I've been having a string of weird weeks lately, and I've been craving a way to make a difference. Most of my thoughts surrounding this were based on political and otherwise secular action. Sometimes, a fresh perspective is all that's needed. I was graciously provided with this fresh perspective by an AC repair man at the shop the other day, and it only confirmed what had already been on my mind lately.
Over the past several months - following my initiation at Crossroads, my previous game-changing experiences with Queer Spirituality, and the renaissance of my own, personal spirituality - I've come to realize that probably the most solid I have felt in a very long time have been those times when I've re-embraced my faith. Whether that faith has been based on a search for something more, or otherwise - the influence of those around me, a hope to find something that had been missing for a great while, etc., - faith is what got me through the darkest times, most of which I've experienced relatively recently (last two years or so).
Looking back, and remembering the feeling I experienced when Queer Spirituality and Valerie and Jordan and Kelli and everyone else had found me at the exact right moment to affect me in the greatest way, I know that there's no way I would have survived those challenges without that support system. I remember, and those of you who have been reading this blog since the beginning, too, the awe I felt when I finally realized that faith wasn't a conditional sort of deal. I had finally been told that this kind of love, this kind of acceptance, wasn't based on a set of contingencies, especially not ones I have no control over (such as sexuality or gender identity). Hearing that changed my life.
It is as a result of those experiences - the meditation (both being guided, and then guiding others), the prayer, the silent reflection, the studying of both the Bible and other religious texts, the exploring of various religious and other belief systems, the chance to review other experiences I had elsewhere, surrounded by other folks - that I've come full-circle.
When I was younger, I was "actively" involved in my synagogue's youth ministry. I emphasize actively intentionally. I loved my peers and my leaders, and I loved what I was a part of...until I felt that it no longer loved me. It no longer knew who I was or how best to help me. This isn't a reflection on the individuals I was surrounded by at all, but rather, a reflection of a larger crisis.
In Ryan and Josh Shook's book, Firsthand, their main goal is to break away from the idea of a "secondhand" faith - one that lets us coast by, basically, on the precepts of what our parents and leaders bring us up believing. For so long, that was what I allowed myself to do. Unfortunately, rather than "break away" from G-d, as they describe it, I was torn. There were/are things I wanted to believe, but felt that I was very actively being told "no, you're not the kind of person we want here after all, please exit out the back.'' I did. I wrote G-d off. My entire life, I had been told that I had a heavenly father to replace the earthly one that had abandoned me years earlier. You can imagine the devastation when He left too. I figured I could abandon just as easily as He had. Until QS, I didn't think anything of it. Until Valerie appeared with a guiding voice and all the right questions, I didn't realize I had been missing anything.
When I was "active," I had many people tell me that I had been called to youth ministry. I was zealous, and most people couldn't tell the difference between my authenticity and my neediness to please. I don't even think I could tell, towards the end. I believed them when I was told I would end up back there, but in a leadership capacity, rather than as a student.
So you can imagine my surprise, when, after years of resenting the idea of religion for the flaws presented within one very small group, the idea of youth ministry resurfaced in my head. This was only exacerbated by my deep internal desire to continue working with social justice issues, and in particular, continue work with the trans* community.
I had originally anticipated working in D.C., or getting involved with an LGBTQ organization of some kind (not ones I had previously been affiliated with, but something more radical, more NOW). I know there are "safe" churches, but in my experience, that safety typically extends to the L and the G, and gets lost somewhere along the path to the T. Our community is still working to reach the T and bring us into the more "mainstream" conversations happening. So, ultimately, yes. I wanted to become a trans* activist. But when I thought of the ways my life had been changed most dramatically since coming out as trans*, all I could think of was how supportive my collegiate spiritual community had been through the entire process. All I could think of was how amazing it would be to reach more queer teens and college students, especially if we could reach them before they had completely written G-d...and any kind of faith...off.
With that, I guess I can make this announcement.
With the regular readings I have been doing, my daily quiet time and reflection, the reinterpretations of the Bible I have been working on (rereading it again for the second time in a year, the third in as many), I have finally found out what I'm hoping is my calling. Or, rather, come to recognize it in a slightly different form than I had when I was fourteen and fifteen, before it all was blown to smithereens and I became a 21st-century skeptic.
From here on, I will be working towards not only becoming involved in youth ministry, but more specifically, I am looking forward to getting to work with, and eventually developing a stable version, different versions of queer youth outreach and ministry.
There are already a few of you I've talked to about this, but most of you I've been hesitant to discuss it around. I am used to skeptical comments about faith and those who bear it, but I've come to the realization that for me to do this, I can't take offense by those comments. I understand them better than most people; for so long, I was the one making them. For that, I apologize. It was a form of self-loathing, similar, in many ways, to those experiencing denial of other common unwanted identities. I recognize in myself, now, that it was mostly a way for me to distance myself from that loss I experienced so many years ago.
I'm looking forward to this adventure, and for those of you out there who have experienced similar struggles (and victories), please give me all the tips, advice, words of encouragement, etc., that you have. You know I can use them.
-Micah
9.25.2014
3.13.2014
Update 12 March 14
As noted before, I had my first therapy appointment on Tuesday. While several of my coworkers joked around about taking Skyler to therapy with me, it turns out I actually am allowed to do that, which is pretty awesome.
I ended up driving to the wrong office and had to reschedule for later that evening, but it all worked out. The therapist (Brian Wright) is really laid back and pretty nice, and was more than supportive (even though this initial meeting was really just for background info). I explained that while I had been experiencing these feelings for the last year or more, it had only recently started becoming so horrible that I couldn't even focus long enough to do homework, etc., and I felt like my entire life was being taken over by this problem I couldn't quite solve.
I will be seeing him weekly for the immediate future, and eventually will step down to a little less frequently.
I won't know for sure until after several appointments what he really thinks, and I figure my toughest challenge will just be remembering to avoid the uncomfortable dumb jokes I make in weird moments.
For the information I didn't really get to include in the last post -
I most likely won't be able to start hormone replacement therapy until January (when my insurance rolls over and I can jump on my own plan). That being said, a court-ordered name change is the first priority on my ever-growing to-do list, and along with that comes:
I ended up driving to the wrong office and had to reschedule for later that evening, but it all worked out. The therapist (Brian Wright) is really laid back and pretty nice, and was more than supportive (even though this initial meeting was really just for background info). I explained that while I had been experiencing these feelings for the last year or more, it had only recently started becoming so horrible that I couldn't even focus long enough to do homework, etc., and I felt like my entire life was being taken over by this problem I couldn't quite solve.
I will be seeing him weekly for the immediate future, and eventually will step down to a little less frequently.
I won't know for sure until after several appointments what he really thinks, and I figure my toughest challenge will just be remembering to avoid the uncomfortable dumb jokes I make in weird moments.
For the information I didn't really get to include in the last post -
I most likely won't be able to start hormone replacement therapy until January (when my insurance rolls over and I can jump on my own plan). That being said, a court-ordered name change is the first priority on my ever-growing to-do list, and along with that comes:
...woohoo. If anyone has any pointers on where to start with all of this nonsense..
I've also seen a few posts about changing any indications of previous names on things like credit reports, etc., and I haven't the slightest idea how to go about doing that.
I figure the passport and the birth certificate will probably be the last things (undeniably two of the most important, of course) to get changed due to stricter regulations surrounding them, etc., but we'll see as things progress.
I am definitely excited to watch as things around me change constantly over the next year, and if any of this begins happening sooner than I anticipate, that can only be better, right?
3.10.2014
The Journey.
Over the past few months, I've begun a sort of transformation. For those of you who had previously been reading Shiksa Chic, you will have been present for my initial "coming out" as trans*/genderqueer/etc. I am happy to announce that coinciding with this return to the blog (you might notice I've begun writing through a different email, one that will become associated with my new identity), and perhaps even responsible for this return, I am beginning the journey of transitioning to a body that more accurately reflects my mental and emotional state.
I now go by Micah (almost exclusively, although if you know me in the real world, I would prefer you double check where it's alright to refer to me as such and where other names should be used).
Tomorrow, I have my first therapy appointment with a Dr. Wright, and am incredibly anxious to see what happens next. Logically, I will not be starting hormone replacement therapy until I am on my own insurance plan and am otherwise financially independent (for obvious reasons), but I am ready to start doing everything I can to prepare my body and my mind for what comes next. I have started maintaining a regular exercise schedule and am happy to announce that I have returned to a vegetarian/eventual vegan diet after a four year hiatus due to health issues. I am caring for myself as well as I know how, and Skyler has been my number one motivator!
I now go by Micah (almost exclusively, although if you know me in the real world, I would prefer you double check where it's alright to refer to me as such and where other names should be used).
Tomorrow, I have my first therapy appointment with a Dr. Wright, and am incredibly anxious to see what happens next. Logically, I will not be starting hormone replacement therapy until I am on my own insurance plan and am otherwise financially independent (for obvious reasons), but I am ready to start doing everything I can to prepare my body and my mind for what comes next. I have started maintaining a regular exercise schedule and am happy to announce that I have returned to a vegetarian/eventual vegan diet after a four year hiatus due to health issues. I am caring for myself as well as I know how, and Skyler has been my number one motivator!
Something about having a dog back in my life has been exceedingly beneficial in encouraging me to really embrace life as I feel I should be. Now, for the readers:
For various reasons, I will NOT be changing the name of the blog. I had already begun identifying as GQ when I began this, so Shiksa Chic doesn't really seem inappropriate to me. The earliest posts were mostly concerning the conflicting nature of trans* and Jewish identities, as well as trans* and feminist identities. I don't expect any of that to be changing. I will be doing my best to update as frequently as I once was, which should be relatively easy considering I have much more free time than I did previously. (No school, no relationships, no nothing except for work is taking my attention from you all ;) ).
However - I would still love to have contributors on this blog. So if you are interested in writing posts occasionally (or more often), or if you have topics you want covered, by all means, EMAIL ME.
Address all inquiries to "Micah" at ( micahjmedina@gmail.com )
This is simply an update post for right now, but as above, I'd love to hear from you, and I'll be back tomorrow for an update on a broader scale and a followup from my therapy session tomorrow.
In the meantime: here's what I look like (three days ago)!
I'll be posting updated photos regularly as things progress, but consider this a sort of "before" photo.
10.16.2013
Falling Back
With the Autumn Equinox just past, it seemed like an appropriate time to get back to you all. A part of the delay was an effort to get my fall semester worked out and subsequently find the room for "fun" things like this emotionally-taxing-at-times blog and the occasional night of sleep. Happy to say I've done absolutely none of that!
While Queer Spirituality is back in full swing on campus, I have yet to return - mostly because I'm at home completing assignments until the last possible second and frequently just miss it. I've heard there has been a significant increase in attendance which excites me more than I can say. I have been taking the opportunity at home to actively inform myself on more current issues in the Jewish community, the trans* community, and other groups I feel as though I owe the attention to. I do miss the simultaneous relaxation and stimulation QS provided me in the spring though.
If you recall the last post I did before my extended absence (here if you don't), I was extremely aggravated about the exclusion of trans* bodies and individuals from medical discourse - particularly reproductive justice and the rights surrounding that, such as sterilization as a requirement for the recognition of gender changes, the old joke "Oh, you're a lesbian, it must be so nice not to need birth control," etc. I am more fortunate than most in my complaining because I've been given the opportunity to see this conversation get taken to the next level. Not only am I working with Advocates for Youth and their push for comprehensive sex education (which includes transgender individuals and their needs!) but my amazing partner has also expanded their masters' thesis to include similar discourse. Watching that come together is an amazing (and quite frankly, motivational) experience for me, and being so close to it has helped to remind me of why I was so aggravated in the first place.
I've also had several amazing chances to develop long-lasting connections with several individuals within the trans* movement and academic arena, all three of which have been inspiring in their own ways. Joy Ladin has really helped me reestablish that connection to my Jewish roots and make a space for that (personally speaking, not research-wise) reconciliation between bearing a trans*/genderqueer identity and my religious/cultural roots; Susan Stryker has motivated me to take my academic work to the next level and is out there creating a top-notch first program of its kind at the University of Arizona that I want nothing more than to be a part of once my time comes, and Janet Mock simply made my life by being one of the most beautifully down-to-earth women I have ever met in my life. Every day, these three women remind me of what destinations are truly possible and what the fights to reach them are often worth.
Anyway - I suppose it's time we get down to business. I've spent the last few months sinking in what seems like hopelessly difficult revelations, and while I've taken time to reflect on them in real life, we all know that nothing makes it easier to understand than writing an "angsty" blog post.
As I've said numerous times before, intersectionality is the air I breathe (because I was properly educated by amazing professors to do so). But I've forgotten recently that while intersectionality is a reality, that reality is constantly shifting, growing and evolving. While I've talked about several of my most important aspects of identity excessively on here, I've had the chance to dig up a few more over the summer that I had never really thought about before.
The Accelerating Racial Justice retreat I attended this summer was a catalyst for a very deep period of self-reflection and, as my friend Z said, growth of confidence in myself and who I thought that might be.
What I had never considered seriously before (although I had obviously thought about it because I very much view my Judaism as more ethnic than religious) was the racial aspect of my identity. I spent the entire duration of ARJ fighting battles with myself about how to accept that I had white privilege unless I voluntarily outed myself as something not white. I had felt guilty for "passing" but had also experienced racial discrimination as both a Jew and a Latin@ at the hands of "true" white people. So I obviously had conflicts there, not only within myself but in how I had identified myself to the group I was with. It was also the first time I had ever encountered myself as the racially disadvantaged member in a relationship of any sort, which created a weird sort of tension not only during the week but after I returned home.
I had also never previously thought about myself in the context of (dis)ability. I had, but only in the sense that it was an aspect I consistently refused to acknowledge. While I've had an interest in disability studies and the scope of that conversation for some time, it was hardly academic. It was mostly a selfish interest to test my limits when it came to owning my identity. This is a conversation I've had more in depth with my partner, but it was so long ago that I hardly remember what was said. Essentially, I just remember having a really difficult time with the idea of labeling myself as disabled in some way, because a) I don't think I even know the proper language to do so, and b) when I see someone in a wheelchair, or someone who is blind, or deaf, or in some other way more visibly, permanently so, how can I claim the right to that identity without feeling guilty? And then it occurred to me that I am really only disabled in the context in which I surround myself with healthy, able-bodied individuals.
In spite of this new development in how I see myself, I am happy to say that I have become more at peace with everything that had taken place in the winter and spring, and yes, I do feel even more confident in that self. I have started on the long journey to becoming more involved with things I am passionate about truly as myself, rather than someone whose rights were affected by such issues. I am beginning to embrace the community around me, and hoping to continue to expand it into the world at large.
I know this wasn't exactly revelatory, but I think it was a necessary "It's been so long, I've missed you, how have you been" sort of post.
While Queer Spirituality is back in full swing on campus, I have yet to return - mostly because I'm at home completing assignments until the last possible second and frequently just miss it. I've heard there has been a significant increase in attendance which excites me more than I can say. I have been taking the opportunity at home to actively inform myself on more current issues in the Jewish community, the trans* community, and other groups I feel as though I owe the attention to. I do miss the simultaneous relaxation and stimulation QS provided me in the spring though.
If you recall the last post I did before my extended absence (here if you don't), I was extremely aggravated about the exclusion of trans* bodies and individuals from medical discourse - particularly reproductive justice and the rights surrounding that, such as sterilization as a requirement for the recognition of gender changes, the old joke "Oh, you're a lesbian, it must be so nice not to need birth control," etc. I am more fortunate than most in my complaining because I've been given the opportunity to see this conversation get taken to the next level. Not only am I working with Advocates for Youth and their push for comprehensive sex education (which includes transgender individuals and their needs!) but my amazing partner has also expanded their masters' thesis to include similar discourse. Watching that come together is an amazing (and quite frankly, motivational) experience for me, and being so close to it has helped to remind me of why I was so aggravated in the first place.
I've also had several amazing chances to develop long-lasting connections with several individuals within the trans* movement and academic arena, all three of which have been inspiring in their own ways. Joy Ladin has really helped me reestablish that connection to my Jewish roots and make a space for that (personally speaking, not research-wise) reconciliation between bearing a trans*/genderqueer identity and my religious/cultural roots; Susan Stryker has motivated me to take my academic work to the next level and is out there creating a top-notch first program of its kind at the University of Arizona that I want nothing more than to be a part of once my time comes, and Janet Mock simply made my life by being one of the most beautifully down-to-earth women I have ever met in my life. Every day, these three women remind me of what destinations are truly possible and what the fights to reach them are often worth.
Janet Mock and I at Urban Retreat 2013, Photo by "Lloyd"Anyway - I suppose it's time we get down to business. I've spent the last few months sinking in what seems like hopelessly difficult revelations, and while I've taken time to reflect on them in real life, we all know that nothing makes it easier to understand than writing an "angsty" blog post.
As I've said numerous times before, intersectionality is the air I breathe (because I was properly educated by amazing professors to do so). But I've forgotten recently that while intersectionality is a reality, that reality is constantly shifting, growing and evolving. While I've talked about several of my most important aspects of identity excessively on here, I've had the chance to dig up a few more over the summer that I had never really thought about before.
The Accelerating Racial Justice retreat I attended this summer was a catalyst for a very deep period of self-reflection and, as my friend Z said, growth of confidence in myself and who I thought that might be.
What I had never considered seriously before (although I had obviously thought about it because I very much view my Judaism as more ethnic than religious) was the racial aspect of my identity. I spent the entire duration of ARJ fighting battles with myself about how to accept that I had white privilege unless I voluntarily outed myself as something not white. I had felt guilty for "passing" but had also experienced racial discrimination as both a Jew and a Latin@ at the hands of "true" white people. So I obviously had conflicts there, not only within myself but in how I had identified myself to the group I was with. It was also the first time I had ever encountered myself as the racially disadvantaged member in a relationship of any sort, which created a weird sort of tension not only during the week but after I returned home.
I had also never previously thought about myself in the context of (dis)ability. I had, but only in the sense that it was an aspect I consistently refused to acknowledge. While I've had an interest in disability studies and the scope of that conversation for some time, it was hardly academic. It was mostly a selfish interest to test my limits when it came to owning my identity. This is a conversation I've had more in depth with my partner, but it was so long ago that I hardly remember what was said. Essentially, I just remember having a really difficult time with the idea of labeling myself as disabled in some way, because a) I don't think I even know the proper language to do so, and b) when I see someone in a wheelchair, or someone who is blind, or deaf, or in some other way more visibly, permanently so, how can I claim the right to that identity without feeling guilty? And then it occurred to me that I am really only disabled in the context in which I surround myself with healthy, able-bodied individuals.
In spite of this new development in how I see myself, I am happy to say that I have become more at peace with everything that had taken place in the winter and spring, and yes, I do feel even more confident in that self. I have started on the long journey to becoming more involved with things I am passionate about truly as myself, rather than someone whose rights were affected by such issues. I am beginning to embrace the community around me, and hoping to continue to expand it into the world at large.
I know this wasn't exactly revelatory, but I think it was a necessary "It's been so long, I've missed you, how have you been" sort of post.
Coalitions and the Drive for Political Action
The following is a blog I posted for Amplify Your Voice, a project of Advocates for Youth. Originally posted 16 Oct. 2013.
Since coming back from Urban Retreat 2013, I’ve had a bit of time to think about what mistakes I made and avoided over the weekend.
Going into Urban Retreat, I wasn’t entirely sure of what my role would be as a Campus Organizer, because I had previously resigned from GenderBloc and we had decided another member should take the CO role. This resignation was largely a product of a busier-than-imagined fall semester, and trying to do too many things at once seemed incredibly risky. I had felt comfortable with my decision until arriving at UR.
For such a long time, group activism and building a family around that motivation had been a huge part of my life. From working with Human Rights Campaign throughout high school, to my current (light) involvement with GetEQUAL and other local activist and support groups, my identity had been constructed through its reliance on commonalities with others. As a consequence, it took me a very long time to decide who I was and what that meant outside of my political work.
Perhaps this lack of personal identity is what has contributed to my unwillingness to step back into an area where my only involvement was on the political front, with driving support for LGBT individuals and the issues that face our communities. I remained a staunch supporter of “working alone” for the last two years, with rare exceptions here and there. I let this cloud my mind heading to UR, and mostly saw my role there as “well, I’m here, I’ll get the info for the person taking over, and I won’t get attached.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was pretty successful.
It was not until I got back to Cincinnati, after wasting a weekend of amazing opportunities, that I realized I had blown everything I cared about in the interests of my own insecurities. After having very personal battles with myself last winter, a series of fallouts with my mother as a result, and ultimately revising my entire identity to all who had known me prior to “Micha,” I was anything but ready to work with 150 new strangers. What I didn’t understand was that every single one of those strangers had something they could have offered to me. If I had taken the time, I would have learned 150 new lessons…but I was too busy being scared.
Most of the time, I give a disgusted grimace when I hear the word “ally.” In my world, an ally is always a negative thing – it’s a privileged individual who wants a gold ribbon because they were human enough to be decent. Not because they took it to another level and dedicated themselves to working to confront oppression on every possible level, not because they were someone who routinely reflected on their privilege and found ways to use that to help the oppressed individuals they were allying with…just because they wanted to be our saviors. On the opposite end, though – I have always valued the idea of coalitions above all other forms of political communities. The idea of similarly-oppressed groups – and that is not to say that I am oppressed in one way, you are oppressed in another, so I understand your oppression, because that is simply not the case, oppressions are not equivalencies – that these similarly-oppressed groups could band together to find effective political avenues to change their situations and confront their oppressors and maybe work together to combat multiple forms of oppression – that has always felt like love to me. What Maria Lugones calls “loving perception” is how I imagine coalitions. While we recognize that we are all different, we are able to perceive each other with love and recognize that even with that difference, we are able to help each other climb our mountains. They may not be the same mountains, or even in the same range, but you cannot battle oppression and privilege on only one level. Eradicating one form of oppression is not eradication, it is reduction. A reduction which simply allows other forms of oppression to grow, or new ones to take over – and that helps no one.
What did I learn from UR? I learned that as social justice advocates, it’s our responsibility to give others a chance. Whether they are members of other oppressed groups, allies, or the oppressors, no one is capable of stepping up if we automatically condemn them as something “different” or “wrong.” If we truly want to drive political and social change, we have to actively accept as many willing individuals as we can, even if their methods of helping are not exactly what we want or expect. I know I could’ve done much better at living this on a personal level not only at UR, but at other points in my life. I can only hope that taking this time to reflect reminds me of the importance that friendships, partnerships, communities and coalitions play in our work, and that I learn how to use it to achieve my own goals and assist others in achieving theirs.
Since coming back from Urban Retreat 2013, I’ve had a bit of time to think about what mistakes I made and avoided over the weekend.
Going into Urban Retreat, I wasn’t entirely sure of what my role would be as a Campus Organizer, because I had previously resigned from GenderBloc and we had decided another member should take the CO role. This resignation was largely a product of a busier-than-imagined fall semester, and trying to do too many things at once seemed incredibly risky. I had felt comfortable with my decision until arriving at UR.
For such a long time, group activism and building a family around that motivation had been a huge part of my life. From working with Human Rights Campaign throughout high school, to my current (light) involvement with GetEQUAL and other local activist and support groups, my identity had been constructed through its reliance on commonalities with others. As a consequence, it took me a very long time to decide who I was and what that meant outside of my political work.
Perhaps this lack of personal identity is what has contributed to my unwillingness to step back into an area where my only involvement was on the political front, with driving support for LGBT individuals and the issues that face our communities. I remained a staunch supporter of “working alone” for the last two years, with rare exceptions here and there. I let this cloud my mind heading to UR, and mostly saw my role there as “well, I’m here, I’ll get the info for the person taking over, and I won’t get attached.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was pretty successful.
It was not until I got back to Cincinnati, after wasting a weekend of amazing opportunities, that I realized I had blown everything I cared about in the interests of my own insecurities. After having very personal battles with myself last winter, a series of fallouts with my mother as a result, and ultimately revising my entire identity to all who had known me prior to “Micha,” I was anything but ready to work with 150 new strangers. What I didn’t understand was that every single one of those strangers had something they could have offered to me. If I had taken the time, I would have learned 150 new lessons…but I was too busy being scared.
Most of the time, I give a disgusted grimace when I hear the word “ally.” In my world, an ally is always a negative thing – it’s a privileged individual who wants a gold ribbon because they were human enough to be decent. Not because they took it to another level and dedicated themselves to working to confront oppression on every possible level, not because they were someone who routinely reflected on their privilege and found ways to use that to help the oppressed individuals they were allying with…just because they wanted to be our saviors. On the opposite end, though – I have always valued the idea of coalitions above all other forms of political communities. The idea of similarly-oppressed groups – and that is not to say that I am oppressed in one way, you are oppressed in another, so I understand your oppression, because that is simply not the case, oppressions are not equivalencies – that these similarly-oppressed groups could band together to find effective political avenues to change their situations and confront their oppressors and maybe work together to combat multiple forms of oppression – that has always felt like love to me. What Maria Lugones calls “loving perception” is how I imagine coalitions. While we recognize that we are all different, we are able to perceive each other with love and recognize that even with that difference, we are able to help each other climb our mountains. They may not be the same mountains, or even in the same range, but you cannot battle oppression and privilege on only one level. Eradicating one form of oppression is not eradication, it is reduction. A reduction which simply allows other forms of oppression to grow, or new ones to take over – and that helps no one.
What did I learn from UR? I learned that as social justice advocates, it’s our responsibility to give others a chance. Whether they are members of other oppressed groups, allies, or the oppressors, no one is capable of stepping up if we automatically condemn them as something “different” or “wrong.” If we truly want to drive political and social change, we have to actively accept as many willing individuals as we can, even if their methods of helping are not exactly what we want or expect. I know I could’ve done much better at living this on a personal level not only at UR, but at other points in my life. I can only hope that taking this time to reflect reminds me of the importance that friendships, partnerships, communities and coalitions play in our work, and that I learn how to use it to achieve my own goals and assist others in achieving theirs.
5.04.2013
Birth politics are body politics are trans* politics - Identity Politics and the Medicalization of Bodies
I don't even have the words.
Trans* Politics tumblr.
I've been fortunate to stumble across a few conversations, with my partner, classmates, and coworkers, about the correlation between the politics and medicalization of the birth industry, and that of the trans* community.
BODIES, BODIES, BODIES.
That's what it comes down to. One of my classmates, a co-participant in a feminist leadership group I'm in (previously mentioned: WILL), does a lot of her work surrounding reproductive justice, birth politics, and the birth industry in the medical complex. She also works with doulas, midwives, and other "alternative" forms of birthing (i.e. home-births). She recently came to my Women, Culture and Power class as a guest speaker, for the discussion on birth politics, and posed the question of whether or not reproductive justice was just a concern for those women to whom it applied (in this case I am assuming heterosexual, cisgender, fertile, of proper age, "fit" to reproduce, so on and so forth).
I didn't have time to get into this during the class (a disadvantage of sessions lasting less than an hour) but I did get a chance to talk to her about it later, briefly.
It's not. Birth politics are not just for the women giving birth. The process of birthing is heavily dictated by what is convenient and what is faster and what is best for those involved....in the medical industry. She talked about the trend of medical procedures that weren't consented to being performed on mothers who were sedated, tranquilized, paralyzed while giving life to their children - mothers who couldn't do anything to stop it.
I'm not going to go in-depth with the birthing politics, because I don't know much about it, and the last thing I want to do is come off as an uneducated ass. I'm working on it though, I promise.
The fact is, it is all about the bodies. We could talk for days about the connection between "birth" and "rebirth" that infants and trans* individuals (respectively) experience, but it's about more than that.
It's about medical professionals and the capitalist-structured medical industry telling us, from day one, that our bodies are in their hands. It's why we sign so many consent forms, and why we sign forms that basically relinquish medical rights should anything unexpected happen to us in an unfamiliar setting. From infancy, once we've cried - indicated our dissatisfaction and our need for another human, we are torn from our mothers (literally), often "cleaned up" before we're allowed to eat, drink, or even look at our new life-force.
From the moment we enter the world, we are sexed and gendered and taught to be what society needs us to become. With regularly-scheduled check-ups, "self-maintenance," and the way bodies are portrayed by those around us, we learn exactly how they are supposed to behave, look and feel. When we put on a few extra pounds, we're told we're "at risk," but rarely given effective techniques to make natural bodies less "risky." Fat-shaming, and I would even argue, the disabilification (if that's not a word, it is now) of "fat," build up the medical industry on a lying foundation of shame and humiliation, and show us exactly why movements such as Health At Every Size are so important.
All of this - the way bodies are represented and treated in our world, from birth until death, and even after - it all contributes to the way trans* bodies are affected by the medical complex. I can see similarities between the extensive consideration that goes into birthing - when, where, how, with who, what conditions - and the consideration that is given to transitioning. The hormones, the physical and psychological testing and certifications required to finally be in a body you feel is in line with your mind and soul - it's all connected.
Any kind of body politic is related to all kinds of body politics.
The one thing I can't stand, as either a lesbian, or a transgender individual, is when those I speak to (whether in an academic setting, a political environment, or even just as friends) assume that I couldn't care less about reproductive rights. They make jokes or comments about "how nice it must be, not having to worry about birth control," getting pregnant, fertility, or anything related to reproduction - and I will usually laugh along with them. It's one of my biggest faults, but sometimes I can't bring myself to just say, I do. I do care about it. I probably care about it more than you do, if your biggest concern is getting impregnated through casual sex (which I think is the biggest concern in my age group). For me, reproductive rights are boiled down to a very basic right to exist. Not only an infant's right to exist, but more specifically my own. I'm not pro-life, or pro-abortion. I'm pro-choice. I fully support the girl next door's rights to do whatever she decides, and I don't think, at any point, that abortion, contraception, home births, or midwifery should be illegal. In fact, I think they're all absolutely necessary, especially in a world where the medical industry plays its patients as though it's fucking God the Almighty. They're necessary because anything else is terrifying.
But that's not what this is about.
It's about the control of bodies that aren't yours to control. It's about how you decide to create and evolve and become and truly be. Whether it's as a mother, a child, or someone a little more comfortable, it just comes down to being.
Trans* Politics tumblr.
I've been fortunate to stumble across a few conversations, with my partner, classmates, and coworkers, about the correlation between the politics and medicalization of the birth industry, and that of the trans* community.
BODIES, BODIES, BODIES.
That's what it comes down to. One of my classmates, a co-participant in a feminist leadership group I'm in (previously mentioned: WILL), does a lot of her work surrounding reproductive justice, birth politics, and the birth industry in the medical complex. She also works with doulas, midwives, and other "alternative" forms of birthing (i.e. home-births). She recently came to my Women, Culture and Power class as a guest speaker, for the discussion on birth politics, and posed the question of whether or not reproductive justice was just a concern for those women to whom it applied (in this case I am assuming heterosexual, cisgender, fertile, of proper age, "fit" to reproduce, so on and so forth).
I didn't have time to get into this during the class (a disadvantage of sessions lasting less than an hour) but I did get a chance to talk to her about it later, briefly.
It's not. Birth politics are not just for the women giving birth. The process of birthing is heavily dictated by what is convenient and what is faster and what is best for those involved....in the medical industry. She talked about the trend of medical procedures that weren't consented to being performed on mothers who were sedated, tranquilized, paralyzed while giving life to their children - mothers who couldn't do anything to stop it.
I'm not going to go in-depth with the birthing politics, because I don't know much about it, and the last thing I want to do is come off as an uneducated ass. I'm working on it though, I promise.
The fact is, it is all about the bodies. We could talk for days about the connection between "birth" and "rebirth" that infants and trans* individuals (respectively) experience, but it's about more than that.
It's about medical professionals and the capitalist-structured medical industry telling us, from day one, that our bodies are in their hands. It's why we sign so many consent forms, and why we sign forms that basically relinquish medical rights should anything unexpected happen to us in an unfamiliar setting. From infancy, once we've cried - indicated our dissatisfaction and our need for another human, we are torn from our mothers (literally), often "cleaned up" before we're allowed to eat, drink, or even look at our new life-force.
From the moment we enter the world, we are sexed and gendered and taught to be what society needs us to become. With regularly-scheduled check-ups, "self-maintenance," and the way bodies are portrayed by those around us, we learn exactly how they are supposed to behave, look and feel. When we put on a few extra pounds, we're told we're "at risk," but rarely given effective techniques to make natural bodies less "risky." Fat-shaming, and I would even argue, the disabilification (if that's not a word, it is now) of "fat," build up the medical industry on a lying foundation of shame and humiliation, and show us exactly why movements such as Health At Every Size are so important.
All of this - the way bodies are represented and treated in our world, from birth until death, and even after - it all contributes to the way trans* bodies are affected by the medical complex. I can see similarities between the extensive consideration that goes into birthing - when, where, how, with who, what conditions - and the consideration that is given to transitioning. The hormones, the physical and psychological testing and certifications required to finally be in a body you feel is in line with your mind and soul - it's all connected.
Any kind of body politic is related to all kinds of body politics.
The one thing I can't stand, as either a lesbian, or a transgender individual, is when those I speak to (whether in an academic setting, a political environment, or even just as friends) assume that I couldn't care less about reproductive rights. They make jokes or comments about "how nice it must be, not having to worry about birth control," getting pregnant, fertility, or anything related to reproduction - and I will usually laugh along with them. It's one of my biggest faults, but sometimes I can't bring myself to just say, I do. I do care about it. I probably care about it more than you do, if your biggest concern is getting impregnated through casual sex (which I think is the biggest concern in my age group). For me, reproductive rights are boiled down to a very basic right to exist. Not only an infant's right to exist, but more specifically my own. I'm not pro-life, or pro-abortion. I'm pro-choice. I fully support the girl next door's rights to do whatever she decides, and I don't think, at any point, that abortion, contraception, home births, or midwifery should be illegal. In fact, I think they're all absolutely necessary, especially in a world where the medical industry plays its patients as though it's fucking God the Almighty. They're necessary because anything else is terrifying.
But that's not what this is about.
It's about the control of bodies that aren't yours to control. It's about how you decide to create and evolve and become and truly be. Whether it's as a mother, a child, or someone a little more comfortable, it just comes down to being.
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