A personal story. Spoiler: I was the asshole.
Let me start off this story by stating a few important things about myself. This story took place in 1998. I had just started grad school at one of the four programs in the country that offered a Master’s Degree in Multicultural Education. I made this choice because I wanted to make a difference. Because I had spent my entire undergraduate career learning about theories of oppression and I had committed my life to being actively anti-racist. Simply put, I fancied myself very aware of systems of oppression and deeply committed to interrupting the cycle of oppression.
My grad school was in a consortium, and I had a live-in residence position supervising undergraduate students at a nearby college. This college was very well known for its leadership in feminist theory, and for being a welcoming place for queer students.
At the time, my teachers (who were leaders in the field) used a particular framework which was helpful in the study of oppression. The most recent papers identified seven areas where a person could be “targeted” or “dominant.” It was a fairly binary system, on all counts, although there was room for discussion and interpretation. Those areas were as follows, with the targeted and dominant dichotomy in parentheses following.
race (person of color/white)
class (low income/wealthy or middle income)
sexual orientation (queer*/straight)
age (younger or older/middle-aged)
ability (disabled/able-bodied)
religion (Jewish or not Christian/Christian)
*Transgender people would have been included in the “queer” section under “sexual orientation.”
Using the above framework, I fell into the “targeted” category most of the time. Therefore, I could pretty easily relate to someone who was the target of oppression. For example, I could empathize with simply being born into or choosing another religion, and then being persecuted for it, even though it wasn’t my personal experience.
There was one group for whom I wanted to be a better ally, but I really couldn’t imagine myself in their shoes. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the experience. And to this point, my academic reading hadn’t really covered this issue. It was people who identified off the gender binary. At the time, the common term was “transgender.”
Don’t get me wrong, I knew some transgender people and I loved them. I had specific friends who were trans, but I didn’t understand how or why they would want to switch genders. When being an ally, I wanted to be better than saying, “I don’t know. I don’t get it. That’s how they are.” To me, this was little better than just tolerating someone. I wanted to be able to relate, identify, and celebrate. Yet, I am deeply, deeply cisgendered. So even in my imagination, I couldn’t put myself in their shoes. None of this was wrong, necessarily, but the way I decided to learn about being transgendered was.
In the dorm at my live-in residence life position, some of my residents had befriended a guy from one of my grad classes, “Chad.” Chad was an out F to M person, a guy. Like I said, we had been in a class together, and within that class, we had all shared stories of our different oppressions. He spent a lot of time in our dorm, and I knew him, but we weren’t close friends. So, with the best of intentions (read, wanting to be better and educating myself) I decided to ask Chad a few questions. Personal questions. I saw him in the hallway and casually started a conversation, “Hey, so you are transgendered, right? Female to male? Hmm. Are you taking hormones? Did you have surgery? Do you still get your period?”
Yes, I am cringing now and I am embarrassed that I did that now. At the time I just felt open and I felt like if someone had asked me a question like that (which, let’s be honest, at this particular institution, we talked openly about a LOT of taboos, all the time) I would have been okay to answer it. He did answer those questions, actually. And I thought that everything was fine.
Then his friends started being kind of aloof towards me. They talked to me, but they were curt and didn’t really engage. And he started to avoid me as well. Things like not saying hi back… I didn’t want to push the issue, but I put two and two together and realized that I had put him into a very unfair position. (And in my later years, I realized that I may have even traumatized or retraumatized him.) This was in NO WAY my intent. Not even close. My intent was to be a better ally by trying to understand transgendered people. However, my impact was to make a trans person feel like shit.
Once I figured this out, I felt terrible, and since he wasn’t talking to me, I wrote him a note apologizing and accepting responsibility for what I had done. I explained what I could have done instead of asking him all that. One obvious thing was, “read a book.” This was before YouTube, and Google had stuff but not as much stuff. I wrote the letter, gave it to him, and moved on with my life. I was sorry. I actually was. And he never talked to me again. And I don’t blame him. He doesn’t owe me a thing. I overstepped and while I don’t know how much pain I caused him, I can’t take that back. I felt really bad, but I had to accept that.
After all this happened, I did the right thing, which was to read, listen, and learn. I attended college-sponsored panels highlighting transgender issues. I read a book about a person who went through a sex change. In fact, another trans friend recommended it to me. And I learned about trans culture. And I haven’t stopped learning about it.
My point is simply that we all mess up, and in so doing, we can really hurt people. And those people may or may not want to forgive us. They may be really pissed. Or they may be traumatized or retraumatized. Or maybe they just don’t want to deal and are thinking about other things.
If you’re in a privileged group (and if you are a cis person, you really are), then do what you can to support as an ally. Put the other person first. Take those extra moments to think about how your words and actions may affect them.
If you mess up, that’s on you, but it doesn’t mean you are a terrible person. It means that your behavior was hurtful to someone. And that is your responsibility. We are all going through our own things and while I lost Chad’s collegial acquaintance, I still had other friends to turn to. And I had the ability and occasion to become a better ally to trans people.