Right. When last we left off, I, the transfeminist known as C. L. Minou was ranting about...something. Can't remember now, and the archives are too far away. But. I've never yet run out of something to rant about! Howabout...sharing personal information that could get a person killed! That sounds like a worthy rant! But that could never be defensible, right? I mean, that would be totally unethical.
What. Huh? RandyCohensaidwhat?
Yes, folks, the New York Times has taken one of its occasional glances at trans folk and returned to tell the world to not worry, we really are all freaks. Yes indeedy! This time the vessel of righteousness was Randy Cohen, the, um, ethicist of the Times Magazine's column...The Ethicist.
Let's take a looksy, eh?
"I am a straight woman, and I was set up on a date with a man. We got along well initially, but I grew concerned about how evasive he was about his past. I did some sophisticated checking online — I do research professionally — and discovered that he is a female-to-male transgendered individual. I then ended our relationship. He and I live in Orthodox Jewish communities. (I believe he converted shortly after he became a man.) I think he continues to date women within our group. Should I urge our rabbi to out this person? NAME WITHHELD, N.Y."
Whoa hoa, there, sister! I can't blame you for doing a little research on someone you're dating--I mean, it's scary out there, ain't it? And hey, no particular hard feelings about you breaking it off--most people cannot handle the innate and acquired fabulousness of the trans individual, and oh by the way we're better off not dating bigots, mmmkay? But...out this guy to the community? WTF? Since when is it any business of yours, madam? I mean, you wouldn't even have known had you not done some "sophisticated checking" (i.e. in depth invasion of this guy's privacy), so clearly this wasn't information to be shared at random.
And Randy Cohen agrees! "You should not prompt a public announcement about his being transgendered."
But...oh God he didn't stop there:
"Changed religion and sex? I feel emotionally exhausted if I get a new sport coat. But although this person behaved badly by not being more forthcoming with you, he is still entitled to some privacy."
Behaved badly?
WTF?
Hola, Randy. Sit down with me at the kitchen table...er, I don't have one, just the desk I keep in the kitchen. Let's sit on the couch. Comfy? Great. Okay, here's the deal: why the hell do I have to tell someone about the most heart-wrenching, difficult thing I've ever done, on the first freaking date?
Oh, right. To protect your precious straight selves.
Hey, Randy: did you know that some people don't like trans people? And that sometimes they react badly to it? Like, you know, beating the tar out of them? Or raping them? Or killing them? Or that delightful combination of all three? Do you think that maybe there's a reason trans folks aren't always forthcoming?
And also: I bet you've been on more than one first date in your life. Yes? More than a few? How many of those went to a second date. Not as many, right? And a third? And a year-long relationship? Yeah, those are hard to find, especially in New York. I know. No, it is tough. Um. Hey, don't cry, kid. Let me get you a cup of coffee.
So, right, where were we? Geez, don't mist up again. My point was that not too many first dates ever grow into anything other than a cup of coffee--don't get that look in your eyes, this is an intervention, not a date--or a glass of wine in a noisy and soulless bôite. So again: why should I tell all about C. L., any more than you're going to tell about the time you couldn't get a condom on in time and ruined a perfectly good evening?
Um, hypothetically speaking, that is.
Wait, you disagree? You compare being trans to having a STD? WTF, Randy:
"But as partners cultivate romance, and particularly as they move toward erotic involvement, there are things each should reveal, things they would not mention to a casual acquaintance — any history of S.T.D.’s, for example, or the existence of any current spouse. Even before a first kiss, this person should have told you those things that you would regard as germane to this phase of your evolving relationship, including his being transgendered. Clearly he thought you’d find it pertinent; that’s why he discreditably withheld it, lest you reject him."
Fercryin' out loud. If this was about a straight man not talking about, say, his horrendous divorce twenty years ago on the first date, I'll betcha you'd be okay. But it's those freaky trans folk that have to brand themselves with a scarlet T lest some poor straight person ever accidentally like us.
Look, I'm generally free with disclosure--this girl I'm dating? I told her before our first date. But that's me. I'm an internet trans legend. OK, an unknown blogger! Sheesh! Your ethics kick in at weird places, Randy! Anyway, other times I haven't. I don't tell anyone at my new job, cause it's none of their business. And whether I disclose or not to an intimate partner is my business too. Your judgment really doesn't matter, does it?
Oh, and one last thing, Randy? Before you go? (Sorry--didn't know you were allergic to the Army of Household Cats I have.) The -feminist part of being a transfeminist notes that you gave this advice, I bet, because you didn't consider it possible for a straight woman to hurt a man, even a trans man. Oh yes you did. Would you tell a trans woman to always out herself? Even if doing so might mean that soon everyone in her community might know? And that might get her raped, killed, or rapednkilled? I mean damn, it's bad enough that you think it's totes okay for this woman to share this with her friends, some who are undoubtedly in this guy's congregation, and therefore put him at extreme risk of being outed. Would you out a gay person like that? The atheist spouse of a regular synagogue-goer? Someone who has had plastic surgery?
Just how much personal information is cool for the world to know, Randy?
What's...ethical here?
Or are there two sets of ethics, one for trans folks and one for the norms...er, cis people?
Don't worry about getting back to me. I don't read your column anyway.
(...to the full post)
Federal court rejects DOMA,
and pre-qual process for trans folks seeking hormone therapy/surgery endure rough road (duh) for the week.
Y'all may have noticed that posts are trickling in more and more, and that's because...BELOW THE BELT is BACK! As promised, we've returned, we're refreshed and revitalized. We're actually making some really exciting structural changes to increase content, article quality and oversight, and expand the reach of our pretty fantastic content and discussion (if I don't say so myself).
Most notably, aqueertheory and theycallmevroom (formerly bitchzarro) are now editors! The three of us now manage content, and we're all working on some really exciting new writers to add to our palette of pink. That said, we wholeheartedly encourage you to email us if you have even the slightest interest of contributing. We're more than happy to talk through your possible fit with the blog based on your own interests and background.
(...to the full post)
Repent, my brothers, sisters, and those in between. The end of reappropriation is at hand.
It should come as no surprise to you (I would hope) that “fag” will be the first word lost to the void of cultural assimilation. That much is not prophecy. You've been all over the place trying to take that word back. But alas, beneath those angry e-mails to Comedy Central and awkward office place lectures to your cubemate the word has flourished on the website 4Chan, where the site's users have become so well trained at self deprecation that they've come to use the word to describe themselves.
You see, on 4Chan, “fag” has become somewhat of an honorific, much like “-san” or “-chan” in the Japanese language. If you're from Australia, you are known as an “ausfag”. Fond of music? You're a musicfag. Christfag. Macfag. Straightfag. No, don't rewind the scene, you heard that correctly. Straightfag. There is a place on the internet where (presumably) cis heterosexual men identify themselves as “fags”. Again, this isn't name calling. These are titles that people give themselves. If you can find a clearer example of cultural appropriation by an oppressor, then I will steal the hat off the nearest person and eat it in front of them.
Granted, I would argue that this word was lost long before 4Chan, or even the internet, for that matter. Sexual pejoratives are unique in that you don't actually need someone of that identity in the room for people to feel entitled to use it. A room full of white people are not likely to call each other, or themselves, or random inanimate objects the “n word” (unless it's a room full of white rappers, which shouldn't happen in the first place because I'm pretty sure that's why I pay taxes). I shouldn't have to tell you how painfully different this is from words like “fag” or “dyke” or “homo”. While visiting my point of origin Phoenix, Arizona, last week, I witnessed my friend, a grown man who has several LGBT acquaintances and considers himself “down with the cause”, call his toaster a “faggot”, and me a “double faggot” when I beat him at Mario Kart. Apparently I am twice the homosexual that a burned English muffin ever will be. Mama be so proud.
Before you thumb your nose at me, allow the opportunity to adjust your attitude for you. The anonymity of 4Chan does not diminish or short sell its impact on our current culture. Not even a little a bit. 4Chan is perhaps the most relevant non social networking website on the webs today. We're talking about a community of true neutral adventurers who shut down JFK airport with phony bomb threats with one hand and fight The Church of Scientology with the other. Only a fool would downplay the sheer strength of internet manpower it takes to bring Rick Astley's career back from the dead. It is a club with no membership roster that spans the entire fucking free world and Texas. Eating out, riding public transit, anywhere you go, there is Anonymous. You can practically see them from space.
And don't shake what little faith I have left in you by thinking that this trend will not migrate over to the meatspace. That's what the internet does. It modifies the analog, flesh and bone world to better emulate itself. Them's the breaks, kiddo. It's not that bizarre at all to imagine cis hetero folk calling themselves “fags” in public unironically. And if its usage spreads, the word will lose all its original meaning. It will be too ambiguous to reclaim. What are you supposed to do? Put an accent or write it in italics when you intend the homosexual definition? You better put your top minds to it, because I sure as hell don't have any answers. I've been up all night thinking of what I can call my genitalia without triggering half my blog readership, and I require their pageviews for sustenance. If I wanted to solve problems I would have pursued my plans to be an academic.
So what's the moral of this somewhat bleak and erratic rant? It might do us, as a community, some good to just look at LOLcats, count to ten, and hug it out. When one considers how much of our culture is usurped and assimilated by cis hetero society on a daily basis, the good that all this self-policing does amounts to less than nothing. So much less than nothing it would require us all to retake Calculus just to properly define it. In other words, just stop. Let the trans men call themselves trannies and the gay-male-identified women call themselves girlfags. Stop spell-checking the bi folk. Let everyone enjoy our language and culture before it becomes meaningless.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to change my phone number and fake my death.
(...to the full post)
There is a trend in the media and the communal dialogue around queer families which has begun to postulate that having children via surrogacy is more desirable, more natural, or more socially acceptable than adoption (at least amongst gay couples). From Gary and Tony Have a Baby, to Kevin and Scotty's odyssey in impregnating their surrogate in ABC's Brothers and Sisters, surrogacy for gay men is increasingly being sold as the BMW of baby making. But what are the real consequences and costs of these decisions? Surrogacy is still a relatively uncommon practice for gay men, but I bet if you polled gay male couples today whether they'd prefer to have a child through surrogacy or adoption, I bet that surrogacy would come out on top.
The Economic Imperative
Babies cost money. There's no question about that. The US Department of Agriculture estimates that a family making around $70k will spend over a quarter million dollars ($269,520 to be precise) raising a child from birth to age 17. And that's only if you have all the working parts needed for baby making (i.e. sperm, egg, and gestational carrier). Straight folk get off easy (assuming everyone's bits are working properly), and lesbians can get by since they usually own the hardware (the gestational carrier) and only need a relatively easy-to-procure component. Having a baby becomes more costly and complicated for gay men because they typically only have access to only one of the three components to make a baby, the sperm.
With the knowledge that raising even one child is an enormous task, emotionally and economically, it comes to bear that the health of a family and the child to be is greatly affected by a family's ability to take on those childcare costs. It would stand, that it is in the interest of the child that a couple looking to make an addition to the family has the largest amount of disposable income possible to assure the best quality of life for the child. It therefore becomes economically irresponsible for a couple to spend exorbitant sums of money in the procurement of a child before it even exists. The economic imperative then becomes for families to have children in whichever manner is the most economically efficient (within reason of course).
For most heterosexual couples this course of action is relatively straight forward. It costs virtually nothing for a fertile man to impregnate a fertile woman. Throw in a few dollars for some lube and a copy of the kama sutra, and wham, bham, thank you ma'am... you got a baby. Lesbian couples have the most expensive components of the babymaking process (eggs and gestational carrier), so the cost of a vial of sperm from an fertility agency runs about $180-$250. Overall, relatively negligible. However, for gay male couples the options for expanding their families are much more costly.
The average cost of an international adoption is between $20,000 and $45,000. The cost falls with domestic adoptions which usually run in the $20,000-$25,000 range. And the cost to adopt via the foster care system is virtually nothing (although the foster system comes with its own risks).
The cost of surrogacy on the other hand are astronomical in comparison. According to my internet sleuthing I found that most surrogacy births run total costs between $60,000 to $80,000 in a best case scenario. However Gary and Tony reportedly spent over $110,000 in their quest for a surrogacy birth. Gary and Tony have effectively increased their childcare costs by over 40%... before their child was even born.
Some might say that if you have the money, than you should be free to spend it however you like. While I agree with that to a large extent, it is important to acknowledge the opportunity costs of that choice. $110,000 in surrogacy costs is $110,000 you're not putting towards a college fund for your kid, or investing in your child's healthcare should any medical complications arise. A safety fund of $110,000 is an enormous boon to a child and its parents. So when a couple decides to opt for surrogacy over other methods, it's important to ask what they are giving up.
The Legal Quagmire
Legally speaking, surrogacy, especially for gay couples, is extremely complex and a veritable minefield of legal nightmares. From the get go, eleven states in the US outlaw surrogacy outright (including Gary and Tony's native New York). On top of that laws covering parental rights, adoption, and family law are increasingly complicated as states attempt to define where their jurisdictions lie. Take a look at this example from about.com's Deborah Wald:
"Now look at this same scenario for a gay couple. Ohio is a "super-DOMA" state, having passed a statute providing that: "The recognition or extension by the state of the specific statutory benefits of a legal marriage to nonmarital relationships between persons of the same sex or different sexes is against the strong public policy of this state...." Under Ohio law, a married couple using a gestational carrier would be able to claim parentage from birth, based on a combination of genetics and marital presumptions. A gay couple will not be able to make this same claim in Ohio, because of the Ohio DOMA; nor does Ohio allow adoptions by gay couples. So a gay couple using an Ohio surrogate will have to establish legal parentage for at least one of the intended fathers in a different state. Since surrogacy is completely illegal in New York, New York probably isn't an option. Many surrogacy agencies and attorneys in California will encourage the couple to use the California courts to establish their parentage. But given that the couple's only contact with California is their decision to use a California surrogacy agency, it is highly questionable whether California courts actually have jurisdiction over the case.
Take another example: A gay male couple chooses to contract with a gestational carrier in a state that allows gestational surrogacy. This state has a statute providing that the mother-child relationship can be established by a woman giving birth or by DNA tests. For a straight couple in this situation, the intended mother will generally also be the genetic mother (i.e. she will have had her own eggs fertilized and implanted in the gestational carrier), so both women will have legal claims to maternity. In these cases, the intended mother almost always wins due to genetics and/or the original intent of the parties. However, for the gay male couple, the gestational carrier will be the only woman with a claim to maternity, and if she wishes to assert this claim it is not at all clear that intent for the child to have two fathers will defeat this claim - especially in a state that is less-than-hospitable to gay families."
As you can see, it is incredibly easy for any of these legal proceedings to become complicated by unexpected events by any party involved. In Gary and Tony's case it seems to have gone quite smoothly, but what would have happened if either the genetic mother or the gestational mother had refused to sign over their maternity rights? The law is very unclear on how such a dispute would be settled, and there have already been cases where gestational carriers or egg donors have sued for custody and parental rights for children years after the birth. There is very little concrete legal action that can protect a gay couple absolutely from these kinds of legal threats.
The Human Rights Crisis
While questions of the darker side of the surrogacy industry are still being investigated and brought to light, the industry as a whole is relatively young and therefore the fears about issues like human trafficking for surrogacy are low as of now. However, as costs of healthcare and thus surrogacy rise in the post-industrial West, capitalism works its natural course and has already begun to outsource its surrogacy costs to the developing world.
According to multiple press outlets, including the Affiliated Press, the practice of "surrogate farming" is a rapidly growing industry in India, where large groups of women are brought together to act as surrogates for couples looking to adopt. The regulations around this industry are virtually non-existent. And as Indian women become increasingly desperate as environmental and economic pressures force them from their rural communities, the fears about possible human trafficking for surrogates grows. Currently, companies like Surrogacy Abroad only bill couples $20,000 for the total costs - a price that pails in comparison to Gary and Tony's $110,000 price tag.
The implications of a "rent-a-womb" scenario in India is a dangerous one, yet unfortunately follows in step with much of the trends of outsourcing have been. Developed countries outsource the risks and costs of a trade that has become to menial or costly to produce domestically and therefore turn to the developing world to take on the burdens it no longer wishes to hold. By engaging in the increasingly popular outsourcing of pregnancy, surrogacy literally paves a way for colonizing women's bodies in developing countries and reaping their fruits with far reduced pay.
Radicalism qua Traditionalism
In Gary and Tony Have a Baby, Soledad O'Brien glibly comments that the most radical thing a gay couple can do right now is to have a baby, a very traditional act. I would challenge the notion that two men raising a baby is a progressive radical act, and rather much more of a regressive act of assimilation. Much in the same way that the gay marriage crowd likes to claim that gay marriage will solve a bevy of ills which plague the gay community (including promiscuity, STD and HIV infection rates, homophobia, discrimination, etc.) much of this rhetoric emulates similar marriage rhetoric that came out of the 1950s.
Heterosexual marriage advocates during the 1950s and earlier had long argued that marriage was an essential part of their society's fabric. That marriage provided a stabilizing force with which to tame the free-wheeling and uncontrollable passions of the working man. Where an unmarried man might be less committed to his job because he only needs to support himself, a married man is chained to his job because he bears responsibility for his entire family. So it became widely spread that a married man was a more stable, more employable, and more desirable. And now, 60 some years later, we are getting the same rhetoric shoved down our throats by the gay mainstream.
This same rhetoric of radical traditionalism is being applied here to surrogacy. That by creating families that replicate the nuclear model of father, mother, and genetically congruous children, we generate more equality for our community. However, this "return to normalcy" is in fact an attempt to emulate a model which was structured to cause workers to be more reliant on their employers and to transfer power from individuals to corporations.
The Death of Chosen Families
One of the queer movement's responses to the sickeningly cookie-cutter life of 1950s America was the generation of the idea of chosen families. These were families that were determined not by kinship, biology, or genetics. They were created organically and intentionally. These families were made up of close, life long friendships which surpassed the thresholds of mere sex or romance, but were deep, committed, and in the end life-saving relationships that arguably brought the gay community through the AIDS crisis.
By returning to a model where kinship is king, genetics are golden, and biology is best, we simultaneously destroy one of the most powerful and radical developments of our community - the notion that our families are not pre-determined fixed relationships. Family is what we make of it. Family is who we choose to love and who we choose to commit to. Our families can come in all kinds of shapes and sizes to address all kind of needs and responsibilities.
But now as the mainstream gay community flocks to the dream of gay marriage and surrogacy-generated families, it becomes very clear that the actual radical family models that were hard fought for by our forebears in the queer community is all but lost on the new generation.
Conclusions
While Gary and Tony have every right to create a family using whichever method they desire, I caution us against viewing their experience as the archetype for gay male couples. As Bil Browning has already discussed, the vast majority of gay male couples have children through adoption (either international, domestic or through the foster system). Even CNN acknowledged this fact in their special, citing that Gary and Tony will join only roughly 1,000 other gay men who have had a child via surrogacy. 1,000 people, not 1,000 couples even.
Surrogacy is indeed a relative rarity, not only due to its exorbitant costs, but also because of its other problematic elements. And on top of all of this, adoption saves lives. There are so many children born into the world without loving homes that for gay couples seeking children to choose a process which depletes their resources and the well-being of their child-to-be, further traditionalizes the radical queer movement, and deprives an already living child of a loving home, is (at least for me) personally unconscionable.
That is why I will only ever adopt.
(...to the full post)
- bell hooks, from “Madonna: Plantation Mistress or Soul Sister?"
The blogosphere has hailed Lady Gaga as the empress of the queer revolution. She has been called the “queer army’s” most devoted soldier for her various engagements on behalf of the U.S. gay rights movement. And her latest video for the song “Telephone” has received almost universal praise as “a cavalcade of queerness” and an embodiment of Judith Butler’s attempts to theoretically decouple the phallus from the penis. Some writers have even tried to overlook Gaga’s ignorance about feminism, deeming her to be one of those closet feminists, who adheres to the ideology without taking on the much-maligned label.
Amidst all this fawning, critical voices have barely been heard. This is why I would like to pose a series of questions about Ms. Gaga that will hopefully move the discussion somewhere beyond the realms of sycophancy. How progressive is Lady Gaga’s message for women? How can we characterize her engagement on behalf of “the gays” (as she calls them)? What role does the pink dollar play in her devotion to LGBT rights? Is her advocacy for the queer cause genuine, informed, and critical, or is she “bluffin’ with our muffin” – adopting queerness in a cavalier manner for the purpose of fanbase development?
This post is unfortunately not based on an exhaustive study of Gaga’s oeuvre and public persona. Its purpose is to use anecdotal insights to stimulate more debate and inspire people to engage critically with her. In a dialogue about Paul Haggis’ Crash, bell hooks said that this fairly racist film is seductive to African-American audiences because “[their] pain and suffering…is being ignored. Black viewers [are] moved by the fact that someone would take the time to portray [their] sense of violation.”
Similarly, I would argue that LGBT communities are likely to be so moved by someone who bothers to stand up for them that they might then uncritically accept such a person as a symbol of progress and a leader of the movement. It is with this insight in mind that I present the following observations about Lady Gaga. While her advocacy for LGBT rights is certainly admirable, I am skeptical about the extent to which she can be called a revolutionary and I doubt that she is substantially different from other pop stars, such as Madonna, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and Rihanna.
“There’s a stigma about feminism that’s a little bit man-hating…”
Perhaps the most objectionable aspect of the Lady Gaga persona is its ostentatious anti-feminism. She has, at various stages, proudly proclaimed that she is “not a feminist,” because that would prevent her from being a “sexy, beautiful woman who can f--- her man after she makes him dinner.” Feminism would also imply being “a little bit man-hating” and Gaga “[doesn’t] promote hatred, ever.” Not only does she abhor hating men, she “love[s]” them and “celebrate[s] American male culture, beer, bars and muscle cars.”
Does she realize, however, that the straight men’s U.S. culture she adoringly refers to is riddled with homophobia? The symbiosis between American masculinity and hatred of queers is nothing new, and it should not take reading Michael Kimmel’s excellent article, “Masculinity as Homophobia,” to understand this. If Gaga’s commitment to the gay community is as unwavering as she says, how can she then laud a cultural institution that is, to a large extent, founded on homophobic practices?
Furthermore, it is crucial to ask: in what ways, exactly, is her message progressive for women? Does she expand women’s role in pop music away from the obligation to take their clothes off, gyrate sexually, and dabble in touchy-feely-smoochiness with the nearest female? Gaga appears to embrace these imperatives of heteronormativity and patriarchy. In fact, in the majority of her music videos, she capitulates to at least one of these requirements of modern female pop stardom, which puts her on a par with the Britney Spearses and Christina Aguileras of this world. Her fashion choices may be kooky and experimental, but at its core, the message is the same: strip off, dance around seductively, dabble in a bit of bisexuality, and you will find your way to stardom. Obviously, this does not explain all of her success (a lot of quality singing, dancing, and art is involved as well), but the notion that a certain amount of sexualization is the sine qua non of being a woman in pop music goes unquestioned.
Nevertheless, the situation may be somewhat more complex than this. In a recent interview with Ann Powers of the Los Angeles Times, Gaga claims that she infuses her music videos with a sense of grotesqueness, thus undermining what would otherwise be a standard sexualized portrayal of a female artist. She moves beyond it by questioning the presumed naturalness of feminine beauty standards and exposing the violence inherent in the way the music industry treats women. The video for “Bad Romance,” Gaga says, is about “how the entertainment industry can, in a metaphorical way, simulate human trafficking -- products being sold, the woman perceived as a commodity.” In the video, Gaga appears in various states of undress, being sold into sex slavery. But her form is given reptilian contours and any sexualized voyeurism is tempered with monstrous scenes, such as the brutal killing of the man she is eventually prostituted off to.
But while Gaga does show that there is something seedy and disgusting about the way pop music sells and sexualizes women, she does not present any real alternatives. The current system might have some serious downsides for women, but ultimately, there is no real solution in sight. And she operates comfortably within this exploitative system, as the following statement from the Ann Powers interview shows: “Me embodying the position that I’m analyzing is the very thing that makes it powerful.”
It has also frequently been noted that Lady Gaga’s clothing and style is inspired less by the sexualized feminine fashions of mainstream pop stars than by drag queens, artsy designers and other oddball subcultures. She is clearly not meant to be sexually attractive in the same way that other female pop stars are. But while there is no denying that Lady Gaga is unique, I wonder whether her difference can have any progressive impact within the context in which she performs. Ultimately, she is staged as a mainstream pop performer and her rootedness in this milieu makes a progressive interpretation of her act very difficult to achieve. As Susan Bordo points out, “subversion is contextual, historical and above all, social. No matter how exciting the ‘destabilizing’ potential of texts, bodily or otherwise, whether those texts are subversive or recuperative…cannot be determined in abstraction from actual social practice” (“Postmodern Subjects, Postmodern Bodies,” 172).
Lady Gaga's audience is thus likely to focus on those elements of her performances that the popular music context has already made them familiar with, such as the hyper-sexualization of women and femininity, the racy outfits, and the girl-on-girl action. Take the media’s response to Christina Aguilera’s latest video: many people seem to think that she is ripping off Lady Gaga. This suggests that Gaga’s own oeuvre is being perceived as more-or-less following the same old scripts for female artists.
This story from her beginnings in the music industry further illustrates this common dynamic between the performer and her audience:
“Things weren't going well for young Stefani Germanotta, an 18-year-old from the Upper West Side, at the Bitter End. It was Friday night at the famed Greenwich Village club…Set up on the piano’s soundboard, Germanotta’s own portable disco ball spun tiny shards of light and her laptop spat out beats, but no one was listening… Fuck this, thought Germanotta. I’ve got to do something. So Germanotta shrugged her shirt from her slender shoulder and pulled it over her head. She tugged off her skirt. The little Italian firecracker sat on stage in the Village in her fishnets and her underwear and sang. The audience was gape-mouthed and agog, unsure whether this was part of the act or not. They gawked and, almost unwittingly, began to nod their heads to the music. They were hooked. Later, Germanotta would identify that moment as a turning point.”
“…because of the gay community, I’m where I am today…”
How does Lady Gaga fare on the issue of LGBT rights? On this topic, there is more to admire. Her commitment to last year’s National March for Equality was impressive, especially since other queer and queer-friendly celebrities, such as Madonna and Elton John, were not involved. And she has made no secret of her affinity for gay culture. “I feel intrinsically inclined toward a more gay lifestyle,” Gaga said in an interview with Out, and went on to add: “I always sort of joke that my real motivation is to just turn the world gay.” This frank queer-friendliness is not limited to interviews with LGBT publications. For instance, Gaga is famous for ending her award acceptance speeches with an emphatic thank you to “God and the Gays.”
But is all this really that different from what other celebrities have done in the past? After all, Madonna has spoken out in favor of gay rights during her concerts, written queer-themed songs, and incorporated queer culture into her performances. Christina Aguilera has voiced her opposition to California’s ban on same-sex marriage and written favorably about gay rights. In fact, if we look at the number of celebrities who have come out against Proposition 8, it becomes clear that supporting the LGBT community is no longer such an outlandish thing to do. Gaga is, therefore, definitely not a trailblazer.
Furthermore, we have to ask, how much of Lady Gaga’s support for queers is motivated by fanbase development? Aside from mentioning the “it’s always wrong to hate, but never wrong to love” argument, she seems to justify her support for LGBT rights as a form of payback to her gay devotees. “The turning point for me was the gay community,” Gaga quipped in an interview for MTV, “I’ve got so many gay fans and they’re so loyal to me and they really lifted me up. They’ll always stand by me and I’ll always stand by them. It’s not an easy thing to create a fanbase…” She says virtually the same thing in an interview with Out magazine: “When I started in the mainstream, it was the gays that lifted me up. I committed myself to them and they committed themselves to me, and because of the gay community, I’m where I am today.”
To be sure, there is nothing necessarily bad about this approach. In fact, it is a confirmation of Harvey Milk’s theory that gays can basically use their strength in numbers (and corresponding economic clout) to leverage support from society. But this is not the most earth-shattering strategy. While Lady Gaga’s loyalty to her fans is laudable, her support for them is, at least to some extent, founded on economic and artistic interests, and not on a desire to radically reconfigure the gender and sexual order in society. Furthermore, when Gaga tries to justify LGBT rights on ethical grounds, she actually marshals some very conservative arguments. For instance, in response to the controversy surrounding the “Telephone” video’s queer aspects, Gaga answered: “There are transsexual women and transgender women and suddenly it becomes poisonous because there are some people in this world that believe being gay is a choice. It’s not a choice, we are born this way."
And while her appearance at the National March for Equality was admirable, we have to ask: did her speech (below) have much substance?
"Hello my friends, I have seen and witnessed so many things over the past two years. And I can say with such certainty that this is the single most important moment of my career. I am humbled to stand before all of you here today. I know that some of you have been fighting or doing advocacy work that stems all the way back to the Stonewall Riots. And I salute you. And you know I love Judy Garland. I am also inspired by all the masses of young people here today – the younger generation, my generation! We are the ones coming up in the world. And we must continue to push this movement forward and close the gap. We must demand full equality for all. They say that this country is free and they say that this country is equal, but it is not equal if its only sometimes. Obama, I know that you’re listening. ARE YOU LISTENING?! We will continue to push you and your administration to bring your words of promise to a reality. We need change now. We demand actions now. And to Barney Frank, we are putting more than pressure on this grass and today this grass is ours. We will come away today and continue to do the work in our own backyards, with our local politicians. And as for my backyard: as a woman in pop music, as a woman with the most beautiful gay fans in the whole world… To do my part, I refuse to accept any misogynistic or homophobic behavior in music, lyrics or actions in the music industry. I am so very honored to have this platform here today. And I will continue to fight for full equality for all. I love you all so much. Bless God and bless the gays!"
Alejandro
It is not my intention to perform a character assassination of Lady Gaga, to suggest that pop stars should be experts in feminist ideology, or to claim that she has not had any positive influence. I am simply concerned by the increasingly common perception that Lady Gaga is a revolutionary figure, someone who has fundamentally transformed the gender and sexual landscape in pop music and taken an unprecedentedly favorable stance to the LGBT community.
As this post has shown, it is more accurate to view Gaga is a typical pop star. Her activism for the gay community is motivated (at least in part) by fanbase development, and she has done little to challenge the hypersexualization of women in mainstream pop culture. Finally, her generally pro-LGBT stance is not out of the ordinary in this day and age, and while her commitment to the rights of sexual and gender minorities is laudable, this does not make her an extraordinary figure.
Nevertheless, there is potential for improvement. Indeed, Gaga has shown a promising ability evolve and adjust her understanding of major social and cultural issues. She has recently been willing to think more carefully about feminism, telling Ann Powers that she considers herself to be “a little bit of a feminist” and commenting on the silencing of women in the music industry. She has also shown a willingness to confront homophobia in “[her] own backyard” (as she promised in her National March for Equality speech), characterizing 50 Cent’s homophobic comments as “sad,” and pouring a drink over someone who attacked her for befriending “that faggot,” Adam Lambert. She also claims to have offered the following proviso to Kanye West before going on tour with him: “I just want to be clear before we decide to do this together: I’m gay. My music is gay. My show is gay. And I love that it’s gay. And I love my gay fans and they’re all going to be coming to our show. And it’s going to remain gay.”
Lady Gaga is indeed a promising figure. But does her latest video, for the song “Alejandro,” live up to the potential? Initially, I was very impressed with it. I had read that Gaga sees the video as “a celebration and an admiration of gay love, [as a confession of her] envy of the courage and bravery [her gay friends] require to be together.” And it is indeed possible to interpret “Alejandro” in this way. The funeral scene could be perceived as a symbol of mourning for the victims of homophobic violence, while the forceful physical interactions between the male dancers could represent the undercurrent of competition and homophobic violence underpinning relations between men in European and American societies. The fact that these men are able to cavort around on beds wearing high heels in a subsequent scene (and later, touch each other) pays homage to the “courage and bravery” that men have to display in overcoming homophobic masculinity and becoming sexually linked with other men.
But the more I watch “Alejandro,” the more I am convinced that this interpretation is highly questionable. It has nothing to do with the lyrics of the song, which are about a woman managing the ups-and-downs of love affairs, and on closer inspection, it becomes clear that the video also focuses on this theme. In the funeral scene, Gaga positions herself as an abandoned wife or girlfriend, stricken with grief over the literal or figurative loss of “Alejandro,” who is represented by the man sitting on the bed, holding a gun to his crotch. The video then explores two possible responses to this loss: indulgence in sexual pleasure or embodiment of saintly virginity. The former is represented by the Gaga who ogles the muscled male dancers, engages in pretend S&M games, and is finally, enthusiastically stripped naked by the a horde of men. The latter response is embodied by Gaga lying in bed in a red nun’s outfit, holding a rosary, and finally, eating the cross.
The video thus represents a dialogue between two of the stereotypically feminine responses to the loss of a lover: unrestrained sex and dedicated virginity. What is interesting about the video from a feminist perspective is that Gaga seems to be breaking down the distinction between the two, showing that there is indulgence in virginity and holiness in sexuality. This is suggested by the fast juxtaposition of black and white images of the sex scenes with the images of Gaga holding and eating the rosary – the message is that the two options (“Virgin Mary” and “Whore of Babylon”) are not as different as they seem.
Overall, the “Alejandro” video seems to be more about this than about celebrating man-on-man love. It is also perhaps more about paying homage to Madonna’s “Vogue” and Cabaret’s Liza Minelli than about developing any specific theme. Indeed, if there is a consistently “gay” topic in “Alejandro,” it is probably Lady Gaga’s own desire to get in on homoeroticism and man-on-man sex (and the assumed impossibility of doing so). As she herself said, “In the video I'm pining for the love of my gay friends - but they just don't want me.” And in that statement, she unwittingly hits on the central theme of the “Alejandro” video: herself. It would be a mistake to view it as a selfless ode to her gay friends because she puts her own persona front-and-center; her fantasies, her lyrics, her (heterosexual) love stories, and her ambitions. At the beginning of the video, she puts herself on a throne, assuming the role of a queen overseeing her subjects, and the video basically serves to further promote the idea that she is pop music royalty. There is, of course, nothing wrong with this, but it should not be mistaken for a pioneering piece of activism.
***For More Information***
For an excellent analysis of pop culture, and its relationship to gender, sexuality, and feminism, I recommend bell hooks' video series "Cultural Criticism and Transformation." Her dialogue about the movie Crash, aptly titled "Talking Trash," can also be found here. For an analysis of the symbiosis of masculinity and homophobia, Michael Kimmel's work is definitely worth checking out. Susan Bordo’s review essay, “Postmodern Subjects, Postmodern Bodies,” critiques Judith Butler’s theory of parodic acts (such as drag) having the potential to undermine presumably natural gender norms in society. She argues, along with Viviane Namaste (see the book, Invisible Lives and her numerous articles), that the subversive potential of a performance or an act is contingent on the context in which it is being performed. It would indeed be interesting to further explore the differences between Judith Butler’s approach to subversiveness and more contextualist theories, using Lady Gaga as a case study.
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The European Union’s (EU) long history dates back to the 1950s, but its engagement with LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) issues has been much shorter. It was only a decade ago that the treaty of Amsterdam empowered the EU to ‘combat discrimination based on sexual orientation.’ The dull-sounding Employment Framework Directive arose from this treaty, though its content was anything but dull. It compelled all EU states to ban discrimination against gays, lesbians and bisexuals in the field of employment. Belinda Pyke, a director at the European commission DG for Employment, Social Affairs and Inclusion, describes this as a ‘pivotal moment’, since the EU was ‘making a reality of something which was in the treaty.’ By 2003, firing someone because of their sexual orientation was illegal across the EU.
To read the rest of this article, please click here.
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No myth from Greek Classicism is complete without a good ritual sacrifice. One of the most famous of these stories is Iphigenia, the daughter of Agamemnon who was sacrificed by her father in order to appease the Goddess Artemis who had prevented the Grecian fleet from departing for their assault on Troy.Ma-Yi Theatre's production, Rescue Me: a postmodern classic with snacks by Michi Barall takes an irreverent re-examination of the Euripedean classic, Iphigenia in Tauris. The Tauris version of the play, as humorously explicated by the goddess Artemis (David Greenspan), begins with Iphigenia (Jennifer Ikeda) being spared from her sacrificial doom at the last moment; the goddess interceding and replacing her body with that of a deer, and whisking her off to the remote and "barbaric" land of the Taurians, where Iph now labors as a priestess of Artemis. Longing to return to her homeland of Greece, Iph pines over her misfortunes and monotonous life, ironically preparing human sacrifices (preferably Grecians) to the goddess and begs the fates to be rescued by her brother Orestes. Orestes (Julian Barnett), as it turns out is closer that Iph realizes. He arrives at Tauris with his bosom buddy Pylades (Ryan King) to steal the statue of Artemis from the Temple of Tauris to finally rid himself of the Furies (who persecute him for killing his mother to avenge the murder of his father... yes it's all very complicated and vaguely reminiscent of a soap opera). They are captured by the Elvis-impersonating Taurian king (Leon Ingulsrud) and his assistant (Paco Tolson) and are ordered to be sacrificed to the goddess. Will Iphigenia sacrifice her brother? Will Orestes and Pylades escape harm? Will Orestes rescue his sister Iphigenia?
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So BTB has been up and running for over four years now, and I think it's time I finally take a little break. But don't fret! This certainly doesn't mean we're gone indefinitely -- in fact, I plan to return during the summer. In the meantime, posts may go up periodically, and I'll still be accessible by email.
Thanks again, and stay tuned!
-ts
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Employers never know what they are going to get with me, or what to make of me. I know that. They sense that beneath my manners and my smile lie something else. Contempt. Maybe even hatred. I can see it in their eyes. And they are right. Because I do have my fathers 'good' manners, all but one. I have my mother's smile. The simpering smile and words that say, 'Yes, sir, No sir' in all the right ways, but something is amiss. There is something in that smile that says, "I'm going to do what you say and work this measly job because I need it to survive, but don't think for one minute that I like it, or that I respect you and don't you dare insinuate that I should be grateful. This smile is a reminder of the power imbalance between us that while unspoken, we both know is here, and I won't pretend it's not, and I won't let you play pretend either." I know that smile, and I know the rage I feel when I’m on the receiving end of it.
I'm tempted to reach out and shake the person and say, "Don't you know who you are talking to? I know that smile! I give that smile! How dare you give it to one of your own?" and then I feel a wave of shame. At who I am, who I have become and that I am unrecognizable to my own people. My mother married out of her class, married up they call it. She raised me with a deadly fear of slipping back into the poverty that she grew up with, and a push toward a more middle class existence like my father. Always in the back of demands to get good grades and go to college was the threat, her life as the example, of what I might become if I didn't "shape up and get my shit together."
"I'm never going to be like you!" I would scream when I was angry at her, at her need for me, at her lack of ability to understand how we were different. And instead of reprimanding me for disrespecting her, my mother would get silent for a moment and look down in shame. Then she would say, "That's right, don't grow up to be like me. Go to college and have a different life. I know you are going to have a different life than me."
And just like after being on the receiving end of the simpering smile, I would wash my rage down with shame. My mother pushed me to forget my roots. She told me that the world would reward me if I did. But she never told me what I would lose. What it would cost. And how confusing it would be.
So I did what she said. I went to the private school that my father's parents paid for. Fulfilling all their dreams and trying to find a way to squeeze mine in there too. Then I went to graduate school at a University on the east coast, thinking that was another way to fulfill both their dreams and mine. And when I was scared that I would flunk out and be a failure, my mother would tell me that she always knew how smart I was, and that my life would be one filled with books, and to remember, that she cleaned toilets so that I could go to school and be smart someday, and she just knew I was going to make it.
Do my parents know the kind of pressure they put on me? Did they know how alone I felt? How alone I still feel? I wasn't prepared for the world I was confronted with. People who took my accent and my femininity as a sign that I was stupid. People who expected me to come from a wealthy family, to have things I didn't have, to understand jokes and customs that were completely foreign to me. Grad school was a whole 'nother world that I didn't believe existed. I read about people like this in sociology classes, but I didn't think they were real. As trite as it sounds, I kept remembering that line about class from Dirty Dancing when classism would smack me in the face on a regular basis in ways I wasn't used to, "I know these people Baby, they're rich and they're mean."
It would enrage me, when taking a look at my pale skin and blue eyes the wealthy students of my school would assume so many things about me and my life. That I was just like them. Of course not all of them did. Some of them, schooled in the subtle signifiers of class would take note of the lack of tailoring to my clothes, the lack of expensive highlights in my hair or designer accessories and simply sneer. I wasn't prepared for the way it made me feel. Low. Dirty. No good. My mother always taught me that my intelligence and my education would allow me to jump my class if I just acted right. She didn't teach me that people would hate me because of who I was and where I came from and how to deal with that. So full of self-loathing herself, her way of dealing with classism was to pretend that it could be dealt with easily, and was not anything I needed to pay any mind to. Do people know what it's like to grow up as the product of a mixed-class marriage? How to deal with such different world views, both presented as truth, but with so much left unsaid? I wish I could find other people talking about it. I know they have to exist. I know I can't be the only one.
For my father, there was no question that I would go to college and succeed, like he had. I was certainly not going to disappoint him or anyone else in his family. I would live up to their expectations because that was simply how things were done. I could not disappoint or disgrace anyone in the family. My mother's expectation was also that I would go to college and succeed, but not because I was carrying on a family tradition. It was to break tradition, break new ground, not end up drunk or drug addicted with a shit job and children and a no-good alcoholic father who either beat them or didn't take care for them like the rest of the women in my family. I wasn't going to be like that. My mother was going to show them that she could make it and so would her children. We would live to vindicate her. To show the world that she really wasn't mixed-race trash. That she was better than that. I sure as hell better not let her down. The life that awaited me if I didn't 'make it' would be punishment enough.
All these things go through my head when I try to navigate financial decisions. Where will I work? What will I do? How will I pay my bills? What can I afford? I am never without the weight of my family's history. Their expectations and my own. When I don't live up to my own expectations of success I hear my mother screaming about getting my act together, I see my father shaking his head and disappointment, and I hear my father's parents asking me questions about my life with a sneer. They didn't want my father to marry my mother. Thought she was a whore and told her so to her face. I am never without that thought when they talk to me, their voice equal parts suspicion and hope. I know they want to know, will I turn out like my mother? Or will I be the granddaughter they want, expect and invested time and money in? Will the schooling they paid for pay off? Or will I disgrace them just like they thought, because what do you expect coming from that kind of mother?
Oh momma. I want to put your fears to rest. Dad, grandpa and grandma, I want to make you proud. I want to not care about what I know and what I don't know. What I was taught as a child, and what I've learned as an adult. I want it not to matter. I want to believe that middle-class dream my father dreams and wakes up to, which is that with the right education, will come the right job. He left out that it helps to be white, male, and upper-middle class (or higher) for this dream to come true. He's a banker’s son, and he wants to believe that this is the land of opportunity. I want to believe that my mom's admonishons were right, that if I did right, the world would do right by me. I want not to believe her rantings that would say just the opposite, that the world was shit, and would find a way to fuck me over any way it could because that's how it is, and don't nobody give a damn about me so I better get used to it.
I want the American dream. A full time job that I enjoy, am good at, that has a good benefits package - health insurance, vacation and sick days, a job with a wage that allows me to support myself and do things I've always wanted to do, like treat my chronic fatigue, get sick without fear and anxiety, join a gym, eat healthy, maybe even have a house someday, get money back on my taxes. I'm doing my best to act right and get my reward, but sometimes it feels like it's such a long time coming, that I fear it isn't coming at all.
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I wasn't terrible at it. In fact, I thought I was rather good as far as auteurs go, but I lacked the most important of all the academic artist's tools: the ability to compromise and negotiate with faculty and other people who's wants/needs were considered more important than mine. My first serious production, Conquering Neptune, a dadaist space opera about a team of astronauts who succumb to space dementia while marooned on the planet Neptune, was rejected three seperate times. This fact becomes exponentially more pathetic when you realize that during this back and forth “aproval process”, I already had a cast, props, a score which I had composed myself, and a band, all waiting on me, the writer, to get my head out of my ass long enough to bite the bullet and rewrite the script to the nice professor man's specs so they request the appropriate amount of time off from work. But I was not to be swayed. This was college. This was my time to be reckless and fight for my perceived “right” to be obnoxious and subversive. I may have been the fool for not seeing a futile battle when I saw it, but the even bigger fool turned out to be...me...again...for assuming that college professors were above editing naughty language and sexual themes in the first place.
The inky red condescension lurking about the margins of my first “final draft” indicated that the script was rejected for the use of “problematic language”. Hopefully, this was a reference to a moment where a character called another a “f-g” or made a race joke. I say “hopefully” because the dramatis personnae included a martian character, who the others would give wacky nicknames to, being unable to pronounce his real name. There was underlining or crossing out or any singling of what exactly it was that offended them so. I can only speculate, though I try not to, because if I turn out to be wrong it only strengthens my resolve to be complicated and unyielding. At the time, I believed such language was essential to the script and integrity of the play: after all, it was a farcical congratulations to the triumph of bigotry and prejudice in the face of horrible odds: even stranded on a remote fucking planet millions of miles away from Earth, people will find a reason not to cooperate.
My play ends with everyone dying. There's no redemption to be had. And I think therein lied my problem: nobody learned a lesson about how harmful words can be. Gran Torino exists for no other purpose than to let Clint Eastwood show off just how many slurs for Asian people he knows, but because he learns that's it not okay to judge people based on their race in the end, and befriends the Hmong next door and dies to protect them, it's okay. It's okay to illicit giggles from doofy hipster kids who've never heard the word “g—k” spoken aloud as long as there's some lesson, even if only the character learns it as the audience remains blissfully ignorant. But when Quintin Tarantino uses the “n word” in Pulp Fiction, suddenly he's a racist. Garth Ennis' The Boys, a comic series about a gay slur-spouting sociopath who blackmails superheroes with evidence of their homosexual relationships, was nominated for a fucking GLAAD award, because Garth Ennis had the foresight to add a line or two about how it's more hypocritical to call people out on problematic language and then be prejudiced again than it is to just use problematic language. But you'd have to put your head next to an artillery cannon and deafen yourself to drown out the complaints The Sopranos got for its too realistic for comfort depiction of homophobia. At some point, we as a society must accept that we can't have our cake and send it to sensitivity too. Not everyone learns their lesson. Not everyone gets their comeuppence. Years and years after queers have their human rights restored, people will still go on gay activist websites and call everyone a pedophile. The sooner you come to terms with that fact, the sooner you will be able to really apply yourself to the fights you can win. I can't do anything about the radfem who calls me a mutilated man invading her space. I can, however, beat the shit out of the guy who throws a slurpee at me. Pick your battles.
Wow, I'm..disturbed... today. I guess having my play script rejected a few years ago has hit me harder than I thought.
After receiving the rejection, I took a couple days to tinker with the script, and found that I liked it just the way it was, played Dragon's Lair and drank Mountain Dew all night, and re-submitted it with the disclaimer that I would give my actors the choice whether to say the dialogue as is or to edit it to better fit their diverse sensibilities. I waited for response. During that time, I had to replace four actors because I could not give them a definite, concrete schedule. But it will all be worth it, I thought, when the faculty relents and gives me the artistic freedom I so deserve. Little did she know, said the narrator who occupies my brain but doesn't pay rent, what fuckery awaited her in the art department lobby.
My second script was rejected for depicting “violence against women”. The aforementioned “violence” was the end, in which the astronauts mistake the people of the rescue mission for aliens, and die in the ensuing ray gun melee. Everyone meets the same grisly, terrifying fate played for inappropriate laughter. If you can find something “misogynistic” about that, when many cultures believing that dying together is the ultimate expression and test of camraderie, then I would plead for you to write a book about how you managed to free up that much of your time to devote to such mental acrobatics. I struggle to find enough time to exercise every day, and I'm practically unemployed.
To say I didn't take the second rejection well is understating, frankly. To say that I told the professor in question that I felt he was clinging to a job in academia to make up for a lack in talent and artistic understanding would be the truth and sort of embarrassing for me to admit now. But that's what happened. I took particular offense to this because at that moment, in the same department, there was a slasher film being produced by a number of students. A golden age “rise from the dead and kill a bunch of teenage girls who'd rather be left alone to play Mystery Date or drink malt liquor at the beach or whatever the director thinks teenagers do on the weekend” slasher film.I fear I can't delve too deep into how films like Friday The 13th and Sleepaway Camp profit from the psychosexual desire to punish women deemed “impure” inherent in the patriarchy. I'm so late to the feminist critique of slasher films party that I'm being mistaken for a cab driver. This horse is dead, Jim. However, I feel I would be doing you a disservice by not pointing out how mainstream society's approval of films depicting women being brutally murdered (the Friday night showing of Freddy Vs Jason wasn't an all-male audience, I'm just saying) can provide you with a clue as to why anti-abortion activists are so prone to expressing themselves through violence and not frustrating, ultimately unfruitful facebook activisim like the rest of us “well adjusted” folk. Yet it is not beyond me to understand why the faculty would allow such a movie to be made on campus with school resources; it's a professionally and marketablly viable career path. Isn't that what college is really for? Teaching how you to get a job with all that education? There's definitely more of a market out there for people who want to simulate stab wounds on a woman's naked body than there is for schmucks like me trying to bring space opera to live theatre. The guy behind making that student film now produces a web series comedy, I think. I haven't kept in touch, though I should. He still owes 10 bucks for a pizza we split three years ago. Jerk.
I lobbied my case to the faculty, and even read excerpts from the slasher film script that I stole from one of the cast, but to no avail. It was explained to me in no uncertain terms that the women in my play must come to no harm. If there was a ray gun fight at the end, they had to live. I asked if he thought that safeguarding an audience from a depiction of a women being injured wasn't somehow perpetuating the stereotype of women being fragile, delicate toys that must not be allowed to play with the boys lest they be broken, thus undoing all of the work we as artists were putting forth to envision a world free of needless prejudice and stereotype. He replied that if I felt that strongly about striking a woman, that perhaps I should get into hardcore S&M. I replied that it's actually BDSM, and I already am. He told me to rewrite my script again, and submit it to another professor.
If I had owned a camera phone back then, all of that might have been worth it. But it wasn't. I stewed for another week or so, debating the merits of giving in. I lost more actors, more musicians. The remaining rehearsal time that I had available wasn't enough to rehearse, and I was performing unsatisfactorily in my other classes to the point that my mother was getting letters from the school warning me that I was failing two courses, despite the fact that I was in my 20's and paying for college on my own. Moral of the story: if your professor asks for your address on the first day of class, give them your friend's dorm room number.
By the time I submitted it for the third (and hopefully) final time, I didn't care anymore. I knew the play was unperformable in the time and resource constraints given to me, and the only thing keeping me from a nervous breakdown was the hope that someone, at some point in this approval process, would find it in their busy busy day to tell me that my writing was good. If nobody was to ever see this performed, the least they could do is give me the peace of mind of knowing it was good enough to show in the first place.
My script was rejected for the third and final time, not because of language or violence against women, but for a scene in which one of the astronauts pleasures themselves with their ray gun. To this day I can't stand what was funnier: the look on his face when he said this, or the fact that I had already forgotten that such a scene took place, because throughout this whole story, AT NO POINT DID I MAKE A SINGLE FUCKING REWRITE TO THE SCRIPT.
I submitted the same script to the same team of professors, and each time, I received a different complaint, with no mention of previous grievances. This could be, of course, because I gave them fresh, clean copies each time, with no evidence of prior critiques. But I try to write that off as a fool's deduction, for if I was led to believe that the people tasked with my education were that absent-minded, I would have to go back to school and do it all over again out of fear that I had been taught wrong by accident.
That year and every after I cheered at pride rallies and let friends bum gum off me at gender equality workshops. I wrote essays on gender and met prominent people in the LGBT community who I pretend to know of or have read about because I think it makes me seem more interesting to be so aloof and oblique. All in hopes that one day, I will have accrued enough cred to earn the right to depict a woman being marooned on a distant planet without being labeled misogynist or homophobic. But alas, years later my bag is no heavier with tokens than before. Why, thou ask? Is it perhaps because the system of “see no evil, hear no evil” intended to blindfold society to its own inequities more often than not silences the tolerant and not the bigot? Or is it because my zest for campy horror and science fiction enables me to express a hatred and desire to cause women and queers harm that I wasn't even aware of? Make sense, world. Make. Sense.
Three years have passed since that winter of the astronaut pleasing herself with a ray gun. I am troubled not by actions of my past, but the indecision that awaits me in the future. Namely, I'm adapting Conuering Neptune for podcast, and pondering if it the slight betrayal of providing some sort of lesson or moral to my story will be worth the comfort of knowing that nobody would suspect me of phobia. Also, if true and unconditional equality of gender will mark the end of slasher films or, conversely, if a decrease in popularity or public approval of misogynistic slasher films will have any effect or influence on violence perpetrated against women in the meatspace. And finally, am I a woman dreaming she is a javelin thrower, or a javelin thrower dreaming they are a woman?
The answers to these questions (and many more, like “why did I wake up with an empty wine bottle on my pillow”) will have to wait until after I pick out my outfit for WonderCon.
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