Arabs

Am I the only one, or does anyone else out there find this exchange from a recent McCain rally as disturbing as I do?

["I don't trust Obama," a woman said. "I have read about him. He's an Arab."

McCain shook his head in disagreement, and said:

"No, ma'am. He's a decent, family man, a citizen that I just happen to have disagreements with (him) on fundamental issues and that's what this campaign is all about."]

I think if I were an Arab, I'd be rather offended. As a European-American, I just feel very sad.

I know some Arabs and Muslims. My friend Noor identifies with Mohammed Atta about as much as I identify with Tim McVeigh or Bull Connor. The Arabs and Iranians I know are peaceful, honest, hardworking, "decent, family" people.

I give credit to McCain here for trying to correct the impression about Obama, and I don't think he was intentionally speaking out against anyone. Yet by choosing not to confront the comment about Arabs, he reinforced a stereotype that Arabs can't be trusted, and implied that they aren't decent, family people, as well.

But the saddest of all is that this attitude is common in my country. I am glad I'm not an Arab-American right now, but I want all Arab-Americans and Muslim Americans to know that I support you. I believe in you. I will speak in your defense. I will judge you by the "content of your character," and not by your religion, your ethnicity, or the color of your skin.

And right now, I grieve for my nation. I feel so sad to see this violent rhetoric split us apart.

Blessings upon you all, and on us. May there be peace.

Gender Neutral Pronouns

How often have you been writing or talking about something, and wondered whether to use male or female pronouns? Things like, "When one is digging in the garden, he – uh, she – well, he or she should …" It's been a recurring theme for me lately in using the English language – the conventions that folks have come up with in the wake of the Cultural Revolution of the '60's to reflect our growing distaste of the patriarchal system that uses male pronouns as universal, as if women didn't exist or didn't matter. I've read people using alternate pronouns, first male, then female, then male, with a statement about it in the preamble. Some use plural pronouns in the singular – "they," instead of he or she. Others mix them – (s)he, his/her, she/he. All these solutions seem awkward and clumsy, none satisfactory.

It seems to me that here is another place where the emergence of visibility for transpeople contributes to bettering society, culture, and language. Dissatisfied with gendered pronouns, 'it', and the cultural binary that denies the wholeness of being for some people, some trans and two-spirit people have developed, or at least brought into more common usage, the gender-neutral pronouns "zie" (he and/or she), "hir" (him and/or her) and "hirs" (his and/or hers).

Despite that fact that I tread the line between man and woman, I'm quite clear I don't want those pronouns to refer to me. I don't mind using them to refer to people who prefer them, but I like female pronouns. Where I've been finding this construct most useful, however, is whenever I'm referring to singular third person in the general sense. "When one uses a digging fork, zie should take care that hir foot is not under the tines."

Well, you get the idea….

What’s in a Name?

Names have been of interest to me lately, as several people have mentioned mine in complimentary ways, while I've also encountered my former name in a way that was shocking. It got me thinking about what a name really means.

Usually, it's just treated as a generic label for individuals. Frequently those labels seem to fit the people who wear them, but often, they don't. In my case, my former name label was one that didn't fit me at all. Not my mother's fault. How was she to know what I would like or not? Even more, how could she ever predict that that baby boy snuggled to her breast was actually a girl? It certainly didn't show from the outside. The answer, of course, is that she couldn't predict it. She named me as best she could with almost no insight into my nature or personality, and none at all into my gender. How could she ever have the foresight to, as the song of the time suggested, "name me Sue?"

The truth is, a name is more than a generic label. It is an individual signifier, an emblem of a person's individuality that interfaces with the world and all society. It is a matter of considerable importance to a person's self-concept. But we've made it really hard to change, and socially, culturally, changing the name your parents gave you is not common or encouraged. Now, with the federal ID laws coming down the pike, more legal hurtles are being raised against changing names.

I think it's time for a change. Names are actually too important to leave entirely to uncertain prediction and the sometimes careless whims of parents. A better idea, I think, is to make a naming day or ceremony part of graduating from high school. Or maybe it should be something you do upon reaching majority (the age 18 majority), a sort of ritual to help initiate young people into the fullness of adult citizenship and responsibility; a way to mark their new role in society. On that day, each person could choose whether to label themselves with a new name that describes themselves more effectively, or keep their own. If associated with graduation, it could be a part of the packet – class ring, invitations, cap & gown, name change forms.

Important here, that their parents don't take it personally. Let's recognize that we're not perfect, and we really can't predict our child's path in life when we give them that first label to describe our hopes and beliefs about them. Let's just be grateful for the time we had, and let them go.

Transpeople – not transsexuals

I've been uncomfortable with the term 'transsexual' for quite awhile – right from the start, really. We live in a prudish society (like it or not), and it seems to me that when you say 'transsexual,' people hear 'trans-sex-ual.' They think of it as about sex, the act springs into their mind, naked bodies, the whole works. Not the kind of connection and connotation I want, since transsexualism, to me, has little to do with sex, and everything to do with identity, gender, how I relate to others, how I think, the role I want to live in society, and so forth. Sex is a part of it, of course, as it is a part of every complete human. But I want to be seen in the fullness of who I am, not in the narrow confines of the part of my life that is most personal and private.

Therefore, my new semantics campaign: I am transgendered. I am a transwoman. But most of all, I'm a transperson, and we are transpeople.