Being Post-Trans

1. Traditional Gender

For centuries, western culture had a “no man’s land” between the genders, enforced by societal norms which were distributed through religion. Gender expression was rigid and clearly delineated between the two sexes. Attraction was similarly regulated; being gay was frowned on, lesbians were said not to exist and thus their existence denied. The “correct” thing was to shack up with the “opposite” sex. Those who exhibited any queerness did it at their peril, and so most were careful to publicly conform to avoid trouble.

This began changing in the 20th century under the Gay Liberation movement in the 1960s and 1970s, as they pressed back against society’s limitations. When it came to more direct gender expression (instead of just attraction), Christine Jorgensen’s sex change made news in the 1950s; suddenly, lots of closeted gender-bending folks realized they weren’t alone, and found there might be something to do about it; by the time I began to confront my gender in the early 1990s, there was an obscure, challenging but well-defined process for transitioning from one sex to the other.

Still, gender structures didn’t change hugely: western culture still had a well-defined “no man’s land.” Women’s role expanded, but remained inferior to that of men. The Gays & Lesbians were written off as a separate issue, that of attraction rather than that of gender. Butches and tomboys were allowed to step outside women’s roles, as long as they didn’t go too far. Not much changed for the transsexuals of the time: no man’s land was a challenge one crossed as fast as possible, before making camp well within the accepted borders of one’s chosen gender. Doing so required giving up any privileges that came with one’s assigned gender, and embracing the rules and limitations of the new one. No man’s land was neither safe nor desirable; it was a place of confusion and failure, best to be avoided.

2. Co-opting Gender No Man’s Land

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, a new generation of Trans folk rejected the idea there was anything wrong with gender no man’s land. Instead of rushing to transition to “the other” gender, they sauntered and explored the space between gender roles, savoring the unexplored options. Blending genders. Mixing and matching bits that felt right. Switching it up a little each day as their mood felt.

Once a few were doing it, others followed. Leaping from one gender to the other, as was previously done, was too much for many to attempt. But taking a step outside the box one had been in since childhood? Then two steps, then 3? Gradually, more and more people began leaving the pastures in which they’d been confined by society’s invisible fences since childhood. Gender no man’s land became occupied.

So what happened to Gender no man’s land? Well, one thing that could have happened, but didn’t, was the expansion of the gender roles to encompass it. Instead of “leaving the pens”, the fences could have been repositioned to encompass more terrain. A positive of this would have been continuity of most of the existing gender ideas, but a negative would be this approach’s likely resistance to overlap, and the difficulties that come with pigeonholing everything into 2 categories with limited flexibility.

But society did not flex, and instead, the new residents of gender no man’s land planted a pink, blue and white flag and declared it home for Trans people.

Some people insist this is not valid, claiming gender no man’s land is territory in which nobody is allowed to live. Oddly, these are often the same folk who think it’s fine to co-opt somebody else’s tangible land, property, and creations for their own gain. Occupying space or taking material somebody else is using—well, that’s just what you do, it’s your right. But Trans folk taking possession of that which nobody wanted—that’s crossing a line.

3. Changing the Path

When no man’s land was unoccupied, there was an established path worn across it. That path is fading with time from disuse and from Transland’s residents building homes and respites in the previously unoccupied space. They are friendly folk, usually offering assistance and guidance to newcomers to their world.

But despite the challenges they’ve personally faced, Transland’s residents often impose inflexibility on others: the insistence that anyone who ever visited Transland must and will forever remain in Transland. You cannot visit, or explore, or cross Transland without being Trans.

Those that explore Trans land and turn back, they insist, weren’t ready, and will one day return to live in Transland. They do not acknowledge that some visit Transland on a lark, a dare, or a bet with no intent of ever staying. Some have questions, explore, and go back. Some may generally be happy in their boxes, and only occasionally need to step outside their assigned gender and visit Transland. But Transland residents see any of these as evidence the visitor really belongs with them. It’s an annoying tendency—none of us like outsiders pinning labels on us unexpectedly. For that reason, Trans folk should stop this. But we can’t stop anyone from labelling us, Trans or otherwise, so there is naught we can do but grow thicker skin and move on. But I’ve digressed.

The ones I’m focusing on today are the crossers. Those like me who don’t want to live in Transland, who leave one gender and establish themselves in the other. Those who don’t want to customize gender, but instead conform—just with the “opposite” gender from the one assigned at birth.

4. Post-Trans

For those of us who opt to live in the space of the “other” gender from that we were assigned at birth, I suggest there is a “Post-Trans” state that happens. I hesitate to say “identity”, because identity is something current, active, something one embraces. Being Post-Trans is something that happens, something I am, but it’s a side-effect of my experiences and the things I’ve done.

I do have a collection of gender-connected experiences that cisgender folk will never have:

• Few women will understand the drives and emotions that testosterone produces, but I do. Few women experience the joy of whizzing in a trough, but I have. Few men have experienced the indescribable emotions, beauty and fragility of an estrogen-driven puberty, but I have.

• On the other hand, there are experiences I can never have, either; I’ll never have a period, nor did I experience the back-stabbing cattiness, slumber parties, or boy talk of being a teen.

• Some of my experiences are different: although I experienced an estrogen puberty, I was in my early 20s when I experienced it—an age offering a higher level of reflection and maturity than for most, surely affecting my experience.

• There are also transsexual-only experiences: the feeling of completeness and wholeness that passed through me the first time I tenderly touched my labia as I examined my newly-constructed vagina in a mirror.

Nevertheless, my time of living Trans is behind me; it’s a thing I did decades ago, not something I do any longer. I am so much more than my gender. Sure, my Trans past does contribute to my wholeness—but it’s a tiny fraction, diminished with time. It’s a tiny part of the gestalt that is me, and insisting otherwise is trying to reduce me to a caricature. I am more than my gender, whatever you call it.

And that’s no different from cisgender people. If you are cis and 30 years old, you are much more than your gender: you are combination of experiences from high school experiences, college, trade school, work places, bars or churches, family events, relationships with friends, mistakes you’ve made and much more. Sure, your gender influences some of these—but trying to say you are your gender would be like the reductionist idea that my house is an asphalt shingle. Sure, those are a component—but there’s a lot more than just shingles, and it matters how all those parts are assembled. And it’s all subject to time and wear, repairs and maintenance; and every resident uses paint, decorations, furniture and possessions to adjust its character. And we humans are far more complex, interesting and nuanced than a building.

Anyhow, I don’t know quite when I moved from being Trans to Post-Trans. Perhaps it’s a gradual process. If I had to guess a date, I’d put it somewhere between 1998 and 2003, between 4 and 9 years after completing surgery. It’s not something I tried to achieve, although I noticed something happening gradually, and only came to fully understand after the fact.

The journey had an end, after which I could muster my labors to new tasks—which is good, because I adore novelty and get bored. The fight of crossing no man’s land was challenging, but temporary. I wouldn’t—and don’t—want to have to fight to defend my gender choices for the rest of my life. There are other places to explore, mountains to climb, roads to be travelled and software to be written. For me, being wrapped up in my gender would keep me away from other, new, more interesting pursuits—though like it or not, I’m being drawn back into the fight by the culture war around Trans issues.

5. Transland, from my perspective

My perspective is surely influenced by my time: Transland was a barren wasteland at the time I crossed through it, and anyone else I met there was on the same mission I was on trying to get to the fertile ground on the other side. I thought I might have to live there a while, obligated by limited means and necessitated by time, but I never conceived of living there by choice. I still don’t understand why I’d want to live there, but I was raised in America, supposed land of freedom, so we are each entitled to live where we like for whatever reason we choose. It’s not my business to tell others how to live their lives.

When I visit friends and acquaintances now living in Transland, and I feel awkward about their cultural protocols. Their traditions of stating pronouns are discomforting to me; growing up, asking a person’s gender was an insult. But is that so different from my encounters with other cultures? I find it awkward when I’m at dinner where Christians want to say a prayer before dinner, but on these occasions I wait to eat and sit quietly while they do their routine because I was also taught to be polite and respectful of other people’s beliefs and protocols, especially when on their turf.

I also respect how the residents have shaped Transland, tilling the soil and turning the barren, fearful, lonely wasteland into a vibrant, thriving place they feel welcome—a place that they can call home. A place where people take care of one another, where Trans folk can live and work and play and date without fear.

Perhaps one day Transland will be a place where its residents can find closure similar to the one I found. But at the moment, they are obliged to continue fighting every day for recognition of who they are, while anti-freedom elements try push for the closure of Transland, and the restoration of Gender No Man’s land. Trans folk fight the hard fight because it’s what they are called to do, and I respect them for it. Is it right? The question is nonsense; you may as well ask if it’s right to eat dinner. It’s not right or wrong, just a necessity of life for some folk.

6. A Word for The Fascists

The fight over Transland has rocked the boat of our society. As I said earlier, I’m not always comfortable with Trans culture. But I also recognize that times and social mores change, and that “stability” and “stagnation” are two sides of a coin. I ask myself:

• Do I believe in the ideals of personal liberty on which our country was founded? Yes, I do.
• Am I harmed by the younger Trans people taking gender in new and different ways? No, I am not harmed.
• Am I better for the liberty I have had in living my life? Yes, I am.

So do I worry about whether Trans youth are making mistakes? Not usually, but there are a few I’ve had questions about. But in those cases, I’ve had to ask myself:

• Would I be better for having been protected from my mistakes? Although I wish I could have avoided some of my mistakes, they all taught me lessons. Mistakes I’ve made are the cost of growth. 1 
• What would be the cost of having been prevented those mistakes? Not learning, limiting growth, creating stagnation.
• If we stop people from making some mistakes, how do we decide what risks they are allowed to take? Do we take away all risk, and what’s the cost of that? Remove risk, remove opportunity.
• What is freedom, without the chance to choose our own risks and make our own mistakes? It sure as hell isn’t freedom.

If you believe so much in the importance of tradition unchanging, then let me ask, what do you think of the founding of the country? Shouldn’t we have remained under the thumb of Parliament and King for the sake of tradition and stability? Should we have left slavery in place with some deluded thought that everything from the past is better? Obviously not. Moving forward necessitates change, even when we find that difficult, awkward and uncomfortable.