The J.K.Rowling Dilemma
2020 has turned out to be a banner year for controversy and nastiness, as well as rampant misunderstanding. For me, nothing has made this more apparent than the release of J.K. Rowling’s, aka Robert Gailbraith, latest novel in her Strike Series.
Given Ms Rowling’s public disclosure of her opinion on trangender women’s access to public restrooms that conform to their identity gender, as well as her voluminous manifesto justifying her position, it came as no surprise that the announcement of a transvestite serial killer featured in her new book would plunge social media into teeth-gnashing savagery. The hashtag #RIPJKRowling started trending at once, with a plethora of sentiments ranging from despair at a beloved author seeking profit in such a time-worn cliche to chilling threats against her. It also came as no surprise that the majority of the participants hadn’t read the book itself.
I’ve not read it either. I did post on my social media that I found it appalling, based on the publisher description and news clippings I did read. I’ve no intention of reading it, or any of Rowling’s work, again. I was never a big fan of hers, being an adult when her Harry Potter reached world-conquering status, and once I read her manifesto, I had my fill of her particular rhetoric.
Still, I found myself sucked into a social media exchange with a fellow author, a cis woman, whose books I love. At first, I reacted to her post stating that other well-known thriller authors before Rowling have used the trope and not been maligned for it, and there was, in fact, very little of the aforementioned transvestite killer within its pages; what was there was obscure. I found this disingenuous and pointed it out. Considering Rowling’s stance, the subtext, no matter how veiled, is painfully apparent. It can’t be coincidental that she’s published a novel fictionalizing her stated fear, specifically that allowing transwomen to use ladies’ public restrooms will encourage cis male predators to don a female disguise to invade and defile.
The exchange, however, unexpectedly shifted into broader concerns. My fellow author was outraged on Rowling’s behalf as twitter took to abuse with its habitual voracity, but what began to seep through was outrage and fear on behalf of her biological gender. As a cis gay male, I suddenly realized, not without shock, that I wasn’t attuned to this aspect of the controversy as perhaps I should. In my former employment, I worked for ten years in the San Francisco Department of Public Health on transgender health projects, collaborating with trans individuals across the spectrum of transition. I knew very little going in, but learned to my awe that gender dysphoria covers a wide range; it’s not one size fits all, much like humanity itself. To me, reducing its complexities to “anyone who takes estrogen can now use my toilet” denigrates the immense suffering transgender people undergo because of their gender identity. Ongoing scientific studies indicate gender originates in our brain, not our genitals; trans people can’t always be classified by their sexual organs. Some transition to their identity gender as we’d physically expect it to look. Others do not, for various reasons. Whatever the case, gender dysphoria is not a cloaking device for rapists. To me, it’s a human condition that warrants equal rights under the law. Moreover, data from states where bathroom access is mandated disprove the theory that predators will seize advantage in it to find victims. Not a single sexual assault by a cis man in drag has been reported in a woman’s restroom as a result of the law.
However, my fellow author pointed out that cis female survivors of sexual violence can’t be assuaged by statistics. Their fear is sharing the restroom with “someone they consider male” and their feelings should be taken into account. I countered that while I feel deeply for women who’ve suffered sexual trauma, their discomfort is not a basis for denying others their rights. If it were, we’d never have obtained civil rights or indeed the woman’s right to vote. Such blanket defense could be applied by the uncomfortable to anyone whom they believe poses a threat to their well-being, which is how equal rights have been opposed and denied throughout history.
That didn’t go over well, as I should have surmised. However, the next reason she cited truly caught me off-guard. According to her, “the majority of female athletes feel their hard work and sacrifice is for nothing if they have to compete against someone who self-identifies as a woman but who are biologically male.” Though the Expert Working Group in Canada has determined the “fundamental human right of gender self-determination overrides any consideration of potential competitive advantage,” my fellow author doesn’t agree. And she believes she’s entitled to her opinion without being labeled transphobic.
Naturally, I reacted, saying competitive sporting concerns were likewise no basis to halt 21st century progress and an equitable solution would have to be found, as it was indeed transphobic to deny trans athletes the right to compete in their chosen sport, as their identity gender, because cis athletes fear a biological advantage. Once again, I didn’t go over well. My fellow author accused me of being “glib” and didn’t appreciate I deemed her opinion anti-trans.
It then struck me that while I see myself as acutely sensitive to women’s issues, I am, in fact, somewhat not. There’s a group of cis women out there who now feel as if they must fight for their biological gender, and they view transgender women as . . . not a threat, precisely, but as a potential thief of their hard-earned rights. As I sat with this startling thought for a time, I began to consider the long and arduous haul that cis women have undertaken to obtain rights, as well as the pervasive discrimination they still confront. #Metoo illuminated the dark underside of gender relations, the abuse women suffer at the hands of powerful men; adding transgender women into the volatile mix has sparked a conflagration, made public by Rowling.
Does a biologically born male who transitions still carry the residue of her biological sex, the “superior genetic muscle”, as my fellow author called it, granting her an advantage in sports, for example? I’m no scientist to determine this, but the possibility might explain why some cis women — particularly those who’ve survived sexual trauma — would see a transwoman using their restroom as a violation. At one time, that transwoman was classified as male. Born with male biology. To the cis woman who has personal reasons for feeling threatened, the maleness is still there, lurking under the hormonal and surgical changes; to them, a transwoman might harbor the essence of male aggression that ravaged their sense of safety. Adding to this is their ongoing fear that a predatory cis male will indeed take advantage of a law mandating equal bathroom access to do harm. These cis women don’t see themselves as transphobic. They do not hate transgender people. They feel as if they must advocate for their safety against a law that, in liberating others, exposes them to unacceptable risk.
It might seem preposterous to someone like me, with my privileged white cis masculinity, but the more I stayed with the unsettling thought, the more it made sense. I might argue it’s irrational, that my personal experience with trans people confirms my belief that they are, in fact, exactly who they say they are in their minds and souls, only born in the wrong body, and don’t wish to take anything away from us but rather to be respected and included as their identity gender. That the data clearly shows bathroom access equality is not a gateway to violence. But, what good would it do? Trauma is visceral. It doesn’t respond to logic. It’s our survival instinct gone awry, our defensive mechanism torn asunder and patched together haphazardly, leaving hidden scars and raw wounds that refuse to heal. Trauma destroys reason. And lives.
Trauma is insidious, just like transphobia, systemic racism, and homophobia. Even the most well-meaning among us harbors fears and prejudices sown by our pain. I know I have them and have had to work on myself to figure out where they come from, why I hold onto them, and what I need to do to address them. For me, it boils down to being educated on the subject and accepting that I am fallible. We are imperfect beings who often fear what we don’t understand. I believe J.K. Rowling fears what she doesn’t fully understand and she believes it sincerely, because she’s a survivor of sexual abuse. I believe my fellow author and the cis women she cited believe it, too. Their struggle is as real and anguished as that of trans people seeking inclusion in a dangerously suspicious and shifting world.
I don’t have easy answers to this dilemma. As an out gay man, I’ve always fought for my community. I battled the AIDS crisis, losing countless friends. I fought for gay marriage. I fight for transgender rights because they are my tribe, and the contempt, the hatred and violence, must be overcome by equal rights that uphold our dignity as human beings with the right to love and thrive. The violence I’ve seen perpetrated on trans people in particular enrages me; a trans person is far more likely to kill themselves than anyone else, and be assaulted just because of who they are. But cis women have also been a mainstay of my existence, my lodestone and best friends. I count cis women among my closest allies, and the fight for women’s rights has been integral to my lifelong activism. I don’t distinguish between cis and transgender women because to me, they are my sisters, one and the same. To fight for one is to fight for the other.
Am I wrong in thinking this? Perhaps. I’ve certainly learned that as with so much else this year, even my hard-core beliefs can be shaken.
