Fake support is up there with fake nice on my list of things to do without

Words and meaning matter.  

Patronage comes from the old English and old French word patron, which was protector/advocate, not customer as we use it today. Patronize comes from Latin patronus, which means protector, master.  It is related to the word pater, or father.  Patriarchy, a popular word on this blog, comes from Greek and means “ruling father”.

These words in their original conception, were only positive.  But today, the word patronize has taken on a decidedly negative connotation.  And patriarchy, well that is the stuff of my struggle, the struggle of women, and symbol of so much that is wrong with society today.

What happened?

According to my AI search: 

“The word patronize has a negative connotation because it comes from the idea of a wealthy or powerful patron who treats their dependent with an air of superiority.  Patronize can mean to treat someone in an offensively condescending manner, or to speak to or behave toward someone as if they are stupid or not important.”  

Interestingly, this negative meaning arose in the mid-18^th century, the moment of great social upheaval which led to Communism and the French Revolution, and the concept of the modern Republic.  

In other words, we became interested in social justice.  We ended monarchic traditions all over the world, and global growth really took off.  It is curious that we are reverting to the divine rule/strongman rule/authoritarianism all of the world.  It feels like the last gasp of the patriarchal governance model.  A bit like the darkest hour is just before daylight.  That may mean that things have to get worse before enough people are prepared to throw off the chains.

Let us Begin

I was a lady who lunched the other day.  Only in my meaning, that meant networking.  It was work.  I was picking the brains of a successful and entrepreneurial woman about a field of endeavor I am drawn to.

Apart from raining on my parade, which has been consistent with everyone I have spoken with thus far, there was something else that she said which I found triggering, and have suddenly realized just how often it gets said to me.

“As long as you’re happy,” is a refrain that seems to come from people who have the moxie to ask pointed and personal questions about getting a sex change but is the anodyne response which covers their opprobrium.  At least, that is how I feel about it.

What does someone mean?  Why wouldn’t I be happy?  Shit, do you think anyone takes a decision to put themselves through life-changing surgery, potentially life-threatening surgery, and a guaranteed life of social stigma without having to do it?  When is it worth more than a bland response?  When it is a question of life and death?

The global medical and mental health profession have alighted on standards of care and treatment for trans people.  It is now globally considered a “medical” condition, not a “mental” condition.  Do you know why?  A bit history, and a lot implications.

When something is a mental health issue, it opens the door to therapy.  I love therapy.  But there are good kinds and bad.  Conversion therapy is one of the baddies, where the therapist tries to convert you away from the path that you are on.  It was famed and vilified for the horrors exacted on the gay community, and was largely discredited, but it has also come back to show another life with trans people.  Ugly.

The point is that gender is core to identity.  Our sense of who we are.  You can’t convert that.  It is like saying someone is one race and not another.  It isn’t the same as a belief system, a religion.

Many of my trans brothers and sisters felt that they were born in the wrong bodies from birth.  Not all.  I did not.  I simply wanted to be a girl.  That badly.  So badly that I couldn’t contemplate life without that.

That is identity seen from two angles.  Wanting or believing in that way, when it is so intense that it wipes out all other realities.  

So, when somebody says, ‘as long as it makes you happy’, you might as well conclude that they think you are an idiot.  What does happiness have to do it?  It isn’t like I had a bunion removed.  Or had some trivial surgery.  Or even some big, much needed surgery.  It is that the whole order of my life had to change, has changed.  Surgery is a part of it.  A big part, but only a part.

I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but this particular conversation also included this woman’s opinion about a friend of hers who had a trans son and they wanted to force her to go through female puberty.  This is a controversial topic.  But it is also a form of cruelty.  It is hard to explain, but if you know who and what you are, and puberty is going to make permanent and unwanted changes in your body, it is not so surprising that the peak of suicidal ideation in the trans community comes during puberty.  That’s probably always true, but in this case we have some heavy stuff to add to the list of things to worry about.

And when someone misgenders me, it feels that this journey has been invalidated.  It is the opposite of being seen…and unfortunately, I have not yet reached a place where I am so resilient that it doesn’t bother me.  I can spend an entire day with compliments, smiles, affirmations, and then get some insensitive clod, even a well-meaning one, who has failed the required sensitivity training humanity needs on a global level to stop killing each other.  From small things come big change.

What am I asking of the world?  That you hear us.  That you stand up for us.  We are far too few to fight on our own.  We are experiencing an onslaught of hate funded and propagated by the richest and most powerful people on the planet.  The US Republican party and their various ideological allies have put out all manner of hate towards my people…the UK conservative party, when they still were in power, set us my community back decades…and has made me regret that I ever considered myself a conservative (oops).  That Labour is no better regarding trans rights is even more alarming.  So much for the party of the underdog.

Whatever happened to the sentiment expressed by the great orator and civil rights leader Martin Luther King…

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

So, why don’t I like it when someone calls me “Sir”?  I know my people usually say if the intent is positive, then it doesn’t matter.  But I am not sure I agree with that.  Along with the choice to use gendered language has to be the responsibility to “see”.  We should all be asking each other’s pronouns.

Don’t be telling me I look like a dude, or that I am clearly just a dude in a dress to you.  If you see a ballerina giraffe walking around in the wild, clearly wearing women’s clothes, maybe dressed in a way that shows a lot of leg—because she’s got it and won’t bend to ageism, then make the effort to see.  What I am driving at is that “to not see” is not passive, but active.  When one chooses not to use pronouns, when one chooses not to ask, when one chooses to use gendered language with someone they don’t know, that is inconsiderate.  It is rude.

Does it give me license to be rude back?  I haven’t decided yet, but the trend is in that direction.  I don’t like being rude, but I don’t believe that “Sir” when given to a woman is an act of omission, rather one of commission.  In other words, the individual is actively choosing not to “see me” because to do so requires them to examine themselves.

That is why my preferred reply is usually, “do you think it is polite to call a woman ‘sir’?”  If their English isn’t so good to understand that, then I say to them, “not a man, a woman,” or simply, “please call me Miss instead.”  And do you know what?  90% of people refuse to acknowledge what I have said.  Some smile or laugh nervously and just go on with ‘sir’.

I sat next to an ‘ally’ on the plane the other day.  A stewardess repeatedly misgendered me.  I was wearing a skirt, lipstick, a gauzy blouse.  You could see that I had boobs, real boobs, and was wearing a bra.  I was wearing heels.  I stood next to her.  British Airways, are you listening?  I have never been misgendered more than I have by the staff at British Airways.  

Clearly there was no sensitivity training.  But even more, there is a willful disregard.  If you want to tell me I’m ugly, you’ve done it.  If you want to tell me that no matter what I wear, I am not a woman to you, you’ve done it.  But who is she speaking to really?  Herself.  And the “ally” next to me said, “I can’t believe that she did that to you.  I hope it didn’t upset you.”  Of course it did.  And do you know what?  Next time, speak up for me, for us.

We are just 0.5% of the populace but face unbelievable discrimination in all aspects of our lives.  It gets tiring to fight all the time.  Being an “ally” is not being silent.  You are not an “ally” if you don’t speak up.  We can’t be the only ones to have courage.