Reid Vanderburgh - 2007 DRO Speech

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Day of Remembrance, 2007

Today we honor the memory of those transgender people who have died brutally because of their perceived identities. Some were openly trans, but many were not, and we would probably not be aware of their existence had they not died. The same can also be said of many who are not destined to die before their time so many of us live in the closet, afraid to share our true selves with others, in fear that we also will be treated with brutality or discrimination. When asked whether she felt she had anything in common with gay men and lesbians, Jenny Boylan, author of the book "She's Not There," replied, We get beat up by the same people.

Living on the margins, especially in the realm of gender, is to live with risk. In order to live in integrity with ourselves we put our very lives at risk if we openly proclaim ourselves as transgender individuals. For many, decisions about living openly affect more people than just ourselves, as we weigh our desire to be ourselves with the need to earn a living and maintain harmony within our families. But is it necessary that every trans person come out in every situation? Particularly for transmen on hormones, issues of invisibility weigh on us, as we would have to wear neon signs around our necks in order to be visibly trans. The same is true for many of my transwomen friends and clients many are invisible after a period of time in physical transition.

For three years, I was on the board of directors of Basic Rights Oregon. I sing with the Portland Gay Men's Chorus, a venerable and highly visible organization. My business website proclaims me trans in its name. I live in a place of privilege, to be able to come out in all aspects of my life. Not only am I out as a trans therapist, it is a professional asset for me to be trans. That does not hold true for many trans people I come out, so they dont have to. As long as some of us are out, and tell our stories, we can slowly help change our culture, redefining what trans means, helping dismantle the current "man in a dress" stereotype. This is our part in the culture wars.

As Jenny Boylan pointed out, the same people who target us also target gay men and lesbians, and for the same reasons we transgress and challenge traditional gender roles. It is the effeminate gay man and the very masculine lesbian who is targeted most often, along with the transperson who is found out, or not invisible. Our day of remembrance can be expanded to include all who have been victims because of their gender expression, regardless of gender identity or sexual orientation. A gay male friend of mine told me that when he was in high school in Vancouver, Washington, he was routinely peed on in the boy's bathroom, and had his head stuffed in the toilet on many occasions. While he will trip anyone's "gaydar," he is not someone who has ever desired to be a woman. One friend of mine disappeared in early 2006, last seen near his Salem home. His body was found a year later in a remote area of forest. He was openly gay, and his death is being treated as a homicide. My chorus sang at his memorial this past Saturday.

It is not only homicide that poses a risk for those who live on the margins of gender. In late October, a 16-year-old Michigan transman took his own life. His suicide is all the more poignant because his mother is a board member of Trans Youth Family Advocates. Even with the support of his family, the weight of having the wrong hormone balance in his body, the weight of feeling isolated and alone in his identity, left him feeling hopeless enough that he chose suicide. So today, let us also remember Ian Benson, and his grieving family. Not all those who die trans, die unmourned.

As a former board member of Basic Rights Oregon, I would like to acknowledge how far we've come politically. The recent failure of social conservatives is testament to our progress - they could not gather enough signatures to overturn GLBT civil rights protections and civil union legislation in the state of Oregon, and those laws went into effect on January 1. Unlike the national ENDA legislation (that's Employment Non-Discrimination Act), Oregon's laws DO include protections based on gender identity and gender expression. I am 53 years old. I remember well all the anti-gay ballot measure battles of the 1990s, and I never dreamed I'd see a day when civil unions were even under consideration, much less the day when social conservatives failed to gather their signatures. Times are indeed changing!

However, as our day of remembrance signifies, there is still much to be done to dismantle the prejudice and sexism that perpetuate transphobic violence. I am mindful of our most recent civil rights movement in this country, on behalf of African Americans. The recent election of Barack Obama is testament to the progress made on the racism front; the election of a cross-dresser as mayor of Silverton is testament to OUR progress as transgender people. While racism and sexism remain a reality, civil rights legislation in conjunction with education is the key toward eventual social change, as generation by generation, society does progress toward equality and inclusion.

Honoring the dead keeps us mindful of the need for further work. However, we also need inspiration to keep our hopes high as we continue that work. I would like to expand our day of remembrance to include some of the success stories among us, for they are many, and inspiring. A few examples include:

Judy Lively, Physician-in-Chief of Kaiser of Diablo Valley Area in California, who transitioned successfully on the job in the early 2000s. Her disclosure process included a series of meetings and presentations for approximately 550 physicians in her region of the Kaiser network. She and her wife Karen, a Kaiser nurse, remain happily married. Their daughter Jenny refers to Judy at "mum."

Jamison Green, a transman who founded FTM International in the late 1980s. James was one of the first non-professional trans people to be admitted to full membership of the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association, now World Professional Association for Transgender Health. Among many other forms of activism, James has been working for years to incrementally change the Standards of Care to more accurately reflect the experience of transition. He is currently completing a Ph.D in Law, with an eye toward employment in the public policy arena. He has been happily married for ten years.

Jenn Burleton, a founding member of Trans Youth Family Advocates. Jenn transitioned in the 1970s, and had been leading a completely stealth life for years, as most did who transitioned at that time. A few years ago, she became aware that a handful of families in various parts of the country were seeking resources to help their young children transition socially in elementary school. Recognizing what a cultural shift this represented, Jenn stepped out of her own closet to become a powerful and outspoken advocate for transgender children and their families. Jenn and her partner have been in a committed lesbian relationship for 25 years.

Stephen Whittle, a British transman and law professor at Manchester Metropolitan University. When the British government refused to legally change his gender to male post-transition, Stephen successfully appealed to the European Court of Human Rights so that his long-term partner could be impregnated through artificial insemination and his name could be on their children's birth certificate as their father. Largely through Steven's three decades of activism, the six categories that now come under the umbrella of the Commission for Equality and Human Rights have been joined by a seventh - transgender and transsexual individuals. In 2005, Britain's Gender Recognition Act gave him the right to marry his partner of 26 years.

Kate Bornstein, who transitioned in the early 1980s and ten years later, had the courage to write in hir book Gender Outlaw, ?I know I?m not a man. About that I?m very clear. But I?ve come to the conclusion I?m probably not a woman either.? Kate opened the door for many who identified as transsexuals to question the gender binary, to admit that we are different from our cisgendered brothers and sisters. Kate is in a long-term committed relationship with another genderqueer person.

I am often asked, "How many trans people are there?" I always answer the same way, "I have no idea, and neither does anyone else." For many years, the expectation of transition was - do everything you can to blend in, go off and live your life, and never come out in any public situation. For decades, trans people did just that. It is only in the past ten years or so that some trans people have been willing to come out during transition, and stay out once they'd reached the point of invisibility. This visibility is what gives the lie to the old stereotype "man in a dress," and will drive eventual social acceptance.

However, beyond trans people speaking up for themselves is the importance of allies, and coalitions.

What does it mean to be an ally? About ten years ago, my friend Rhonda was waiting in line at the Beaverton DMV. Most of the other people in the room were 40-something women, as Rhonda herself was at the time. (Agewise, that is - Rhonda is still a woman and has never had any thoughts of becoming Ron!) Rhonda was distracted by thinking about the various errands she was doing that day, so it took her awhile to realize the atmosphere in the room was unusual, a bit charged. Coming into awareness, she noticed that the woman ahead of her in line was a quite-obvious transwoman, and that the other women in the room had reacted negatively to her presence. Rhonda didn't know quite what to say or do, but did feel she had to say something to let everyone know she didn't like the way the other women were reacting. She spontaneously tapped the woman on the shoulder and said, "That's a really pretty dress you have on."

What does it mean to be an ally? Four years ago, my friend Andrew was having some trouble honing down his dissertation topic. He was studying toward a Ph.D in Human Services, and knew he wanted to do something that was related to men's issues, perhaps studying the intersection of identities in some way. Andrew is a most unmasculine gay man, in his early thirties, who's never had any desire to transition to female. He called me, and we brainstormed for quite some time. I told him I understood the intersection of identities quite well, as I've lived every letter in the GLBT acronym. Andrew had an epiphany that day. Last year, he successfully defended his dissertation, titled "Transmen and Masculinity." Curious, I asked him if others had assumed he was a transman, and he just shrugged and said, "They still do. That's the beauty of it - it's an object lesson in assumptions."

What does it mean to be an ally? Two years ago, my long-time lesbian friend Susie called me in tears, and took me out to lunch. It seems her older sister had just announced that "she" was a "he," and was intending to transition to male. Over a series of lunches, Susie said, "I just don't understand, how can this be true if I never saw it? How can it be true if my sister never realized it?" Last month, I ran into Susie at a concert in Portland. Susie is a gregarious woman who seems to know everyone, and I overheard her repeating to all and sundry, "This is my brother Isaac." She now says, "I've never been so wrong in my life," in talking about her misgivings about Isaac's transition. Susie is the daughter of PFLAG parents, and carries on their traditions, now embracing trans people under the PFLAG umbrella as readily as she does GLB people.

What does it mean to be an ally? About five years ago, I was in a meeting with Jose, a man who works with Hispanic farm workers. We got to talking about our various interests, and I mentioned my frustration that gender appears on driver licenses at all. Jose told me that he had had the same frustration mentioned to him at one time around voter registration, so he had simply approached his contacts in the voter registration office and asked, "Why is gender on the voter registration application?" Now - it isn't.

I stress the importance of allies because a time-tested tactic in keeping a people down and feeling powerless is to prevent for formation of alliances. Divide and conquer, united we stand. On the sociological level, this means various communities forming coalition with each other. On the individual level, this means stepping up in life situations, making a statement of some sort, taking some form of visible action, as Rhonda, Susie, Andrew and Jose did. It takes courage to step into the limelight as a transgender person. It also takes courage to step forward as an ally, braving not only the possibility of being labeled transgender themselves, but also braving the disapproval of their peers. What it truly means to be an ally is redefining "peer." Rhonda did not want to be considered a peer of the women who were glaring at the transwoman in the DMV. Susie does not consider herself a peer of those lesbians who disapprove of her brother's transition to male. Andrew has no time for gay men who are dismissive of transmen, not considering them "real men." And Jose has expanded "peer" to mean not only other Hispanic people, but all who are systemically oppressed. He now works to educate his Hispanic peers about transgender issues.

As we contemplate stories of "out" transpeople and allies, contemplate also their courage, stepping out into the limelight, knowing the risk. Long-time activist and singer-songwriter Holly Near wrote a song in the 1970s, the chorus of which is:It could have been me, but instead it was you, so I'll keep doing the work you were doing as if I were two. The work involves trans people coming out. It involves allies stepping up. It plays out in our individual lives when we defend our right to be, or someone else's right to be. It plays out politically when we get involved, from mailing in our ballots to staffing phone banks or stuffing envelopes for a campaign. It involves participation in our own lives.

I encourage all of us to examine our lives, to take some small risks as we feel able, to move our culture closer to the day when our day of remembrance is a historical homage to those who have died, rather than a list of names of those recently deceased. As is true of other forms of queer identity, "trans" spans all demographic categories. Yes, I am trans. I am also of Dutch ancestry - I have peers in terms of ethnic identity. I am also 52 - I have peers who are baby boomers. I am a therapist - I have peers professionally.

If trans people could form alliances along the various peer lines in their own lives - our entire society would become allies. That day would see others intervening on behalf of trans people in difficulty, perhaps saving a life. Perhaps some of those we honor today, those who died this past year, would have been saved had an ally intervened. One effect of allies is to cause others to rethink their own attitudes. Rhonda's simple compliment in the DMV may have had a powerful effect on the other women present, perhaps shaming them into different behavior next time. Susie's wholehearted acceptance of her brother Isaac sets a tone among the lesbian community, "Don't even think of challenging my brother." Andrew would never sit back if he heard a gay man make a disparaging remark about a trans person. Jose challenges transphobic attitudes among the macho culture of his birth.

I look forward to the day when allies are common enough, trans people will no longer feel overwhelming gratitude and surprise when a non-trans person stands beside them in a difficult situation. And that day may be when our Day of Remembrance becomes a Day of Homage instead. Thank you.