Turning the Page: Transgender issues — Moving on

I have been saying it for years:  For Transsexual folks who get SRS being part of the active Transgender Community can be a finite matter.  Being post-transsexual doesn’t require you to be a hateful asshole, it just means knowing the time has come to relinquish the activist role to others for whom issues are more immediate.

Better to back off than get angry and fight.  Better to admit apathy than go to war over words.

From The Montreal Gazette:  http://montrealgazette.com/life/transgender-issues-moving-on

Jillian Page, Montreal Gazette
December 10, 2014

Well, apparently I was wrong. Some transgender people do feel Chelsea Manning is a spokesperson for them.

And at least one of them threatened to campaign against me for daring to speak my opinion in a previous post, which I have taken offline not because of the individual’s intimidation tactics, but simply because I have decided not to write about transgender issues any more.

It’s something I have been thinking about recently. I started writing about trans issues, at the urging of my paper, when I was gender transitioning. I received a fair bit of criticism back then — in 2008 and 2009 — from other gender-transitioned women, who told me I shouldn’t be advocating for “cross-dressers” who will never have sexual reassignment surgery. That was my first inkling there was a great divide in the so-called transgender community. Indeed, those women didn’t see themselves as “transgender” people; they view themselves simply as women and they do not see “part-time crossdressers” with male anatomy as women.

But I did continue to write about transgender people, as well as other members of the LGBTQ community.

Lately, though, I have been saddened by the armchair social media militancy of some in the trans community, by how they pounce on and bully anyone — journalist or not, trans or not — who expresses contrary views. And label people whether they like it or not: when I mentioned recently that some biological women don’t like to be referred to as “cisgender,” a trans activist wrote to me and said, in essence, “Too bad. She must be a radfem. I’ll call her what I want.” (For the record: they are not radfems; they support trans people.)

Sadly, while some transgender people cry out for respect and equal rights, they don’t extend the same to others.

Not all trans people are militant, of course. Most aren’t. But journalists who have been attacked by transgender “warriors” are often very wary of trans subjects afterward.

Like most bloggers, I don’t get paid for writing posts. It’s not part of my job; it has been a labour of love. I will continue to write about some LGB issues, because I am part of that group. But I will step back from transgender matters, as so many of my gender-transitioned peers urged me to do in 2008 and 2009 after I had SRS. Like them, I do not consider myself to be a transgender person: I am simply a woman, and my path to womanhood is irrelevant. I am happy to live in the gender binary.

I will always be in favour of equality for those who dwell between the gender binary, but I will leave the advocacy to people who live that experience — because it is not my experience.

For me, it’s time to move on from transgenderism.

Good luck to all transgender people.

Cheers.

 

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Surviving Whole Foods

From Huffington Post:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kelly-maclean/surviving-whole-foods_b_3895583.html


09/16/2013

Whole Foods is like Vegas. You go there to feel good but you leave broke, disoriented, and with the newfound knowledge that you have a vaginal disease.

Unlike Vegas, Whole Foods’ clientele are all about mindfulness and compassion… until they get to the parking lot. Then it’s war. As I pull up this morning, I see a pregnant lady on the crosswalk holding a baby and groceries. This driver swerves around her and honks. As he speeds off I catch his bumper sticker, which says ‘NAMASTE’. Poor lady didn’t even hear him approaching because he was driving a Prius. He crept up on her like a panther.

As the great, sliding glass doors part I am immediately smacked in the face by a wall of cool, moist air that smells of strawberries and orchids. I leave behind the concrete jungle and enter a cornucopia of organic bliss; the land of hemp milk and honey. Seriously, think about Heaven and then think about Whole Foods; they’re basically the same.

The first thing I see is the great wall of kombucha — 42 different kinds of rotten tea. Fun fact: the word kombucha is Japanese for ‘I gizzed in your tea.’ Anyone who’s ever swallowed the glob of mucus at the end of the bottle knows exactly what I’m talking about. I believe this thing is called “The Mother,” which makes it that much creepier.

Next I see the gluten-free section filled with crackers and bread made from various wheat-substitutes such as cardboard and sawdust. I skip this aisle because I’m not rich enough to have dietary restrictions. Ever notice that you don’t meet poor people with special diet needs? A gluten intolerant house cleaner? A cab driver with Candida? Candida is what I call a rich, white person problem. You know you’ve really made it in this world when you get Candida. My personal theory is that Candida is something you get from too much hot yoga. All I’m saying is if I were a yeast, I would want to live in your yoga pants.

Next I approach the beauty aisle. There is a scary looking machine there that you put your face inside of and it tells you exactly how ugly you are. They calculate your wrinkles, sun spots, the size of your pores, etc. and compare it to other women your age. I think of myself attractive but as it turns out, I am 78 percent ugly, meaning less pretty than 78 percent of women in the world. On the popular 1-10 hotness scale used by males the world over, that makes me a 3 (if you round up, which I hope you will.) A glance at the extremely close-up picture they took of my face, in which I somehow have a glorious, blond porn mustache, tells me that 3 is about right. Especially because the left side of my face is apparently 20 percent more aged than the right. Fantastic. After contemplating ending it all here and now, I decide instead to buy their product. One bottle of delicious smelling, silky feeling creme that is maybe going to raise me from a 3 to a 4 for only $108 which is a pretty good deal when you think about it.

I grab a handful of peanut butter pretzels on my way out of this stupid aisle. I don’t feel bad about pilfering these bites because of the umpteen times that I’ve overpaid at the salad bar and been tricked into buying $108 beauty creams. The pretzels are very fattening but I’m already in the seventieth percentile of ugly so who cares.

Continue reading at:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kelly-maclean/surviving-whole-foods_b_3895583.html

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