fraternity scrapbook, which, like the negatives, are lost.  I guess I'm making up for that a bit.  


One of the subjects I photograph often are the pathways here.  They honeycomb the campus like a spiderweb on LSD.  I can't stop thinking about the metaphor they represent.  The paths branch, going to different destinations, or just different paths to the same destination.  When I was in undergrad, I occasionally would take a longer route than necessary to reach my destination (when I wasn't running late.)  I didn't think twice about it, but in truth, each of these choices, conscious or unconscious, changed my life.  Had I taken a different way, say back to the fraternity house, who knows who I would've met?  What could've happened.  Perhaps I would've been hit by a car, or met the love of my life.    



And that's the metaphor of the Paths.  They represent the different paths a life could take- especially when one is younger, say, college age.  Who would I have become had I stayed at Drexel?  What if I got that job at National Records and never had to apply to Burger King, where I would meet the people who defined my Penn State experience for good and ill.  What if I decided "fuck those guys" when I received the cold reception at the fraternity and found a different group of people to hang with?  Who would I be today?


Would I even be alive?


It's a cliche to say that our choices, even the smallest ones, can change and define our lives.  Now in my late  fifties, so much of my life is set in stone.  I can't change my past.  I can't change who I am, or what I've done.  I have a daughter, and that's forever.  while some of the people I've met pass like shadows, others left deep marks and scars on my soul.  (What I hadn't gone to the Raven that night in January 2012, and met Lisa?)  



Nothing is permanent in life.  While I will always have a daughter, the nature of my relationship with her can/will change.  Life itself is temporary- a heartbeat in time.  Moments pass.


Which brings me back to that whole stalled thing.  I've been stuck in the same place in my path for two years.  Some of it has been deep depression.  Some of it has been fear- the fear of Failure, and yes, of the remote possibility of success.  But recently I think I figured out what my major malfunction is: I don't want it to end.  I don't want to leave PSU again.  Leaving in December '88 (and graduating in May '89), threw me into a very dark place.  I would've given ANYTHING to come back and be a student again- to return to that time.  


I was obsessed with it.  Hell, I even wrote a book about that time, trying to figure out what about that time could've caused such a depression when, really, most of the time I really didn't have a pleasant experience.  My brothers were cold to me, my girlfriend cheated, my grades were meh... Why did I want to go back?


But I am back.  I am such a different person now, and much older, which makes me outside the 'target audience.' But there's another big anchor... 


Here I'm employed.  I have a job.  I spent so long after the bookstore fired me on the unemployment line, sending hundreds of resumes and hearing nothing.  Rejection after rejection.  Here I have a job.  Yes, it's part time, but on some days I feel like I actually make a difference- my path intersects another person's.  That I'm actually worth something, if only for a moment.  


My path returned me here.  I fought to get my place, and I've managed to continue while others from my cohort... didn't.  I'm striving to reach the peak of the academic ladder.  I never in my wildest dreams expected my path to lead here.  Then again, I never expected my path to take me to transition.  I thought/hoped/prayed that my path would end before my thirtieth birthday.  And again on my fiftieth.


September 1986.  Pic by Chuck Fong


My road brought me here.  And, as before, I'm afraid to leave.  I'm afraid of failure.  I'm afraid of success.  I'm afraid of unemployment again.  So much for "rush[ing] in where angels fear to tread" (Alexander Pope, 1709.)  So I stare at the ceiling.  I walk around campus, following old paths I trod long ago.  Again.


Tolkien wrote in Fellowship of the Rings: “It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”  


So true.


Be well.



Friday, June 21, 2024

Letter to PA Rep Chrissy Houlahan, (D) PA 6th District

Today I received an email from Rep. Chrissy Houlahan, (D: PA6) who represents my former home of Phoenixville (where Wife and Daughter still live.)  It was all about Pride and Juneteenth and how happy she was to celebrate both. 


Me with then newly elected Congresswoman Houlahan, Nov 2018.

In reply, I sent the following letter:

****************************************************************************


Dear Congresswoman Houlahan,  

In an email sent 6/21/2024, you wrote:

This month, we've been able to celebrate that diversity in so many ways, and I want to highlight it here for you all! 

And yet, transgender people (especially transgender women) are still being targeted by bigoted laws and violence.  Remember the T part of that acronym?  Well, we need help- desperately.

 

The GOP made clear its plans "Eradication" (see Project 2025, also CPAC march 2023),  Trump said "On day one, I will sign a new executive order to cut federal funding for any school pushing critical race theory, transgender insanity, and other inappropriate racial, sexual, or political content onto the lives of our children" (TPUSA speech, June 15, 2024)  

Anti- trans bills skyrocketed from 143 in 2021 (18 passed) to 600 (87 passed) in 2023. In 2024, there have already been 602 bills (42 passed) and we’re only 1/2 through the year. (https://translegislation.com/)

 

The night you were first elected, I met you at the victory party, as I worked on Rep. Shusterman's campaign.  I said "Transgender people need help.  Can you help us?"  And you said you would.  You may not remember this, but I do.  So I ask: what have YOU done?  Specifically.  (I already know the answer.)  In fact, the one picture I've attached shows me saying that to you (by coincidence.)  

 

I know I am just one person from a small minority of voters, but we NEED help.  NOW.  A careful reading of Project 2025 states intent: 

 Project 2025 wants to label our very existence as ‘pornographic’ and threatening to children, which to them is punishable by execution.

 Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology and sexualization of children, for instance, is not a political Gordian knot inextricably binding up disparate claims about free speech, property rights, sexual liberation, and child welfare. It has no claim to First Amendment protection. Its purveyors are child predators and misogynistic exploiters of women. Their product is as addictive as any illicit drug and as psychologically destructive as any crime.  Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned. Educators and public librarians who purvey it should be classed as registered sex offenders [emphasis mine]. And telecommunications and technology firms that facilitate its spread should be shuttered.” (Project 2025, p.5)


 “[The next conservative Administration] should also pursue the death penalty for applicable crimes—particularly heinous crimes involving violence and sexual abuse of children [emphasis mine]—until Congress says otherwise through legislation. [footnote referenced]”. (p. 554).

Oh, what does the footnote say? “This could require seeking the Supreme Court to overrule Kennedy v. Louisiana, 554 U.S. 407 (2008), in applicable cases, but the department should place a priority on doing so.” (p. 576)

554 U.S. 407 reads “Sentencing a defendant to death for any crime other than homicide or crimes against the state is unconstitutional per se under the Eighth Amendment.” (“Kennedy v. Louisiana, 554 U.S. 407 (2008)”)

 

Congresswoman Houlahan, I'm studying anti-transgender hate for my PhD dissertation at Penn State.  I follow what the GOP and associated hate groups (Heritage Foundation, Focus on the Family, etc) have done and are doing.  I'm terrified.  

 

I ask again:  PLEASE HELP US!

 

Yours, 

 (sign off)


********************************************************************

I don't expect an answer, or, if one comes, it'll be a form letter or a letter asking for donations.  If anything else comes, I'll let you know, dear reader.


As Maddow says: "Watch this space."

(Note: the Representative for State College is GT Thompson who is MAGA to the core, and attended his gay son’s wedding THREE DAYS after opposing protections for same-sex marriage.  Writing to him would be a waste of time.)


Be well.

Wednesday, May 8, 2024

Dallas Denny's Keynote and Shoutout

Last week, I was stunned to hear that the legendary Dallas Denny quoted me in her TG Forum piece, which was from a keynote speech she delivered.  (Link to the TG Forum pieces HERE)

On the extremely unlikely chance that you've never heard of her, the following bio is from her website (linked above)

"Dallas Denny has been a leader in the transgender rights movement since the 1980s. Her work as an advocate,  writer, editor, and community builder have played a significant role in the advancement of rights for transsexual and transgender people in North America and around the world."

(from Wikipedia) "In 1990 Denny founded the 501(c)(3) nonprofit American Educational Gender Information Service (now Gender Education & Advocacy, Inc.). In the same year she started the Atlanta Gender Explorations Support Group and launched the print journal Chrysalis Quarterly. In 1993 she founded the National Transgender Library & Archive, which now resides in the Labadie Collection at The University of Michigan Library System. Also in the 1990s she continued the work of the Erickson Educational Foundation. She was a founder of Atlanta's transgender Southern Comfort Conference and provided start up funding, through AEGIS, for the first FTM Conference of the Americas. She was Director of the transgender conference Fantasia Fair for five years and from 1999-2008 editor of Transgender Tapestry Journal, published by the International Foundation for Gender Education.

Since 1989 Denny has produced dozens of flyers, booklets, and medical advisories, contributed considerable content to Chrysalis, AEGIS' several newsletters, and Transgender Tapestry, and written a column for TG Forum. She wrote hundreds of articles for transgender community magazines and newsletters, many of which were widely reprinted and eventually placed on the internet. In 1994 her book Gender Dysphoria: A Guide to Research was the first book-length contribution to the scientific literature of transsexualism produced by a transsexual."

Add to that, she's been a mentor and friend.  I'm honored beyond words that she would cite my work.  In any case, here's the piece, reprinted in full with her kind permission.  Please hit the TG Forum link to give her some hit love there too.


Dallas Denny (from FB)


*********************************************************************************

The following are my notes for the keynote I delivered at the third Paradise Conference, which was held in Atlanta from April 18-21, 2024. My thanks to TGForum contributor Sophie Lynne for her recent article here about anti-trans legislation and to Jamison Green, Chelsea Goodwin, and Lola Cola, for our conversations.

Here’s a link to Sophie’s article.


Disinformation, Misinformation, and Cognitive Dissonance

Keynote, Paradise Conference 2024

By Dallas Denny

Hello, everyone. It’s great to see old friends and friends soon to be live and in person.

I’m honored to have been chosen to give this keynote. I would like to thank Toni Cane and the board of directors of Paradise Conference for giving me this opportunity to address you.

Conferences like this are important. Contact with one another on social media and via e-mail is also important, but it doesn’t replace face-to-face contact. When we arrive here, we are with our tribe, and we know it and respond to it. We are loved without reservation and free to be ourselves, a luxury many of us don’t have in our everyday lives. So thank you, everyone, for being here.

I intended to talk today about something I have never really addressed in public—my life and my work. I have been an activist in this community since the 1980s and I have had a wonderful career and met many remarkable people and seen some amazing things. I have witnessed with joy the increasing freedoms and legal protections and growth of community that have occurred over the past 35 or so years— but  due to recent conversations with Jamison Green, Chelea Goodwin, and Lola Cola—who is in the room tonight—I asked  that my planned talk be moved to a workshop so that tonight I could talk about something more important  than myself.

I’ll introduce this topic by telling you about a Facebook post I read on the airplane on my way here to Atlanta. A woman, a stranger, scolded the man who wrote the post. She said to him, “This is San Diego. You need to speak English.” He asked her, “How do you say San Diego in English?” The result? A dumbfounded expression. This is important, and I will work my way back around to it.

What I am talking about tonight is the incredible rising tide of anti-trans rhetoric, violence, and legislation that is being directed at us. We are not strangers to violence and hate, but we have become the subject of a vast coordinated and well-planned attack from the far right. Since Rowe vs. Wade was disposed of by the U.S. Supreme Court, we have become, as my friend Sophie Lynne wrote in a recent article on the website TG Forum, the new bogeymen.

Those positioning themselves as our enemies are evangelistic Christians, white nationalists, a political party I will not mention, and a small group of women known as trans-exclusionary lesbian feminists. Sometimes they are even supported from within our own ranks. I’m looking at you, Caitlin Jenner! They are organized in ways we are not, and they are massively funded by billionaires and organizations including the Heritage Foundation, the Family Research Council, and the Alliance Defending Freedom. They lobby and influence local, state, and national congressmen and women and spread disinformation and misinformation about trans people to the American public.

Working in tandem, The American Legislative Exchange Council and the Congressional Prayer Caucus write anti-trans bills which they send to senators and congressmen in every state, who put them into play—and many become the law of the land.

In her essay, Sophie Lynne wrote “Anti- trans bills skyrocketed from 143 in 2021 (18 passed) to 600 (87 passed) in 2023. In 2024, there have already been 539 bills (20 passed) and we’re only one-third of the way through the year.”

These bills span a wide range: Here are examples of some of the more moderate state bills that have been brought forth, many of which have become law and more of which will soon be: requiring teachers to use the birth names of students who have transitioned and criminalizing them for any mention of homosexuality or transgender identity. Requiring trans students to use the bathroom and locker rooms of the gender they were assigned at birth—can you imagine how traumatic and damaging that would be to a transitioned boy or girl? Banning students from participating in sports as a member of their identified gender. Requiring teachers to inform on trans children to their parents. And again, these are the milder ones.

In Texas, parents who affirm their trans childrens’ gender are subject to investigation by child protective services. In Tennessee—this one is not due to law, but to a malevolent state attorney general—Vanderbilt University was coerced into turning over the medical records of the patients of their gender clinic. I went to graduate school at Vanderbilt in the 1980s and a decade before that was a patient of their gender clinic. I find myself wondering if my records are with the Tennessee state attorney general.

Bills in some states have banned changes of gender marker on identifying documents like birth certificates and driver’s licenses, and in Florida, I believe it is, those who have changed their markers will now have their documents voided and replaced by ones with their birth genders. In another state—I believe Texas—honestly, reports of these bills are coming in so fast I can’t keep up with them—the attorney general has suggested putting all trans people on the sex offender’s list. Also in Texas, the governor has stated his plans to prevent any transgender or nonbinary person from teaching in schools. And in some states, gender-affirming medical treatment—not only hormones are prohibited for those under eighteen, but medicines that delay puberty so families will have time to sort things out.

As a result of this hate and legislative malevolence, violence directed at us is on the rise.

It should be obvious to everyone here that we are in great danger of being criminalized merely because we exist. Around the country, at every level, local, state, and national, trans people are struggling and mobilizing to stand up to this tyranny. We each can and should do our part. That doesn’t necessarily mean outing yourself or engaging in direct action like lobbying your congressperson. If you’re not comfortable with such, your dollars will help. But above all, I beg you—whatever your political affiliation, VOTE. Please. VOTE.

Now, you might think this wraps up my talk, but we’re only at the halfway point. I will now attempt to briefly explain to you why this is a dangerous moment for the world and for America.

When I was growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, Americans got their news from trusted sources—primarily newspapers, magazines, and the evening news on the three existing channels:  ABC, NBC, and CBS. News was delivered by trusted commentators like Walter Kronkite and Chet Huntley and David Brinkley. Being journalists, they did their best to give America the news, and, being human, they sometimes skewed it a bit. But listeners had a common point of view from which to take exception and talk or argue about local, national, and international politics, fashion, and the weather.

Those days are long gone. Today there are channels leading to the left and others far, far to the right, and many people get their information solely or almost entirely from single sources that cannot in any reasonable fashion be called news. That of course increased the divide, But to make matters worse, since the mid 2010s there have been increasing sources of disinformation and misinformation. Countries like Russia, North Korea, China, and Saudi Arabia hire hundreds and thousands of English-speakers to twist facts or, more often, just make stuff up. They reach millions of Americans through fake but convincingly serious-looking websites and social media accounts. This makes it difficult and sometimes almost impossible to separate the wheat from the chaff, and as a result Americans, and especially gullible and low information Americans, have come to believe and build their private realities on things most bizarre: The earth is flat; the moon landing was faked by Stanley Kubrick. As an aside, I knew Kubrick’s cinematographer for the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey—Jack Malick, who, as Andrea Susan, was one of us. The moon landing was NOT faked. Jet contrails are a government plot to change the atmosphere or poison us. The Sandy Hook school shooting was staged and the bereaved parents are all paid actors. Democrats run a child pornography ring in the basement of a pizza restaurant that has no basement. Imagine the face of the MAGA shooter who showed up with his AR-15 and found that out. COVID vaccines are a government ploy to alter your DNA and allow the government to track you—as if they can’t already do that by pinging that cell phone in your hand. COVID itself, which killed more than one million Americans and left millions of others with long-term disabilities, is itself a hoax, Climate change is a hoax. 

People are absolutely convinced these things are true. They of course are not. They make absolutely no sense and are easily disproven by those who care to look at reliable sources, which most conspiracy theorists refuse to do. Instead, they find confirmation through social media accounts, some of which belong to fellow conspiracy theorists, and most of which are run by foreign trolls. They find a couple of disinformative articles on Google that justify their conclusions while failing to cite any actual data, and they call it doing research. That is absolutely NOT research. Research involves going to primary sources, and they’re too lazy to do that. Meanwhile, they scoff at and discredit scientists who are doing REAL research. And let me be clear.  Science is real. It is our most important tool. Without science, I would not have survived childhood, and neither would many of you. We would not be traveling to conferences like this in planes and cars, for there WOULD be no planes and cars. We would still be mired in illogical, superstitious beliefs that held humanity back for millennia.

To make matters worse, and soon to be far worse, now, suddenly, AI is upon is. We have already been told to believe what the bots are telling us and not our lying eyes and ears—now AI is being used to crank out disinformation in clever ways and create utterly believable images that DO trick our eyes and ears. I am forever seeing images on Facebook showing impossibly giant humans and female celebrities I know did nor pose in that swimsuit. They’re not real, but they LOOK convincingly real unless you count the fingers. But many people, I know, take it all in as fact.

This is the crux of our nation’s problem .

At this point half of the U.S. population believes Joe Biden, age 81, is too old to be President, and Donald Trump is not. Trump is three-and-a-half years younger than Biden and, should he win the November Presidential election, would be older than Biden is now at the end of his term. Half of the population believes Biden, who is extraordinarily mentally sharp and speaks in logically constructed sentences, is senile and Donald Trump, who shows clinical signs of senility and speaks in word salad, is sharp. I say this as someone with a license to practice psychology and who had a career as a psychometrist. Look at transcripts of Donald Trump’s speech. It wasn’t that way when he was younger. And compare it to transcripts of Joe Biden’s speech. Who is coherent?

I say this not to raise one Presidential candidate over another, but to point out that within a matter of weeks half of Americans came to believe Joe Biden is a decrepit, senile old man. Disinformation and misinformation. It’s devastatingly effective in the United States today.

As I conclude, I circle back, as promised, to the woman in San Diego. When her beliefs were challenged in a simple and direct way— “How do you say San Diego in English,”—what happened? Brain freeze.

In the mid-twentieth century, long before today’s sophisticated methods of mental manipulation came into play, a psychologist called Leon Festinger studied people with false fear-provoking ideas. He discovered that people with such beliefs were extraordinarily resistant to information that challenged their beliefs. They would in fact do considerable mental gymnastics to avoid even hearing data that was counter to their false beliefs. Festinger called this cognitive dissonance. And it perfectly describes the woman in San Diego.

This is why we’re in trouble. Half the population believes trans people are abusing children. Half believe we just want to invade bathrooms of the opposite sex. Half believe we are mentally ill, or sinners, or sexual deviants—and they will not be easily unconvinced.

However we identify—as crossdressers, as transsexuals, as transgender, as nonbinary—we must stand up for ourselves and our rights as Americans. And so I ask you again to, within the boundaries of your safety, do what you can to help being this country back into equilibrium. Contact politicians. Speak in public. Write letters to editors. And if you cannot do these direct things, consider working a phone bank, making calls that will not identify you, or mail postcards to voters. Provide financial support to organizations fighting for our freedoms—the American Civil Liberties Union, the National Center for Lesbian Rights, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and new groups that are forming. And please, vote, vote, vote!

Thank you for your time and attention.

Monday, March 25, 2024

Traniversary Ten: a Decade in the Open

Ten years ago today, March 25, 2014, (well really around 11 PM the night before), I declared to the world that I am Sophie.  I began living my Truth.  I was 47 years old.  I'd previously told close friends either face to face or via a YouTube video I made.  


The results?  I lost 90% of my friends (many of whom vowed to support me then vanished); never received another job offer for Instructional design (my masters degree); my marriage (which was really tossed when I was thrown out months before); and, for a time, I was disowned by my family. Happily, that is no longer the case.  After I lost my bookstore job, I couldn't find another job at all, despite sending out ten resumes a day for years.  Literally.  Even Burger King wouldn't hire me, and I had experience working there!


Left Photo credit: Cassandra Storm

In any case that first day, I spent at the Keystone Conference.  There, among the most supportive group of people a transgender woman could find, I took my first steps as a full time female.  The following Monday (March 31) is when my journey really hit reality: my first day at work as Sophie. (I wrote about that HERE.)  That's when I began to experience the misgendering, the Hate, and the worst that rich customers could throw at me, including having a local church crusade against me.  They would come in and stand 20 feet in front of me as I was behind the registers, and just stare at me.  If chased away by me or management, they'd send someone else.  This usually happened on Sundays.


However, I had support.  My friends and coworkers threw me a party on my one year anniversary as Sophie (so that's nine years ago.)  I'd never felt as loved or appreciated before or since.  My transgender friends honored me by showing up and mingling with bookstore friends, as well as people who've known me much longer.  


I must admit that this last decade has been brutal.  I dwell on all I've lost, especially my separation from Wife and Daughter.  The Darkness has almost taken me more than once.  Here at PSU, I've spent weeks when I wasn't in class or work laying down and just staring at the ceiling, wondering why I should continue to live.  It's a question I continue to ask every single morning and when I lay in bed at night.  The answer is obvious.  As Lisa used to say "one bad day..."


Fast forward to now.  I've been back at Penn State for five years studying about why cisgender people hate TG people so much that they pass laws banning us from public, vow to "eradicate" us, call us groomers and pedophiles, drive us to suicide, and murder us.  (RIP Nex.)  My roomie/bestie is here with me.  I've made some friends and acquaintances, but for the most part I've been isolated from the transgender community.  There are no transgender events like there were back home like Angela's Laptop Lounge. That's why going to Keystone was such a joy this past weekend.  


So it's been ten years: a decade.  Yes, I have changed.  I've learned what Hell is like, that Hope Lies, and that things can ALWAYS be worse.  I also learned how much small gestures of kindness can mean the world to a person (like me.)  I have learned a lot about anti-transgender hate, to the point that I am now considered an expert in the field (PhD ABD does that.)  Reading about all this hate really puts things in perspective and does damage to my soul- how could it not?  In any case, I've made it to ten years.


So, how will I mark this occasion?  Well, money is tight, and rent is due soon.  And bills, so many bills.  That means I probably won't go out, or if I do, it will be only for a drink across the street (I live across from a restaurant.)  I'll probably toast the day with some Glenmorangie.  No party this year.  No feast of friends.  Alive she cried. 


Just another day.


Be well.