Tiny Little Things I Heard Today
Friday, May 2, 2008

There is a couple who often attend my Friday night class/gathering. They usually bring with them their two children, the oldest of whom seems quite shy amongst strangers. She's at that age (not quite 5) when it's hard for me to tell when that's an act that she's cultivated to maintain a certain distance, and when it's genuine.

Apparently, at home she is quite chatty, but it's rare that she speaks before, in, or after the gathering (she usually whispers into her father's ear if she wants him to say something on her behalf).

At any rate, this child has attended the Friday gathering many, many times (since she was around 2), and even requested to be brought to the Tuesday gathering that I teach (which is a focused spiritual development class heretofore populated only by adults). She will peep out at me from under her "fairy cloak" and give me a mischievous grin from time to time, and genuinely seems to enjoy being there (although she often falls asleep during the gathering), but it's very rare that she will speak aloud to me.

Tonight, as folks were drifting away from our meeting place, I heard her insisting that her Dada push her in the swing outside our house (it's an "adult-size" swing-set, and if Da pushes her, she can swing very high -- so I've overheard her giggles and squeals many times).

It was then that I heard it -- for the first time in the several years that I have known her: My name, spoken in her own voice -- as I walked from the gathering place to my house -- I heard: "Dada! Show ***** how high I can swing!"

It was a very sweet moment for me.

She rounded off all the consonants in my name in that way that children do before they learn to read and write -- pronounced it as, no doubt, it sounds to her when others speak it.

This is a little tiny thing I heard today.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:55 PM 1 comments  

Labels: Overheard, True Stories

To Sir, With Love
Saturday, December 8, 2007

If gender-stereotypes don't exist anymore . . . why am I still getting called "Sir"?

In recent discussions of my "Overheard at Safeway" (posted here and at Shakesville), some commenters said that they had been raised "gender-neutral" (one even referred to the "gender-neutral police"). Others posited that their male and female offspring were "just different" from day one, which seems to support the concept of innate differences between biologically male and biologically female humans.

Now, I am definitely "biologically female". I check out chromosomally and everything -- so why am I still getting called "Sir"?

(Warning -- some photos below may be NSFW.)

Exhibit A -- this is a photo of me snapped in September of this year (for Kate Harding's very excellent BMI illustration project):

Looking at this photo, you will undoubtedly notice right away that I am "obese" (I kid, of course -- but the BMI doesn't-- I'm obviously at death's door -- OK, I kid, again. Sorry -- this shit just cracks me up!).

You may have also noticed that I have short hair, and that I have a rather noticeable set of tatas (those are the things that are making bulges outward from my upper torso, and which gave rise to the now-infamous TWH^[tm] -- "Titty-Wrap Hug").

For those of you not "in the know" lesbionically, I am what is known as a "butchy" dyke.

Let me make it clear here that I am not a "stone butch", but I'm pretty butchy, and I always have been pretty butchy. It's been reported that I am "not butchy enough" for some dykes, and "too butchy" for others.

Que sera, sera.

(As a side-note, I just realized that when you include the word butchy many times in a single paragraph, it starts to look very strange. Butchy. Butchy. Butchy.)

There's the set-up.

The other day, when I was at the store, I was called "sir". Again.

As is usually the case, the person who sirred me, upon hearing me speak, became instantly flustered, apologized quickly, and then looked away -- as hard as they could.

This is not the first time that I have been called "sir" (nor, I imagine, the last). I used to get this a lot more than I do now, and I've pondered whether it was because my hair is slightly longer now than it used to be, whether I dress ever-so-slightly less butchy than in the past, or whether, since I gained weight, my tatas are even less avoidable than they were when I was a skinny little shit.

However, I don't think any of that is really the source of the gender-projection dysphoria that I seem to produce in strangers.

Here are some pictures of me from my past (click to enlarge):

During the time that these pictures were taken, I was sirred at least once a month (on average), even when I had hair down to my ass.


What you cannot see in any of these photos are these:

Face it -- they're kind of hard to miss, and they have been with me since age 13, at approximately the same size and shape (disclaimer: altitudinal coordinates have changed over time).

Do not click to enlarge this photo -- it's just not necessary.

My hypothesis is that it is not my hair, facial construction, or body type that results in me being genderized by strangers via a "masculine" form of address.

I am very short, my voice ranges from high-pitched to "annoyingly-squeaky" (depending on how much I've been smoking and how excited/upset I am), and my fashion choices (I'm using the term "fashion" very loosely here) are decidedly gender-neutral -- usually sweat-pants and a fleece shirt -- 90% of the time (OK, I'll come clean -- more like 97% of the time)

So, I don't think it is my physical appearance or dress -- I believe it is my manner and my mannerisms.

I speak loudly. I am brash and direct. My natural stance is "feet apart, arms akimbo" (think "Stands-with-a-Fist" -- but only if you can avoid thinking of Kevin Costner at the same time). I tend to look people directly in the eye, to stomp when I walk, and my stride is long and forward-moving rather than short and side-swaying.

And it's always been that way:

So how did this happen?

Nature? Nurture?

I've decided that it simply cannot be "Nurture": I was raised in a culture and a time when gender roles were far more stringently applied than they are today.

I was constantly admonished to keep my legs/feet together (even though no one bothered to explain to me that to do otherwise was either an open declaration of my slutitude, or an attempt to emulate a man).

I was repeatedly lectured on the appropriate toys/activities/body postures/vocal tones that fit with the following descriptors: "Feminine", "Girl-Stuff", and "Lady-Like".

Somehow, it just didn't take.

I'm going to argue again that the gender roles and expectations that many people would like to attach to chromosomal sexual status CAN NOT be scientifically proven as genetically pre-disposed -- even if you do extensive studies about how humans are supposed to be able to identify gender by gait patterns -- because gender-expectations and gender-roles are cultural, Cultural, CULTURAL!!!

(Oh, and have I mentioned that they're cultural?)

Let's take a fairly external item: Clothing.

Even though fashion in clothing is a phenomenon which is incredibly mercurial, changing literally year-to-year within our culture, there remain clothing-based stereotypes which invoke gender-roles and expectations, such as: "Who wears the pants in this family, anyway?"

Ask any English-speaking person in western culture what that means. They can probably tell you. (Hint: It has to do with Patriarchy.)

Even though pants are relatively new to western culture (introduced in Europe as an evolution of the "hose" worn by men in the 15th century), it has only been within my lifetime that the thought of women wearing pants in the US was down-graded from scandalous/possibly-culture-destroying to acceptable-but-not-really-feminine. (The demurely crossed ankles that you see in the photo above -- the one with me pouting on the porch -- are those of my grandmother in 1964, who wore "slacks" exactly once in her lifetime -- and only after my grandfather passed away, cuz God knows that would have killed him.)

You may want to say: "Oh, hey, Portly Dyke -- now that's 'a bridge too far'! ;) No one really thinks that pants are reserved for men anymore!"

Wanna bet?

Google the phrase: "women wear pants", and take a look at the ongoing debate about whether good Xtian women can wear a specific article of clothing without incurring God's wrath by violating Deuteronomy 22:5.

Oh, and just for good measure? Why don't you suggest to some "Masculist" that he "get back to his roots" and put on a pair of tights? I double-dog dare you.

Never mind that, at the time Deuteronomy 22:5 was written, the men in question weren't wearing pants (not to rub it in or anything, but they were wearing dresses), and a woman wearing pants wouldn't have had a problem with being mis-identified as a man and being punished for cross-dressing, so much as being annihilated because she was mistaken for a Scythian.

See, it's cultural. It's Cultural. It's CULTURAL!!!!!!

Gender identification/roles/expectations are incredibly flexible constructs. They change from generation to generation, from country to country, and from tribe to tribe.

Still don't believe me? Tell me: who's the man and who's the woman?

We all know that graceful, swaying motions, make-up to enhance the eyes and mouth, elaborate jewelry and headdresses are the province of women, don't we?

Tell it to the Wodaabe:


I "read" as "sir" in this culture, because of this culture's gender-role coding. I don't "cue" correctly for this culture's expectation of what a woman is supposed to sound like, walk like, act like, dress like. I don't cross my arms over my breasts when a man stares at them. I'm more likely to stare back and when he finally looks up, say: "Are you lookin' at me?" in my best DeNiro.

Truth be known, I don't even mind being "sirred" -- in fact, I prefer it to being "ma'amed" (which I think, sadly, testifies to my own internalized and culturally-coded misogyny).

I want to repeat again, in case anyone hasn't gotten this yet -- I'm not saying that it is impossible that there may be innate differences between biological males and biological females. I am saying that, until we can really perceive and understand our own cultural biases, assumptions, and projections about gender-roles, I don't believe that there is any way to perform empirical research on what, if any, those differences might be.

Which probably means that we need to have an extra-terrestrial to do the research for us:

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:30 PM 20 comments  

Labels: Gender, Overheard, Queers, True Stories, Very Personal Details

Overheard at Safeway
Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Yesterday, I was walking past the Starbuck's that is inside my local ginormous multi-national-corporation-owned grocery store (Starbuck's is in there because, apparently, it has been scientifically proven that if you are ever more than three blocks from a Starbuck's you will die. Horribly.)

Anyway, as I was wending my way through this Matryoshka of corporate enfoldments, my ear was caught by the following conversation between a mother and her barely-verbal child (maybe 18 months old, if that):

Mommy: "No, that's the little girl bear. See her pink pajamas?"
Baby: "Bahy Bear."
Mommy: "No, that's the girl bear. See, she has a pink bow!"
Baby: "Bahy Bear!"
Mommy: "Honey, that's a girl bear. Look! Isn't she pretty?"
Baby: "Grr Bear."
Mommy: "That's right! Good!"

Poor kid. She was probably just trying to say "Bye Bear!" as she attempted to express her radical Indigo-Child rage at the appalling love-spawn of corporate-whoredom and conspicuous-consumerism that is "The Bearista".

Then, when mommy proceeded with a full-on gender indoctrination mind-control program, Progressive Baby^[tm] finally responded with the appropriately savage: "Grrrrrr!!! Bear!" -- her tiny lip curling in disgust above perfect, pearly, milk-teeth.

Well, that's how it went down in my head, anyway.

I had just come from my office, where I had read Melissa's post about the critical importance of gender-appropriate microscopic color in scientific research conducted by children, so I was glad to see the incoming generation fighting the good fight by resisting these stereotypes.

Now, if only the caffeine in Mommy's triple-shot would wake her up.

It's well-documented that this type of programming begins from the very beginning of a child's life.

I raised two boys, and have had many discussions with other parents about whether there really is an inherent difference between male and female children-- but I believe that gender programming begins so early, and is stressed so strongly in our culture that I don't think we can ever know the real answer to that question.

I would even go so far as to say that gender expectations, roles, and programming begin long before the child arrives -- witness one of the most frequent questions a pregnant woman gets asked: "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? What are you hoping for?" -- and the common response: "We're hoping for a boy/girl, but . . . ."

A friend of mine who desperately wanted to bear a child of her own said to me (after her third miscarriage) that this kind of talk really pissed her off -- she said: "I'm just hoping for a child. What difference does the gender make?"

Indeed -- what difference does the gender make?

In a culture that clings to the notion that men and women are innately different, which stubbornly insists that certain activities, color-schemes, careers, etc. are the "natural" province of one gender, and which actively steers children into "gender-appropriate" arenas or outright restricts their access to "gender-inappropriate" arenas, gender makes a lot of difference.

The very fact that we can say that we "hope for" a boy or a girl indicates to me that attachment to gender roles, and active programming to convince us that males "are" this way and females "are" that way, runs very, very deep -- and that most people are rarely even aware of it. I honestly don't think the Mommy at Starbucks had any consciousness at all of what she was doing -- I believe that she probably thought it was "natural".

However, the authentic resistance of Progressive Baby^[tm] reminded me that gender roles in our society are not some innate, universal human reality that arise from "how men/women ARE" -- they have to be constantly enforced and reinforced -- and even an 18-month old can see the absolutely arbitrary nature of the color-code that is being shoved down her throat -- she can see quite easily that the bears are identical in every respect -- only their outfits genderize them.

You may say: "Well what's the danger in pink microscopes and sewing machines for little girls, and blue microscopes and footballs for little boys? Where's the harm?"

No harm, I guess -- to offer various toys to kids -- except that I believe that when these items are specifically separated as being "for girls" and "for boys" -- they are telling kids: "This is your role."

I find it interesting that the gender separation at the Discovery Channel toy-site goes like this: No genderization at all from Infant to Age 4, then, gender-based categories for ages 5-7 and 8-12, then just "Teens and Adults". (I suspect that this is because they figure by age 12, the programming is either complete, or will never take.)

Imagine for a moment if we saw a website that had separate shopping areas "White boys - Age 8 to 12" and "Hispanic boys - Age 8 to 12" which did not contain the same toys. Let's say the white section had things like ATM machines and electronic 20 questions games, while the hispanic section had things like the "landscaping design kit" and miniature lawn-mowers, with a few cross-over items like the "Cube World Set", which touted:

• Set includes 2 cubes: Handy & Dusty or Mic & Hans
• Each stick character has a job. Handy (purple) is a handyman, Dusty (green) is a cleaner, Mic (pink) is a singer, and Hans (blue) is a fitness freak

We would not hesitate for a moment to say: "Wait a minute. The hispanic kids' toys are grooming them for a servant role." The offensiveness of racist icons such as Aunt Jemima and the Lawn Jockey is precisely this -- their message: "This is your role."

You may have a butt-clenchy moment there, as I compare gender-entrainment to racism. However, I believe that the connection is apt.

Effective Master/Servant oppression requires entrainment of both the prospective master and the prospective servant. It also creates an amazing tension, as the Master class recognizes, at some deep level, that it needs the Servant class, and goes to great length to convince the Servant class that this "need" is reciprocal (which is why the notion of an independent woman is so threatening to those who remain invested in Patriarchy).

I'd posit that, because of this, there are subtle differences between Master/Servant oppression (eg. racism/misogyny/classism) and Eradication oppression (eg. homophobia/antisemitism). The primary message of Master/Servant structures is "Know your place", while the primary message of Eradication structures is "Don't be that."

In either these structures, if you don't obey the prime directive, the result is usually the same: 1) Intimidation/Suppression, and when that doesn't work, 2) Violence, and when that doesn't work, 3) Expulsion and/or Extermination (so, if you resist, you end up at Eradication anyway. Joy).

I digress -- those last two paragraphs are another post entirely.

Back to Starbucks in Safeway -- that "dweam wifin a dweam": As I considered Mommy's mounting insistence, and Baby's mounting resistance (and then seeming acquiescence) I wondered: "Why the fuck does it matter so much that this tiny child get the roles right?"

I think that it matters so much because, of all the oppression structures that exist, Patriarchal Misogyny is the one with a global near-equity in terms of population ratios of Master-to-Servant, and it is an oppression structure that resides in the heart of the most intimate and pivotal place of individual life -- the home. So if she isn't groomed for her role, or if she doesn't adopt that role, the Master would feel it -- keenly, at the center of his life -- and the Patriarchy would, indeed, crumble.

Good.

Keep on keeping on, Progressive Baby.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 9:35 PM 10 comments  

Labels: Feminism, Gender, Overheard