That Fearful Tension

To come out, or not? The transgender closet isn't quite the same as the lesbigay closet. What's it like in there, and coming out? (Keep in mind that I am relating mainly my own experiences as a person who is transsexual.)

One difference is that many transgender people are born out of the closet. Not until it is pointed out to us do we realize that our gender identity is at odds with the expectations of those around us. We are forced into the closet, usually between the ages of two and four years.

Once in the closet, once we have developed strategies for coping, most of us remain in the dark for a long time. I believe that is changing, for people in large cities and people who have access to the Internet. But I, born in 1952, had no way to make contact for many, many years.

Leaving the closet is like stepping into a spotlight. Changing one's public presentation of gender can not be done quickly or secretly. For many people there is a period of at least a year when it is pretty obvious what is going on. This is often when we loose our job, our friends, and our families.

Is it any wonder that when we reach the point of being able to 'pass' for the desired gender that most of us attempt to fade into a new life that knows nothing of our true history? But then we live a life like that of some war criminal who trembles at the possibility that their past will be revealed. Is it so horrible, what we have done?

The lesbigay community is in general no more accepting of us than is the general population; perhaps less so. The gender lines are drawn very sharply in most queer space. We are often not welcome unless we enter a second closet and keep our pasts secret.

"Do you have a penis?" It makes no difference in which direction we are going, that is the question we are always asked. As if that defines who and what we are. If you had one you can't be a lesbian; if you don't have one you can't really be a man. So we end up in limbo. Some people have said we are no longer human.

If I'm accepted in a group of people and I come out as queer, the reception may be a little cool, but, hey, even Ellen is doing it. If I say, "I'm transsexual," everything changes. People feel they have been tricked, lied to, and made fools of. They stare at me, or they look away. They think I'm pretending, putting on an act. They wonder what is real, what is still there, what isn't still there. Women feel I'm invading their space. Men are afraid of me as a threat to their masculinity and their heterosexuality.

I have very few sexual contexts in my life. I rarely need to come out as queer except to make a political point. But I must decide whether to and when to come out as transsexual with every single person I meet, over and over again. I don't bother for casual contacts, but the longer I wait, the more difficult it becomes and the greater the risk I will be misunderstood when I do come out.

The transsexual closet has some interesting nooks and crannies. I've legally changed my name and my gender. What do you think is going to happen to me if I need emergency medical care, surgery, or tests that reveal my history in a context in which I am totally helpless? Will I die while people make jokes?

I am a legal parent of my children, but I cannot prove that without revealing that I am transsexual. My partner and I are still legally married, but we are also saddled with elaborate powers of attorney and such because of the confusion that will exist if either of us gets in legal or medical trouble. So we are just as strong advocates for legal same-sex marriages and domestic partner benefits as any of you.

I facilitated a workshop on transgender sexuality at the University of Chicago on May 20, 1997. In my next column I'll cover the high points of what I presented, and tell you how people reacted.