One of the key focus areas of the Cloud Dancers Foundation is documenting transgender stories. We have previously documented the stories of trans seniors such as Petra Wenham and Maeve DuVally who have shared their journeys in becoming their true selves and the hardships they faced along the way. But why is it so important to document the stories of trans people?
Feminist Standpoints and Situated Knowledge
Storytelling is important because it allows people to listen to and better understand the realities of marginalized individuals. These stories consist of the personal experiences of marginalized people, experiences that non-marginalized people never had. As such, people who don’t identify with certain marginalized groups have a harder time identifying and understanding the issues that these groups face. Such theses are discussed within feminist social philosophy, mostly in the idea of standpoint theory.
From the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, two relevant claims of feminist standpoint theory are “(1) Knowledge is socially situated. (2) Marginalized groups are socially situated in ways that make it more possible for them to be aware of things and ask questions than it is for the non-marginalized.”
The idea is that insofar as the situations and experiences of marginalized groups are different from that of non-marginalized groups, they will come to have different understandings and interpretations of their social situations. As Sandra Harding, one of the seminal authors on standpoint theory, puts it, “knowledge is supposed to be based on experiences, and so different experiences should enable different perceptions of ourselves and our environments.”
One important aspect of this concerns matters of discrimination and oppression. Oppression is typically taken to involve two parties – the oppressed and the oppressors. Given the nature of oppression, the social situation of the two groups is radically different. While one experiences privilege and advantages along some social dimension (e.g. economic, material, etc.), the other experiences discrimination and disadvantages along those same dimensions. As such, the oppressed group who experience systematic disadvantages are in a better position to understand their plights than the non-oppressed group, who do not experience disadvantages and thus are not usually conscious of the issues that marginalized groups face.
It’s important to clarify that belonging to one marginalized group doesn’t mean you better understand the plights of other marginalized groups. For instance, being a cisgender black woman doesn’t mean you better understand the experiences of trans people than trans people themselves. To draw back on the main thesis of standpoint theory, this is because cisgender black women have never experienced what it is like to be trans.
This is a point made in a previous Cloud Dancers blog post concerning Dave Chappelle’s comments on the transgender community. As a non-trans individual, Chappelle has never experienced what it is like to be transgender and thus has never experienced transphobia. Despite this, Chappelle makes claims that imply he understands transphobia better than trans people themselves. However, his claims are uninformed by the actual realities of trans people and what they are saying.
Storytelling – Critical Race Theory
These sentiments are also echoed in the works of critical race theorists. One of the basic tenets of Critical Race Theory is what Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic call the voice-of-color thesis. Due to the different experiences that individuals from marginalized groups have, especially with respect to discrimination and oppression, they are able to communicate matters that non-marginalized individuals are unlikely to know. Within the context of race, it is difficult for America’s dominant racial group to understand what being non-white is like.
With this in mind, critical race scholars promote the practice of storytelling – for black and brown people to describe their personal experiences. The goal of storytelling is to describe the realities of marginalized individuals, realities that involve experiencing discrimination and systematic disadvantages, realities that non black and brown people will likely have a harder time understanding.
Transgender Storytelling
Similarly, Cloud Dancers looks to document the stories of transgender people, to cover their journeys and hardships in order for non-trans people to better identify and understand the issues that they face. From the activism within feminism, which brings attention to the realities of women, and critical race theory, which brings attention to the realities of non-white people, a similar practice can be made with respect to transgender storytelling, which brings attention to the realities of transgender people.
Sourced from ThoughtCo: https://www.thoughtco.com/seven-sisters-colleges-historical-background-3528803
Sourced from ThoughtCo: https://www.thoughtco.com/seven-sisters-colleges-historical-background-3528803
From the beginning of their existence, the meaning of a women’s college and its relevance has plagued the political sphere of the United States.
Questions have morphed over the decades—“Do women deserve spaces dedicated to education? Should women go to college?” or “Do we still need women’s colleges in a time when the majority of colleges admit women?”—but the main examination plaguing women’s colleges today remains the same as it was a hundred years ago: what is the meaning of “women’s college”?In a time when what it means to be a gender minority and what it means to be a woman is constantly shifting, this question has remained strong in the minds of feminists and gender theorists alike. As a non-binary person attending a women’s college, this question has been a core factor in my daily life.
The History of Women’s Colleges
When the idea of a “women’s college” was first introduced, it was in response to the fact that very few colleges would admit women into their institutions. Over the course of several years, hundreds of women’s colleges opened and, in response, many high-level institutions, such as the Ivy League, established women’s colleges to admit women when the main college refused to do so. However, as male-dominated colleges began to admit more and more women, the number of those women-only institutions began to fall, and fall dramatically: although there were hundreds of colleges in the early 1900s, only 40 remained in 2020. That number is even lower in 2023, sitting around 27 or 28. (“The History and Impact of Women’s Colleges”)
But what does this mean to the importance of a women’s college? Why did so many colleges close—or be absorbed into their main parent institutions (like Radcliffe College and Harvard University)?
The Identity of Women’s Colleges
The focus of a women’s college is undoubtedly that—women—and, in that identity, women’s colleges have been in the forefront of many discussions regarding the meaning of womanhood and the expectations of gender performance.
Wellesley College, for example, states that while they accept the applications of transgender women and non-binary applicants, they particularly only accept non-binary applicants who “were assigned female at birth and who feel they belong in our community of women” (FAQ – Wellesley College). Bryn Mawr College states the same, but in longer terms:
Bryn Mawr College considers as eligible to apply to the undergraduate college all individuals who have identified and continue to identify as women (including cisgender and trans women), intersex individuals who do not identify as male, individuals assigned female at birth who have not taken medical or legal steps to identify as male, and individuals assigned female at birth who do not identify within the gender binary.
My own college, Barnard, makes note of only accepting women (including transgender women, as of 2015). In the FAQ section of their Transgender Policy, there is one particular question of interest: Are individuals who identify as non-binary or gender non-conforming eligible for admission? The answer? “Barnard accepts applications from those who consistently live and identify as women. To be considered for admission, application materials should support this self-identification” (Transgender Policy – Barnard College). Bummer.
All three of these colleges are members of the Seven Sisters, or at least what remains of the Seven Sisters that still consider themselves women’s colleges (Radcliffe College, aforementioned, no longer exists as an undergraduate or women’s college, and Vassar began admitting men in 1969). All of these colleges were considered, at their peaks, the “Ivies for women.” All of them are strictly managed, rigorous, and difficult to gain admissions to; and they all, at some point, have worked together—that all being said, what marks such a large difference in their interpretations of “women’s college”?
Is there a singular interpretation of what makes a women’s college? Better yet, is there a singular or correct interpretation of what makes a woman, or what makes a gender minority? These are just more of the questions that these colleges have battled with for decades, but let’s try to grapple with them in a few simple ways.
Is there a singular or correct interpretation of what makes a woman, or what makes a gender minority?
Gender in the 21st century is a complicated topic affected by all avenues of thought — philosophy, religion, morality, politics, and more. Keeping this all in mind, what describes a “gender minority”? What is the meaning of “gender” in the first place?
The Purpose of a Women’s College in Modern Day
Let’s assume that a college is built for the advancement of education (an oversimplified idea by far); therefore, a women’s college is built for the advancement of women in education. If a women’s college is built for the advancement of women, why? A possible answer…? when women’s colleges were first established, women were underrepresented in higher education.
How has that goal changed with time? If the ultimate goal of a women’s college is to represent and serve a community with a low level of representation in higher education, then that goal is now void: in 2021, a study revealed that women outnumber men in completing a college degree (Georgetown University). Certainly women still face many, many injustices in a patriarchal society like the United States, but is that something women’s colleges are equipped to respond to, or are these colleges more-so a facade of previous goals — an institution built for maintaining the wealth and class of those in power above them? Barnard, for example, has a long history of indebtedness, struggling since its founding to maintain a stream of wealth able to support its students and faculty; in modern day, the College is astronomically reliant upon extreme donations from families like that of the Vageloses (multiple buildings on the small, four-block campus) and Glicker-Milsteins (other buildings and programs); not only that, but it is reliant upon Columbia, a co-ed university. As compared to the other sister schools, Barnard’s endowment fund is considerably smaller.
This is a problem that has been resolved in the past through mergers with parent colleges, like Radcliffe and Harvard, but that isn’t particularly an efficient solution either, and still does not serve towards the goal that colleges like these were built for. Aside from “a community of women,” what do these schools provide that others do not? — An institution built by and for women. Even in an age where women complete more degrees than men, it is still comforting to find solace from a patriarchal world in the presence of people like you (a woman surrounded by women). That is a purpose which should not be ignored.
Womanhood and Gender Minority Statuses
Womanhood can be defined in many different ways, but all of these colleges seem to have taken that identity in the same direction: placing it into the hands of the applicant and student. That is important because it assists in recognizing the blurred lines between gender identities: while one may not hold every identity placed upon womanhood in a particular person’s opinion, they may in another, and they may even in their own. That is what matters: to “live and identify as a woman,” whether that means by being a cisgender woman, transgender woman regardless of how far in their transition they may be or their understanding of what that transition would look like, or etc.
Where do genderqueer people fall into this? Within the past twenty or so years, the identities of genderqueer people have become incredibly visible in the United States in a way that they had not been in the past (and, by the way, gender non-conforming people are not a new concept). This is a group of people who are marginalized in more ways than one: economically, educationally, socially, and more — people whose entire lives are constantly in question, whose identities have become the plaything of governmental bodies, whose existence has become a legal matter which in some cases has been pushed to mean imprisonment (like this proposed law in West Virginia or these many bills introduced in Texas and a variety of others). All of this is to say — do genderqueer people not fall into the categories prescribed in the very goal of women’s colleges? If the purpose of a women’s college is, we assume, to educate the “women who will make a difference in the world” (Wellesley), then why not apply that to all gender minorities, to non-men? If the goal of these colleges is to fight against the patriarchy, what is this risking?
Do genderqueer people not fall into the categories prescribed in the very goal of women’s colleges?
… Of course, this opens up entire new doors on the problem: if we can define womanhood as one identifying and living as a woman under their own beliefs, then what can we define as genderqueer, or as non-man? Two of the three colleges mentioned earlier in this article do admit genderqueer/non-binary applicants, but only those assigned female at birth. What does this mean to genderqueerness? What does the fact that these people are allowed in at all mean to the identity of a woman’s college?
The main problem is that this perpetuates the idea that non-binary people, as a conglomerate, only identify with femininity and only require the support that women receive; they are forced, therefore, into a binary that their identity was meant to let them escape. This is marked even more by the fact that at these colleges, only AFAB (assigned female at birth) non-binary people are allowed to apply.
This article does a great job at identifying the problems with throwing “non-binary” or “genderqueer” people into a space with women and calling it inclusivity, but I think there is one major factor often overlooked: although these colleges or, in the context of the article, careers and clubs, may want to be more inclusive with their language, that is not the only problem afoot. The most major issue, in my opinion, is that of false security.
Support and Security
A false sense of security is defined as any situation that “makes you believe that you are safe when you are not” (Collins Dictionary).
Applicably, this is more than clear at the majority of women’s colleges today. Out of those that claim to accept gender non-conforming people, for example, actual resources for these people are few and far between; of those colleges which do not accept gender non-conforming people but claim to support those already within the institution who are transitioning, support is typically impossible to find anywhere but in close friends and partners. The facilities and services at these multi-million-dollar institutions lack in almost every way, guiding applicants into a false sense of security which suffocates those within and pushes many to end up leaving their educational journey behind before graduating. Colleges will continue to use feminine language, offer health services excluding transgender health and offered only in regards to female-born bodies, or have record-keeping programs which cannot support name-changes, for example. This goes beyond just education: it expands to the entire experience of university life, a time where one needs as much support as necessary.
In Finality
The debate about women’s colleges goes beyond what can be briefed in an article — it’s an entire subject that could be divided amongst a career of research. Those whom we turn to with answers are still faced with confusion and insecurity: the anxieties of institutions and the conflicting beliefs of different sources can be felt deep into the political sphere of the United States, which has already been heavily affected by transphobia, gender revolution, and acts of violence.
What can you do? Go out, learn more, and do your own research – develop your own opinions. Advocate, raise your own voice and the voices of transgender people, and be your own person.
I came out in 2020. And by that, I mean I came out for the first time in 2020. I say “for the first time” because coming out is a process, an ongoing conversation, not a finite moment in time.
Every time I meet a new person or begin forming a relationship with someone, I come out. This looks different with certain people, and sometimes it’s as simple as someone noticing that my necklace has a carabiner on it. Other times I have to be more explicit about it. Sometimes I’m explicit about it while wearing my carabiner necklace, Doc Martens, cuffed Levi’s, and a thrifted men’s shirt, but it still doesn’t seem to register.
It’s not that I go up to every stranger and announce that I’m gay; I just don’t hide that part of my identity in conversation and would rather people know that about me sooner before it turns into a big coming out discussion. Because the thing is, no matter how many carabiners and crystals I accessorize with, most people are going to assume I’m straight until I say otherwise. I feel a closet being built around me. Mentioning going to Pride or joking about the straight guys who show up on lesbian Hinge lets me break that closet down before the walls get reinforced.
There have been times, though, (especially at the beginning of my journey) where I considered allowing this closet to be built up again. When restaurants reopened, my first girlfriend and I walked hand-in-hand downtown for a night out. It’s not that we got bad looks that I noticed, but there were definitely lingering gazes or second glances as we walked past. I remember worrying that we might pass the wrong person in the wrong headspace.
The solution to this particular problem could have been just not holding hands in public, but if I was straight, this thought never would have crossed my mind. I’m an affectionate person who just wanted to hold my girlfriend’s hand on our first big night out, and I didn’t want to take away something so simple but that meant so much to me simply out of fear for how others would react.
Recent anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and social patterns have stirred up these questions for me once again. I love who I’ve allowed myself to be since first coming out, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider a future where I would have to give up some of these freedoms.
I want to make this clear: I’m privileged. I’m a white, femme lesbian from an upper-middle class family. I could ditch the carabiners, Docs, and sense of humor, be miserable in a relationship with a man, and Gilead would be none-the-wiser. I wouldn’t suffer with gender dysphoria because of this or feel like I need to suppress huge parts of who I am. Walking down the street, I’m not risking as much as a trans* person would be – especially a BIPOC trans* person. But I feel at risk nonetheless.
I also feel, however, the lingering pain that came with suppressing this part of me for 20 years. I was raised in a conservative area and was brought up in the Catholic Church. Unlike my other queer friends from elementary school, I did know that queer people existed but I didn’t feel that I could be queer. So I kept my feelings bottled up, I convinced myself I wanted to have straight hair and wear muted colors like everyone else, and I felt confused and broken every time I realized something about me was different.
I refuse to go back in the closet, and I refuse to stand by while a closet is built around me. I could live my life differently and perhaps be accepted more readily by society, but that would mean never fully accepting myself. There’s no shame in staying in the closet until you feel ready and comfortable, but when you do just know there’s a community of people here for you who will accept the parts of you that you had to accept about yourself. Don’t let yourself feel pressured or bullied into giving that up.
Halloween is a holiday that allows many to express themselves and have fun outside the confines of day-to-day life. We made a list of Halloween movies to watch this weekend that have LGBTQ+ representation and that embody this freedom.
Our favorite spooky gang is back! If you’re reading this, you’ve probably been aware for years that Velma’s character in the Scooby Doo series is queer coded (it definitely wasn’t subtle), but this movie officially let her out of the closet!
Hulu pulled through for fans of drag this year with their “Dragstravaganza” hosted by queens Ginger Minj and Monet X Change. With many amazing drag kings and queens, a great soundtrack, and all the fun and opulence you could ask for from a drag special, this spectacular is sure to get you ready for spooky season!
We all know and love the Sanderson Sisters, and while they still rule the screen in the Hocus Pocus sequel, three drag queens briefly take the stage impersonating them. I would happily watch a fully dragged-out version of the film, but allowing queens to showcase their art in such an iconic Disney movie is a huge win for the LGBTQ+ community.
No list of LGBTQ+ Halloween movies would be complete without mentioning The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Honestly, there are so many ways this movie could have gone wrong. We could’ve ended up with another Jame Gumb perpetuating harmful stereotypes, but instead we ended up with pure camp, bliss, and self-expression. Put on some fishnets, cinch that waist, and get ready for a night that will live in your memory forever.
As the number of queer bars in the United States dwindles, discourse increases over how to preserve those that remain as safe spaces for the LGBTQ+ community. To many, this means asking cishet individuals to respect these spaces and keep them queer.
This may seem exclusionary for a group that relies on acceptance and love for all identities. However, the exact point here is that many LGBTQ+ people feel excluded almost everywhere else. The default assumption of society is that a person is cisgender and heterosexual until they come out as queer (and maybe even then, too). In queer bars, though, this script is flipped. It creates an atmosphere that allows people to have experiences as their true selves. It’s an opportunity to feel celebrated rather than studied.
Unfortunately, some have had this experience tarnished by cishet people who treat the space as they would a traditionally “straight” bar. Women on TikTok recount being harassed by straight men who wouldn’t leave them alone even after they said they’re lesbians. Others report being made fun of for approaching a woman in these spaces who then reveal they’re straight.
These experiences are all-too-common in day-to-day life, but the purpose of queer bars is to prevent them from happening there. This raises the question, then, of when and how it’s respectful for cishet people to enter these queer spaces.
Some request that cishet people not go to gay bars in general, others don’t have an issue with it, and more think it’s respectful to go in a group that includes queer people. This means, then, that we don’t have a clear answer for when it’s respectful for cishet people to enter these spaces. It seems, though, that the intent behind going is more important.
Gay bars are a lot of fun, and the accepting environment can make cishet individuals feel comfortable and safe as well. However, this openness is maintained by celebrating what makes us different and not judging people for living lives different from our own. Everyone entering these spaces – cishet or queer – needs to respect this.
They’re not places to ogle or judge. They’re not places to superficially preach allyship. They’re places where allyship must be practiced. They’re places to go support queer friends. They’re places that allow LGBTQ+ individuals to be celebrated for the part of their identity that has been oppressed for so many years and that continues to be today.
We have very few of these unique spaces left, yet they are so vital to the LGBTQ+ community. Make the ones we have left count, and keep them safe and uplifting spaces regardless of your sexual orientation or gender identity.
Sourced from https://www.statepress.com/multimedia/c78729ec-7257-4842-8a1d-288a51461add
On September 7th, 2022, the New York Times posted an article titled The Safe Space That Became a Viral Nightmare; a name that doesn’t truly do the story justice. Immediately I noticed the irony in the entire situation — the violence and abuse that students of color, especially Tekola, a non-binary Black person, faced, including undeserved punishment from their university, when compared to their white peers, with whom it seemed an entire nation stood behind.
…the violence and abuse that students of color, especially Tekola, a non-binary Black person, faced…
“Black transgender and gender non-conforming people face some of the highest levels of discrimination of all transgender people,” according to Injustice at Every Turn, a sub-research article based from the National Transgender Discrimination Survey
For a brief refresh on the story: Arizona State University, a system with over 70,000 students (and over 130,000 students between all campuses and programs), with the push of minority students, established a multicultural area they called the “Multicultural Communities of Excellence space.” This multicultural space was meant to serve as a place on campus for students of color and other minorities (whether that be ethnic, queer, etc) to feel comfortable and centered when typically they would not be. The space was large, with full glass windows and a sign indicating its status (although the article notes that the signs might not be very effective or noticeable).
On September 23rd, 2021, Araya, a Black student, was hosting a Black Graduate Student Association study session in the multicultural center when two white men entered the space. Araya shared with the New York Times that she felt as if the men were mocking her: laughing, turning their stickers towards her (one which proudly stated “Police Lives Matter” in comparison to a sticker on Araya’s laptop, “Black Lives Matter”), nodding towards her, and etc.
Araya, being alone at this point, snapped a photo of the men and sent it to Tekola, aforementioned, and Qureshi, a Pakistani-American woman. At the time, Tekola and Qureshi were attending a meeting with school officials regarding maintaining the space. Tekola shared the message with the officials, who offered to send a “Situational Response Team.” By the time Tekola and Qureshi reached the Multicultural Communities space, however, no such team had arrived. After a bit of discussion, Qureshi volunteered to talk to the two men.
By the time Tekola and Qureshi reached the Multicultural Communities space, however, no such team had arrived.
The New York Times article seems to focus especially on Chase Beckerman, one of the two men, while not discussing Garett Niles, who had been the one to truly engage with Qureshi and Tekola. Perhaps that is because Beckerman was willing to chat with the Times; regardless, the article paints Beckerman as an unwilling bystander, confused about the situation at hand and meaning no harm while Tekola, who had been the primary voice in the video, “harassed” him and his friend. This ignores three important facts:
1. The space was clearly, regardless of the writer’s opinion, indicated as a multicultural center; Tekola had been one of the founding members of the center, which had faced multiple setbacks due to controversy and abuse from Arizona State University. If these two white men were laughing at, pointing towards, and etc, Araya, then they were clearly in knowledge of this fact and continued into the space anyways.
2. The interaction came at a university where abusive and racist groups and people have been allowed to coexist and spread hate; as stated in the article:
Members also pointed out moments of racism and harassment at the university: a religious-right activist protesting while wearing a T-shirt that read “Muslims Will Rape You;” anti-immigrant and neo-Nazi fliers plastered around campus; a student group called College Republicans United whose members were caught sharing racist, homophobic and antisemitic messages online. (That group, still an official student organization, last year tweeted a Thanksgiving meme referring to Native Americans as ‘undocumented immigrants’ who ‘refuse to learn local language’ and ‘still get food assistance.’)
Tekola’s response to the appearance of two White men who seemed to be harassing their friend in a multicultural space, especially following so much prior hate, was not uncalled for.
3. Tekola’s position as a Black transgender student allowed them many more vulnerable identites to be attacked than Niles (who compared his experience being confronted by Tekola to “Black people during the ‘times of racism'”) or Beckerman.
The article claims repeatedly that Beckerman feared for his future as a doctor, including his ability to enter and remain in medical school with such an event as this attached to his name. Beckerman’s fears, which have not come to fruition, are incomparable next to what Tekola has experienced: murder threats, rape threats, verbal and physical harassment, fatphobic comments, and extreme racism to the point of being sent photographs of murdered Black people. Tekola and Qureshi both faced physical harassment from multiple groups, even being offered a police escort, which they rejected in reference to a former police officer’s website, which had posted threatening and derogatory statements about them both. Meanwhile, Beckerman continued his, while now more publicized, life working at a hospital. While Tekola faced threats of being removed from their university, both Niles and Beckerman studied and continued life as they had prior to the video.
Just one Google search of “ASU Tekola” returns handfuls of results with titles skewering the situation in racist and transphobic ways: painting Tekola and their friends as “woke ASU students” or “Black Students punished for attacking White Students…” The articles more often than not misgender them, belittle them, and spread rapid misinformation; it seems that few notice the extreme power imbalance in the situation itself, or even the situation’s reality. One article, A Look at the Impact of ASU Multicultural Spaces on Students, shares one of the few views supporting Tekola and their friends through interviews with other ASU students. Wendy Ruiz, a Latina ASU student, said:
“I felt very uncomfortable just because on Instagram, the two girls were shown in the wrong and the two men were the victim. I definitely disagree because these two white men purposefully came into a multicultural space and purposefully put their propaganda that makes students of color uncomfortable because of the issues they face in real life.”
Wendy Ruiz, a student at ASU, shared her belief that Tekola and their friends were improperly targeted in media during an interview with AZ Big Media.
When it comes to situations involving people of color, especially transgender people of color, it is important to take into consideration the power imbalances, inherent racism, and evident transphobia in articles and in media. It is important to take publicized information with a grain of salt, and even more important to do your own research with the knowledge of these inherent truths in mind.
October 8, 2022 is National Depression Screening Day, a day that encourages individuals to screen for mental health issues and be aware of conditions that may be affecting them.
This is important for everyone to participate in, especially for members of the LGBTQ+ community and trans* individuals who face these challenges at higher rates than the general population (See: “The Stigma of Seeking Help”).
It’s important to address these issues as soon as possible once they arise. On a personal note, I began suffering from depression early in my childhood, but I went undiagnosed until I was 16. I felt it becoming harder and harder to control, and by the time I got treatment, it was more difficult to correct my unhealthy way of thinking as I was combating years of unhelpful habits that had built up.
Studies have shown that the chance of full remission from depression decreases the longer the illness goes untreated. There is always hope for remission, and you can take control of that hope today by getting screened.
Because of the stigma surrounding mental health issues, it’s difficult to admit you need help, and you can’t always rely on other people to notice the signs for you. That’s why it’s important to seek treatment and get screened to monitor your health.
We have yearly physical exams, so please consider this your yearly mental exam. Take a screening here or consult a healthcare professional to take care of yourself sooner rather than later. You have so much value and there are people equipped to help you. This is the first step in accessing this support.
I came out in 2020. And by that, I mean I came out for the first time in 2020. I say “for the first time” because coming out is a process, an ongoing conversation, not a finite moment in time.
Every time I meet a new person or begin forming a relationship with someone, I come out. This looks different with certain people, and sometimes it’s as simple as someone noticing that my necklace has a carabiner on it. Other times I have to be more explicit about it. Sometimes I’m explicit about it while wearing my carabiner necklace, Doc Martens, cuffed Levi’s, and a thrifted men’s shirt, but it still doesn’t seem to register.
It’s not that I go up to every stranger and announce that I’m gay; I just don’t hide that part of my identity in conversation and would rather people know that about me sooner before it turns into a big coming out discussion. Because the thing is, no matter how many carabiners and crystals I accessorize with, most people are going to assume I’m straight until I say otherwise. I feel a closet being built around me. Mentioning going to Pride or joking about the straight guys who show up on lesbian Hinge lets me break that closet down before the walls get reinforced.
There have been times, though, (especially at the beginning of my journey) where I considered allowing this closet to be built up again. When restaurants reopened, my first girlfriend and I walked hand-in-hand downtown for a night out. It’s not that we got bad looks that I noticed, but there were definitely lingering gazes or second glances as we walked past. I remember worrying that we might pass the wrong person in the wrong headspace.
The solution to this particular problem could have been just not holding hands in public, but if I was straight, this thought never would have crossed my mind. I’m an affectionate person who just wanted to hold my girlfriend’s hand on our first big night out, and I didn’t want to take away something so simple but that meant so much to me simply out of fear for how others would react.
Recent anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and social patterns have stirred up these questions for me once again. I love who I’ve allowed myself to be since first coming out, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider a future where I would have to give up some of these freedoms.
I want to make this clear: I’m privileged. I’m a white, femme lesbian from an upper-middle class family. I could ditch the carabiners, Docs, and sense of humor, be miserable in a relationship with a man, and Gilead would be none-the-wiser. I wouldn’t suffer with gender dysphoria because of this or feel like I need to suppress huge parts of who I am. Walking down the street, I’m not risking as much as a trans* person would be – especially a BIPOC trans* person. But I feel at risk nonetheless.
I also feel, however, the lingering pain that came with suppressing this part of me for 20 years. I was raised in a conservative area and was brought up in the Catholic Church. Unlike my other queer friends from elementary school, I did know that queer people existed but I didn’t feel that I could be queer. So I kept my feelings bottled up, I convinced myself I wanted to have straight hair and wear muted colors like everyone else, and I felt confused and broken every time I realized something about me was different.
I refuse to go back in the closet, and I refuse to stand by while a closet is built around me. I could live my life differently and perhaps be accepted more readily by society, but that would mean never fully accepting myself. There’s no shame in staying in the closet until you feel ready and comfortable, but when you do just know there’s a community of people here for you who will accept the parts of you that you had to accept about yourself. Don’t let yourself feel pressured or bullied into giving that up.
Smiling as he looked into the camera, head slightly tilted in thought, Dr. Jeff Day, an assistant clinical professor at New York University Rory Meyers College of Nursing, said, “I went to San Francisco. I remember very clearly walking down the street and seeing a trans woman ahead of me, and I remember thinking,
that’s the next frontier.”
He was discussing his upcoming course at NYU — a series of lectures focused on LGBTQ health — and we had begun to chat about his inspiration and why he felt the course was important. The course dives into the deeper waters of queer health, focusing not only on the “big picture” but on individual communities and issues. The conversation was filled with moments like these; moments in which we could truly see the engagement and care Dr. Day had for the subject he would begin to teach this upcoming semester.
Dr. Day is a nurse practitioner with the Center for Transgender Medicine and Surgery at New York Eye and Ear Infirmary of Mount Sinai, board-certified by the American Nurses Credentialing Center as an adult-gerontology primary care nurse practitioner and certified by the National League for Nursing as an academic clinical nurse educator, and is an active member and chair-elect of the Nursing Section of the Gay and Lesbian Medical Association, dedicated to ensuring equality for LGBTQ individuals and healthcare professionals. Dr. Day’s current pursuit is a course at NYU focused on LGBTQ+ health. This course has one clear goal — to educate the next generation of healthcare professionals and to “take care of LGBT individuals.”
Interestingly enough, the course came to fruition both out of Dr. Day’s belief that the topic went under-teached and out of the request of students. It wasn’t simply one or two students who would come to Dr. Day about feeling underprepared for helping queer patients; several students came to him with questions on queer health and a interest in learning much more than he was able to share in the moment.
“I identify as gay, and I have had my fair share of poor treatment in healthcare… I had a friend who was trans and had an abysmal treatment in healthcare and ended up taking her own life,” Dr. Day told us, somber, and then added, “I needed something that was my own.” That opportunity came in the form of this course: the issue was clearly prevalent and on the minds of students, and Dr. Day knew he had to step in.
The course, which begins this upcoming fall semester, caters to students with little to no experience in LGBTQ+ healthcare, although those already informed on the topic are also able to participate. Curriculum is divided into week-long chunks, with, for example, one week dedicated to HIV/AIDs care and chronic conditions, one week dedicated to intersex care, and two weeks dedicated to general transgender care. Although Dr. Day created the course for those already interested in LGBTQ+ healthcare, he shared with us his ultimate hope for the future of education: “Ideally, LGBTQ+ content would be weaved into curriculum… Ideally, we would make space in each of those classes, such as Pharmacology or those medical-surgical courses, dedicated to LGBTQ care,” and while he “felt it was important to open up an elective for those who have a passion for it,” he believes that expanding LGBTQ+ care to be part of general study is important.
When asked why he thinks LGBTQ+ healthcare hasn’t become a general topic found in all courses yet, Dr. Day, with a sigh, shared he believes it is because professors lack understanding of queer health. In fact, a study conducted in 2011 concluded some disappointing facts: many medical students only received, at the time, around five total hours of education relating to queer health — and many of these rising physicians felt as if they were inadequately trained for working with queer patients. Although this study concluded a decade ago, these numbers have hardly changed. Many students still feel uncomfortable working with queer, especially transgender and intersex, patients, with many reporting that they feel as though they are uninformed on the subject of transgender/intersex care, according to this 2017 study.
Ideally, LGBTQ+ content would be weaved into curriculum.
The amount of students who came to Dr. Day asking for more clarity on LGBTQ+ health only proves this lack of education.
How can medical schools improve? According to Dr. Day, “We need trans, gender nonbinary, gender nonconforming, gay, bisexual, we need all of this literature provided to students before they get to the classroom. It will make students more sensitive that way. In a way, they’ll understand what they’re getting into… I also think we need to tackle it from a faculty perspective. We need better training.” The problem goes beyond what students are being taught now; the issue began decades ago. If professors received improper training in their education and proceeded to avoid queer healthcare, never properly learning themselves, how could they teach the next generation any better?
Still, it’s no excuse, and Dr. Day agrees. Professors have a duty to not only their students, but to their students’ future patients. Even the smallest changes, such as introducing oneself with one’s identities present and explaining that one has a different viewpoint and experience than those one is working with, can go a long way. As we continued to chat, Dr. Day offered advice for professors struggling with feeling inadequate, or as if they might make their students uncomfortable, explaining that in his course, “My ultimate goal is to bring in some guest speakers. I frame my lectures by saying, ‘I am not a person of trans experience,’ ‘I am not a person of color experience.’” These disclaimers mixed with the real-world experience of those impacted directly can do quite a bit for students who might, in many ways, also feel as though they could never understand queer health or would always be walking on eggshells with queer patients.
I frame my lectures by saying, ‘I am not a person of trans experience,’ ‘I am not a person of color experience.’
Disclaimers can encourage acceptance and growth, according to Dr. Day.
This ability to recognize one’s identities and experiences contrasted with the identities and experiences of others allows one to accept their own drawbacks, and even accept their own possible failures. That acceptance is an early step in moving forward. Optimistically, Dr. Day added, “I do anecdotally hear that there is some improvement in nursing schools… I am getting word that it seems to be helping. I do hope to one day have students come back and tell me about their experiences.”
This care is not only rewarding to the patient, but to the physician as well. “I had a patient who tied balloons to their bed, because they had gotten gender affirmation surgery and was celebrating their first birthday, and you hear me get choked up about that now… There’s something super special about working in that area,” Dr. Day shared with us, his excitement obvious.
It’s clear: there’s nothing Dr. Day wants more than to bring these experiences to both his students and their future patients who might otherwise never receive such care. The Rory Meyers College, where Dr. Day is leading this course, works with future nurses, a field in which the relationship between oneself and the patient is of utmost importance. The impact of a nurse on a patient can influence a variety of things, including, but not limited to, the patient’s decision to receive treatment, the patient’s comfort with said treatment, and the patient’s willingness to continue to seek the aforementioned treatment.
To see a patient thrive under one’s treatment — that is what inclusivity is for. Dr. Day shared with us an experience he had working with a transgender patient who had received surgery to raise her voice, and it is impossible to say that she did not thrive. “(T)he sheer joy she experienced coming in and preparing for this was just infectious,” he said, “We talked about her past surgeries… I just see people sail as a result of these procedures that I don’t often see in other individuals.”
Hundreds of patients await experiences such as these, but due to a lack of education and a lack of access catered to queer patients, many are unable to proceed with the care they deserve. That is also part of why Dr. Day is so adamant about his course, and courses like it: they are not simply taught for fun, but for the betterment of millions of people.
In 2011, Kim Malek and her cousin, Tyler Malek, founded the ice cream company Salt & Straw to create a community gathering place where people can treat themselves and experience “moments of wonder” together.
As such, the company embraces people from every walk of life. Each store window displays a sign that states, “We Welcome All,” and they take steps to make each person who walks through the door feel comfortable being their authentic self.
Cofounder and CEO Kim Malek spoke with Cloud Dancers about her views on the role of business in the pursuit of social responsibility and the steps she has taken to make her workplace better for all, especially those who identify as trans*.
Malek’s kind nature and excitement over having these meaningful conversations are immediately apparent even in the age of video conference interviews. “Yay! We did it!” she exclaimed when we entered the meeting. Immediately I was put at ease, glad to know she was as eager to do this interview as I was.
Collaborating with other organizations or foundations like ours is nothing new to Malek, as she believes in working together to bring about social change. Malek grew up wanting to go into politics, but instead went into business when she realized the advocacy that was possible in the private sector.
She observes, “Business has to be at the table and part of those conversations. The government can’t do it all on its own. Nonprofits and governmental agencies can’t do it all on their own. All three have to come together to make change.” She continues, “It’s good business to be investing in the right ways. Not only is it the right thing to do for society, but it’s actually just good for your business.”
“It’s good business to be investing in the right ways. Not only is it the right thing to do for society, but it’s actually just good for your business.”
When reflecting on this idea of social responsibility, Malek says it goes beyond writing a check. “To me, it’s looking into the core of your business and how you do business, breaking apart each of those components to figure out how you can use your business to make a difference in the world.”
She gives examples (and there are a lot) of Salt & Straw’s business practices that work toward this goal. “For instance, we buy a lot of ingredients,” she says. “The cost of entry today is that you would buy organic ingredients that don’t harm the environment. You would expect us to do that.”
Social responsibility, though, goes beyond meeting basic expectations. “Let’s go to a deeper level and ask, ‘can we buy from mostly minority or women-owned businesses so we can use our purchasing power to help a first-generation farmer in the Bay Area where we’re her largest customer? And then can we use our marketing power to promote her and make her known?’” The question, Malek continues is, “‘How can you take what you’re doing every day and use that to invest in the community in a unique way?’”
Kim and Tyler Malek work together to dream up unique flavors which benefit the community.
With over one thousand employees, Malek says hiring is a huge opportunity to make business more equitable and safe for all. “We ask ourselves, can we use that to offer first jobs to people and train them in unique ways? Can we use our hiring to offer jobs to people who are reentering the workforce? How can we format our training program so that we’re known as a company that, if you used to work there you have these incredible skills? And maybe we even hold job fairs with different industries at the end of the summer to say, ‘We have this incredible talent pool that we’ve just trained – hire them!’ It’s radical that you would do that because you want to hold onto your people (and we do, by the way), but at the same time, could we be a launching pad for employment in other places?”
“And while you’re here, look at our benefits!” she exclaims. “Since Day One, we’ve offered benefits for people who are transitioning and just making sure that, if we get complaints, we hold everyone accountable and we have a culture where that’s not swept under the rug. We investigate and take care of issues. We’re not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re on a journey to take the right next step each time.”
“Since Day One, we’ve offered benefits for people who are transitioning”
Supporting trans* individuals has been a “no brainer” since founding the company. Salt & Straw set up its benefits program in 2011, and Malek states, “Maybe it was a little newer to offer that benefit back then, but it was available, so it was like ‘of course we’re going to do that!’”
Beyond this financial assistance, she notes, “I think the challenge we’ve had over the years is making sure that we as a company are prepared and educated to support people who are transitioning. It’s one thing to give that benefit, but how does the company provide the right support? There’s a lot going on in your life when that’s happening, so what accommodations can we make more broadly so that you can be successful as you transition?”
The transgender community cites safety as its number one concern in the workplace (McKinsey), and these best practices along with Salt & Straw’s zero tolerance policy for any sort of safety concerns seek to mitigate this fear. Malek states, “We educate people about that on day one. Whether it’s from customers or coworkers or members of the community.”
Again, looking into the core of her business, Malek reflects, “We’ve done that successfully and I think sometimes we haven’t. Probably our biggest area of opportunity is to continue to make sure that it feels like a safe, supportive place as someone’s going through that.”
Malek’s response to this is training, focusing on the management, and ensuring that each level of the business reflects these values. She raises the question, “If you’re a manager at a Salt & Straw and you have a team member who’s transitioning, how do you talk to them or the rest of the team and explain what’s going on in a way that’s supportive? And even how do you handle customer conversations? Because that can be hard too!”
Malek continues to work directly with guests, even in her role as CEO.
She stresses the importance of having training around this and communicating a plan for employees should these situations take place. “You need to have a plan of what to do because otherwise, you don’t know what to do in the moment. You need to talk about it with your coworkers, with your manager, and then when it hits you, you’re like ‘oh yeah, I know what to do!’ Otherwise, in the moment it’s too hard to navigate.”
“I honestly believe that there are a good number of organizations out there that would advocate for their team members,” she continues, “I just honestly don’t know if they’re thinking about it. So we need to talk about it and get best practices out there. Because there’s no environment where someone working in the hospitality industry should be made to feel like they have to endure that kind of thing. And it’s serious. And it happens.”
“There’s no environment where someone working in the hospitality industry should be made to feel like they have to endure that”
Society as a whole might be slow to catch up, but Malek cites this as a reason to take swift action where necessary. “If there’s any whisper of a concern, then the management team will be willing to face that, get involved, and take action,” Malek says.
She adds, “This is really hard to do, and you hear companies all the time saying they don’t want to go through that. But you have to. Every single time. Every time.”
Malek says advocacy doesn’t stop at her business. Rather, her business is a form of advocacy. Salt & Straw has a number of exciting new programs and partnerships in the works, so stay posted and treat yourself to some ice cream – we all deserve to have moments of wonder.
