sex, lies, and gendertape

So, I've been sent a few news articles regarding the murder of Angie Zapata, a transwoman whose age I haven't been able to determine (a quick Google search reveals a range of cited ages, from 18- to 21-years-old. Honestly, I guess there's just not a whole lot of difference between 18 and 21, if you're talking about the endpoint to someones life. Zapata was young). For anyone who hasn't heard about this murder, here is a shamefully brief summary: Zapata was born male but had been identifying as a girl/woman for the past six years or so; she had not yet had any reconstructive surgeries (I do not know if she planned on ever doing so); she met a 32-year-old man online, and they arranged a meeting; they met and shared some sort of intimate experience; she lied to him about her sex; he found out and beat her to death with a fire extinguisher.

While being questioned by the police, the murderer, Allen Ray Andrade, explained that he thought he had "killed it," referring to Zapata. It hit me in the chest like a sledgehammer, this cold, casual, statement, and transfolks and allies have jumped all over this dehumanizing language. Rightfully so.

The thing is, my brief survey of the commentary out there regarding this case reveals that very few people seem to be troubled by Zapata's behavior. A (possibly) 18-year-old dating a 32-year-old? A biological male passing himself off as female--and not just for a night out dancing, but while inviting and engaging in sexual encounters? Reckless and dangerous and unethical and absolutely unacceptable.

So, for the record, I am totally against the death penalty as it exists, but in my world, this Andrade fuck gets got. What he did is heinous, inexcusable, unforgivable. This world has no place or use for him. This is where my own temper and problems with anger get the best of me--I imagine a thousand excruciating tortures for Andrade, a slow, harrowing, agonizing death, when I know the simple snuffing of his life is the more honorable thought. I have a code for fuck's sake, ok? It's just the darker parts of my psyche that have a hard time honoring it...

I need to say here that I also think that what Zapata was doing was a crime. In my world, if Andrade had been able to hold his weak, pathetic shit together, he could have sued Zapata for false representation or something. Honestly. It is not acceptable to lie to people about your fucking sex. Period.

I guess I should also say here that my relationship with trans issues is really thorny. From the moment I heard about "sex-change operations," when I was about six-years-old, I dreamed of the day when I would have mine. Up until that time, I had gone to bed every night praying to wake up as a boy. After a few years of this, a TV show about Christine Jorgensen totally blew my little mind and made me decide to put my faith in science, not god, to help me become what I knew I was supposed to be--a real, live boy.

I was in my 20s before I fully accepted that a sex-change was not what I wanted. This realization was watershed, and it was tied to my slow recognition of all the glue and tape and thread that it takes to patch together the myths that form our cultural fabric. That's a whole 'nother story and a lifetime of blogs, but suffice it to say that I think there is something heartbreakingly misguided about carving up a body in order to meet society's expectations for sex and gender performance. Yes, I feel at odds with my body, yes, I present as masculine, yes, I have passed as a dude--accidentally and purposely. Still, my decision to forgo body modification is because, after much rumination and writing, I realized that I don't locate "the problem" within myself; I locate it within the collective ignorance, fear, and complacency that forms the bedrock of our culture.

What I'd love to see is a forced recasting of our cultural notions regarding this thing we call "gender" and the way it relates to our genitalia; we must divorce privilege, expectation, and opportunity from our sexual organs. In fact, I will be so bold as to argue that the form and function of one's junk should only be important to said junk's owner and to any potential sexual partners:

"So, your penis is fully functional, then?"
"Why yes it is, m'lady, fully functional. And may I inquire as to your own genitalia?" "Oh, but of course! Both my vulva and my vagina are in fine working order, I can assure you!"

Or:

"My, but your clitoris is lovely in the morning light."
"Why, thank you, sugar. I was just thinking of how very much I adore the shape of your ass"

And so on.

Anyway, here's the thing that I think about a lot lately: I suspect that if I had been born into a world that had allowed me to do all of the things that came naturally to me--play sports, climb trees, sit with my legs "like a boy," ride dirtbikes and skateboards, shun baby dolls for GI Joes, wear tennis shoes and jeans and neverever a dress, learn a trade like carpentry or masonry, and, you know, most importantly, love girls like I love breathing--without overloading me with all those cultural messages that made me know that my behavior was suspect, then maybe I wouldn't have spent this lifetime so dreadfully uncomfortable in my own skin, sure that I have been born the wrong sex.

Usually this sort of talk from me invites a little bit of thoughtful dialogue and a whole lot of angry responses from transfolk who want to get into pissing matches with me about which of us "feels" the most male, about which of us has the bigger imaginary cock.

Mine is huge, trust me, but not so much that it scares the ladies.

Anyway, I won't engage in that sort of "look-inside-my-soul-for-the-penis" discourse. It's OK with me if you've decided to modify your body; it just isn't my path.

Obviously my mind is everywhere--whenever I start thinking about trans issues and the world around me and my own identity, my thoughts turn quicksilver--but one place it keeps returning is to Angie Zapata's picture. Young, beautiful, brash in that way only teenagers can manage... I know I called Zapata to task posthumously for what I think was reckless and unethical behavior, but she and I are kindred, and I am outraged by her murder. I understand, so acutely, her desire to match what she felt under her skin with what she presented to the world. I understand, too, that what is sometimes perceived as disguise is actually just a fumbling attempt to build a bridge between our self-perception and the myopic eyes of the world.

Mostly, I understand that we lost another beautiful creature to a senseless, monstrous crime.

Stay safe, people. The world is scary and confusing, and it is so easy to get lost, fall into harm's way, and never make it back again.

Rest in Peace, Angie; may the stars welcome you home.

I'm a Kitty Cat

I don't know why.