I make a point, every year in June, of reflecting on the notion of pride. Little p. I think, if nothing else, that’s the largest success of Pride for me. Every year a bunch of queer folks go way the hell out of their way to make sure that I, personally, make space to reflect on my place in society, how society tries to influence me, and how I exist despite it.
Thanks folks. You’re, collectively, a real mensch.
I’m Not All That Proud
So, anyway, every year, for the space of a month, I get a little weird and start to worry that there’s something wrong with me because, and this is just between us, ok? Right, well, every year I have to own up to the fact that I’m not particularly proud. To be fair, I’m not proud of very much. I have a lovely wife and daughter, but they’re doing all of the work on that being decent human beings front, and I’m not proud to have them, I’m _lucky_ that things worked out the way they did.
I’m not _proud_ of my doctorate, in a day to day sense. I spent more time in college than most being a big old nerd. I was, again, _lucky_ to be in a position to have that opportunity and capitalize on it. It was formative. It’s been hugely important to my career. If I’m proud of anything, it’s the research. But again, I didn’t make that happen. They were facts out there to be discovered by anyone that was looking. I just happened to be right place, right time, right temperament.
The same way, I’m not particularly proud of being a trans lady. I’m not proud of being a lesbian. Those are just how I am as a person. I didn’t pick to be wired up to like girls any more than I chose having blonde hair. In the same way, being trans is, as far as I can tell, an accident of my birth more than anything I’ve specifically done.
The Other Deadly Sins, on the Other Hand…
No, pride isn’t most of what I experience when I reflect on things. June tends to bring other deadly sins with it. Lust, for one. Girl pride last year was amazing, and I hope it’s just as ridiculous and tawdry this year. The bulk of it though? The thing I feel the most in this month is *rage*. Wrath. I’m _angry_, and christ, how could you not be?
When I think about Pride, I think about all of the gnarly experiences I’ve had in the last year that happened purely because of who I am. Every doctor that refuses to educate themselves about their patient’s (my) medical needs. The person that hounded after me when I just needed to take a piss. Every nominal ally who can’t change their behavior one fucking inch who wishes there was something they could do to ease my terror. Every colleague whose questioned whether the person who routinely avoids using pronouns for me, and only me, is really being a bigot. Every asshole that’s shot me a dirty look when I’ve taken my kid to the park or to a diner for breakfast, just the two of us. Every waitress that’s assumed my wife and I can’t be together because we’re both women.
The thing is, when I think about it, none of those things happened because of who _I am_. They happened because some asshole assumed that I can’t be a decent mother because that’s what society has told them about trans people. The person who hounded me out of the bathroom might be fucking dumb enough to believe I’m a threat. A little introspection and they might realize how threating they look, charging into bathrooms shouting at people. The waitress just doesn’t see families like mine, and so in her mind, clearly my wife and I can’t be married, and certainly there’s no way anyone would ever have _a child_ with someone like me. My allies, such as they are, truly do wish I was less scared and things were less bad for me, but man, the dishes need done and they want to show off their new luxury electric vehicle to the other tech nerds.
First, let me be clear. Fuck each and every one of those people. Each last goddamned one is old enough to know better, and I refuse to treat bad actions born of ignorance any different than those born of malice at this point. But moreover, fuck society. Fuck the inherit assumption that I am somehow less. Less capable, less decent, less desirable. Fuck every last person that assumed my wife and I would divorce just because I came out as trans, and to hell with the society that gave them that fucking impression in the first place.
Maybe I Am a Little Proud
If I am proud of anything during Pride, it’s that I’ve acknowledged who I am. I’ve stood up to say “Hey, by the way, all of those things you’ve assumed about me? Not so much,” and I’ve reaped the whirlwind for it. If there is anything I feel pride in, it’s spitting in the eye of a society that does not want people like me to exist, and telling them exactly where they can cram it.
But again, I don’t really experience that as pride. It’s anger. Disappointment at a society that would do that to anyone. Rage at the individuals who think of themselves as good people who nonetheless perpetuate this hate. An infinite wellspring of disdain for a system that makes people afraid to ask themselves questions about who they are.
So, here we are, another year gone, another year where I just can’t figure out what the hell I’m supposed to feel during Pride. Right now, I’m going to dream of an unimportant Pride. A drinking holiday where the elder queers are angry because the youth have forgotten what we struggled for. St. Patrick’s day with a few more colors, you know? Until then, I guess I get to try and be proud of who I am. Well, not who I am exactly, but that society couldn’t take who I am from me, couldn’t push it back into the shadows, despite its best efforts.
I think that defiance is something worth being proud of, as much for it’s own sake as for the hope that it encourages someone else to be themselves too.