Mike Penner and the 'stuck factor' of being transsexual

Popular sportswriter Mike Penner was found dead in his home on November 27 and is believed to have committed suicide.

In 2007, Penner, who wrote for the Los Angeles Times, announced that he was transitioning to female and would write and live as Christine Daniels. He began a transition, detailed it on a blog, and continued as a sportswriter, apparently supported by his employers and his fans. About a year or so later, Daniels stopped her transition and began living and writing as Mike Penner again. Now he is dead.

Although I didn't know Mike Penner at all, and I certainly have no idea of what caused him to take his life, being trans myself, I can make some educated guesses. I could be way off base. But Penner's situation could, in fact, illustrate the "stuck factor" of being trans.

For most transsexual people, being able to transition makes all the difference. This is not a choice, but something that is absolutely necessary for their health, well-being, and, often, survival. However, while transition solves one problem, it can lead to a host of others, such as:

1. Not being able to assimilate into new gender roles and expectations.

2. Not being accepted as the man or woman that you have always been, but have now physically "become."

3. Experiencing constant discrimination or mistreatment, or watching others like you experience this and knowing that it could be your turn at any time.

4. Living with the feeling that you are not "real" somehow or that you are living a lie.

Not all transsexual people experience these things, but some do. And some find, after transition, that the things they thought would happen, or the way they thought they would look, or the way they thought they would be treated, or the way they thought they would fit in did not become reality.

I don't know why Mike Penner retransitioned or "went back," but I do know other people who have done so. That's the where the "stuck factor" comes in. You go back, but you're still trans. Living in your assigned birth sex and gender may actually be easier because you know it so well, but you're still trans. You still have the mind/body mismatch that caused you to transition in the first place. The pain does not go away.

The "stuck factor" means that, no matter which way you go, you're kind of stuck. Even if you are able to fully assimilate physically, you still may not be completely comfortable in your new roles. Many of us have to "learn" these new roles, behaviors, and expectations, and some of us are better at adapting them than others. Some don't care whether they fit in with the binary gender system's expectations or not, but many do. And not being able to fit in when you want to can contribute to the "stuck factor."

And if you are not able to fully assimilate physically, you must constantly live with the rude stares, the pronoun "slips," the harassment on the street, and so on, while still having to adapt to new roles and expectations. So you must steel yourself to live in this way. Or you can consider "going back." Either way, the "stuck factor" rears its ugly head.

And if you are a public figure like Mike Penner, no matter how you look or how well you are accepted in your "new" gender, you will always be out as trans.

While, for the majority of transsexual people, transition "works"--it alleviates the gender incongruity, it reduces or eliminates any depression or suicidal ideation, and it allows for a happier, healthier, more comfortable, and much more satisfactory life (and, in many cases, it allows life to continue)--it is certainly not the perfect solution.

The only "perfect" solution is to be born in a body and a gender that "match." And, for trans people, that is an impossible solution. Transition is the closest thing to it. And that is part of the "stuck factor." You are trans. This is the reality of the situation, no matter what you do about it.

Certainly, there are many people who transition and do not identify as trans anymore. They have made the medical corrections that were necessary and they have eliminated that problem.

But for many of us, the "stuck factor" will always be there. It's simply a matter of how we decide to deal with it. I decided to deal with it by being openly trans and establishing a trans identity for myself. It has, for the most part, worked for me, but it certainly wouldn't work for everyone.

If you have ever experienced the "stuck factor," how have you dealt with it?
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A Thanksgiving Coming Out

In honor of the holiday, I bring you my traditional Thanksgiving poem. It's gay, not trans, but hopefully you'll enjoy it.

A Thanksgiving Coming Out

By Matt Kailey


There’s a holiday coming on which we give thanks
For the wonderful things in our lives.
Not cell phones or new cars or what’s in the bank
But our partners or husbands or wives.

We think of our loved ones as we plan our trips.
To see them will be a real treat.
And we know that the question on everyone’s lips
Will be, “When the heck do we eat?”

Now I’ve been through many a Thanksgiving feast
And lived to tell the story.
I can’t really rank them from most fun to least—
They all seemed a little bit gory.

There was one at my grandmother’s house, when she said,
“Let us each say what we’re thankful for.”
But before we could answer, my drunk Uncle Ted
Was sprawled out like a dog on the floor.

Another time everyone came to my place
With their offers to get in the way
They crowded the kitchen and took up the space
But, at clean-up, they just couldn’t stay.

Then my sis tried her hand at the family feast
With enough food to feed twenty-one
But her poor old dog, Rover, that ungrateful beast,
Got there first and left us with none.

So, what’s really going on here? Are you excited? I mean--

Thanksgiving dinner with family and friends
Is supposed to be something quite dear.
But whatever your means and whatever the end—
Admit it. You’re quaking with fear.

There’s nothing exactly like gathering in thanks
After wading through mountains of snow
With sweet Aunt Matilda and that slob Uncle Frank
And their passel of children in tow.

Then your psychotic brother
Arrives with his wife
And you wish that he’d put down
That sharp carving knife.

And your parents announce
A Thanksgiving Day bet
That has something to do with
Why you’re not married yet.

And your nephew, who’s one,
Starts to laugh at his toes
And squirts mashed potatoes
From out of his nose.

And your cousin,
Who’s eighteen going on thirty-three
Reaches under the table
And fondles your knee.

But the worst thing is going to somebody’s house
Who you’ve never laid eyes on before,
And eating strange food prepared by their spouse
And choking out, “Sure, I’ll have more.”

We all have our stories of Thanksgiving pain
Of the sacrifice we’ve had to make.
Of the friends that we’ve lost and the weight that we’ve gained
And the turkeys that just wouldn’t bake.

Of the vegetables we couldn’t identify
And the rolls that were hard as a rock
And the off-color jokes that we just let slip by
While our grandparents went into shock.

Even so, on Thanksgiving, there’s fun to be had.
You just have to know how to do it.
While you’re dealing with relatives, mother and dad
You can do more than simply get through it.

Have some fun. I did. Here’s how.

One year, my grandmother confessed to me,
“I miss the old songs of my day.”
She sat at the piano, hands over the keys
And she said, “Will you sing if I play?”

She started a melody, one that I know.
A song that began with a bang.
And I stood up and readied myself for the show,
Then I opened my mouth and I sang (to the tune of "Has Anybody Seen My Gal"):

Six foot two, eyes of blue,
Works on a construction crew.
Has anybody seen my guy?

Studly nose, knows the pose,
Has a million other beaus.
Has anybody seen my guy?

If you see a fine dandy,
Handsome and slim,
Diamond rings and all those things
You can bet your life it isn’t him

But could he love, could he woo,
If you find him, you can, too,
Has anybody seen my guy?
(I really miss him)
Has anybody seen my guy?
(Come back to me, baby)
Has anybody seen my guy?

Well, my father jumped up and he started to scream.
My mother said, “Oh, no, oh, no.”
My aunts and my uncles turned six shades of green.
And my brother said, “I told you so.”

The house was in chaos, the family was crazed,
And nobody knew what to say.
Then my grandma said, “What’s wrong?” She seemed quite amazed
When my mom blurted out, “Oh, he’s gay.”

So my grandmother looked at me, up and then down.
And, at first, didn’t utter a thing.
Then she turned to my mother and said with a frown,
“He’s not gay. He can’t even sing.”

“And look at that hair! And those clothes!”

Though my Thanksgiving coming out could have been better
There are some things we cannot foresee.
But I’m grateful my cousin, even though I would let her,
Has never again touched my knee.

And as for you—

If you feel like you’re getting the Thanksgiving blues
And fun things start feeling like chores
And you’re dreading the sound of your relatives’ shoes
As they head up the walk to your door—

Just think of my story as you make your way
Through whatever the holidays bring.
And be glad that you didn’t find out, on Thanksgiving Day,
That your son, or your daughter …

can’t sing.
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Can we please dump the gay/trans panic defense?

A story on 365gay.com last week indicated that the alleged killer of Jorge Steven Lopez Mercado, the 19-year-old Puerto Rican man who was murdered in mid-November--and not just murdered, but beheaded, dismembered, and burned--might use the "homosexual panic" defense at his trial.

Apparently, according to reports, Juan Antonio Martinez Matos was looking for a prostitute on the night that he picked up Mercado, and when he discovered that Mercado, who was apparently wearing a dress and wig, had a male body, he "had a flashback to when he was raped in prison" and proceeded to kill, decapitate, and dismember Mercado.

Oh, please.

I'm sorry if Matos was raped in prison. It shouldn't have happened, I have no doubt that it was traumatic, and, with the current state of the prison system, it's unlikely that he received adequate, or any, counseling to deal with it.

But if any jury seriously considers a gay or trans panic defense as legitimate in this case (or in any case), there is something seriously wrong with the justice system (well, we already know that, too).

The gay/trans panic defense needs to be eliminated entirely. It should not be a consideration in any case, regardless of the circumstances.

1. If murder was an appropriate or justifiable response to unwanted sexual advances (I'm not talking about self-defense in a case of rape or violent attack), the majority of heterosexual men would be dead at age 16. I can personally name a couple dozen men who wouldn't be walking around today if I had decided to kill them instead of saying, "No, thanks." Luckily for me, although some were a little slow on the uptake, all of them eventually understood those words--and most people do.

2. If murder was an appropriate or justifiable response to discovering that a person's body was not what you thought it was, then what happens when you discover that your potential lover has only one breast or one testicle? What happens when you discover extra fat that was hidden by a girdle or binding device? What happens when you discover a colostomy bag, a major surgical scar, a prosthetic device, or something else unexpected under your potential lover's clothing? Is it okay to kill that person? Is there a "he was fatter than I thought he was" or "she had a prosthetic breast" defense? I'm not joking here--I am absolutely serious. It makes about as much sense as a trans panic defense.

Women are expected to put up with all manner of unwanted sexual overtures throughout life, and are frequently blamed for somehow bringing these advances on themselves. Even today, women rape victims are often made to feel responsible for their own victimization.

But if a straight man is propositioned by a gay man, or if a straight man discovers that the person he was attracted to or wanted to have sex with has a male body, he still feels justified in killing that person rather than simply saying, "No, thanks. Not interested." And his defense lawyers still feel that the gay/trans panic defense is appropriate to use in court. (Of course, the overwhelming majority of straight men would not murder someone in these circumstances--I am talking about the few who do and feel it is justified.)

Although I realize that there are two sides to the hate-crimes law debate, and I understand both sides (and haven't quite decided which position I most agree with), it is possible that hate-crimes statutes will eventually eliminate the gay/trans panic defense, which would be a very positive development. It is simply not a viable defense.

There are responsible, mature, adult ways of dealing with what a person might consider an unpleasant situation (again, I'm not talking about violent situations, situations involving weapons, and so on).

You can say "No." You can walk away. Allen Andrade, Angie Zapata's murderer, could have walked away. Juan Matos could have asked Jorge Mercado to get out of his car.

Murder is simply not a legitimate response. But only when the concept of the gay/trans panic defense no longer exists will would-be killers be forced to realize this.
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Stop killing us

Tomorrow, November 20, is the Eleventh Annual International Transgender Day of Remembrance. While memorial ceremonies and other events have taken place throughout the country and the world all week and will continue to take place over the weekend, many areas will have their memorials tomorrow night.

And while these ceremonies and events differ from place to place, any group that decides to read the names of all the people who have been killed since the 2008 Day of Remembrance due to anti-trans hate or prejudice will have a long list to get through.

In an interview with me on Examiner.com, activist Ethan St. Pierre, who has worked tirelessly on the International Transgender Day of Remembrance project founded by Gwendolyn Ann Smith, said that there have been 117 murders globally since last November 20, and that a trans person is murdered somewhere in the world about every four days. Since that interview was published on November 16, it is likely that 117 has become 118--or more.

Many of these murders are brutal. They are prolonged beatings, multiple stabbings, ongoing, rage-filled attacks meant not just to kill, but to destroy.

And because the laws and policies of so many governments, including my own in the United States, do not yet recognize us as full citizens with rights equal to everyone else's, how will anyone else recognize us as such?

And until women are recognized as fully equal, and until misogyny is fully acknowledged, dealt with, and eliminated, trans women will continue to bear the brunt of this hatred and violence.

Stop killing us. Hate us if you must, ignore us, don't talk to us--look the other way. Just stop killing us.

Why are you so afraid?
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It's Transgender Awareness Week

Transgender Awareness Week started yesterday, and it will culminate with the International Transgender Day of Remembrance, which officially takes place on November 20, although some organizations will hold memorials on different dates this week.

Of course, there are two sides to Transgender Awareness Week. I certainly think it's a good thing, but I go back and forth between wishing that everyone was already aware and that we didn't have to set aside a specific time for that awareness, and thinking that, even if everyone was already aware, I would not want to lose the feeling of community and oneness that comes with a specific week designated for my people.

The fact that the week is necessary in order to draw attention to the discrimination, hatred, and violence that continues against us is unfortunate. The fact that the week ends with memorial services across the country for those who have died just for living their life is tragic. But there are many places throughout the country that are also celebrating the week by having speakers, performances, book signings, concerts, and other events to bring the community and allies together and to have some fun in the middle of the tragedy that befalls our community consistently.

Although I am not an assimilationist, I certainly wish that we didn't have to continue to fight, to educate, to prove our value and our worth--that we were considered not only equal citizens but no big deal. On the other hand, I don't ever want to lose the specialness of our community and the importance of who we are, where we've come from, and where we're going.

As with Black History Month, Native American Heritage Month, and LGBT History Month (which is primarily LGB History Month), I often wish that special periods of time did not have to be set aside and designated as such. Black history, Native American history, and LGBT history ought to simply be history--the history that we all learn in school and know about, and that everyone, regardless of who they are, thinks of as part of their own history. (And truly, Native American history is the history of this country--or at least it was supposed to be.)

But the inherent problem with that is that our "melting pot" tends to melt one way only, and various cultures, events, and lives get absorbed by the mainstream and disappear. The "melting pot" that I learned about in school (I don't even know if they use that term anymore--that was a long time ago) pretended to be universal, multi-cultural, multi-ethnic, multi-everything, but it was really just an assimilationist model that invited everyone to conform to white, straight, mainstream ideals--or insisted that they did.

So while a part of me looks forward to the day when we won't need a Transgender Awareness Week--when everyone will know who we are and won't care, when we will no longer have to teach the lessons and fight the fight--another part of me has no intention of melting into any pot. And, as I have said before, separate but equal is not okay--different but equal is.

I don't mind being different. I hope that we will never lose the sense of who we are as a community. I hope that we will never forget that, in another time and in another place, we would be special--or at least fully embraced. And as long as we're not now, we might as well do a little celebrating before Friday's Day of Remembrance brings the sobering message of where we are now back home.

Thoughts?
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Controlling the message: Is it possible? Is it necessary?

Tonight I am appearing on TruVue Radio with Roland Hinds--at least my voice is. This is Internet radio. Regardless, it should be an interesting show, with myself, Stephanie Brill, author of The Transgender Child: A Handbook for Families and Professionals, and adult video star and trans man Buck Angel.

We will all probably have something different to say. And that's one of the good and the bad things about the multitude of trans "spokespeople" out the there, and the multitude of media that is available for trans people who choose to use it.

As new types of media reach an even broader audience and more people use that media to present their personal experiences and their personal views, any one particular "message" becomes convoluted as the non-trans public hears a variety of things and tries to piece together the reality of the trans "community."

When the Internet did not exist--when there were a handful of media streams that reached larger audiences, like a few major newspapers, a few national radio shows, and three major television networks (yes, I actually remember these days)--various groups had one or two national spokespeople controlling the "message" for that group.

The few visible spokespeople that did exist for a group did not always agree with each other, but those outside of the group still only had a couple of messages to choose from and could make up their mind about that group and base their knowledge of that group on whatever those limited messages were. Other members of the group might not even agree with their national spokespeople, but they had limited choices and often just had to go along.

Now that the Internet has basically given everyone a voice who wants one, the "message" is virtually impossible to control. But is that a problem? Some people think it is. If trans people are not presenting a uniform message--if we are not using identical language and reflecting a unified platform--the non-trans public will just assume that whatever trans person they hear first, or at the moment, is representing the trans "community"--an impossible feat.

The reality of the trans "community" is that there is no one message, other than the desire for recognition, respect, and equal rights. This was also the desire of other groups in the past who had one or two spokespeople to convey the group's "message." Other than that, there was always disagreement as to what that message should be and how it should be presented.

No group has ever been a monolith. It's just that each group has appeared to be so because of the limited opportunity for various thoughts and opinions to be aired.

While it's true that most non-trans people will be exposed to one or two trans "spokespeople," will take that person's (or those people's) words as trans gospel, and will not bother to do any additional digging to find out that various opinions and positions that exist within the community, it is also true that, in most cases, some exposure is better than none. And there are those people who will take the time to seek out additional information and realize the diversity of thought and experience in our community.

Personally, I am in favor of a lot of voices. I think the Internet has been more of a boon than a detriment to our community as a whole. Sometimes I cringe when I hear a trans person relate something as fact when it is merely personal opinion or personal experience, but I'm sure that there are others who cringe when they hear something I say.

In my mind, the most important thing is that people are hearing something. They are finding out that our community exists. We do have national spokespeople, but the Internet gives us the opportunity to publicly disagree even with them, and I don't think this is a bad thing.

For my part, I try to issue a caveat that this is my thought, my experience, my opinion, and that it does not necessarily reflect the community as a whole. I realize that this doesn't always make a difference to those who are listening, but I still think it's important.

Regardless, I hope you tune into the show. I have no idea what questions will be asked or how the show will go. It's one of life's many fun little surprises.

What do you think?

Confirmed show time: 8 p.m. EST (7 p.m. CST, 6 p.m. MST, 5 p.m. PST)

(Photo: Roland Hinds)
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In the beginning: my first trans contacts

Yesterday, I picked my friend up from the airport, and today I am driving him back to his home in Santa Fe. We don't see each other often, but we communicate frequently by e-mail, which is fitting, because that's how we met. He was the first trans man I ever met ... or at least the first trans man I was aware of meeting.

My first trans contacts were my most important, and they are the reason that I am who I am today. I was lucky--and I learned some lessons in the process.

Twelve-plus years ago, I was a terrified female who had just been diagnosed with gender identity disorder. I didn't ask for it. I didn't want it. But there it was, and I knew I had to do something about it. My therapist advised me to e-mail the Gender Identity Center of Colorado--a local organization that had support groups and information that I might need.

It seems so bizarre now, but I could barely write the e-mail. I wrote it, deleted it, wrote it, deleted it. Then when I finally finished a version, I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, too frightened to hit the "Send" button.

I was writing to a stranger. I was opening up my entire life to someone on the other end of a Web site. I was admitting my fault, my flaw, my illness, my disease. I was confessing my fears--of losing family, friends, my job, my life. What would they think of me? (Never mind that this was a gender center, and the person on the other end of that Web site probably had the same "diagnosis" that I did!) Would they laugh at me? Would they find me disgusting? Would they even respond?

I was literally shaking when I finally did hit "Send," and I had no idea what to expect, if anything. I was both surprised and filled with dread when, less than 24 hours after I sent the e-mail, I received a response--once again, I was shaking as I opened the e-mail.

But it was not what I had expected. It was not some form letter or a list of support groups. It was a long, friendly letter from a real live person, welcoming me to the community, reassuring me, explaining that I would make plenty of friends and meet some fantastic people. She didn't laugh at me or find me disgusting--she knew exactly how I felt because she had been there.

In addition to her kind and welcoming words, she asked if she could put me in touch with a trans man in Santa Fe--someone she had known for many years. Of course, I said yes. She didn't expect me to e-mail him--she probably knew how scary that would be for me. Instead, she gave him my e-mail address, and within a couple of days, I heard from him. Now, over a dozen years later, I am driving him back to Santa Fe. And I have moved 180 degrees from the person who sent that original e-mail to the Gender Identity Center.

Now I try to remember--even though it's not always easy--how scary it was for me in the beginning, and how scary it might be for someone who e-mails me for the first time. I try to remember how important first contacts are and how they can shape comfort level, self-acceptance, and even the decisions a person makes. I try to respond quickly, when I can, and to be as friendly and welcoming as possible. I try to remember.

I'm grateful that I had a positive experience with my first contacts in the community.

What about yours?

(Photo: me, right around the time that I wrote that first e-mail)
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Fixing us--more comfortable for whom?

I remember speaking once at a youth organization, and some of the counselors--well-meaning and compassionate people--were concerned about a teen girl who was dating other girls. They believed that she wasn't "truly" a lesbian, but that she was a straight girl who was dating other girls as a response to past sexual abuse. And they didn't want her to be a lesbian if she didn't "have" to be.

My response was that it really didn't matter why she was dating other girls. If she wanted to date other girls, then that's what she should be allowed to do. Certainly, the sexual abuse issues should be addressed, but not in terms of who she's dating. What difference does it make if she's dating women because she's a registered, card-carrying lesbian or if she's dating women because she's more comfortable with them, for whatever reason? Whose comfort was really the concern here? Hers--or theirs?

In some ways, it's the same thing with trans people. There are those who want us to go away. There are those who want us to go through intensive therapy--not so that we can transition, but so that we can be "fixed" and be "normal" again. There are those who want us institutionalized. And there are those who want us to suck it up and live with it. But these are all solutions not to our problems, but to theirs. These are all solutions to make "them" feel more comfortable.

We make them uncomfortable, and they don't want to be uncomfortable.

But I wonder why we make them so uncomfortable. I'm pretty easy to get along with, and if you feel tongue-tied around me because I'm trans, I'm always willing to discuss the weather (yep, that's Colorado--if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes and it'll change). But maybe they're not as uncomfortable with me as with what I (and all of us) represent--self-awareness and an absolute certainty about who we are.

Maybe they are uncomfortable with their own manliness or womanliness, so they need to "fix" those of us who can identify our own gender and work toward living it, whatever it is. The fact that we know who we are and take extensive measures to be that person and live in that way makes them uncomfortable, because they are not so sure of themselves. We are.

In fact, the pain that we are willing to suffer and the lengths that we are willing to go to in order to be who we really are proves just how strong our identity is. We know who we are. They don't know who they are. Our identity is strong. Theirs is not. That makes them uncomfortable.

Maybe we are scary not because we are weak, but because we are strong. We know ourselves, we know what we want, and we live it. Because of the way society treats us and responds to us, it is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that we are the ones who are confused, unsure, scared, weak.

But the reality is that maybe we are the only ones who know ourselves ultimately--who are certain of our identity--and that being trans is the gift that allows us to see this. It doesn't matter why we're this way--we are this way. And it's not the wrong way to be, it's just one of many ways.

Making us go away--either through therapy, institutionalization, sucking it up, whatever--is going to fix someone's problems, but it won't be ours. It's going to fix someone's comfort level, but it won't be ours.

We aren't confused. So to those non-trans people who want to "fix" us, I suggest just sucking it up--or maybe get some therapy to work on your comfort level. Once you're okay with who you are, you'll feel better about who we are.

Thoughts?
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The bathroom issue rears its head again (no puns intended)

I'm so tired of the bathroom issue (I said "issue," not "tissue"), and it just won't go away.

Tomorrow (November 3) in Kalamazoo, Mich., voters will decide whether or not to uphold Ordinance 1856, which provides protections for LGBT residents of Kalamazoo in the areas of housing, employment, and public accommodations. This ordinance was adopted by the Kalamazoo City Council earlier this year, but a group opposing it was apparently able to put it on hold until the election tomorrow. Their primary argument--that providing fair and equal access to public accommodations would allow grown men to use restrooms meant for girls.

This is the same argument that was put forth here in Colorado with regard to our public accommodations law, but thankfully, it was ignored by legislators who passed the bill. Opponents argued that men would enter elementary schools and go into the girls' restroom and it would all be perfectly legal. Sorry, but that's not the case--it would not be legal.

Grown men have no business hanging around elementary schools, anyway, unless they are principals, teachers, staff, or parents. And if a grown man wants to enter a girls' restroom bad enough, he will find a way to do it. The lack of a public accommodations law will not stop him. And if he is caught, he will not be able to use such a law as a shield. But since the public accommodations law took effect in Colorado, I have not heard of one instance where a grown man was able to enter a girls' bathroom.

I'm sick and tired of trans people being hung out to dry because of unfounded fears, prejudice, and misunderstanding. Should we be denied equal rights because some hypothetical man might try to dress as a woman and enter a girls' restroom? This could happen today in Kalamazoo or anywhere else, regardless of what the laws are. It has nothing to do with trans people in any way.

The use of scare tactics to deny civil rights has a long history. But the whole bathroom issue is just tired and absurd. The argument is as thin as the toilet paper in most public restrooms, so let's just flush it now and stop using it as a flimsy excuse to deny trans people their rights.
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