What One North Carolinian Thinks of the HB2 Boycotts

Just the other day, my oldest daughter and I were zipping up a two-lane backroad toward the North Carolina/Virginia state line, windows down, music up, hair whipping in the wind, when out of nowhere a little red sports car with Florida plates passed us at dangerous break-neck speed.

"Wow" was all I could verbally manage without inserting a few choice curse words.

"Yeah Mom, he's probably just in a hurry to get out of here. He doesn't want to catch the transphobia."

My daughter sometimes has a dark sarcastic sense of humor, but she has a way of making me think.

HB2 or "The Bathroom Law" has been all the talk in recent weeks. House Bill 2 passed last month prohibiting North Carolina cities from setting gender neutral policies. If you believe the media (and cruel internet memes) HB2 is about backward bigotry toward LGBT persons (although really, the law only affects the "T" in LGBT). It apparently requires people use the public bathrooms and changing rooms that correspond to the gender cited on their birth certificates. If you believe the hype, because of HB2 North Carolinians are deathly afraid of transgender people raping their wives and daughters in Target restrooms.

I assure you, as a North Carolinian, the issue is a tad more complicated than that, but this isn't really about HB2, or rights versus perceived rights, or gender versus gender identity. It's about people's reactions to a bill most of them haven't even read. Craziness has ensued because flames of misunderstanding have been fanned by just about everyone. Clear battle lines have been drawn in an "if you ain't with us, you must be agin us" fashion the state hasn't seen since the War of Northern Aggression (We still call it that here. If there is one thing Southerners know, it's how to hold a grudge. Especially a well-earned one.)

But it isn't just North Carolinians picking sides. There has been a popular boycott of NC by musicians and corporations and entire US cities. The mayors of Seattle, New York City, Portland, and San Francisco have placed bans on travel to the Tarheel state. Meanwhile, television and movie production companies are fleeing the state. Paypal cancelled a North Carolina expansion citing HB2 and its hatred and bigotry (while maintaining operations in Malaysia, Saudi Arabia, and Singapore where anti-LGBT policies don't stop at public restrooms). And influential artists like Ringo Starr, Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam, Demi Lovato, and Nick Jonas (Okay. The term "influential" may be loosely applied) have cancelled their North Carolina shows. It's like they are afraid to step one toe inside of North Carolina, afraid to be tainted with our transphobia, which is apparently more contagious than Ebola or Zika Virus by the looks of it.

This leaves me livid. Not because I was really looking forward to seeing Demi Lovato rock it out live, either. No, I'm upset because these entities would leave North Carolina a moral wasteland. Not that I necessarily agree with their morals or their politics, but abandoning an entire state to wallow in what they consider out-dated bigotry is inexcusable. If they really cared about LGBT North Carolinians, they wouldn't leave them alone with what they consider wolves.

That isn't how you change hearts and minds. You can't do that from the outside, standing across the border, shouting at North Carolinians about how hateful we are. That's poor form. Instead, you cross the lines, you get down in the muck, you get your hands dirty. That's how you change people's minds. It doesn't happen by shouting your moral superiority at them.

Do you know how you enact change? From the inside. You can't boycott away bigotry any more than you can legislate it away. If those artists and politicians and corporations really wanted to do something for LGBT North Carolinians, they would come to North Carolina and use their influence and raise awareness, or better yet, funds for LGBT charities. Imagine the benefit concert possibilities. Of course, that takes effort. It's a lot easier to cancel a tour date or sign a travel ban from behind the safety of an expensive mahogany desk. No effort required.

And while everyone is busy shouting at North Carolina, I have some news for them: Most of us don't care where anyone uses the bathroom. In fact, before the Charlotte law domino that led to HB2, transgender people walked freely into whichever bathroom they chose and nary a person batted an eyelash. If you looked like a dude and you were entering a facility clearly labeled for dudes, no one was asking for confirmation of a Y chromosome for admittance.

It was government that created this problem that government had to swoop in and try to fix while royally botching it up.

But as a mother and a woman, shouldn't I be afraid of creepy men lurking in women's restrooms?

No, I'm not that delicate.

First of all, a public restroom is exactly that. Public. I have no more right to be there than anyone else. It's a shocker I know, but if my daughters or I enter a public restroom and there is a strange dude in a Dolly Parton wig with obvious intent to harm, we have as much right to leave as he has to be there. I assure you, we have enough brains to do so (I can't speak for the intellectual ability of every North Carolina woman, however). We don't have to use that facility. In fact, we could waltz right on over to the men's room and probably pee in peace. Here in North Carolina, there will likely to be a plethora of bold and noble cisgender men to protect us while we tinkle. At gunpoint if necessary.

And in a pinch, my girls and myself could scream and yell for help while force-feeding our attacker his own testicles if it came to that.

That's just how we ladies roll in the Old North State.

The Olympics Have Fallen - Transgender Inclusion Kills Fairplay

Sometimes I feel like I'm living inside a South Park episode. One where there is some exaggerated politically correct conspiracy that has gotten so big it might consume all of us with its insanity.

This past Sunday, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) announced a change in policy regarding transgender athletes. Athletes that transition from female to male are now eligible to compete as males without restriction. However, athletes that transition from male to female must officially declare their identity as female and show that their testosterone levels measure below 10 nanomals for at least 12 months prior to competing. Basically, the changes in regulations free trans athletes from previously required genital reassignment surgeries.

Gone are the good ol' days when ancient Greek athletes competed nude. It was a simpler time with simpler ways of determining male versus female. But we are now smack dab in the middle of an era when we are so afraid of hurting people's feelings that we flush the tenets of fair play just so no one feels bullied or excluded.

It's obvious right there in the guidelines that transgender females could potentially have an athletic advantage over biological females. The fact that there is open eligibility for females who identify as men in competition kinda insinuates that the guys aren't particularly worried about their new competition. (That's because the women feeling like men are inherently disadvantaged in comparison to men who've lived their entire lives as biological men.) However, the monitoring of testosterone levels in female athletes screams of inequality. Already transgender men are being treated differently than transgender women. Where is the feminist outcry?

It seems ironic to me, that a sporting event that so strictly prohibits substances affecting athletic performance would so quickly embrace the use of substances that alter an athlete's hormone levels in such extreme ways. Perhaps the cocktail of pharmaceuticals required to inhibit trans athletes' hormones aren't "performance enhancing", but they are certainly "performance influencing". A subtle difference, but perhaps an important one. Using substances that radically change the way a competitor's body works should be suspect. Competition is only fair if athletes aren't radically altering their bodies in unnatural ways.

Feeling like a woman does not a woman make. I realize making such a statement probably proves I need some sort of sensitivity training, but the IOC admits it in their guidelines (hence the differences in requirements for trans women in comparison to those for trans men). The problem with their guidelines is that they don't at all level the female playing field. No amount of injected estrogen can make up for advantages in height, bone density, and reach. And medical data conflicts on just how long it takes to negate the testosterone advantages biological males are born with.

While it's easy to see this whole scenario as some strange ploy by South Park's women to thoroughly ruin the sport of beach volleyball for men everywhere (Imagine Jake Gibb bouncing around in a bikini. You're welcome for the visual), that can't be what's really going on here.

The IOC stated that the changes are "necessary to ensure in so far as possible that trans athletes are not excluded from the opportunity to participate in sporting competition."

I get it. They want to be fair. But by attempting to be fair to everyone. They've ended up being fair to no one.

Will this be the death of women's olympic weightlifting, boxing, wrestling? There are some sports where passing through male puberty could leave a long-lingering advantage over the more traditionally feminine competitors. There is no way to make this fair. The Olympics will never be the same.

And yet...

Maybe it won't change all that much. While it's easy to envision swarms of men switching teams (so to speak) in true South Park style for the sake of winning gold medals, that's not likely to happen. Putting your body through months of hormone therapy just to compete as a woman is extreme for everyone but the craziest of people, and statistically-speaking, "real" transgender people supposedly make up less than one percent of the population.

However, the possibility of even one unfair competition should be enough to make us protest. The spirit of the Olympics is about triumph and equity no matter a person's race, religion, or nationality. I'm just not sure where these trans athletes fit into this... or even if they should fit in at all. (Probably another sign that someone should sign me up for sensitivity training.)

Because I'm still not sure who I'm supposed to root for in a Judo match between a traditional woman and a transgender woman. Do I root for the trans woman? Because wouldn't that be the politically correct thing to do? To cheer on the minority, the historically oppressed, the poster child of progressive tolerance? Or do I support the biological woman? Because isn't that the politically correct thing? To pull for the historically oppressed, and breaking glass ceilings, and making progress toward gender equality? Because "Girl Power"!?!

The inner conflict might be enough to rip giant holes in Western Society's collective conscience.

One thing is for certain. The spirit of Olympic competition has definitely changed. I'm afraid the Olympics have fallen.

Dear Caitlyn Jenner - Let's Talk Woman to "Woman"

Dear Caitlyn Jenner,

As much as I would like for you to just go away, it's apparent that you won't be fading away from the limelight any time soon. You've got a brand new reality television show that's being actively hyped beyond what it's worth. You keep landing interviews and awards, and you're constantly trending on social media.

In fact, the media in general keeps insisting that you're socially relevant... so it must be true. And since you seem to be here to stay (at least for a little longer than the average sideshow flash-in-the-pan) I guess it's time we have a little heart-to-heart chat.  You know? Woman to "woman".

I know that you're brave. You're courageous. You even have that shiny new ESPY to prove it. Walking across a nationally televised stage in six-inch heels must take an awful lot of courage. I certainly don't have the balls to do it. (That's called sarcastic irony, people. Please hold your scathing emails.) You even admitted in your acceptance speech that you'd never felt more pressured in your life (and you've known the pressure of representing your country in international competition, so that's saying something).

"Picking out this outfit - okay girls, I get it! You got to get the shoes, the hair, the makeup, the whole process."

You're right. It is quite a frightening process. And most of us have to figure it out without famous fashion designers and professional make-up artists at our disposal. Still... most of us fumbled our own way through the process by high school prom. (Although photographic evidence from the eighties suggest some of us never really found success.)

But there's much more to bravery than simply matching your dress to your shoes or finding the right shade of eye shadow.

I don't think you actually "get it" at all. To be fair, it's not entirely your fault. You haven't lived your whole life as a woman. You haven't traveled through the world in fashionable yet uncomfortable women's shoes, and you haven't been shaped by all that entails.

You were never told you throw like a girl and known it was meant to degrade you. Bravery is playing ball anyway.

You've never dealt with the onset of your period in 8th grade gym class, a red stain spreading brightly across your white shorts. You never had to ask to be excused in the middle of class to go to the bathroom and had the male teacher question your motives. You never had to walk out of that class as every classmate watched your retreating form, hearing the snickers of all the boys who saw that red stain on your backside. Bravery is walking back into that class and enduring two years of snide comments and name calling because of that one embarrassing gym incident.

You've never dealt with boys' braggadocious detailing of their sexual encounters which labeled you a slut but gained them high fives and pats on the back. Bravery is opening yourself up to intimacy again anyway.

You've never woken up after a raucous night terrified that you'd forgotten to take your birth control pills. You've never had to wonder how you would cope with a positive result on a pregnancy test. Bravery is facing life for the next few uncertain weeks anyway.

You've never suffered through a business meeting where men talked to your cleavage and didn't take you seriously because you're "just a woman". Bravery is succeeding anyway.

You will never have to fear being too weak to ward off a rapist. Bravery is learning to defend yourself and walking dark streets confidently anyway.

Being a woman isn't all bad, of course. The pinnacle of femininity lies in motherhood.  You'll never know what it's like to feel the first fluttery kicks of a baby growing inside you. Or the rush of hormones as that baby slips into the world. You'll never know what it's like to nourish that baby at your breast.

You'll never feel as cherished as a woman feels when a man engulfs her small hands with his larger ones as he gently helps her out of his car.

Remember what you told Diane Sawyer, back when you were still Bruce? You said, "My brain is much more female than it is male."

I think you are wrong. It can't possibly be. You can't possibly know.

You don't get to define us, Caitlyn. You're too new to the game. Besides men have been defining us for far too many centuries (and it wasn't all that long ago that you considered yourself one). You don't get the privilege of deciding how a woman's brain thinks and feels... or at least how you think it should.  Because how could you possibly know how a woman's brain thinks and feels without the composite experience of being a woman for your entire life?

How dare you try to wrap what defines a woman into a tidy little pink-hued box? How dare you?

As a woman, I'm more than a little offended at your blatant disregard for the fact that being a woman is more than feeling emotional and wearing heels and dresses and makeup. It's more than being sensitive and nurturing or feeling decidedly feminine. That's not what makes someone a woman any more than being a man is the sum of playing sports, getting dirty, or feeling aggressive (In which case... I'd probably be considered a man. Wonder if I could get an ESPY....).

If gender is nothing more than a social construct (like so many liberal psychologists would have us believe), then gender isn't something we experience separately within ourselves anyway. Instead, it is developed in coordination with our fellow citizens. In basic terms, our gender is largely formed by how we are treated by other people, by our experiences functioning within society. It is the byproduct of countless choices made over time. Being a woman is a collection of certain experiences, of certain indignities endured and courtesies enjoyed. Some are based on our biology and some on how society views us and treats us. What makes a woman is a jigsaw puzzle of varied pieces.

So Caitlyn, since brains are shaped by experiences (just like studies of London cab drivers show) and gender is a construct developed by societal experiences, your brain can't possibly be female, because you've experienced most of your life as a man. You've been largely shaped by a male identity. You've lived male experiences and been shaped by the treatment of a society that has viewed you as a man for most of your life (and still does to a large extent)... for better or for worse. No amount of reconstructive surgery or fancy dresses and high end makeup can change that.

You don't get to be a woman any more than Rachel Dolezal gets to be black. No matter how hard you wish you could or how much you "identify" or how much you spend on reassignment surgeries or how many ESPYs you are awarded. You don't get to be a woman. Period. I'm sorry.

I don't know where you fit into things. It's a pretty crappy spot you seem to be in. But stop pretending you know what it feels like to be a woman. You don't. And while you're at it stop trying to define what it is to be a woman. That's just too freakin' complex to even begin to try and define.

There isn't a box that we can all fit in, so stop trying to stuff me in one. But if we do for some strange reason end up in the same stupid box... just so you know... I'm man enough to hip-toss your girly butt out of it.

Kay? Thanks,
~Alice

Breaking Down Gender Stereotypes... Or Not

Almost a week ago a friend shared this video on Facebook with the assurance that the incredible story portrayed would have me "ugly crying...and then cheering".  The seven minute video tells the "inspiring" story of the Whittington family and their transgender child.  The video was shared by the family at the Harvey Milk Diversity Breakfast, where the Whittingtons accepted this year's Inspiration Award.

Ryland Whittington

The Cliff's Notes version of this fairy tale happy-ending story goes something like this:  Jeff and Hillary Whittington welcomed their first baby in 2007, a daughter (by all observable biological evidence) they named Ryland (Interestingly, although arguably irrelevant, I know 3 people named Ryland...and all of them are male).  As Ryland grew up, she seemed to go through a tomboy phase, rejecting things girly and embracing superheroes and boy's clothing.  Realizing that this wasn't "just a phase" they sought professional help and their suspicions were confirmed...Ryland, although plagued with the biology of a little girl,  identifies as a boy.  Faced with the staggering suicide rates among transgender people, the Whittingtons refused to let their child become another statistic.  So they let Ryland be "his true self".  Five year-old Ryland got a make-over, close-cut boy's hair, bow ties and boys swim trunks, and a whole new bedroom (out with the sissy-girl pink and lace).  They sent word out to friends and family that Ryland would be raised as a boy and switched masculine pronouns for the feminine ones they had been using.  And according to Ryland's parents, he's never been happier.

My friend's promise of a good long ugly cry were not met (although I don't cry easily.  I'm kind of a soulless thick-skinned person with no heart.  I did cry at the end of Ol' Yeller, though, if that makes me seem more human in anyone's eyes).  In fact, I walked away from the "inspiring" video kind of shocked.

I'm all about embracing our authentic selves, and the Whittington's sentiment that parents should love their children "with no strings attached" is one I applaud.  But I've tossed around this whole gender identity thing in my head rather obsessively for several days now, and the Whittington's decision to raise their biological daughter as if she were a son seems extreme.

I freely admit to not understanding the concept of transgender people, and even after doing some thorough research on the internet, I don't think I understand it one bit better.  The information is confusing and contradictory and often incredibly vague.  The transgender classification is a fairly recent addition to gender and sexual issues, so there isn't a whole lot of research out there.  Some experts classify transgender as a psychological issue.  Others as a physical one.  And suggested treatments vary from simple counseling to hyper-invasive hormonal treatments and body mutilation to achieve "gender reassignment".

The symptoms of gender dysphoria (the distress a person feels when they perceive a mismatch between their biological gender and their perceived gender) are not physical.  There is no blood test or MRI to confirm diagnoses.  There are only vague psychological symptoms.  Most parents of transgender children report that the first clue to their child's transgender condition is that their children severely dislike playing with toys or otherwise engaging in activities that would typically be associated with their gender,  while simultaneously being attracted to toys and activities that would typically be associated with the opposite gender.  And it doesn't seem to go away, so it is more than "just a phase".  This is in fact, the first thing that clued in the Whittingtons to the notion that their daughter might actually be their son.

And here is where I have a huge, huge, HUGE problem.  Because we are constantly encouraging our daughters to bust through gender stereotypes.  We tell them that it's okay to play with trucks and to get their hands dirty and to be bossy (Oops.  Sorry I mean, "assertive").  We tell them there is more to life than raising children and cooking and cleaning and making men happy, and so encourage them to pursue higher education and fast-paced careers.  We even push them toward careers in fields that are traditionally masculine like science, technology, and engineering just because there don't seem to be enough women there (What is wrong with women these days?).  On the other side of the coin, we are pushing our boys to be more sensitive and emotional and creative.  We allow our boys to paint their toenails and carry My Little Pony backpacks to school...because they should be allowed to express themselves in whatever way they want, no matter their gender.  Let's break down these confining gender stereotypes and the world will be a better place!

And yet...when a little girl hates the color pink, and frilly dresses, and long hair...and instead craves pants and sports and superhero costumes...we begin to suspect that there must be something seriously wrong with her...she might just be a boy.  So much for breaking down those confining gender stereotypes.  It makes me want to spit (and that would certainly not be very ladylike).

Before you pounce on me and start screaming vitriolic hate about my closed-mindedness and accuse me of missing the bigger picture, insisting that there was much more than just a tomboy phase going on here,  let me confess that there were apparently (at least by the parent's accounts) more distressing signs of Ryland's gender dysphoria.  Yes, I do realize that I am over-simplifying Ryland's condition.  But across the board, parent's claim this as the first clue to their child's identity issues.  And, having been a child who was an extreme tomboy, who refused dolls and dresses and instead loved Tonka trucks and StarWars storm troopers...and being a woman today who abhors pink and Nicholas Spark's novels while engaging in stereotypical male leisure activities (like hunting and fishing and karate and weight training)...I have to wonder what might have happened to me if my parents had been the more liberal open-minded activists that Ryland's parents are.

I can't say what I would do if I found myself in the Whittington's shoes.  I've thankfully never been there.  But I am a mother through and through with a fiercely protective all-consuming love for my children.  And while I don't know how I might react to my child's insistence to being the opposite gender, I can assure you that if I decided, with the help of professionals, that my child needed to switch his or her gender identity, I know from a deep place of mother bear conviction, that my child would most certainly NOT be plastered all over the internet as the newest LGBT poster child for tolerance and acceptance.  Unlike my friend who promised ugly crying over the "touching" video, who lauded the Whittingtons as "fantastic" and "amazing" parents, most of the world isn't so accepting.  In fact, violence and discrimination is the norm.

No, even if I decided to raise my daughter as my son (a stretch for me to imagine), there would be no mass announcement to friends and family.  There would be no fanfare.  There would be no Youtube videos or national awards acceptance.  I would quietly and privately raise my child, protecting them from the cruelties of a harshly opinionated world, while lavishing them with all of the love and acceptance I could muster.  Call me crazy.

But maybe the Whittington's have an agenda to push.  I hope it's worth it.  Because for every word of praise and encouragement for the family that I've read online, there have been five negative comments of disgust and revulsion (mostly toward the parents).  This child will forever be in the public eye under the microscope of social scrutiny.  I hope it was worth it, Whittington's.  You just sacrificed your child on the altar of change, acceptance, and progressiveness.  Maybe you're the crazy ones.