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life politics

Standing Up for LGBTQIA+ Rights: A Personal & National History

In September 2021, my child’s third-grade teacher dismissed his class for recess by using some fun way to divide them, with one group going first and the other going second. He did this often, with the identity of the two groups changing based on his mood. He might divide them based on their birthdays or their cookie preferences, or maybe about their opinions of Harry Potter.

On this particular day, he took what he thought was the easy route and divided them by sex: girls would go to recess first, and boys would go second.

He did not realize his prompt created a true crisis of conscience for my child.

A day later, my eight-year-old child came out to their mother and me.

They did it in their typical fashion. We had sent them to bed and were now relaxing on the couch, watching television. My child should have been asleep for at least half an hour, but they came stepping down the stairs in a Hogwarts robe (in Gryffindor colors) with their footie pajamas beneath it. They asked to speak privately with my wife upstairs, and after hemming and hawing, my wife acquiesced and followed them back upstairs.

About fifteen minutes later, my wife came down and told me it was my turn. I sighed, put down my phone, and walked upstairs, where I found my child smiling and kneeling on my bed. As I reached the top step, they slammed their face into the mattress, giddy with excitement. I sat beside them and asked, “What’s up?”

Without taking their face out of the mattress, they said, “I think I’m nonbinary.”

I don’t remember my exact words, but I made it clear I supported any label they claimed for themselves.

I also urged them to be wary of caging themselves behind a label. If, later in life, they started to experience themselves as a boy or girl, I didn’t want them to feel like it was wrong to feel that way, just like it wasn’t wrong to feel nonbinary.

Finally, I acknowledged the power that comes from matching the right word to the right sense, and I told them I hoped they now felt that sense of power.

My eight-year-old looked up at me and said they understood. They hugged and thanked me for being their dad.

During our conversation, they said they wanted to come out because when their teacher had divided the class into boys and girls, they felt distressed by the question and didn’t know which group they belonged to. But here’s the thing: they didn’t want to come out just so their teacher would know they were nonbinary; they wanted to come out so that any other nonbinary students in the class wouldn’t suffer the same stress and anxiety my child had felt.

They came out so they could protect others.

Yesterday, Texas became the most populous state in the nation to ban gender-affirming care for minors. They are the eighteenth state to target children whose gender, like my child’s, does not align with the one assigned to them at birth.

Using data suggested by a 2017 study from the Williams Institute on the age of individuals who identify as transgender in the United States, roughly 48,000 children between the ages of 13 and 17 are affected by these laws.

To put that in perspective, Manhattan has a population density of 66,000 people per square mile. If you were to round up ALL of the gender-non-conforming youth in those eighteen states and box them into one square mile of Manhattan (as I’m sure the politicians in those states would like to do), you would still need to add the entire population of a town the size of Concord, MA, to that one square mile if you wanted it to equal the borough’s current population density.

Still, with the volume of outrage coming from those who seek to limit the gender expression of these kids, you’d think our country was being taken over by a horde of woke parents with rusty knives who are driven to slice off the still-budding breasts and undropped testicles of all the nation’s children.

But the children affected by the laws in these eighteen states comprise less than 0.015% of the country. According to the same study, the entire population of gender-non-coming youth is probably no greater than 0.73% of the country.

The political party behind these laws — the Republican Party — depends on social issues to stir up the energy of its base. Having lost the original battle over segregation in the 1950s and ’60s, they spent the next fifty years continuing to lose on every other major social issue.

In the 1970s, the Supreme Court found in Reed v. Reed that the Fourteenth Amendment protected individuals from being discriminated against based on sex. This was extended in Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, which prevented sex discrimination throughout the education sphere, including school sports, sexual harassment policies, academic opportunities in engineering and the sciences, and discrimination based on pregnancy. It also (and most famously) recognized a federal right to abortion in Roe v. Wade.

With the “Reagan Revolution,” the 1980s offered the conservative counterpunch to the liberal victories of the previous decades. The attempt to pass an Equal Rights Amendment finally failed in the states after having been passed by Congress a decade earlier. Beyond the Reagan administration’s refusal to fight the AIDS epidemic, which was decimating the country’s (and the world’s) gay population, homosexuals suffered another major setback when the Supreme Court upheld a Georgian law criminalizing sodomy in private between consenting adults.

But there were some progressive victories. The power of Congress to extend the Federal minimum wage and overtime pay to state employees through the Fair Labor Standards Act was upheld, as was the right to parody public officials in the media, the right to stage a boycott to enact social changes, the right to burn the American flag in protest, and the right of students to be free from the religious doctrine of creationism in public schools.

The 1990s saw the Supreme Court uphold the fundamental principles of Roe v. Wade, affirming an individual’s right to abortion before fetal viability. The ruling in Planned Parenthood v. Casey extended the right further by acknowledging that an individual’s decision to undergo an abortion takes place in “a realm of personal liberty which the government may not enter.” The verdict invalidated Republican attempts to involve the state in discussions between pregnant individuals and their healthcare providers.

The Court also prevented the state of Colorado from enshrining discrimination against homosexuals in its state constitution, struck down the conservative moralizing of the Internet inherent in the Communications Decency Act and Child Online Protection Act, and prevented public schools from forcing attendees at graduations to listen to religious prayers.

In the 2000s, the Court reaffirmed its finding that the First Amendment’s Establishment Clause prohibits school-sponsored prayer. Santa Fe Independent School District v. Doe extended its interpretation of the clause to prohibit student-led and student-initiated prayer that utilizes school-supplied materials (in this case, a loudspeaker at a football game).

It also overruled its earlier decision in the 1980s and determined that all laws that criminalize consensual, same-sex sexual conduct violate an individual’s right to privacy under the Due Process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. In Goodridge v. Department of Public Health, the Court affirmed the right of homosexuals to receive a marriage license (allowing for civil unions).

In the 2010s, the Court ruled in Obergefell v. Hodges that the exclusion of same-sex couples from the right to marry violated the due process and equal protection clauses of the Fourteenth Amendment, allowing homosexuals to gain all the benefits of marriage.

Despite capturing the legislative agenda of the Republican party, right-wing conservative Christians (a.k.a. “evangelicals”) had been losing in Federal courts for nearly fifty years. Progressives such as myself might be forgiven for claiming that the late 20th-century rise of the religious right was merely the death rattle of conservative America.

After all, demography equals destiny, and more and more children seem to be coming of age in a secular America with a fundamental belief and constitutionally defended notion of equal rights for all.

Unfortunately, as Monty Python tried to teach us, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.

The makeup of the Supreme Court changed drastically during the Trump administration. During his four years in office, President Trump named as many justices to the court as President Obama did during his eight years. Two of those justices (Justice Gorsuch and Justice Coney-Barrett) resulted from anti-democratic maneuverings by the Republican leader in the Senate, Senator Mitch McConnell.

In 2016, Sen. McConnell refused to allow a vote on President Obama’s final nominee because, as he said at the time, he didn’t think it was fair to vote on a Supreme Court nominee during a presidential election year. However, when Justice Ginsburg died two months prior to the presidential contest in 2020, Sen. McConnell rushed through the approval process of Justice Coney-Barrett to ensure Justice Ginsburg’s seat was filled by a Republican nominee.

Thanks to Senator McConnell, today’s Supreme Court has a comfortable, conservative majority, even if you discount the predominantly conservative voting record of Chief Justice Roberts, whom arch-conservative critics call a “Republican In Name Only.”

The conservative majority on the Roberts Court has, most famously, struck down its holdings in Roe v. Wade and Planned Parenthood v. Casey, declaring that there is no Federal right to an abortion. The decision empowered state legislatures to determine whether a pregnant individual has the right to an abortion and what limits can be placed on that right.

The Roberts Court also dismantled the enforcement mechanisms of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, erasing nearly 60 years of civil rights protections for Black Americans in the hopes of enshrining the power of White politicians for generations to come.

In October, the Court heard the oral arguments in two cases related to affirmative action. The arguments did not differ from those made in earlier cases when the Court upheld the use of race in college admission decisions, but with the new makeup of the court, conservatives have their best chance yet of erasing the policy of affirmative action, not only from education but from housing, government contracting, and employment.

The Roberts Court has also begun to chip away at the wall separating church from state. The football coach at a public high school regularly conducted demonstrative prayers on the 50-yard line of the school’s football field. When the school decided not to renew his contract based on his behavior, he sued them for violating the Free Expression clause under the First Amendment. Even with lower courts supporting the school board’s decision based on the Court’s precedents around the Establishment Clause, the Roberts Court mischaracterized the facts to overturn the lower courts’ rulings. While the majority’s opinion suggests a narrow interpretation of the case, religious supporters see it as a sign of the Court’s willingness to revisit all its decisions on school prayer.

Is it any wonder that Republican politicians are going after transgender rights? Without abortion, racism, or school prayer to stoke the moral outrage of the rubes in the cheap seats, what other moral scapegoat could they use to drive Republican voters out of their pews and into the voting booths?

It doesn’t help that in 2020, 49.5% of white evangelicals believed that Donald Trump was anointed by God. Add to that the fact that President Trump banned transgender individuals from serving in the military, erased gender identity as a basis for sex discrimination in healthcare, and allowed sex-based homeless shelters to deny access to transgender people (and not just those who self-identified as trans, but anyone who the shelter believed may be transgender based on such fool-proof signs as height, the presence of an Adam’s apple, and other gender stereotypes).

Suppose God’s anointed messenger says being transgender is a sin, and the Supreme Court has taken away all the other wedge issues. In that case, it only makes sense to concentrate your political party’s incessant propaganda on saving the children.

My ten-year-old child came out as nonbinary because they wanted to protect those who could not speak for themselves. After telling their mother and me about their gender non-conformity, they asked us to speak with their teacher so he would understand the stress he had inadvertently caused to his students.

Since my child came out, over a dozen children in their school have confided to them that they are some flavor of LGBTQIA+. I’m talking about nine-, ten-, and eleven-year-old kids here. They come to my child because my wife and I have taught them to be proud of who they are, to stand up for their rights, and to defend themselves against anyone who tries to rob them of their power.

The other students come out to my child because, as my kiddo told me when I questioned the number, “they know I’m safe, Dad.”

Earlier this year, the state of Vermont passed the first law in the nation that explicitly protects healthcare providers from being sued or prosecuted for providing gender-affirming care. This was how my home state told its LGBTQIA+ youth what my child’s behavior told their friends: You’re safe.

My ten-year-old tells their mother and me that they want to be a lawyer when they get older.

I can only dream that they sue these hateful legislatures for violating their children’s right to be and express themselves in every color of the rainbow.

My child’s experiences are nested within a broader socio-political landscape that is downright frightening. The rhetoric and the rulemaking of the Republican party are resistant to change, and our nation is scarred by battles fought in courtrooms and legislative chambers.

While the laws and attitudes we’re currently facing are disheartening, I do not despair. I find immense hope in my child’s resilience and courage. I see it in the way the kids in their school grasp the complexities of sexuality and gender, viewing themselves honestly. Their bravery in accepting and declaring their identities should inspire all of us.

They fuel my motivation to build a society where truth is respected, not rejected. A society where each individual is allowed to explore, understand, and declare their identity without fear of repercussions.

We may not know the next chapter in our nation’s history. But together, we, as parents, teachers, neighbors, and allies, can write it. We must forge ahead with compassion for those different from us and a steadfast commitment to safeguarding each individual’s right to be who they are.

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reviews

It Takes One to Know One

You’ve seen the headlines, maybe read the articles, and (hopefully, if you have an opinion on it) watched the special itself.

You know Dave Chappelle admits to being transphobic, gleefully spits in the eye of those fueling “cancel culture,” and has always been willfully and aggressively provocative in his comedy.

You also know that he proudly claims to be “Team TERF,” i.e., a trans-exclusionary radical feminist, which means he denies that trans women are women. He argues, “Gender is a fact. Every human being in this room, every human being on Earth, had to pass through the legs of a woman to be on Earth. That is a fact.”

You also know that, after joking about his problems with LGBTQ+ activists for roughly 30 minutes straight, he ends with a long story about his relationship with a transgender comedian, Daphne Dorman. Despite Dorman’s status as a fledgling comedian, Chappelle invited her to be his opening act whenever he played in her hometown of San Francisco.

After Dorman used Twitter to defend the transphobic jokes in Chappelle’s last special — “He isn’t punching up or punching down. He’s punching lines. That’s his job and he’s a master of his craft” — trans activists “dragged her on Twitter.” Dorman suffered from severe PTSD, but Chappelle and Dorman’s family members believe the trans community’s overwhelmingly negative responses to her tweets contributed to her suicide. Chappelle set up a trust fund for his friend’s child, which the boy will receive when he turns 21.

Despite Chappelle’s heartbreaking and anger-fueled reveal of Dorman‘s suicide, the epiphanic moment of his story comes earlier. The first night Dorman opened (and bombed) for him, Chappelle invited her onto the stage with him, where she allowed him to ask virtually every question he could think of about the trans experience. The show became “a conversation between a black man and a trans woman.” At the end of it, Chappelle made an off-hand remark about how the conversation was fun, but “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

While the whole crowd laughed, Daphne responded as seriously as possible, passionately urging him, “I don’t need you to understand me…I just need you to believe that I’m having a human experience.”

In his special, Chappelle continues, “She didn’t say anything about pronouns. She didn’t say anything about being in trouble. She said, ‘Just believe I’m a person, and I’m going through it.’”

“I know,” Chappelle continues, “I believe you. Because it takes one to know one.”

Now, it’s easy for a critic to argue that Chappelle tells this story in a cynical attempt to cover his ass. As if he’s saying, “Despite all my jokes, how can I be transphobic if I became close friends with this trans woman, tried to help her career, and now that she’s taken her life (partially due to the hateful words of trans activists on Twitter), I continue to support her son?”

It is also easy for a critic to argue that Chappelle is tone-deaf. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, “transgender adolescents disproportionately report higher suicide attempts” than their cisgender counterparts.

Over 50% of female-to-male trans adolescents attempt to kill themselves, while 41% of non-binary adolescents and nearly 30% of male-to-female adolescents attempt suicide.

It’s not just kids. Roughly 40% of trans adults report attempting suicide at some point in their lifetimes.

Dorman’s suicide personally affected Chappelle, but his insight – “Just believe I’m a person, and I’m going through it” – fails to see the forest for the trees.

Regardless of whether his jokes are funny, this man — who is, arguably, the Greatest comedian Of All Time — has continued to target a population that struggles perhaps more than any other.

He’s not shy about the oppression Olympics that fuels his transphobic comedy. He says it flat out:

We Blacks, we look at the gay community, and we go … ‘Look how well that movement is going. Look how well you are doing. And we’ve been trapped in this predicament for hundreds of years. How … are you making that kind of progress?’ I can’t help but feel like if slaves had baby oil and booty shorts, we might have been free a hundred years sooner.

The joke is funny. But Chappelle seems to forget that gender-nonconforming individuals have been a part of society for longer than the gay and trans rights political movements have been around. Like Black Americans, LGBTQ+ Americans have been trapped in their predicaments for hundreds if not thousands of years. Like Black Americans, they continue to suffer from prejudice and discrimination.

Chappelle’s perspective (not his jokes, per se, but the perspective they reveal) suggests social progress is a zero-sum game. LGBTQ+ rights only come at the expense of other oppressed groups.

{At this point, I must note the insidious concept of “social progress,” as if it is the obligation of oppressed peoples to throw off their oppressors and not the obligation of oppressors to stop oppressing!}

Simply put, Chappelle fails to engage in intersectional thinking. He conflates gay and trans political activists with white people, a conflation he admits to in his special.

Any of you who have ever watched me know I have never had a problem with transgender people. If you listen to what I’m saying, clearly, my problem has always been…with white people.

A fair critic can only agree, but his conflation neglects to acknowledge there may be no more oppressed person than (to paraphrase Jon Fishman) “a fat, black, poor, and handicapped, old, single-mother” trans woman atheist with a low IQ.

For this hypothetical woman to achieve her full complement of rights and privileges as an American, we would need to “make progress” on Black rights, trans rights, poor rights, disability rights, elderly rights, religious rights, etc.

Chappelle does not acknowledge the existence of this person, nor the existence of people like her throughout history.

“Just believe I’m a person, and I’m going through it.”

I recently asked several students to consider whether they would have joined the American Revolution if they had been of the proper age in 1776. The question came from a YouTube video produced by PBS examining the different reactions of Black Americans, Native Americans, Women, Poor Whites, and Landowning Whites to the colonists’ call to arms.

One of the students was a 19-year-old trans man. He responded that in 1776, he would have been fighting too hard to justify his daily existence to care about geopolitics.

His answer led us to research the history of gender nonconforming individuals in the colonial period. Among other examples, we learned of a new question around the sex of General Casimir Pulaski, the father of America’s first cavalry, one of George Washington’s most beloved officers, and one of the country’s most celebrated Polish Americans.

A 2019 study of Pulaski’s remains by the Smithsonian Institution found he had both male and female bone characteristics. This suggests the general may have been female or intersex.

Being intersex is not the same as being trans or gay. Still, General Pulaski’s existence points to the reality that individuals with atypical sexes and/or genders have been a part of this country’s story from its founding moments.

This is not a new thought, though it may be one for Chappelle. The comedian’s knowledge and understanding of the history of white oppression against Black bodies runs deep, as revealed in all of his previous Netflix specials, but his knowledge of LGBTQ+ history seems to stop at Stonewall.

The jokes have never been and never will be the problem with this master of his craft. The problem, in this instance, is his willingness to understand.

Thankfully, Chappelle said at the end of his special he wouldn’t make another joke about the LGBTQ+ community “until we are both sure we’re laughing together.”

And with thanks to Dorman, in his personal interactions, Chappelle confesses to understand that every individual he meets is “a person, and [they’re] going through it.”

He claims to know. Because he claims to be one too.

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featured life religion & atheism

A Cis Man on Being Trans

I often try to imagine what it must feel like to be trans. I have several openly-trans students, at least two confusingly-trans students, and one openly-trans colleague. If I’m to be a good friend and mentor to these members of my community, I’m obligated to try to imagine life from their perspectives.

It’s so tough though because I feel in every ounce of my body that I am a guy. To be cis-gender is to have a reinforced sense of clarity, to have the world confirm your deepest feeling about yourself; whereas to be transgender is to experience a double-reality where your inner feeling does not match with what the rest of the world is telling you they see.

It’s a world that — literally — tells you that your deepest feelings about yourself are false. To put it in philosophical terms, Descartes argued, “Cogito ergo sum,” which can be translated as, “I *experience*, therefore I am.” But to be confusingly-trans is to say, “I experience, but what I experience as me is actively denied by everyone I see, therefore, what am I?” It’s a denial of the certainty of one’s primal identity.

Where do you go from there? How do you climb out of that negative reinforcement of your experience of reality?

I said at the end of some blog post related to atheism that if I was ever going to understand or explain the intuition at the heart of the revelation I received, I’d have to develop a rigorous concept of play.

A friend of mine, when talking about this with me, said that he enjoys play, and he listed some of the ways he does that — “I love play,” he said. “I love playing whenever possible, I love watching my kids play, I love playing with them, I wish that all I did all day was play various games.” — but a rigorous concept of play is bigger than that. Play is not just a verb we engage in; it’s also a noun that means “the space in or through which a mechanism can or does move,” as in, “The skyscraper may sway in the wind, but it’s completely safe, because the architect gave it a lot of play.”

It’s “a space through which something can move.”

I imagine that being trans can often mean feeling like you’ve been beaten down into a deep dark hole by your family and by society, every message from the outside coming in like a fist, telling you over and over, pounding it into you at every opportunity, you are not what you feel you are. I asked earlier how someone starts to climb out of that.

I think it starts by testing for play. Is there room enough to move, and if so, is there room enough to start climbing up the wall, back up towards the exit, where you’ll finally be able to feel a sense of equilibrium with the world around you (let alone attempting to stand up and be heard)? At the very least, is there room enough to breathe?

How does one access that play, that space through which something *can* move? How does one get the strength (or the relief from the pain) to even test for its existence?

Again, I think the answer is in play. There’s a reason why trans individuals are some of the most playful people you can meet, and why so many of them wind up acting flamboyant; it can sometimes be more fun to play the role to the hilt than to keep fighting for the right to stand offstage and live a life of peace and quiet.

When I say the answer is in play, I mean it’s all about a concept that relates to both dancing and dodging, the kind of beautiful dexterity that is revealed in football, basketball, and, in fact, dancing and dodgeball. In each of those activities, the beauty is in the artist’s discovery of an unexplored and potentially previously-unseen space, the running back who finds the hole, the small forward who spins into the lane, the flamenco dancer who puts her leg where a leg should not be able to go. It’s about the discovery of an emptiness that seems to lie almost too close to an absolute presence, like the play of space between an actor’s character and an actor’s person: the difference in the “not them” that seems to exist “within them,” the discovery of the internal space between their “them” and their “not them.”

To come out as trans demands a physically- and spiritually-rigorous definition of identity, or at the very least, a level of self-awareness that can seem almost supernatural to a person of cisgender.

One way to discover that definition is to test it for play. One must put on (and take in) a whole lot of identities if one is to discover the difference between their “them” and their “not them.” It’s like putting on a series of tragic and/or comedic masks and performing that role to the best of your ability, trying to fool everyone around you into thinking you are *that way* in order to test whether their reactions match your intentions, a play-test of yet another identity while in search of the “real* one.

How difficult that must be when your experience of being trans does not match against the stereotypes — and I don’t just mean the stereotype of being *trans,* but the stereotype of anything. Because you can only experience what you experience, you don’t really know what it feels like to be a boy or a girl — you only know what it feels like to be you, and everything you are tells you you’re not what everyone tells you you are.

At a certain point, in all of that play, you come to the divine reality: the truth of who you are, and that is someone who is different, someone who exists in a space not occupied by any other absolute presence, a space where something can — and now does — move, and in that difference, you are someone special — someone (something) significant — the only one, the first and last of the endangered species of you, an existence whose every moment is worth saving and savoring.

Play is the thing that allows us to get there, to get to a life of meaning when God’s grace has been taken away.