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“How do you even do relationships? Like when do you hold hands, when do you send good morning texts? HOW DO YOU DO THIS.”

-Question Submitted by Anonymous

Shane Says:

First, remain calm.

Next, keep a foreign passport and a wad of foreign currency in a secure safety deposit box. Inevitably, you will make a huge fool of yourself—autocorrect will change “good morning” to “good mounting,” perhaps—and you’ll need a swift getaway. Tuscany sounds nice.

If you’re both jumping out of an airplane, you should definitely hold hands.

As for morning texts, I like to send a solid string around 4AM:

‘Good Morning’

‘carpe diem!’

‘LOL’

*six coffee emojis*

‘… that means “seize the day” in Latin’

‘whatcha thinkin’ about?’

Truthfully, Anonymous, there is no reliable algorithm for a successful relationship. Hand-holding and text messages are great but, like any expression of love or affection, should come from a place of kindness and generosity.

In fact, decades of research by psychologist John Gottman demonstrate how kindness and generosity not only contribute to healthy, long-lasting relationships, but also to healthy, long-lasting immune systems. You can read more about his research in this article, published in The Atlantic, but here’s the gist: be kind, be generous.

And learn to be kind in small, regular ways. Keep an eye out for moments of gratitude… when they pretend they didn’t hear you fart, or when they pay for the Uber at the end of the night. Remind them that you’re grateful for those crappy days when they made you laugh.

Give the best of yourself: give some time, give your undivided attention, and sometimes, as much as it sucks, give them some space. It sounds corny, but it counts.

Yes, eventually you will make a fool of yourself, and you’ll be looking up one-way flights out of the country. But learn what works for you in a relationship, and take the time to learn what works for them. Kindness and generosity tend to double back, so it’ll come in handy when you feel vulnerable or uncomfortable.

Be kind. Be generous. Limit yourself to three texts before noon. Remain calm.

***

Shane Billings resides in Los Angeles, where his Master’s Degree in Screenwriting hangs next to a Jane Fonda Workout record. He has no cats, two plants, and many wigs.

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06.8.2016
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“I’ve often found myself asking this question and recently Troye Sivan tweeted about it so I felt like I should ask you guys: If gender is a social construct, then what does being trans actually mean? If one of the goals of fighting cis-sexism is ending gender as we know it (as an imaginary thing), then how can this coexist with transgenderism?”

-Question submitted by Anonymous

Liam Lowery Says:

First, a disclosure: I have thought about your question every spare moment I have had for over a month. It is a good question, one that people (particularly people who have been aware/accepting of trans identities for a while) ask me pretty often, so I want to answer it as thoroughly as possible.

If gender is a social construct, then what does being trans actually mean?

Gender is a social construct. This is a phrase that anyone who’s taken a gender studies class (or looked at the Feminist Ryan Gosling meme) in recent years could parrot back to you. At the same time, trans and gender-nonconforming people have recently become visible in ways we were not before, pushing for equal or sometimes trans-specific rights and resources. When considered together, this presents an obvious question: If gender is constructed, then how can trans be a “real” identity?

Well, there’s a catch. This question assumes that social constructs can’t have deep-reaching effects on the ones who, within the construct, are perceived as “less than” or “other.” Social constructs, more than anything else, govern the way that systems cause violence to marginalized groups. Calling something a social construct doesn’t eliminate its power, or meaningfully address the harms people in the out-group experience.

I don’t feel like gender is only a social construct when I am treated differently because of my gender identity, like when a supervisor advises me to talk less about trans issues to benefit my career, or when a colleague asks me to “explain” Caitlyn Jenner (statements made by well-meaning people who are, for all intents and purposes, allies). Gender itself may be a social construct, but the gender binary has very real consequences—for trans individuals and for cis-women, too. In the patriarchal world we live in, male assigned and identified people experience privilege that female-identified people do not. Transgender people, though, typically experience being outside of and unrecognizable to this gender system—even when we are read as cisgender, we are still subject to harms based on our trans status at any point when we come out or are outed.

But being trans also means digging deep inside yourself and discovering riches beyond telling. It means that, while people may have told you that you were crazy, that this would alienate you from your family, or that you would get yourself killed, you knew yourself, and chose to live as yourself. Being trans means moments of clarity, spiritual awakening, joy, and self-discovery, all in the face of deeply ingrained opposition. It means you led your own uprising, and are now the sovereign of your own nation-state. Being trans is the truest kind of victory, the kind that is won with a great deal of expense. It is indescribable, and these words are clumsy in trying to capture it. My point is, it definitely means something—something very deep, personal, and impossible to explain.

If one of the goals of fighting cis-sexism is ending gender as we know it, then how can this coexist with transgenderism?

Transgender identities are complicated and not uniform. They include all kinds of people with all kinds of goals for how gender should evolve and change. So this question I can only answer for myself.

Gender is a multi-faceted word, but I think what you mean here is that one of the goals of fighting cis-sexism [the valuing of cisgender identities through framing gender discussions around cis identities and making trans identities “other”] is working to end the gender binary. In my experience, transgender identities (and learning to respect them) serve to undermine the gender binary!

While the gender binary is a system of oppression that subjugates women and disenfranchises trans people, gender identity is flexible and highly individualized. Ending the gender binary does not mean eradicating gender identities—far from it. It means making space for more of them. Being able to claim your own gender identity is a valuable part of the human experience, and everyone ought to be able to do so without the fear of violence.

There are some who would say we do not need to end the gender binary, but just complicate it more and create space for non-binary identities to be recognized. While personally I believe we can and deserve to go further, complicating the gender binary is certainly the first step towards creating space for all people to live authentic lives—not in spite of their gender identities but because of them.

Until we agree to listen to each other and allow all people to be the experts on their gender identities, the gender binary will persist. So put your gender pronouns in your email signature, teach trans 101 workshops at your school, and most of all, assume less and listen more.

We also need to address access to gender-affirming healthcare and protect against employment discrimination, not to mention protecting trans people’s rights to use the restroom of their choice.

I eagerly prepare for the day when all of us take ownership of our bodies and cast off the yoke of a binary gender system that harms every person—a  day when we are all trans, determining our identities as we see fit, and moving about a spectrum of gender identities rather than clinging to a socially constructed, harmful binary. I should say, though, that while this might be the endgame, being trans has never been about an endgame for me. My trans identity is the exact place where the personal intersects with the political. This is just who I am, and this work is done in the hopes that you, and only you, can get to be just who you are, too.

Your question about fighting cis-sexism through ending the gender binary is an evolving one. Just as the butch community who nursed our community through the AIDS crisis could never have predicted the current prevalence of trans identities at the time, we can’t assume what the future will hold, or how our conceptions of gender and identity will evolve over time. Gender is a product of place, culture, and the economy—consider, for instance, how third-gender people in the Philippines are more and more claiming binary trans identities because of globalization. I’m sure my answer, my identity, and my point of view will seem outdated even a decade from now.

But today at least, to fight the gender binary, we must keep our heads down and work, and allow ourselves to be surprised by what the future holds. I bet the next crop of rainbow children will have brilliant ideas and move our world forward in ways we never could have imagined.

***
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05.12.2016
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“Is it possible to be queer and Christian? It feels like those two identities are constantly in conflict in my life, but they both mean a lot to me :/”

-Question submitted by Anonymous

Alyse Knorr Says:

Short answer: Of COURSE it’s possible to be both queer and Christian! Not only because you can be any damn thing you want to be in this world, but because these two particular identities actually go together like peanut butter and jelly or Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo or whatever other metaphor you prefer. Before we go any further, let me first say that I am a queer, Christian-identifying human, and so, as with anything religious, everything I say here will come from my own personal interpretation of Christianity. Everyone’s experience of their faith will be different, just as everyone’s experience of their gender and sexuality is different. So take that with a grain of salt and pepper. Or Dany and Drogo. Or whatever.

For a long, long time, I, too, felt like I could not be both queer and Christian–that I had to choose one or the other, and that never in a million years could those two identities coincide. And to be fair, there are certainly reasons why you and I and many others have felt this way–reasons that probably have a lot to do with our own unique experiences in our church upbringings and in our views of the role that some Christians play in debates over LGBTQ rights.

It’s easy to forget that, in the end, your faith–just like your gender and sexuality–is your own and no one else’s. No one can tell you what to think or do or what not to think or do when it comes to your faith. The key is to follow your heart and your gut and do what makes you happy. For some, that means opening themselves up to spiritual experiences through things like meditation, chanting, purposeful walking, you name it. For others, those spiritual experiences are made more meaningful, or occur more frequently, when governed by a set of ritual practices and/or occurring within a community. That, to me, is the difference between being spiritual and being religious. Religion is about practice and community.

For me, Christianity provides a useful framework within which to experience my spirituality, as well as a moral system to guide my actions. It’s the faith tradition I was raised in, and its rituals, central text, and emphasis on service work all resonate with me. Other Christians are drawn to worship, and still others to prayer. There are many ways of being a Christian, and I don’t just mean denominations! When you look past common stereotypes of “religious people” and Christians, you’ll see that you can be a religious skeptical scientist, a religious feminist, a brilliant religious pop star, or, yeah, a religious queer person.

As you point out, this identity is not without conflict. In some parts of the country it can be hard to find a welcoming church, or a welcoming church where you’re not the only queer person. And the history and political activism of certain Christian groups can feel deeply unsettling and can be difficult to look past. In the end, it’s totally fine to ask critical questions about your faith and your religion, because religion–any religion–can cause harm. But again, your faith is your own, and you can practice it in creative ways. For instance, I have never been that into all the language and iconography that represents God as an old bearded white man. So I like to use other language in my prayers and conceptualizations: God as a holy spirit, a comforting presence, the universe in all its complexities, or even a sacred mother. When I read passages in the Bible about how women must be subservient to men, I interpret them in their historical context, like the rule about not wearing clothing woven from two types of material (Leviticus 19:19).

So what do I mean, then, about how a Christian and a queer identity can actually complement each other in powerful ways? For starters, I didn’t identify as a Christian until after I came out. Growing up, I didn’t relate to my family’s religion at all, but after I came out and started to know myself better, I felt more in touch with the universe and more interested in big-picture questions about how to live a good life and help others. In an effort to continue to understand myself better, I looked back at the Bible and was totally shocked at what I found there.

Christianity, I discovered, is not a religion of “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots.” It’s a religion of radical kindness, peace, and inclusion. The New Testament, and the gospels in particular, are all about loving your neighbor, loving your neighbor some more, and, just for a change of pace, loving your neighbor. “Yeah, yeah,” you’re thinking, “That’s the easy stuff. The hard things are going to church and reading the Bible and doing all those things that queer people aren’t allowed to do. The hard parts are those religious parts.” I would argue, though, that this is totally not the case. First of all, these central tenets of the faith are the hard parts–and not just because I’ve had neighbors who gave me bed bugs and kept me up all night with crying babies. Loving your neighbor no matter what is incredibly hard. Letting go of anxiety and putting your faith into the greater universe is incredibly hard. Living your life in service of others is incredibly hard. But Christianity challenges me to do all of this every day, 24 hours a day. My faith presents me with this challenge, and my faith provides me with the tools to meet it. My faith provides me with comfort when I face hardships in my life, including hardships related specifically to my female or queer identities. My faith offers me the promise of justice when I’m the victim, and the promise of grace when I’m the perpetrator–when I screw up, as we all inevitably do.

So that’s my experience–but you will have your own totally unique journey as a queer Christian, and it’s going to be awesome. The great news is that if you want to practice Christianity as a queer individual in a community of accepting and affirming people, there are an overwhelming number of opportunities to do so. Do you have a certain denomination in mind–perhaps the denomination you were raised in? If so, hop online and find a nearby church of that denomination that’s welcoming and affirming of LGBTQ congregants. Lots of denominations have special names for such churches, such as the More Light Presbyterians, the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists, the Open and Affirming United Church of Christ, and Integrity Believe Out Loud Episcopalians. If you don’t have a specific denomination in mind, or you’re looking for something new or specifically gay-focused, try the Metropolitan Community Church, a Christian denomination specifically for LGBTQ congregants. I went to an MCC church and Bible study for awhile after I came out and absolutely loved it.

Finally, seek out classes (especially at the college level), books, and online resources to help you in your quest to negotiate your queer and Christian identities. Personally, I found most helpful the works of Christian scholar Marcus Borg, as well as articles on feminist readings of the Bible. Find someone you trust and talk to them about your journey. Be patient with yourself and follow your heart–I wish you the best of luck!

***
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04.28.2016
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Feminism & Finding Yourself: A review of 'Juliet Takes a Breath'

by Aisha

Like many other writers, I have loved to read from a young age. For as long as I can remember I’d pick up books and read them cover to cover, finding joy in them whether they were picture books or chapter books. But although I loved reading, I could never see myself in the books I read. The closest I ever came early on to a story with complex black characters was The Secret Life of Bees, and that was a book about a white girl and her perspective on the black women she was around. Eventually, like Marley Dias, I grew tired of reading books about “white boys and their dogs.”

This is why Gabby Rivera’s Juliet Takes a Breath is so revolutionary. A story about a Puerto Rican lesbian from The Bronx? And she isn’t a background character or a  racist trope? Hearing about the story was a dream, and reading it was a dream come true. Finally, a queer girl of color on the forefront, with a loud and unapologetic voice. I can’t believe it’s taken so long.

Juliet Palante is 19 years old, asthmatic, and gay – and she’s embarking on the most important summer of her life across the country in Portland, Oregon (home of hippies and feminist bookstores). Living with and interning under her favorite feminist author, Harlowe Brisbane, means that she’s going to be learning about the power of her vulva and body positivity. An array of extremely entertaining characters surround her, and their radiant personalities jostle Juliet into figuring out who she should be, eventually shining a light on who she really is. Whether it’s her mother telling her that her sexuality is just a phase, or Harlowe encouraging Juliet to be the rags-to-riches feminist from the hood that she see her as, Juliet holds her own. And that’s what is so compelling about her.

I can honestly say that I have never read a book about a chubby brown gay girl who was confident in herself and her values. Not only is Juliet secure (well, as secure as a newly out 19 lesbian can be) but she’s also knows she doesn’t know everything. She can be clumsy and awkward with her words and with her actions. That’s where I found I related with her most. Gabby Rivera was amazing in conveying the uncertainty and immaturity of adolescence while still creating a memorable and loveable character. I relate to her feeling of betrayal when she finds out that the Puerto Ricans in West Side Story were played by white actors, her feeling of belongingness when she met black feminist Zaira, and her discovery that polyamory made sense to her. Juliet’s bewilderment in response to the super liberal ways of Portland – i.e. casual nudity and the collective white feminist worship of Harlowe Brisbane – was highly relatable and laugh-out-loud funny at times. Especially when those incidents were coupled with her frequent asthma attacks.

Many of the social justice aspects of the book resonate with me. Today in 2016, a lot of kids my age are involved in social justice and consider ourselves socially and racially aware – but Juliet’s story takes place in the early 2000s and, despite her interest in feminism, and despite her being gay, she isn’t entirely sure what her identity means to herself and others. When she first arrives at Harlowe’s, she is asked by someone she only just met, “So Juliet, how do you identify? What are your preferred gender pronouns?” Juliet is understandably dumbfounded. It reminded me of watching Orange Is the New Black for the first time. I thought of myself as a woke, sexually fluid feminist girl, but I realized I had a lot to learn when I saw the transgender character Sophia. Juliet’s discomfort and hesitation to not offend really spoke to me and made her more likeable – because no activist is perfect.

Perhaps most important is the originality of this book. There are a few twists and turns not only in the plot but also in the characters themselves – particularly in Juliet. She is not a perfect feminist – in fact, at one point she asks her cousin Ava, “Um, Ava, don’t all women have vaginas?” – proving that she still has lots to learn, and is willing to learn it all. In this way, Juliet Takes a Breath is a coming-of-age story like no other, one that speaks to not only queer brown girls, but to all young feminist girls.

In searching for books featuring characters like me, I grew tired of the same old story. I grew tired of not being able to find my type of feminism, my not-thin, sexuality-questioning, girl of color type of feminism. And I found it in Juliet. I found it when she realized that Harlowe, her feminist role model, might not have a feminism that was for her. I found it when she held her ground and told her mother that who she loved was not a phase. Most of all, I found it when Juliet stood up to Harlowe, realizing that she couldn’t allow her story to be defined by or taken away by anyone else.

Towards the end of the book, Juliet is asked, “Will you speak your truth, Juliet?” That question really encompasses the book and its importance. I saw myself in Juliet because she spoke her truth, and I felt empowered to do the same. That’s what this all comes down to. We need stories like Juliet’s because we need queer girls – specifically queer girls of color – to see themselves, and to see their stories told without apology. Juliet’s story not only spoke to my heart, but it also made me feel, as a writer and aspiring novelist, more ready and inspired to write my own stories and speak my truth to the world.

***
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04.5.2016
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“So I’m a nonbinary trans man and I’m starting college next year. At college I want to start going by my preferred name and pronouns, maybe presenting a bit more masculine, etc. BUT. I’m confused on one thing… Should I tell people I’m trans when I meet them? Like, I don’t want to like, have to explain what being trans is or stuff right when I meet people, especially since I have trouble with social anxiety already. But I’m worried they might assume I’m a girl if I don’t explain.”

-Question submitted by Anonymous

Liam Lowery Says:

Hi there, Anonymous. As a non-binary trans man who started going by my preferred name and pronouns in college, I’m glad you reached out with this question. The fact that you’re reaching out at all indicates you have your stuff far more together than I did as an incoming freshman, but I will tell you the top three things I wish I had known when I started undergrad.

The first and most important thing I can tell you is to let people pleasantly surprise you.

When I rolled into my all-girls dorm and met my lady roommate, I stutteringly told her I was trans Actually, I may have said, “I’m a dude, kind of like inside?” I braced for impact, assuming she would ask to change rooms. Instead, she said “cool” and asked me if I wanted to order pizza. Don’t discount that you can get lucky.

What’s more, all the women in my dorm who I feared would shun me were friendly and generally disinterested in my gender identity. That’s because from the first week on, we had papers to write, philosophy texts to read, passages in Russian to translate (maybe that was just me). On top of that, people were hooking up, fighting, and going to Taco Night at the cafeteria. Which is to say that once you are in school and dealing with the day-to-day, it will likely not be as challenging as it seems in the abstract.

My advice is to practice your script for when you meet people initially. Maybe you want to say you’re non-binary, maybe you just want to say your name and preferred pronouns. It will probably change, but the important thing is that you set boundaries for your everyday interactions and introductions that are comfortable for you. Once you do this a few times, you will get used to it and feel out how much you want to say and when.

Now, to the second big thing I wish I’d realized sooner. There is a major pitfall to be wary of, especially as a trans person: you will feel pressure to do the unpaid work of educating people when there are others who are tasked with that responsibility. Try not to fall into this role.

Early in my time in undergrad, when I did happen upon some poor unfortunate soul who had no clue what gender identity was and had never heard the word trans before, I would talk with them at length about gender identity and why it mattered. I had at least thirty of these conversations in my first month of school, I kid you not. It left me feeling burnt out and unsatisfied.

Here is the thing, Anonymous: you are at school to learn, just like everyone else. And hopefully, have a blast and make a lot of friends. But you are not there to be anyone’s personal gender identity educator, even if you happen to be an expert in the subject area.

Looking back, I realize that those people who had burning questions about what gender pronouns are should have just googled it. I mean, give me a break here—gender pronouns are what they sound like!

Asking me those simplistic questions just because they knew I was trans was disrespectful of my time. If nobody is paying you to do that educational work and there are a lot of great resources available to people who want to be allies, you do not need to be that resource. Stepping into that role instills an expectation that trans people exist to educate cis people. If you want to get involved on your campus, advocate for your school to include a transgender 101 training at orientation so that all students will get some info on trans identities—that would reach more people than a one-on-one chat with you.

The other important pitfall to side-step is one I never realized until I was done with school, and it might be even more important than the whole “you are not everyone’s gender professor” thing.

My RA didn’t really get it when I told her it was important that she take the sign with my given name off the door. Instead of complaining to the building manager, I ripped it off and put up on that said Liam in big, honking block letters. I did that, more or less, all through college: I would email professors at the beginning of the semester and ask them to change my name on their class rosters. Usually they would, sometimes they wouldn’t. I would get called by my given name in class, be embarrassed, and stop participating. Or if I felt brave that day, I would clear my throat and say, “Actually, I’m Liam.”

Those moments were far from personal triumphs. What I should have realized is that there were salaried staff members at my university tasked with helping students—including me—deal with administrative issues. By making my problems and myself invisible, I was giving them a free pass not to engage with the issues transgender students often face at colleges.

Look for opportunities to lessen your load so you can take full advantage of being a college student. For instance, contact a dean at your school and ask them to inform professors about your preferred name. Let people do their jobs for you, and by extension you will show them how to do it for other trans students.

There you go, Anonymous—those are the things I wish I knew when I started school that have remained relevant (at times, too relevant) since graduating. Good luck at college, and remember: you’re there to learn and occasionally have fun!

***
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03.23.2016
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