Of Gender Dysphoria and Western Privilege

A couple of weeks ago me and my drummer Nolan were talking about gender reassignment. We were talking about this because someone close to him had dated a partner who was transitioning. I shared a story of a person I had met who was doing the same. And of course, we came to the questionnaire part of our discussion, because no good discussion ends without raising questions, often questions that remain open. Seeing as both of us had some interaction in our lives with people who engaged in gender reassignment, we didn’t doubt that  gender dysphoria was a real affliction. We were two people, from vastly different parts of the country at different parts of our lives that had, at the very least, encountered someone engaged in dealing with this issue. We are no doctors of medicine, scientists of biology or any other such research person into the human condition. Who are we to doubt this is real? But as gender reassignment is essentially body modification, we wondered how many people go through the process of gender reassignment in America simply because they can afford to and feel like it.

Yes, this post is being written because one time punk rocker Tom Gabel has announced that she will start living as a woman named Laura Jane Gabel. And I am not trying to suggest that Gabel is not afflicted with feelings of Gender Dysphoria. I am sure what she feels is very real and the struggle of a lifetime of these feelings has been immense.  The whole fucking gender construct oppresses all of us, all around the world in all kinds of ways that manifest so often in violence, mutilation and death. I am, at least marginally, aware of the breadth and depth of the gender paradigm on this planet. But I am also aware of The Enigma, the man who looks like a tiger and people who split their tongues and implant horns in their heads to look like devils.

Essentially, the questions that Nolan and I had were to the people who modify because money, relaxed social norms and access allow them to. Often these stories, heartfelt or not, are sad stories of people just wanting to be who they are inside. I think that’s a feeling all of us get, wanting to project an inner ideal onto a biological body. Tattooing, piercing, fashion,plastic surgery, make-up are high dollar industries. The services don’t often come cheap (and if they do, stay away) and have radical effects on the human body. America is a country obsessed with image. I don’t care if you’re a park avenue diva or a homeless gutter punk. The way you are presented to the world is by choice because we have access to those choices. Everyone in this culture is put together in the image they want. I doubt that is so all over the world.

At its extreme, body modification, including gender reassignment, is still a choice that people in the west  can make. It’s a topic that can be talked about, and probably should be talked about more. I think Gabel presenting this topic will at least begin to educate a small section of society on the larger issues of gender.  It’s all too important as this country continues to fight a cultural war over gender and sexuality. People are still grossed out by homosexuality to a point of hatred. So if a few tweens start examining issues of gender at a more open-minded age, maybe we will accomplish something. However, Gabel has the access to doctors to guide her biological body through a change. Gabel has a community that will support her choices and nurture her through this transition. Gabel has the money to do this, granting her a type of access even many westerners don’t have in pursuit of living how they feel. How much does this access effect the decision to go through with these choices? Probably a great deal.

Since my conversation with Nolan, I can’t help but think about a film my partner told me about. It’s a 2012 documentary about women from Pakistan called Saving Face. I haven’t seen the movie yet. It seems all too gruesome for me to stomach without shutting down completely and absolutely giving up on this world. Just knowing it exists makes me want to turn off forever. Essentially, this film is about women in Pakistan who have had their faces and parts of their bodies melted off by acid. These women are attacked by the men in their lives for some perceived transgression that was apparently so awful the men felt they had to disfigure these women forever. These are women who will never get to be what they feel, no matter how much surgery they may receive. They exist in a shell that is not who they are on the inside and there are no choices for them but to bear the burden of someone else’s hatred.

This all may seem slightly insensitive,  and perhaps it is. I am not in the position of making apologies for offenses when my train of thought raises such questions. I mean no offense towards people who feel, deep inside that they should have been born as something or someone else. And I do feel lucky that so far I have been able to pursue on my journey who I am and have been able to express that with only minimal confrontation. But there is a larger world out there, larger than the struggles of each individual. The war inside us all is a damaging one I am sure, but it is a war we face alone often and the wars that are fought by people, not as individuals, but as a collection of marginalized, misaligned, oppressed people have a far more impact. We need to be not only thankful of our freedom and access to choices, but what these choices mean to those that can not make them.

This is a failed blog about sexism and sexism in punk rock.

I’ve totally tried to write eloquently and seriously about sexism and sexism in punk rock. I continue to fail at this, and it upsets me. Growing up in DC punk rock is, I think or hope anyway, a little different from growing up in other punk rock scenes. Maybe it’s because the women that created spaces in opposition were unstoppable, or maybe it was because Ian MacKaye, a patriarch of punk was pretty awesome to talented people and his example for us dudes led the way. Coincidentally, I think that Ian MacKaye as my punk patriarch, as problematic as the mythos about the man were, was my greatest role model.

Part of my problem is I’m not a hyper-aware kind of dude. I don’t believe that my beloved DC punk scene was free of sexism. In fact, some parts of it that I rolled in from time to time were down right misogynistic. But there was a post-punk, DIY, politically minded scene where a lot of great women were involved. Not just as musicians but as organizers, label heads, show promoters, engineers, etc. They were also role models to me, people who did amazing things, often tirelessly, thanklessly and in opposition. And sure, the women I got to know in DC punk had tons of stories of sexism, but they always seemed to be from on the road, far away from our scene. But again, I am aloof. It’s not that I don’t care, I’m just careless. I get aware of the bands on stage, making the noise I love. I’m not paying attention to the crowd of people next to me, or the interactions. I was oblivious to it. Not because I don’t like to confront bullshit, that’s just how I get around live music, oblivious to the world around me.

But there is no doubt that the problems of sexism, and her brothers homophobia and racism, existed in my scene and in punk rock at large. I just wish I knew what I could do about it. Especially at 34 from Albuquerque, NM where I haven’t found the DIY, punk, political scene too much. Except for Ronoso (can’t get the damn tile to work) who are grind, and vegan, and awesome. I know it’s not much different in regular society, and I know my own behaviors aren’t always awesome, but I want to be an active, involved and engaged ally. Part of the problem is the engaged thing.

Another problem is embracing parts of “maleness” that might be threatening or just make people uncomfortable. Look, Dude Jams, Too Many Daves, fat, drunk guys without shirts are things I love. Part of it is celebrating just being a loser, which is something I identify with. Part of it is saying fuck off to the “ideal” masculine paradigm by celebrating fat bodies and alternate types of maleness. Some of it is just dumb fun. Some of it is thoughtless, and thoughtlessness can be harmful to other people. It’s trying to navigate the space so we can all be self celebratory and comfortable with each other. Sometimes people overstep boundaries. Sometimes they do it because fighting makes them tired so they just take. Sometimes they do it because they don’t care. Sometimes they do it because they don’t know that shit that seems awesome and natural and self celebratory to them might be offensive or make other people uncomfortable. Bodies and the way we celebrate some and reject others in America is totally fucked up and not right. There has to be a way to reclaim that shit.

So, part of my process is just writing about it here. My problems, my confusion, my messy head, just getting these words out is how I try and learn and get better. Another part is once again looking to the brave, amazing, talented and powerful women in punk rock who are again, tirelessly and thanklessly talking about these issues. They are doing so in the face of more, predictable, fragile punk rock boy whining whose fear birthed that whole gotheMo movement that I think, maybe is done? I hope. Anyway, the rad blog I Live Sweat has three awesome essays by three awesome ladies that I think you should read and think about. No matter where you are on the gender/sexuality spectrum. No matter if you like Black Flag or Jay Z. This little scene is just a small microcosm of the larger world anyway. You can replace “punk” with any other scene or just remove the word all together and it still matters.

I am gonna continue to think about this shit, try to be a better human being, think about my own words and actions, how they affect other people and try to create safe and awesome spaces for everyone, no matter their identity in this world, self or societal. If there are experiences or readings about this shit, done especially by men, about this shit that you think I or the world could benefit from, please comment. That would be rad. Let’s make a dialog, let’s get action going, lets honestly put our selves in check. We can do all of this and still be awesome and have fun! Being respectful does not have to equal boring, lame and reserved. It mostly mans not being a self-centered asshole. Life is an awesome, beautiful, amazing party with so much awesomeness and rad dudes. We should get into it, be active about it and have a good time.

Punk Rock Fails Sometimes

So check this out, I have a dumb crush on Lauren Denitzio, formerly of The Measure (SA). I mean, that’s weird and I admit that’s weird. I’ve never met her, I only “know” her through her art work and music, both of which I respond to very positively. It’s not some kind of lusty, sexual, active type of crush. But I’m a dude that likes ladies. I don’t actually often respond with silly crushes to women in rock. I actually actively keep those feelings in check, because music and love do not mix for me. I am the kind of guy that if you go to a show with me, I am probably going to ignore you the whole time. I am very purpose driven at the rock and roll concert. I judge people on the type of music they listen to, unfairly, and as such, could never date a lady that was too geeky and OCD about music. That’s kind of dumb, but the last thing I want to do is be such an asshole that I break up with someone because they say something negative about Lifetime. That’s just not cool, but that’s the kind of dumbass guy I am.

Laura wrote this a while ago about sexism in punk rock. Punknews reposted it on their site here. A lot of dumbass boys got offended. Okay, I should come clean and say, I didn’t read many of the comments. I just see a comment thread of 419 posts and I know that there are some dumbass boys so volatile and hostile to any challenge to their violent, sexist status quo, that they all anonymously go apeshit on a message board on the internet.

So what do I think? This is my blog anyway, right? I think Laura is right on in every point she makes. Her essay is pretty positive and congratulatory to the punk rock scene. Of all the essays I’ve read scribed by ladies, this one had less of a negative bight. And yet, even with the sugarcoating (I beleive out of diplomacy more than anything) these little boys can’t take any criticism to heart. The true problem is, like religion, sexism is bashed into people’s heads before they are cognizant and able to comprehend and challenge the ideas. Then, when these boys reach an age where they have actually face their actions, they don’t have the tools to self evaluate and reject what is now inherit in them. This isn’t an excuse, so much as an attempt at an explanation. Each individual is responsible for their actions and the evaluation of those actions. It’s a shame this isn’t really taught, just left for everyone to figure out on their own. Most people never do.

Punk rock is nothing more than a microcosm of regular society. As much as it helps me personally to have a bunch of other weirdos to commiserate about depression and loneliness and alienation, it does no good as a culture to continually alienate others. Further, I am tired of the burden of criticism always falling on the responsibility of the few women and non-whites to call the white boys out on their bullshit. Sure, I’ve met plenty of men/boys who are the exact opposite of the punk rock status quo, trying to create and help facilitate spaces that are inviting and safe to all types of people. But the exception is far outweighed by the rule. There is little in the music or the message that is intended to be off putting to curious people, but the culture, like almost all cultures in western society, has a serious degree of bullshit to deal with. It’s time us boys start dealing with it.

Kanye West still sucks on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Kanye West
My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
G.O.O.D Music

Kanye West raps as though he is the downtrodden man. Such exclamations from the mouth of a multi-platinum selling artists (I stole this record, I’m not paying for this shit) are  hysterical for a sexist, egoist, who seems to lack both grace and any real connection to the real world or the true downtrodden man. Considering that the first words uttered of Kanye on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (that title is too long and unpoetic, I can never recall the whole thing) is “yeah,” we know from the get go we can expect no revelation of true genius/madness/sadness/sickness, but the same old Kanye. At the very least Mr. West refrains from dropping a few “uhs” into the mix, but these gripes are the least controversial offerings Mr. West can give us.

The best part about My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy comes right in the beginning, where he both brags about how much head he gets and yet how Kanye is considered a less talented icon to the beloved Beatles. Seeing as both were all sensation and contain such little substance, they were both made to be the perfect distraction for the consumptive driven American public. Two songs in, and I’m already wanting to drive my car into a crowd of headphone connected kids who might be listening to this. A tip boys a girls, no matter what Kanye says in “Gorgeous”, he is not subject to TSA searches when he flies, nor does the boy wunder fly coach. I am sure his cash flow gets him to the front of the line and in first class when he does succumb to flying commercially.

Kanye’s restraint is almost admirable. It takes him three whole songs before he calls an unlucky woman a “bitch”. The over-indulgent “Power” brings us West at his most egomaniacal, his precious thoughts being upended upon the public, despite the struggle he endured tearing himself away from the party to be alone with his thoughts. The swirling guitar lines that transverse the entire track distract from the core beat an actually pretty uplifting vocal sample. But this grating ear pollution can not overcome some of the most banal rapping I’ve heard. Kanye can flow, but only with trite references to the Obama nation, the film Lost in Translation and how awesome he is. Things only get worse ladies. I know you love him, but let’s be reasonable.

During “All of the Lights,” a highlight track musically that would have been better in the hands of a Mos Def or Q-Tip, Kanye’s lamenting both Michael Jackson and hitting a woman in the first lines. And this album has already been called “easily the most thrilling album of 2010” by the Washington Post and hailed with a 10.0 by Pitchfork? This is not acceptable. The established media continues to trump up hip-hop as the CNN of the streets and Kanye here is being presented to a larger audience as some nuanced threat whose showing the public their reflection. West repeatedly gets a pass for his violence and degradation of women by media outlets who want to jump on the party wagon. Why? Because he can throw out a decent track every once in a while?

Recently, Kanye lamented about that being accused of being a racist (here’s a tip Kanye, you are) was one of the worst things he was ever accused of. He went so far as to almost apologize to George W. Bush for calling him a racist (here’s another tip Kanye, he is a racist, don’t apologize to him for that, apologize to the American public for not using your platform to articulate the actual issues) . Such public flailing can’t possibly be admirable when you follow it with self-healing in the global plaza of television with an album that contains violence against women. West isn’t even apologetic on “All of the Lights,” all he wants is access to his daughter, who can’t possibly navigate the ‘ghetto university’ without his  actualized world view. That kid is better off with out you dude, she doesn’t need to grow up in an environment of the ‘champagne wishes/30 white bitches’ you have to offer her.

A few dope beats and a self-indulgent album that is punishing to endure gets you branded an unsung hero. Acting like the court jester, but failing to actually challenge any tangible social or political issues with any real insight gets you the attention of an eager public. The inability to articulate any idea with any compassion in any type of coherent matter lands you the carte blanche from the public to open your mouth whenever the fancy strikes you. In a society that loves the limitations of 140 characters for expression in an onslaught of the idiocy that all of us hold, Kanye West is the master. That he is actually able to sit still long enough and craft over an hour of music, that has it’s tides of good and bad like any commercial hip hop album, is the true feat of genius here. It’s not that the music is brilliant, sometimes it is, but mostly it’s just samples over beats and repetitive plinks of electronic instruments. It’s not that the lyrics are meaningful in any universal way, it’s fairly clear that Kanye is only concerned with himself and his own experience. No, what makes this album so extraordinary is how the collective conscience celebrates the underachieving, simply because we find it entertaining. We are not concerned with content, even when it reinforces the worst kinds of behavior and attitudes that plague the human experience. It’s not Kanye West that disappointing, it’s a society that exalts this behavior, encouraging the worst from each other.