1. a right, immunity, or benefit enjoyed only by a person beyond the advantages of most: the privileges of the very rich.
2. an advantage or source of pleasure granted to a person: It’s my privilege to be here.

Those certainly aren’t the only definitions of ‘privilege’ (see where I stole them from for a few more examples) but they’re the ones I’ve been thinking about lately.

The first is perhaps the most commonly used: “White privilege.” “Cis privilege.” “Male privilege.” recursiveparadox has a great post on that type of privilege, For the Uninformed: Privilege, Perspective, and the Little Things That Jab. She sheds light on how lack of privilege can become “this constant stream, this wearing away of patience, defense and sanity.”

I’ve been thinking about that second definition of privilege: “It’s been a privilege meeting you.” “Do you think putting a TV in her room is too big of a privilege?” “Pick up your toys or you lose dessert privileges.”

That definition – of a source of pleasure – has flipped my perspective around a little bit, and made me all the more aware of the loss of my male privilege (using the first definition).

Take going out dancing. I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sick and tired of going to bars where it’s assumed I’m straight, and want to dance with men. On the same page, my dislike of Wrigleyville, Chicago’s frat row, has grown from simply not liking loud bars in general to specifically feeling massively othered by the culture and atmosphere. (If anyone in Chicago wants to go to some lesbian bars with me, please speak up!) It’s easy to think of this as an example of straight privilege: the assumption is that everyone is straight, and so the majority of the bars cater to said clientele.

But flip that around: It would be a privilege, a pleasure, to go to a bar where the assumptions about who I’d like to dance with matched who I’d actually like to dance with.

On a slightly more humorous note, it is a privilege to be able to pee standing up. I was at an outdoor event this past weekend, and only hesitated slightly before deciding to use the porta potty. Peeing standing up rocks, and it’s what my body is designed to do. It’s obnoxious and silly to sit to pee in public restrooms because I worry someone will see me standing to pee in the womens’ bathroom.

For a third example, take clothing. Yes, there is some very significant male privilege (first definition) in the expectations put on men and women when it comes to clothing and appearance. But I’d also say women have the privilege (second definition) of being able to dress either ‘boyishly,’ ripped shorts and an old t-shirt while biking, or ‘girlishly,’ makeup, heels, and a dress while going out. Now, that may simply be my (very, very, very) biased impression of having been denied the ability to put on heels and a skirt for so long, but I think it is a larger social construct that discourages men from dressing up beyond a certain point. For example, I’ve gone to work much more formally since transitioning – but still well within the acceptable range for women – than I could have as a man. I’d say, at least in younger or more liberal circles, women have a wider range of acceptable clothing options, and that’s been a privilege to discover.

I don’t know that thinking of privilege in this mirror or flipped fashion is useful beyond an interesting difference in perspective. But I’ve been trying to think about my discoveries of privilege in the positive – figuring out what bars it would be a privilege to go to, or what clothing I’d feel privileged to wear – rather than stand sadly on the ship of womanhood waving goodbye to the more traditionally-viewed male privilege.

I mentioned to my roommate that – if a girl ever professes their love for her – she should not respond like that, as it’s rather condescending.

She said, “No, I think it’s flattering!”

I’ve been trying to figure out if she’s oblivious, or I’m being overly sensitive. I think there are two issues. First, there’s the whole implication that being gay is a choice. Now, Jones may simply be be using a slang term for being gay, and not actually expressing her belief that being gay is a choice. But I think that’s sort of beside the point, as responding to this woman’s very heartfelt expression of love with slang seems horribly dismissive.

Second, the implication that there’s any choice in who one falls in love with, above and beyond issues of gender. By saying “…there’s no one for me but you,” Jones goes beyond being explicitly dismissive of whatshername’s homosexuality and is more generally dismissive of her expression of love in general. If a man had said the same thing to Jones, removing the element of homosexuality, it’d still be condescending to say, “If I ever decide to stop loving Darcy, you’re the only one for me.”

It seems like at least one other person agrees that the lesbian scene in the movie is used “to reinforce the idea of lesbian intimacy as just another available offering on the straight male sexual menu.” She continues,  “which begs the question: if two women kiss and there are no men to see it, did it really happen?”

I don’t think I can finish this post of better than that!

(PS – After looking up the definition of condescending, I still think I’m right.)

I was at part one of a two-day workshop led by members of the Tectonic Theater Project – best known for The Laramie Project – on Moment Theater. We were taking a brief break and one of the other participants came up to me and, without any pretense, sprung that question on me.

(A quick side note: I’m not finding a good explanation of Moment Theater online, but my impression was that it’s an expansion of the ideas of Mary Overlie and Viewpoints.  The idea is that, when creating a piece for the stage, equal attention should be payed not only to the text but to the architecture of the space, props, sound, lighting, movement, and a whole bunch of other things which go into creating a show, but are often neglected until the last minute. The workshop was very cool, and I hope tomorrow is even better.)

A lot of thoughts went through my head in the few seconds before I had to either respond or create a socially awkward silence:

• You should never tell someone that they don’t pass. (I can obviously think of exceptions for close friends or family, or if you’ve explicitly asked. But if you just met someone and you think they’re trans? Don’t bring it up unless they do.)
• Well, shit, that means I’m not passing right now.
• Am I obligated to be polite here? Do I really want to be rude?
• Am I obligated to act as an educator? Do I really want to let a language faux pas like “undergoing a transgender experience” just slide?

This woman was (presumably unknowingly) exercising her cisgender privilege by asking personal questions she would never dream of being asked in return. Forget “Are you gay?” That could, conceivably, be asked at a workshop which was organized by a GLBT theatre company, although she was a little blunt and to-the-point in how she did it. (It was sort of like a straight person asking, “Are you a gay?”) But more to the point, she would never dream of asking someone who was bald and slightly frail looking, “So, are you undergoing chemo right now?” There’s a cultural understanding that, unless they bring up the subject, medical and personal issues are part of a private domain.

Should I tell her all that? I don’t want to come off as “that angry trans woman.”

All of that flashed through my head in the moment before I responded, “Yes, I’m transitioning.” I don’t like being rude, particularly to someone who was obviously trying to be polite and find a connection (albeit in a horribly awkward and privileged way).

She continued. “Have you found a supportive community?”

At this point I realized my mistake in opening the door to her questions, and somewhat regretted my decision. But I couldn’t exactly back out now and say, “None of your business” at this point, could I? Instead, I replied, “I’ve been fortunate enough to be surrounded by people – friends, family, and coworkers – who are really supportive.”

Lucky for me, the break ended at this point and the conversation didn’t continue any further. But, in retrospect, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t say something to her tomorrow. Is it possible to correct someone and still be polite? To not come off as a stuck-up bitch?

Here’s my fantasy response; what maybe I should have said, and what I need to decide whether or not to say, in some form, tomorrow:

I know you’re not intending to be rude, but that’s actually something of a rude question. I’m out about my identity as a trans woman, and usually don’t have a problem talking about it, but – just as if someone came up to you and said, “Are you a gay?” – asking that (even when you think you know the answer) isn’t very polite.

Likewise, the correct terminology is ‘transitioning.’ Again, I know you weren’t trying to be offensive – and you didn’t really offend me – but using incorrect terminology can be seen as uneducated, at best, and offensive, at worse.

I don’t want you to shy away from talking about trans issues or to trans individuals, but I do want to think about your position as someone who is (presumably) cis – that is to say, not trans – and the societal and cultural privilege and power that position grants you over those who are trans.

But I don’t know that I’ll have the courage to say that, to make a nuisance of myself.

It’s much easier to be polite, to not make a fuss.

In a sort of surreal way, she was more right than she could possibly know in asking about whether I was “undergoing a transgender experience.” Because being asked that question, in and of itself, of having to put up with people who are well-intentioned but ignorant, is a transgender experience. Maybe it’s the transgender experience. (The ‘ignorant’ part, anyway. Hopefully the ‘well-intentioned’ part more often than not…)

I can only wonder what transgender experience tomorrow will hold…

The simple guide includes such adversarial approaches as

• If You Won’t Educate Me How Can I Learn?
• If You Cared About These Matters You’d Be Willing To Educate Me
• You’re Being Hostile
• You’re Being Overemotional
• And more!

The “book”s intro after the break.

You know how it is.  You’re enjoying yourself, kicking back and relaxing at the pub or maybe at the library; or maybe you’re in class or just casually surfing the internet, indulging in a little conversation. The topic of the conversation is about a pertinent contemporary issue, probably something to do with a group of people who fall outside your realm of experience and identity. They’re also probably fairly heavily discriminated against – or so they claim.
The thing is, you’re having a good time, sharing your knowledge about these people and their issues. This knowledge is incontrovertible – it’s been backed up in media representation, books, research and lots and lots of historical events, also your own unassailable sense of being right.

Yet all of a sudden something happens to put a dampener on your sharing of your enviable intellect and incomparable capacity to fully perceive and understand All Things. It’s someone who belongs to the group of people you’re discussing and they’re Not Very Happy with you. Apparently, they claim, you’ve got it all wrong and they’re offended about that.  They might be a person of colour, or a queer person. Maybe they’re a woman, or a person with disability. They could even be a trans person or a sex worker. The point is they’re trying to tell you they know better than you about their issues and you know that’s just plain wrong. How could you be wrong?

Don’t worry though! There IS something you can do to nip this potentially awkward and embarrassing situation in the bud. By simply derailing the conversation, dismissing their opinion as false and ridiculing their experience you can be sure that they continue to be marginalised and unheard and you can continue to look like the expert you know you really are, deep down inside!

CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE PRIVILEGE!

Ceder over at Taking Up Too Much Space has come up with a Cis Privilege Checklist, having been inspired by Peggy McIntosh’s White Privilege Checklist. Both lists are woth taking a look at, because no matter who you are you either are the recipient of such privilege, or denied such privilege by virtue of not bing cis or white. But the lists are particularly interesting to go through from the perspective of figuring out how many privileges have been denied because of your non-cis or non-white status. (Interesting and depressing, but interesting nontheless.)

I bring up Cedar’s list because I’ve only really started making an effort to present myself as feminine while going out in the last few months, which means my legal documentation (with a male name and a big ‘M’) matches my presentation less and less. Last night, as I was going into a bar, the bouncer took a look at my ID, did a double take at me, looked back at the ID, mumbled, “But this is a men’s…oh,” handed the ID back, and let me in. I was able to take this as a compliment (unlike the last time I mentioned a similar situation) but it’s fed my thoughts on privilege, and how little thought I gave to my ID being accepted at face value before transitioning.

Likewise, I’m currently out of the allergy medication I usually use, and have been avoiding going to the doctor for a refill because he hasn’t seen me since I started going as female full-time. I know I can call the doctor’s office and (without identifying myself as a patient) ask point-blank if they’re OK with transgender patients. That’s what’s friends have recommended I do, and it makes sense, but it still feels super-awkward. From what I’ve heard from my therapist, if my insurance company gets word I’m trans it could affect my current coverage, or make future coverage more difficult. My allergist wouldn’t specifically have a reason to report anything, but it’s not like I can hide my boobs from someone who is checking me with a stethoscope. Right now, as far as I know from my therapist and from my hormone doctor, the insurance company just knows I go to therapy and have some sort of hormonal issue. Illinois has ‘gender identity’ as a protected class along with race, gender, religion, and so on, which is awesome, but I’d obviously like to avoid going to court to have my medication and doctors visits covered…

I don’t have any deeper thoughts than just to say I’ve been thinking about privilege. I haven’t come to any conclusions, so I’m not entirely sure how to wrap up this post. But take a look at both of the lists, and think about how you’ve either gained some privilege based on being cis or white (or male), or what privileges you should have and don’t due to your non-cis, non-white (or non-male) status.

-R