regulating genitals

This is We’wah, our Zuni Nadleeh (“transgender”) Ancestor. She was a respected diplomat. Yes, she wore a dress. Yes,she used the ladies “powder room”. No, the world did not end. No, no one got sexually assaulted. You still wanna hate on transgender people? Know your history. Decolonize your mind.

I am writing this because I am tired of not having a voice. I am a word warrior, like my Ancestors: Red Jacket, Old Smoke, Brant and Johnson; though I am not a great orator. Their spoken words were written down and still echo peace and stir our minds today. My voice is too soft and too gentle to confront the energies of hatred and discrimination I am experiencing now in this world. But I do write and these are the words I fight with. I pray to Creator that I speak my truth in a good way, concisely and peacefully. And that my words go straight like an arrow to the hearts of those who would do great harm to me and all my human relations; not to kill them but so that their hearts may be stirred and changed in a good way. Ta’ho!

This picture is of We’wah, a Zuni Nadleeh or Wintke. Essentially We’wah was a transgender woman and a respected diplomat for the people, who traveled to Washington and London as a cultural ambassador. Yes, We’wah wore a dress. Yes, she used the ladies “powder room”. No, the world did not end. And no, no one was molested. No one among the high societies in Washington and England knew that she had been born a boy but from a very young age, lived her life freely among the people as a beautiful and peaceful female. Just like the over 700,000 transgender persons living in the United States today.

Later, it was learned that We’wah had male genitals but even then, she was not regulated, nor was a public statement made on the state of her gender. Maybe they were much more progressive back then? Or maybe they just minded their own business and did not find the need to legislate genitals like the recent and on-going so-called “bathroom bills” do today.

Know your own history. Exclusion is not a Traditional value. Decolonize your mind. You have already peed next to a transgender person in a public restroom, sat next to one, danced in the same circle with someone who was not born male or female, or even showered in the same room with a transgender person; and you may even know and respect someone whom you do not know is transgender right now. I guarantee this. And the world did not end. And no one got sexually assaulted or beat up.

In truth, this is an extended urban myth started to marginalize an already-marginalized segment of society. I have researched the “bathroom rape” myth. I found exactly two incidents, one in 2012 and one in 2014, one each in Canada and in the United States. Only two! (To put that number in perspective: there are approximately 700,000 transgender poeple in the US population and they have never assaulted anyone in a public restroom.) In these instances, an already sexually-deranged man gained entry to a women’s bathroom by wearing women’s clothes, and filmed women using the toilet. Their defense was that they were “transgender” and using the correct restroom. I know, that is your nightmare come true. But, these men were already convicted sex offenders. They had already proven that they had no regard for the laws protecting women in or out of these spaces. They would have offended again anyway, and they thanked the media for the suggestion to use the “transgender” ruse to gain entry to women’s spaces.

The truth is, no amount of regulation and laws protects women from criminals. By definition, criminals have no regard for the law, or signs on restrooms. When a law is made to regulate a small margin of society by a panicked and uninformed legislature, no one is in fact safer. It is the same with alarmist gun laws. Reactionary laws only seek to regulate law-abiding citizens, and criminals in no way obey laws. On the contrary, when I hear folks say that they must protect their women and children from transgender persons using the restroom, they may in fact, be attacking an innocent person who has no intention of harming anyone, and they just want to pee and not get beat up! Because that is a far-more likely scenario than a “bathroom rapist”. (Approximately 63,000 transgender persons are assaulted yearly in the US, and an average of 350 murdered worldwide.)

These laws do not regulate sexually-appropriate use of the facilities; they in fact, only regulate appearance. They do not make anyone safer; they just rob ordinary citizens of their dignity and right-to-privacy. Already, there have been reports of short-haired women who appeared “too masculine” using the restroom of their proper gender and causing alarm, and ultimately humiliation as they were escorted out in error. And these alarmist laws are entirely un-enforceable: they are civil, not criminal offenses, with no real consequences built into the law. Police officers in North Carolina are scratching their heads; they do not enforce civil law. We cannot and we should not send our best police officers to stand outside public restrooms checking everyone’s birth certificates while I guarantee that as I write these words, a child or a woman is being raped in her home or on the street by a man-who-appears-to-be-a-man. And who is gonna inspect genitals to make sure all these people are in the right facility? Do you want your child’s teacher or principal to do so? Shall we post a guard at each public restroom and all drop trow before entering? Maybe if we all just wore armbands or patches on our clothes declaring the shape of our genitals, this hysteria would cease?! No one is safer at all with these “bathroom laws”; they are in fact, just more scared. And so am I.

And since Bill HB2 & similar bills across the nation, crisis calls from Transgender persons to the Trans Suicide Hotline that I financially support (run for & operated by Trans people & their allies) have doubled. So I am just gonna leave this sceenshot here. You gotta give’em hope!

(C) henry francis redhouse, 2016. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

when transphobia hits close to home

Silence Kills.

When Transphobia Hits Close to Home

03.23.2014

Reality check: just when I thought I might be “safe” working for a large corporation and comfortable with my co-workers, I received a wake-up call to transphobia in the workplace. I had unfortunate, bad timing to overhear a conversation between crew leaders at work concerning their opinions of transgendered individuals.

A crew leader (not my own; he was not there) says to other crew leaders and employees relating his time spent in Taiwan, eating at a restaurant, “This thing was our server. I cannot call it a person. It had an Adam’s apple and titties…I asked it ‘You have a job? Laugh, laugh, laugh.’”

I became almost physically sick upon over-hearing this language. My ears burned. My stomach felt heavy and my head spun dizzily. I retreated into the woods, out of hearing of this conversation as it got worst, talking about what they would each do if they discovered that the “woman” who they might hypothetically solicit for sex had a dick…And now I do not know what I feel. Guilt? Fear? Disappointment?

I go over that conversation in my head and fantasize that I was brave and confident enough to stand up to transphobia in my work place. But, though it is fine form to say on the internet or amongst a supportive community of friends, “Wipe out transphobia!” It is an entirely different situation when transphobia itself sits down to lunch with you at your workplace. Mostly I dissected the conversation and retreated back into my safe, “stealth” closet, very alone and sometimes afraid again. But, for the record, these were the thoughts swimming in my head, keeping me awake and re-iterating that this is not okay here!

“This thing was our server”: I do not think I have to say that calling a person a “thing” is wrong and transphobic and about as low as you can perceive another human being. But, the use of the work “server” further illustrates the prejudice of this statement. Rather than call their server a “waiter” or “waitress”, which might imply that this “thing” was a person with a gender, male (waiter) or female (waitress), and deserves to be treated with dignity and respect, this statement completely de-humanizes the person who was waiting on them. This kind of language kills—kills both spirit and body—and leads to worldwide plague of suicide and homicide amongst transgendered people.

“It had an Adam’s apple and titties…”: again the use of the words “it”, rather than “they/he/she” utterly robs this person of inherent personhood. And the use of the slang “titties” shows great immaturity and general disrespect for those women (misogyny) who have “breasts”. Goddammit! We all have biology degrees here! Is it too much to ask that we use accurate, scientific language instead of naughty, inappropriate teenage slang?!

Finally, “You have a job?”: Really? Why not? Did the person who served you your Taiwanese meal do a bad job? Were they as rude to you as you were to them? Did they bring you rotten food? Spill your drink in your lap? Or spit in your soup? Why should they not have and do a good job as a waitress/waiter/server after all? Do they not deserve to have work and livelihood based upon your narrow definition of personal physical appearance? What do you expect them to do? Is the only work you can perceive that a transgendered person is fit for, sex work? Drugs? Prostitution? Of course we have jobs! Normal, regular jobs! Right under your nose! On your very crew you supervise and in this very same project!

Like I said, I am still trying to process all that this has awaken and alerted in me. I know that our corporate policy expressly forbids discrimination in the basis of gender and sexuality. Our work crews are fairly diverse from many backgrounds, colors, and stripes of persons. But, as far as I know (and being that I am fairly ubiquitous), I am the only transgendered person working for this company (or at least on this project in this region). But, though corporate may protect my job, there is no accounting for personal behavior of the persons I work with daily. I am similarly protected from harassment, but, in this case, though it made me feel uncomfortable and unsafe, I cannot say that I was personally harassed by this crew leader. It was a third party conversation about someone who does not work for our company. And not even aimed towards me as I was not an active participant of the conversation, but an eaves-dropper only.

And yet I struggle with the after-effects of this conversation and I am thankful that I was not an active part or had to sit through it and respond. I know it is these attitudes and conversations that continue to marginalize and kill our people. But I did not at all feel brave at this point. So, maybe I am a coward. Or maybe I am culpable for not speaking up. At the conclusion of this man’s harassment to his server, did this person in Taiwan, go home in tears? Did they finally have enough of such inexcusable treatment, that they killed themselves? Am I similarly responsible for this? Was this a cycle I could not hope to stop, spinning out of control half way around the world, and rearing its ugly head in my workplace months later? I hid in the woods safe from transphobia in my workplace. That is the truth and I have to live with that—and the fear. But, what would you have done instead?

You see, though I appreciate your empathy or sympathy in this situation as you sit at home and say, “I am sorry you had to go through that or hear that at work,” I was not actively harmed by this employee interaction. But, I am of a community belief that every action (and inaction) has a profound effect on our own environments or communities. That hate speech creates not only fear and anger at the moment it is uttered, but resounds around the world and through all ages as negatives energies or spirits for all time. Each individual in the world community and their words/actions create their own trophic cascade on the rest of Creation; just as what occurs to the herbs affects the herbivores, affects the predators, affects the herbs. So, if I go to work on Monday and find that it is more transphobic than before, it is because this conversation occurred, surely; but also because I had the opportunity to speak up and stand up for love and peace, and I did not. I do not say this to cast guilt or responsibility on myself, but because I learn and relearn this lesson dearly every day and every moment.

(C)henry francis redhouse, 2014. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

nature & genetics of gender

Nature & Genetics of Gender

10.22.2013

 

When I have said in the past that transgendered people (two-spirited) are not mistakes and that we are exactly as Creator intended, I sometimes do not realize how wholly unsatisfying that explanation is to someone who does not have a spiritual tradition, or to an atheist or skeptic. It is like saying to a small child “because I said so:” not really an explanation at all! So, I have thought long and hard about this, since I recognize that we live in a world of twos—rational and spiritual both—and not everyone has the spiritual to go by. I, as a person on this Good Red Road, am incapable of separating the two. I am spiritual by nature; but I am also a scientist who dwells in the rational and factual. What can I say to the transgendered atheist to help them not feel like a mistake, or in the wrong body–a freak of nature?

Nature. Look at how nature is organized and gendered. Genetics. Cannot argue with genetic facts. They just are. And there is my answer: within our natural and genetic diversity. Does nature have just two genders throughout the entire animal and plant kingdoms? No! I can list many, many species that cross or choose genders as part of their genetic diversity (over 100 documented species covering all kingdoms and phyla). Among the swimmers, clown fish (think Disney’s Nemo) are all born one gender and differentiate later in life into male or female. Mud guppies chose their gender as needed, and change back and forth as reproductive conditions change. Among the creeper-crawlers, earth worms are intersexed or hermaphroditic: each worm has within its body both the ability to produce sperm and to give birth. When they copulate, each penetrates the other simultaneously, and both parents give birth to the young. In the tall people, the trees, Ohio buckeye and other Aesculus species have three genders of flowers on the same plant, regularly–spaced on the same limb: male, female, and bi-gendered (intersex). And some ground growers, like mosses and fungi are exclusively asexual—and fertilize themselves with spores without choosing a gender at all.

Are these plants and animals, then, just the “exception” to the natural rules of cis-gendered diversity? Are they “freaks of nature?” I do not think so. Certainly, they represent the minority of the diverse natural world, but they are not “freaks” or mistakes of natural selection. I say again: like transgendered human beings, they are the minority compared to the cis-gendered creatures; but not freaks. They are merely a difference among many diverse creatures and plants. Transgendered people may be a minority but they are just a natural variation of genes.

And genes, what are genes? They are the unit of natural selection and gene mutations (slight differences in genetic make-up) are the machinery of evolution. Genes are like computer language of animal and plant DNA. Like the 1’s and 0’s of the binary, genes are either “on” or “off” and are re-arranged with each successive generation. Transgendered people (though science has not yet caught up with the rational theory) are merely another expression of genes, a completely natural phenotype resulting from random changes in DNA. In other words, just as hair color and blood type are each inherited through the crossing of two parents’ genes, so also, do genes cross and produce other-gendered, transgendered, and cis-gendered offspring. It is only through social conditioning that we learn that transgressing genders is un-natural. But, gender expression is natural, as clearly as having blond hair or dark hair is a natural expression of human genetic diversity!

We may desire to change our hair color and use artificial dyes to make it all the colors of the rainbow, but at its root, the hair is the same color throughout our lives. Same with gender: we will change it and tailor it to fit us; but biologically and reproductively we are what we were born as: male or female and other. And until science catches up with natural selection, we can neither choose the color of our hair nor the gender we were born as. I am not saying that if a transgendered person was born X, they cannot become Y later in life. I am saying, maybe the transgendered person is born Z, or A, or B; and not X or Y at all. But, until genetics can discover the elusive “transgendered gene,” (If it exists? The human genome has yet to be mapped nor completely understood; and science is always in a state of discovery and flux.) we must expand our social definition of gender to include more than two binary genders—to encompass the great diversity of genetic and gender expression we see all around us in the natural world—A, B, and Z—and every letter in between.

(C)henry francis redhouse, 2013.

not wrong body

Not. Wrong. Body. Give yourself a good gift each day and every time you look in the mirror.

Not Wrong Body

07.29.2013

I am at a point in my life and “transition” as a two-spirited (transgendered) person, that I can no longer believe, despite what I see in the mirror, that I was a spirit born into the “wrong body.” This may be due to having plenty of time to process this information, or that right now I enjoy unprecedented support from my family, or I am doing what I can to change the parts of my body that are possible to change (albiet through hormones and clothing only). However, I think that mainly this new self-awareness is due to finding my identity and path into the cultural ways of the two-spirited, and a gift of unprecedented self-worth and self-esteem that I have not previously enjoyed before coming to this path.

I write this because I have just come from yet another transgender support group where the majority of members lament that they were “born in the wrong body,” and cannot see beyond the “wrongness” of their unfair lives. And I simply cannot believe this anymore. I do not want my brothers and sisters to have to believe this of themselves either. I want better for them. Unfortunately, this kind of “coyote talk” creates nothing but dysphoria and self-esteem problems; a terrible self-fulfilling belief that transgendered persons can do nothing to change their self worth; that no amount of hormones or surgery will correct this “wrong body;” or they will always be a pariah…etc. We are not meant to live with such impossible and sad realities. There is better and we deserve to think of ourselves better; and to create better for ourselves.

See, I do not believe that Creator makes extraneous or “wrong” people. I do not believe that I was born “wrong” at all.  Creator does not make “wrong” people and then ask them to change later in life (even if we come to such pathways later in life, as I had at age 30; the path was laid when I was born). I believe that I was born two-spirited and that is just as it was intended.

However, I do not live a charmed life and I recognize that neither do my fellow transgender brothers and sisters. We do not live in an aboriginal world augmented with traditional wisdom and beliefs. Modern society proves each day that it is unkind and intolerant of people who are different. But, I do not find my path and my identity is defined externally by that society.  Modern society may never see me as anything but a “fake man.” But, I have long since given up on being concerned about what others think of me.  I recognize that I am not a gift to modern society (as the two-spirited were in times past; there is no societal or religious equivalent in the western world I live in today and to expect one, I believe, makes me equally intolerant of others’ values/beliefs).

I am a gift that I only give myself. I say it again, I am a gift that I give myself. Being a two-spirited person is totally “in my head” , and not based on what others perceive my gender to be or not to be. My identity comes completely from within. And that is true of all persons– two-spirited or otherwise. Personal identity is just that– personal identity– and the locus of control is entirely within each and everyone of us. And when we depend only on society– family, friends, co-workers– to give us the self-identity we desire (i.e., being “man/woman enough,” being a good parent, a successful person, a good reputation, etc.), it will fail us every time.

Indeed, the modern system is set up to fail us all– two-spirited and everyone else. There are just too many “others” to please to determine your own self-worth and identity by their standards (which vary widely!). There is only one person who can give you the gift of self-worth and self-identity– and it is written plainly in the words– your SELF. Give yourself a good gift each day and every time you look in the mirror. There are no “wrong” persons ever made on earth. We are all here to be as Creator intended. So, be that person. You, too, are the gift that you give yourself.

(C) henry francis redhouse, 2013. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

all in a circle

“All is in a circle. Each kindness begets others…”

This past weekend, I went to a small Powwow. I think everyone there knew everyone else (or were directly related)– and then, there was me: outsider from the East. And my truck broke down as soon as I pulled into the registration office! Seeing as this seemed like a small, family place, I asked the staff if they knew if a mechanic was in camp who might look at my truck. One was quickly found willing to try to jump the truck’s battery, fiddle with some wires and relays, ect. But, in the end, both he and I wanted to enjoy the Powwow; so he promised after dancing that we could try to pop-start the clutch and get me on the road then.

He was true to his word, and rounded up three other young dancers after the shindig, to push my truck and get it running. I drove all the way home (79 miles/128 km) without shutting off the engine! I let it idle in park at the gas station, and instead of stopping, I had to pull off a quiet exit ramp and urinate out the door!

At the gas station, a middle-aged, red-haired woman approached me. She seemed to be in great distress. She said that her debit card would not work and she could not get gas to drive home. She was embarrassed and aplogetic to be asking. I asked her if she had relatives in the area that she could call for help. She said she had tried and they were no longer home. I asked her where home was– it was nearly 66 miles/106 km away! She appeared so distressed that I thought she might cry or stop breathing right in front of me! She did seem to be a decent woman and drove a (fairly) new vehicle, though nothing fancy; but, newer than mine. She kinda reminded me of my own mother– her face shaped like my Mom’s. And I thought, “What if this was my mother? Would I want a nice boi to help her? And I thought about what had made this woman ask me, of all persons in the busy station, for help? I do not drive a nice truck– it is old and rusty (and was currently idling while I pumped gas because I was afraid it would not re-start!)– I do not own designer clothes. I do not look rich or that I have money to spare. Do I have a kind face? Did the spirits direct us each to this exact place and time to help one another? Was it one of my many bumper stickers (the rainbow one, the autism one, the one about Nature?) that made her think I was kin to her? Ach– I am kin to her! And I gave her my last $20 cash for gas.  I wanted to do more for her: I wanted to sit with her and hear her story and reassure her. I wanted to hug her and tell her that it would be OK. But, she might find that too creepy. So, I made sure that she was OK to drive, saw her take the cash into the station to pre-pay and pump the gas. As I left her,  I shook her hand and told her my name. Part of me wanted to make a social statement, and say, “Henry– the transgendered man (or gay man), or the pagan, or the Indian.” But, I am just Henry.  I am sometimes not any of those other things. Sometimes I am just a kind stranger. (I know from experience that when someone is helping you: race, creed, sexual orientation is the last thing you care about! They are helping you, is all! )

I thought how I was having my own troubles with that old truck at the station; it was there idling because I could not shut it off, for fear it would not re-start. And strangers at the Powwow helped me. We are all related. And The distress of one is a distress to us all. I knew I had to be kind– though it would hurt me and I had my own problems. I have been poor my entire adult life. I have gone without food, shelter, medical care, and a vehicle before.  I know how others suffer because I have suffered greatly.  I am not often in a situation where I can help others. It is a great and rare enough priveledge to me to do so. So, when I can, I am generous. All is in a circle. One kindness begets others…the world is better for it.

And I hope that this woman remembers this day as well as I do; and sees that the world still has great kindness and great love in it. Sometimes it comes from the unlikely, the poor, the gay; but there is great love whereever there are kind strangers. I hope that she did notice the pagan and the gay, and  the stickers about autism and says, “I knew a kind [gay/autistic/pagan/Indian] stranger once…” and I hope she might think kindly about such persons in the future, or teach kindness to her children and family because she knew kindness once when she was distressed. All is in a circle as it should be.

(C) henry francis redhouse, 2013. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

dualities

Part of being two-spirited is to be able to look objectively at two dualities or dichotomies without splitting. It is to be comfortable occupying that place in between without being consumed. There is a great void there, and the Two-spirit looks into it directly and fearlessly…

rational/irrational

spiritual/scientific

hot/cold

sadness/joy

light/dark

death/birth

male/female

young/old

past/future

Creator/Destroyer

wild/tame

(C)henry francis redhouse, 2013, including artwork.

he does not speak to you anymore

Prayer ties full of tabacco. This is how I pray.

I am again staying at my parents’ home while I wait until the new research season starts and I obtain a good position for the summer again. At dinner, my Mother always prays to thank God for the food and about any other concerns we have. She is a Christian and my Father is skeptically also a believer in God. So, after my Mother had thanked God for the good food and that I was home again safely, she asked that God please help me find employment for the upcoming summer. When she was done, I chimed in with my own brief prayer, “PS, I really want the job at [insert university here]. Thank you.” My Dad laughed, “He does not talk to you anymore.” And I said, “Yes he does.” But Dad insisted that God no longer speaks to me because I am transgendered and not-a-Christian-anymore, and that is a sin according to traditional Christian beliefs. (Not that my very skeptical Father is an expert in such things or very devout at all to make such value judgements.)

What my Father said made me kind of  sad and if I was the crying type, I might have cried. But I am the introspective type and I turned his words over in my very analytical mind for a few days as I considered why this made me sad. It is true that I am no longer the very devout Christian that I was before I became transgendered. I found that I could not reconcile the beliefs of the modern church that says that I am a sinner with the idea that it was God who created me as two-spirited in the first place. Why would he do such a thing, only to condemn me later for being exactly what he had created me to be? So, I left the church of my youth and for a time, I was without spiritual beliefs at all as I tried to re-create every facet of my identity as a two-spirited person (identity being holistic–made up of spiritual, emotional, social, and physical facets).

I finally have found comfort and faith in the Creator of my ancestors and seeing Creator through every being he has created. Some would say I am a nemophilist, a naturalist or deist, or just spiritual. I like nemophile. It is just a cool word:) And so, praying at the table with my parents is not anything exceptional. Creator, God, Allah, Jehovah, Yah, Lady, Goddess; it does not matter what each faith calls this one God. We all pray to them with our own names. For the Christians, God is creator and Jesus is the intermediater for believers. For Catholics, the intermediaries are Mary and the Saints. For me, as a nemophile, all of creation is the intermediates between Creator and me. So, yes, he does still speak to me; it is just with a different voice.

This, though, I could not explain to my skeptic Father. I do not want to put more stress between my relations and myself. And I was not prepared to argue semantics and theology with him; since he is no great believer or thinker himself. It just saddened me because it was one more way that my Dad has expressed his disappointment and rejection of my gender identity. That he would use religious beliefs, however tenuous they are in his own life, was a terrible insult and a true mirror into his belief and value judgement that I was not prepared to encounter. It shows how very deep-seeded his rejection lies. And that is why I was so saddened: not for the loss of faith I have experienced, but this deep-seeded judgement that surfaced at the first meal I shared with my parents in nine months of absence.

I want to be safe here with my parents. I want to be accepted. I thought being away for nine months would “make the heart grow fonder” and instill some tolerance in my Father. I am sure that my parents do love me. It is just hard for them. And, I know I am welcome here, whatever inconveniences I cause them. But I want to be more than an inconvenience. I want to be loved and accepted just the way I was created by God/Creator. I want my parents to understand that even though I do not profess to be a Christian anymore, I am not a lost sinner. On the contrary, I am free from the guilt of sin by accepting myself as I am and as I was created and accepting others wherever they are on their own spiritual paths. The spirit in me sees the spirit in them and I respect and acknowledge it. I just want the same respect and acknowledgement from my own family.

(C)henry francis rehouse, 2013. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

coming out, full circle

“I am looking to the future and see all of that new life to come as an adventure—a hard one indeed—but an adventurous and positive journey just as well.” Photo by Leslie Danger, 2012.

Coming Out, Full Circle

02.04.2013

I try not, but sometimes I must look over my life and the changes in it that have occurred since I “came out” as two-spirit (transgendered). It shows me where I have been and what I have overcome, and steels me for the future and what will come. And I think sometimes that people are amazed and I hope inspired by the stories of their peers, brothers, and sisters in the LBGTQ community.

I do not recommend the method I used to “come out”. I wrote a letter to all my relatives and sent it in the mail. When my parents and aunt got the letter, and realized that I was sending it to everyone, they intercepted the mail of my grandfathers to shield the Old Ones from it. Later, when they had a time to talk amongst themselves, they allowed the grandfathers to read my note. They need not have worried; the Old Ones were the least affected by my announcement and I recall my grandfather pulling me aside at a family cookout, and leaning in close, he kissed me on my cheek, and said, “I don’t care who or what you are. I love you and I will always love you.” The rest of my family would have done well to be as adaptable as the elderly unexpectedly were.

As it was, my parents had a hard time adjusting to my new gender identity and are still adjusting. I expected to be kicked out and I expected to be disowned. I did not expect tears. My father cried. My mother cried. I could not console them. They would grieve for many years before coming to a place of cautious acceptance. I always knew that they did not ever stop loving me. But I have thought since then that their love was somehow “tainted” or that their pride in me was reserved for only parts of me, “not this.”

One of my brothers would not speak to me for two years, or attend family events if he knew I was going to be there. That first holiday season I spent away from all family, homeless. But, I “snuck into” Christmas at my parents the next year when he was there, and had not been told I was coming. He is getting better each day, and I think his new wife is a positive influence and advocate for diversity, since we are now talking, texting, and being together at family events again.

I have an identical twin sister whose reaction is still up-in-the-air with the reality that her identical twin is now her fraternal twin. She sees this as a betrayal beyond the physical; as if she does not know this person who used to share all her secrets anymore. I think we have lost something of the unique bond that twins share and I grieve for this each day I have lost with her since. I am uncertain where we stand with one another at this point. I am mostly confused by this. However, returning to my homestate someday soon, I can work on this relationship and try to ascertain what is happening in my absence with her.

Today most of my family’s reservations have less to do with me personally, and more with how they will explain things to others as family friends see the very obvious changes in our family dynamics. “I thought you had twin girls?” or “How is C*****?” and having to explain that I am not that person and do not have that name anymore. My family calls me by a fairly genderless childhood nickname, not my birthname very often anymore. But after thirty years, I doubt they can ever drop the feminine pronouns to refer to me, and I give them that. They are always trying and getting better. I have been away from my home-state and family for some time now and given us all space to reconsider and grow “used to” the idea that I am now their son and brother after so many years as someone else.

I lost friends and I lost my husband of ten years one cold December night, when I left my marriage home in the middle of the night, and never returned. I was immediately homeless and lived for two weeks in the back of my truck, before being given a bed in a [woman’s] domestic violence shelter. There just was no place else for someone like me to go. I lived in a rural area with few resources for the homeless; this was the only place I could go in the county. There were no shelters for men or families like in the cities. Eventually, I moved onto transitional housing with a roommate at an apartment for people between shelters and independent living. I finished my associate’s degree at a community college during this time, and even moved into my own supported-living apartment for the first time since I was 21.

I could say that I “lost my faith” also when I “came out” as well. I vacillated for several months whether I was a sinner of choice, or was born this way. I was raised a Christian and in another time and place, I would have been one of those rabid evangelicals holding signs that say “God hates gays.” Good friends from my former church told me that if God wanted me to be a boy he would have given me a penis when I was born. One by one, these friends dropped out of my life, and little by little, I did lose my faith.

If we take a snapshot or an overview of my life at this moment when all seemed so bad, it amazes me how much I had lost: everything—financial (homelessness, loss of income), social (friends, family, church), emotional (stability), and spiritual (church, faith). In a way, everything that makes up a person’s essential identity was gone from my life. But as the story unfolded, I can look back and see how though this was tragic and immensely difficult, it was also a rare opportunity for a second chance to rewrite my whole story in a positive way.

For a time, having lost everything that made up who I was, I was greatly lost. I cannot stress how horrible this time in my life was, but how very necessary as well. I considered suicide many times. I began self-harming and cutting. I wrote sad and disturbed poetry. And I had no one to turn to, as friendless and without a faith-base as I was.

But when you question everything you ever knew or accepted about yourself, starting with the most immalleable characteristics of your identity, your gender, then also you begin to question all the things that make up who you are. And from that time I began rewriting my life and my identity. I looked at each facet of my identity and examined them all under the lens of free thought; the idea that everything was compromise-able in my new identity.

Having lost everything or changed everything that made me into the person who people knew up to this point, I was able to look at each facet or item independently. It was like everything—socially, spiritually, and emotionally, was laid out in front of me in a large lump of malleable clay. It was ready to be reshaped. As I took up each insensible handful of clay and examined each part of it subjectively, I asked how each item was serving me: was it helpful, was it necessary, was it good? I examined my core spiritual beliefs and the guilt associated with “being a sinner”, and rejected that teaching. I examined how I felt about myself and my poor self-esteem and made the decision to love myself as I was. I examined my “victim-status” I had donned from childhood abuse and poverty, and cast it off. And I placed these things which did not serve me aside, and used the rest to begin the reshaping: starting with my gender identity.

And though the process is not complete, I can say I like where it has taken me. I have replaced church friends with allies and the friends-closer-than-family. I am now at a place to accept their unconditional and undeserved love and it has given me clarity. I am not always pleased with how my body looks, but I am also at a place of acceptance in that. I have made positive changes in my spiritual life as well and found the Good Red Road of the two-spirits, which tells me that I am not a sinner or an outcast, but valuable and necessary to all life. It tells me that Creator does not make useless people or mistakes, but that I was born into this identity. I was not born “into the wrong body” as a victim but I was born two-spirited as Creator always intended. I have a real spiritual duty to the earth, my fellow beings, and myself as a two-spirited person. I replaced the guilt and rejection of the Christian faith with the Red Path of the ancestors. Nature is now my church and the earth is my mother. I have survived suicide and self-harming behaviors. My emotional state has stabilized, though I am ever vigilant and continue to be in counseling. I am becoming financially independent again, having now obtained a bachelor’s degree and some experience in my field. My continued absence from my family, who live in another state, has made all of our hearts grow fonder. Time away has been good for all of us as we all work out how we fit together as family again. I am looking forward to being reunited with my tribe and family and all I left behind soon. All goes in a circle as it should.

People who knew me “before-and-after” are equally amazed at the changes they see in me, even beyond the physical appearance. They either have forgotten that “other person” who existed in a microcosm of intolerance for thirty years, or they remember that sad person and applaud and love the new one who has emerged a more positive being. Sometimes I think that my life began in 2008 when I “came out” and that the person who existed before has died. But I cannot deny that I was raised a certain way and socialized as a different gender and person, but have somehow survived the better for it, or despite it all. Sometimes I feel very young, like a teenager just graduating from college at this point, and learning how to make his or her way in the world. But sometimes I think that “this is not my first pony-ride,” and I have the experience of a thirty-six year old as well. That is part of being two-spirited as well: seeing with two lenses—the experience of a whole life lived and the newness of one yet un-lived. And I am looking to the future and see all of that new life to come as an adventure—a hard one indeed—but an adventurous and positive journey just as well.

(C)henry francis redhouse, 2013. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

i didn’t want to be here

*as performed at Transgender Day of Remembrance, 2011 & 2012.

www.transgenderdor.org

https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?v=10151261495034513

I didn’t want to be here (Transgender day of Remembrance; 20 November, 2010)

 

I couldn’t sleep last night,

I couldn’t dream;

Knowing that I would be

Here today.

I didn’t want to be here.

I didn’t want to be here,

Looking out to where you are.

 

I didn’t want to hear names like fading songs gone for good.

No, I didn’t want to know

How many,

How hard,

How long gone,

How torn apart.

Hearts lost,

Love lost,

Love gone,

All gone.

The names fade,

But I stayed;

And I didn’t want to.

 

God, I am afraid to be here!

But I am afraid someday

I will not be here,

Because I am here!

I didn’t want to come,

And stand numb,

And stand dumb,

Because some are here,

And some are gone!

 

I couldn’t sleep!

I couldn’t dream!

 

Because I can still dream,

And I can still sleep,

And I can still wake,

I can still take up space,

And fill this place;

Because I still can!

I am here.

You are here.

 

We are here to stand

For those who

Can no longer dream,

For those who

Can no longer wake;

For those who

Can no longer stand in their places,

Or fill their spaces.

 

We pray, and we say,

“Stay here:

Longer, longer,

Linger, linger,”

But gone,

All gone.

And we remain

To feel the pain,

And say those names,

And see them gone.

They fade.

They fade.

They fade.

 

I don’t want them here!

I want them HERE!

I didn’t want to be here;

Because we are here,

Because they are

NOT HERE!

 

I didn’t want to be here today;

But I am,

Because,

They.

Are.

Not…

 

Here.

(C)henry francis redhouse, 2010. Artwork is property of its respective owners.

my mother loves me!

This is not news to me but I have waited four long years to hear these words which arrived this AM in my email in response to an article I posted on Facebook.

“A transgender story: My daughter, my son” – That was a good article. I know you’re becoming more and more “Carl” and less and less “C*****,” and staying with your friends in Michigan is more comfortable for you, I’m sure.  We’ll adjust eventually. Your “new you” is still hard for us, but I am incredibly proud of you.  You are strong and determined.  You are smart and focused.  It doesn’t matter if you are employed or not, or whether you are my daughter or my son.  I will love you always. Mom.”

I did not “tag” her in the article that I posted because I did not want to push her where she was not ready to go. But, she took the intiative and read the article on her own, and responded. There was a time when she would not read anything about being trans* or having a trans* child or join PFLAG or talk to parents who children have become trans*. She has changed tremendously, almost more than me maybe, throughout this difficult transition. My Mother has joined the ranks of amazing parents that before this I only dreamed of having as my own!

I knew all along that I was loved and that Mom was proud of  most of me, of at least my accomplishments as a scientist and a writer. But it has been “tainted” and “tense” for so long. She has come so very far– beyond acceptance or tolerance to loving me as her child again. To hear the words when she uses my male name and call me “my son” is like music to me. I have waited for so long to hear this. Waited through homelessness, through suicide attempts, through self-injurious behavior, through second puberty, through hell and come out the other side to finally hear these amazing words!

Give.Them.Time.

Link to the article which changed our lives: http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-paul-trangendered-child-20121007,0,6600723.story

(C)henry francis redhouse, 2012. Artwork is property of its respective owners.