On TS-SI the charge was made that I moderated my stance regarding Transgender because I am writing a book and hope to get speaking engagements.
This charge was spoken scornfully as though writing about my life in the 1960s and 70s is something shameful.
Or that I am writing just another tired transmemoir. Which kind of displays a level of ignorance regard the people who may have encouraged me to write my story.
Susan Stryker and Jacob Hale were among the first and they encouraged it from the stand point of my part in running the NTCU, my meeting Dr. Benjamin and contact with the Erickson Educational Foundation.
But then there are all the others. People of the New Left and SDS, who think the showing of the mingling of the different parts of the movement would provide an aspect of 1960s history that is often missing. For my book is about history and culture as well as the personal.
Then there is a woman friend of mine who knows only the Left part of my story because I am more out on line than in 3D.
She gave me this card and suggested I was wasting my life working retail and should be teaching. She didn’t mean the card as a joke and asks me every few monts if I have though about putting together a lecture.
I am working class. Now I work retail sales, just another over educated prole of the New Economy’s servant sector. Black flag/black mask angry with the screwing of workers and the lie of borrowing money for yet more school and job retraining when so many of the jobs we retrained for are now out sourced.
Dylan nailed it in “It’s Alright, Ma, I’m Only Bleeding
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despite their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.
While some on principles baptized
To strict party platforms ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God Bless him.
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him.
Because I read too much and think too much I am the angry prole, the disgruntled worker who sees the class war that is waged by the rich against the poor. Because my heroes are the anarchists I speak my mind and say just what I think.
I am free, for freedom is assumed until others try to take away that freedom. That freedom gives me the right to tell my story and if I can profit by writing my story and get paid for the telling of it why should I not opt for that rather than slaving at a meaningless job creating surplus value for the corporate overlords. Even though I recognize that writing my story and telling it also creates surplus value for those who exploit my work in packaging it and selling it, the physical labor on my part is easier.