April 07, 2017

Hitting from the Red Tees aka The Jude Heresies

This one crossed my social media path this morning - At Cromwell High, Transgender Athlete Competes With Girls For First Time (Hartford Courant, April 7, 2017)
Andraya's times in the 100 and the 200 are fast. A year ago, her 11.99 in the 100 would have won the Class M title and put her second at the State Open, .01 seconds behind the winning time. And Andraya ran Wednesday in cold conditions, and without starting blocks. She is expected to get faster.

"I know they'll say it is unfair and not right, but my counter to that is: Why not?" her mother said. "She is competing and practicing and giving her all and performing and excelling based on her skills. Let that be enough. Let her do that, and be proud of that."
No idea what the nontrans, cisgender young women are running, but one of the photos in the piece seems to imply that it's not even close.

For the record, I'm not a fan of transgender women competing with cisgender women in athletics where their physique, abetted by genetic difference, years of testosterone, and perhaps years of athletic encouragement and opportunities that other women may have not gotten. Every single young woman in this school, and in the league, will be automatically shut out of first place, competing for second. I'm pretty sure that women's athletics are not intended to assign (resign?) women to an automatic second place finish. But there you have it.

And for the record, I'm trans; I know of what I speak. Look, it sucks to be trans, and it means a lot of giving things up and second class citizenship and missed opportunities. But I'm also a feminist, and dammit, the harm that this does to the many nontrans women who will never have the chance to finish first as long as Andraya is running - well, in my opinion that outweighs the benefit to Andraya.

I had a friend who transitioned around the time that I did; she played tennis very well (was a top 16 player in her state, pre-transition). Post transition, she continued to play competitively, and invariably dominated every club or league she joined when she played in her age bracket, and often played competitively with women 10-20 years younger. Needless to say, the other players (often snooty country club types, to be fair) figured out she was trans, and they slowly and invariably ostracized her - disinviting her from tournaments, round robins, competitions because they knew she's always win. She went from club to club, league to league, getting her heart broken over and over.  And when she'd call to tell me her latest tale of woe my response was always the same "what did you expect?"

My tennis playing friend could have, I suspect, gotten along in the tennis world - by staying out of gendered competitions, by playing more casually, by coaching or offering her services as a playing partner to young women who needed a challenge to improve. She was not able to see that, or willing to accept that, and she struggled for many years as a result. 

I even see that in yoga; it's not a competitive sport, being trans (stronger, larger bodied) does not really provide any real benefit and probably is a handicap, and I've been off the "T" for nearly 20 years now. Yet here I am at 56 often practicing with folks 15-20 years younger, and as a teacher able to assist and support larger bodied students in ways that my cisgender peers (much more highly skilled and experienced) cannot.

This sort of attitude, of course, makes me a heretic within the trans community; one of many reason I am not active in that community. Because I do not see things as black & white, and there are a lot of problems that do need to addressed. Were I to step into the arena of rights, activism, legislation, etc. I know I'd be a distraction at best, muddying the waters, making things harder for others.

And of course, getting a bit meta, this makes me the "good tranny" the one who accepts my second class status, who is grateful for the breadcrumbs of social and cultural acceptance, who cisgender folks looks to as a transperson who does not make them uncomfortable, who does not make waves. So rest assured, even as I type this, my soul gets ripped apart just a little bit more.

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