Ever notice how citing Virginia Prince as the coiner of the term “Transgender” causes the members of both Transgender Inc and the Transgender Borg to go into fits of twisted syntactical word salad as they try to argue that the Prince of many names didn’t actually coin the word.
The reality is that transgender is just another word for transvestite. Prince was constantly coining terms to replace transvestite and transvestism. Femmephile. He coined the concept of “gender expression”.
Transgender had nothing to do with Stonewall. The people Transgender Inc and the Borg claim were either drag queens or transsexual. I feel safe in saying this as I know the level of homophobia present in Tri-Ess and the other heterosexual transvestite organizations.
I can equally safely say there weren’t transgender people at the Compton Cafeteria Riot but there were drag queens and transsexuals.
I remember reading Darrell G Raynor’s strange little book A Year Among the Girls about heterosexual transvestites and Casa Suzanna way back in the 1960s and thinking, “This is freaking bizarre. These people are freaks.”
The whole idea of heterosexual transvestism seemed totally odd to me as an emerging transsexual. I didn’t have a problem with drag queens. While getting a sex change operation seemed pretty impossible in 1967, involving places like Casablanca and all, being a drag queen with a hip boy friend seem doable.
I associated sex identity with sexuality at that point and there were enough young men who made my heart go pitta-pat for me to see living as a woman and having a boyfriend as plan B.
I left home later that year. Was more or less told to get out.
I went to San Francisco because I had heard that there were places there where a person with transsexualism could find support.
I found them and doctors who made what I had thought nearly impossible just months before easily doable.
I also discovered transsexuals had next to nothing in common with drag queens, even with the drag queens who lived full time as women.
I heard the nasty comments about the genitals of post-SRS women. Things like, “Mutilated man”, “Dead hole.”. Today’s transgender Borg think they are some how being creative or thinking for themselves when they come up with these slurs but they are in fact simply repeating shit that the queens and transvestites of the 1960s and early 1970s said.
The following is part of the history of the Transgender Borg and Transgender Inc you will not hear from Christan Williams or anyone else who would rather present revisionist history that makes it appear as though the Transgender as Umbrella movement had its roots in the drag queens of the Gay and Lesbian Movement or in the early Transsexual Movement.
Transgender as umbrella has its roots in the heterosexual transvestite movement, many of whom later came out as transsexual and perpetuated their own mythology as to how it was impossible to like women or have been married and gotten SRS even though Dr. B.’s book mentioned people who had been heterosexually married prior to coming out. As did one of the earliest memoirs, The Roberta Cowell Story. She got SRS in 1952 shortly before Christine.
From The New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/07/garden/07trann.html?pagewanted=2
A Safe House for the Girl Within
THERE was a pilot and a businessman, an accountant, a librarian and a pharmacologist. There was a newspaper publisher, and a court translator. By day, they were the men in the gray flannel suits, but on the weekends, they were Felicity, Cynthia, Gail, Sandy, Fiona, Virginia and Susanna. It was the dawn of the 1960’s, yet they wore their late 50’s fashions with awkward pride: the white gloves, the demure dresses and low heels, the stiff wigs. Many were married with children, or soon would be. In those pre-Judith Butler, pre-Phil Donahue days, when gender was more tightly tethered to biology, these men’s “gender migrations,” or “gender dysphoria,” as the sociologists began to call cross-dressing, might cost them their marriages, their jobs, their freedom.
And so they kept their feminine selves hidden, except for weekends at Casa Susanna, a slightly run-down bungalow camp in Hunter, N.Y., that was the only place where they could feel at home.
Decades later, when Robert Swope, a gentle punk rocker turned furniture dealer, came across their pictures — a hundred or so snapshots and three photo albums in a box at the 26th Street flea market in Manhattan — he knew nothing about their stories, or Casa Susanna, beyond the obvious: here was a group of men dressed as women, beautiful and homely, posing with gravity, happiness and in some cases outright joy. They were playing cards, eating dinner, having a laugh. They didn’t look campy, like drag queens vamping it up as Diana Ross or Cher; they looked like small-town parishioners, like the lady next door, or your aunt in Connecticut.
Mr. Swope was stunned by the pictures and moved by the mysterious world they revealed. He and his partner, Michel Hurst, gathered them into a book, “Casa Susanna,” which was published by Powerhouse Books in 2005 and reissued last spring, and which became an instant sensation, predictably, in the worlds of fashion and design. Paul Smith stores sold it, as did the SoHo design store and gallery Moss, which made a Christmas diorama of a hundred copies last year. Last month, you might have seen it in the hands of a child-size mannequin in the Marc Jacobs store on Bleecker Street.
Casa Susanna was owned by Susanna herself — the court translator, otherwise known as Tito Valenti — and Valenti’s wife, Marie, who conveniently ran a wig store on Fifth Avenue and was happy to provide makeover lessons and to cook for the weekend guests. It was a place of cultivated normalcy, where Felicity, Cynthia, Gail, Fiona and the others were free to indulge their radical urges to play Scrabble in a dress, trade makeup tips or walk in heels in the light of day.
“These men had one foot in the mainstream and the other in the margins,” Mr. Hill said the other day. “I’m fascinated by that position and their paradox, which is that the strict gender roles of the time were both the source of their anxiety and pain, and also the key to escaping that pain.”
“It was the most remarkable release of pressure, and it meant the world to me then,” he said. “I’d grown up in a very conventional family. I had the desire to marry, to have the house, the car, the dog. And I eventually did. But at that point there were all these conflicting desires that had no focal points. I didn’t know where I fit.”
Sandy remembers one weekend sharing a cabin with another man and his girlfriend. “She obviously accepted the situation with him for better or worse,” Sandy began. “Anyway, I didn’t get dressed until later in the day, and when I did, the girlfriend was just coming down the stairs. ‘Oh my,’ she said, ‘you certainly have made a change. I have to tell you, I much preferred the person who got out of the car.’ And with that she reached under my dress and groped me. She said, ‘It’s a shame to have all that locked up in there.’ In one sense, it was titillating, in another, depressing. And yet in another way, it put a finger on the issue.”
Complete article at: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/07/garden/07trann.html?pagewanted=2