Something's Bubbling Up Inside of Me

So sings Department of Eagles, whose album has become my most recent soundtrack for life. (Thanks to Brian for yet another musical introduction.) I'm sipping on revelation and stewing in reflection.

On Thursday, I attended the rally/jumbotron screening of the opening arguments over repealing Prop 8 before the California Supreme Court. Inspired by the No Dumb Questions StoryHub project, I brought a video camera and interviewed a young man about his opposition to gay marriage. As he shared his perspective, I was struck by the power of documentary film making. Rather than engaging, I was able to just listen and observe, keeping my own beliefs to myself for once. If we are able to actually hear one another in our differing views, perhaps we can find a bit of common ground.

Today, I sat outside a favorite cafe in my neighborhood, reading bell hooks and drafting a press release on an upcoming COLAGE Bay Area Panel. Spending much of my time in cafes affords rich opportunities for eavesdropping. A small group of college students were reading to each other about lesbian motherhood, then continued their discussion of transnational identity, family, and queerness. As someone who tends to engage more than she observes, I am discovering the value of just listening.

I discovered this quote by Mimi Nguyen that resonated tonight:

It's impossible, after all, to imagine that "queer" only skews gender and sexuality, and not race or class or nation, as if we might line up our social categories like cans in a cupboard, as if they weren't just intersecting but mutually constituitive.

I am forever grateful for the ways that life continues to illuminate these intersections.

Remembering Lawrence King, One Year Later

On February 12, 2008, Lawrence King was shot by a classmate in Oxnard, California. We all deserve to learn and live in peace. Here are a few memorials...

Memorial from Lawrence's family,

GLSEN and LOGO --

Note: Lawrence King was targeted based on gender expression AND sexual orientation.

Another gay teen --


Take action --
Safe schools for all! Contact GLSEN, start or support a GSA in your local school, act against violence!

'I'm a man and I'm pregnant. It happens...

Don't you read the fucking tabloids?', says Max - The L Word's resident trans man. Despite what Oprah may think, Thomas Beattie is NOT the only transgender man to become
pregnant. In true soap opera fashion - or perhaps Law and Order's 'ripped from the headlines' approach - this often problematic though strangely addictive
lesbian drama is bringing a pregnant trans man to life through Daniella Sea's occasionally believable performance.

I can only imagine what sort of transphobic crap is going to come out
of other character's mouths over this - not to mention fan sites.
Interesting that people assumed that Tom and Max would only have 'gay sex', and frustrating that people would say they are actually straight for having vag sex. Sounds suspisciously like the 'not a real man' sentiment that exploded over Thomas Beattie's media blitz.

The basic storyline -- Max is a gay man, who has been having unprotected vaginal sex with his boyfriend and now is four months pregnant. Max discovers his pregnancy during a consultation for top surgery. Not only must he postpone surgery, but he's apparently one month into the second trimester and is refused an abortion. Will Max be 'the pregnant man with unrealistic facial hair'? (Stay tuned.)

This scene from Max's visit to a clinic in particularly noteworthy:

Yeah, men do get pregnant sometimes. I've been meaning to write something about Thomas Beattie, about the fact that he isn't the first (or only) pregnant man, about his exploitation of his own pregnancy and process of family formation. It's disappointing that Beattie doesn't seem to acknowledge that there are so many other transgender parents in the world. Because, actually, the fact that the world knows that transgender people have children is a good step in the right direction. Too bad he hasn't leveraged his time speaking into the big media megaphone to provide a bit more justice for all of our families. But, here's the thing - Thomas Beattie isn't an activist for our community, as much as we may wish it so. And maybe it's fine, because the rest of us are doing so much. A little visibility can go a long way.

Upon return from an incredible week at Creating Change in Denver, a few days before a trip to DC for the International Foundation for Gender Education's annual conference, my head is filled with thoughts of social justice and collective liberation, of 501c3 organizations and professional queers. Tonight, though, The L Word gave me more than women making out... lest we forget, the power of pop culture.

NOTE: I drafted this post before my trip to IFGE in DC, where I found myself discussing this episode countless times. My dear friend Ramzi, a scholar in American Studies, is a pop culture junkie and seeing him during my trip further highlighted just how these forms of culture reflect and inform our ability to articulate lived experience.

Sustainable Nation, Sustainable Self

During President Obama's Inaugural speech yesterday, he made a great request to our nation:

Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America. For everywhere we look, there is work to be done.

These words resonated with my 2009 slogan - Sustainable Self - a commitment to do the work on myself to live a better life with the goal of working to create a better world.

This passage also reminded me of the illustrious Hedwig's song on the same theme:

Liberating My Desires

This year began for me in Boston, with intentions to finish my Kids of Trans Fellowship, apply to social work school, and return to the east coast within a few months. This year will end for me in San Francisco, reflecting on the many lessons that accompanied the last twelve months of living. I wrote a book this year, the book ten years in the making. It isn't perfect... neither am I.

This year's slogan was 'liberate your desires', which supplanted 'all systems go' part way through January. As my dear friend says, It's never too late to change your mind. So, I did.

Liberating my desires this year meant:
letting go
allowing myself to not know what's next
making mistakes
giving myself permission to change
bringing more of myself to the spaces i inhabit
celebrating successes, while acknowledging the long path ahead
trusting that everything will work out
accepting that good living takes work (and it's worth it)
loving my friends and family, on both sides of the country
being truly blessed by the many generous and caring people in my life

Thank you for supporting my work, being my friend, and caring enough to read my blog.

Happy New Year!

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Thursday, November 20th was the Transgender Day of Remembrance. GLAAD asked people to answer the question "What does Transgender Day of Remembrance mean to you?" Here is my response:


During the Transgender Day of Remembrance service, we are reminded – these people are children, siblings, parents, friends, and lovers. As we read the names, I think of the mother mourning her transgender child’s death, the brother who will never understand how someone could take his sibling’s life. There is a small child whose parent committed suicide, an adult whose parent died because the doctors refused treatment. I don’t know their names, but anti-transgender violence has taken their family members.

In this moment, I find sadness. In this moment, I find rage.

Then, my thoughts turn to the transgender people in my life. I picture my father and her partner, the peaceful life they have pieced together in the small town surrounded by mountains. Grateful that they have a place to live, that she has a job. They are less vulnerable than many of those on the TDoR list, but still the fear creeps in. I could be that family member, holding a picture at the vigil. This year, I am not. I say a little prayer that my loved ones – family and friends – live free from violence.

In this moment, I find sadness. In this moment, I find rage.

While marching through San Francisco’s Tenderloin neighborhood, I meet a woman whose name could have been on the memorial list. She tells me her story of surviving stab wounds and being left at Ocean Beach, of the children who found her there, of her recovery just two years ago. And she is marching next to me, holding a candle just like mine.

In this moment, I find perseverance. In this moment, I find hope.

May this compassionate rage fuel our collective efforts to recreate a world where people live free from violence and discrimination.

Reflecting in a Moment of Change and Frustration

I realized on Wednesday that I'd been holding my breath for weeks, hoping that the collective power of grassroots organizing in America would win at the polls. In my decade-long experience as a voter in this country, I had reason to be skeptical. After all, my first opportunity to vote for president resulted in voter fraud in Florida and the Bush regime. I remember thinking, 'How bad could it really get?' and within a year, it was pretty obvious.

In 2004, I was living in Boston during the Kerry campaign. In the face of the Iraq War and so much injustice, many of us figured that Bush just had to lose. Instead, we had another close election resulting in a so called 'mandate' for a second-term president who should've never been elected. My good friend Bonnie and I visited Copley Square on election night to join with throngs of damp broken-hearted Kerry supporters. The day after the election, I saw Antibalas perform at The Middle East in Cambridge. We danced our pain and frustration out, realizing that millions of Americans actually believed those campaign lies.

All this is to say that I am used to being broken-hearted the day after election day, needing to be angry and sad, take care of myself and my community, and reflect on next steps.

Last Tuesday, I gathered with friends in San Francisco to watch the returns come in. Many of us spent part of the day near polling places reminding people to vote no on proposition 8. There was a nervous energy all afternoon. When I voted earlier that day, I was disgusted by the ballot question - 'Proposition 8 - Eliminates the Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry'. I should NEVER be able to vote on whether to eliminate another person's rights. But, I suppose it happens all the time, just in less obvious language.

As an east coast transplant, it's strange to see the results of the rest of the country before the polls close here. I am grateful for the delay, because it gave us about 45 minutes to truly celebrate Obama's victory before California precincts started reporting the bad news.

We sat together, snuggling and crying at Obama's speech, overcome with a momentous sense of hope and history. Yes.We.Can.

As President-Elect Obama told the story of the 104-year old African-American woman who cast her vote that day, the banner showed the first returns. We tensed, unready to move from this moment of victory. A little over 50% had voted to ban gay marriage - 52% in the final count. We were still hopeful, but tinged with a strange feeling of homophobia on a broad scale.

I am still so proud to live in a country that elected Barack Obama as its 44th president. This is the beginning of a new era and part of it is a nuanced mix of victory and injustice. I've grown used to trusting that every decision of the Bush administration is a bad one. Moving forward, I know I cannot trust the Democrats to always make good decisions. This means paying closer attention, keeping social justice at the forefront of my mind and my work.

As a member of the LGBT movement, a queer person, and a resident of California, I am outraged and saddened by the passage of Proposition 8. I took to the streets with thousands of San Franciscans on Friday to protest. Check out my radio report on Flashpoints here (it's about half way through the broadcast). While we need to get outraged to heal, this is not the time to scapegoat those who voted for the bill - regardless of their race, faith, or age - but rather a time to move forward. We must look beyond the fight for marriage equality.

I have been deeply inspired by some of the conversations some of us in the queerspawn community are having. As a community existing at the intersections of oppression, homophobia and transphobia is an oppression we all face. My goodness, we have some powerful things to say from this vantage point. Here is part of the COLAGE statement:

COLAGE calls on our members and allies to stand up against the scapegoating of voters of color in the passage of Proposition 8 in California. Some have publicly stated that the African American vote tipped the scales against marriage equality in California. African Americans represent only 6% of the CA population, while Anglo Americans represent 47% of the state population. This means that the majority of people who voted for Proposition 8 are white. Let's reject racist scapegoating. Affirming racism while standing up against homophobia is never productive and lashing out against those who voted for Proposition 8 will not help educate or raise awareness to move our society forward.

It really bothered me to see visibly white protesters wearing 'Second Class Citizen' t-shirts at the march on Friday. There are many people in this country who are treated like second class citizens. While all of us should have access to the institution of marriage, their claim overlooks the various privileges enjoyed by many white, middle-class, able-bodied citizens working for equal marriage rights.

We much use our voices at this critical moment, even if it's hard to know what to say. I vow to be more outspoken in the coming months. After all, I AM the child of LGBTQ parents. Those who voted for Prop 8 did NOT have my best interests in mind. AND there is so much more to equality beyond my right to marry a woman in California.

May we seize this feeling of hope to truly bring change to our communities.