What is “bad faith” in matters of equality [and stereotypes]
“…it is only necessary to act in the customary, ordinary, usual, even polite manner. Nonetheless, I doubt that any of us who does so is totally without the knowledge that something is wrong.
- To slide into decisions without allowing oneself to realize that one is making any;
- to feel dimly that one is enjoying advantages without trying to become clearly aware of what those advantages are (and who hasn’t got them);
- to accept mystifications because they’re customary and comfortable;
- cooking one’s mental books to congratulate oneself on traditional behavior as if it were actively moral behavior;
- to know that one doesn’t know; to prefer not to know;
- to defend one’s status as already knowing with half-sincere, half-selfish passion as “objectivity” –
This great, fuzzy area of human ingenuity is what Jean Paul Sartre calls “bad faith.” When spelled out the techniques use to maintain bad faith look morally atrocious and appallingly silly. That is because they are morally atrocious and appallingly silly. But this only shows when one spells them out, i.e., becomes aware of them. Hence this one effort among many to do just that.”
Russ, J. (1984) How to Suppress Women’s Writing, London: The Women’s Press.
A transgender teen from Ohio committed suicide on December 28th. She was born a male, but strongly identified female from the age of four. Unfortunately, her parents did have room for a trans child as it went against their religious beliefs. Efforts at reparative “therapy” with “Christian” therapists seemed to simply drive the teen deeper and deeper into depression; until, seeing no way out, this teen stepped in front of a truck traveling down a highway at 2:30am, instantly dying in the process.
The teen, Leelah A., left a note on Tumblr, which is reproduced here in full. Her parents still refer to her as “him” and have not acknowledged anything to do with Leelah’s gender identity.
“If you are reading this, it means that I have committed suicide and obviously failed to delete this post from my queue.
Please don’t be sad, it’s for the better. The life I would’ve lived isn’t worth living in… because I’m transgender. I could go into detail explaining why I feel that way, but this note is probably going to be lengthy enough as it is. To put it simply, I feel like a girl trapped in a boy’s body, and I’ve felt that way ever since I was 4. I never knew there was a word for that feeling, nor was it possible for a boy to become a girl, so I never told anyone and I just continued to do traditionally “boyish” things to try to fit in.
When I was 14, I learned what transgender meant and cried of happiness. After 10 years of confusion I finally understood who I was. I immediately told my mom, and she reacted extremely negatively, telling me that it was a phase, that I would never truly be a girl, that God doesn’t make mistakes, that I am wrong. If you are reading this, parents, please don’t tell this to your kids. Even if you are Christian or are against transgender people don’t ever say that to someone, especially your kid. That won’t do anything but make them hate them self. That’s exactly what it did to me.
My mom started taking me to a therapist, but would only take me to christian therapists, (who were all very biased) so I never actually got the therapy I needed to cure me of my depression. I only got more christians telling me that I was selfish and wrong and that I should look to God for help.
When I was 16 I realized that my parents would never come around, and that I would have to wait until I was 18 to start any sort of transitioning treatment, which absolutely broke my heart. The longer you wait, the harder it is to transition. I felt hopeless, that I was just going to look like a man in drag for the rest of my life. On my 16th birthday, when I didn’t receive consent from my parents to start transitioning, I cried myself to sleep.
I formed a sort of a “fuck you” attitude towards my parents and came out as gay at school, thinking that maybe if I eased into coming out as trans it would be less of a shock. Although the reaction from my friends was positive, my parents were pissed. They felt like I was attacking their image, and that I was an embarrassment to them. They wanted me to be their perfect little straight christian boy, and that’s obviously not what I wanted.
So they took me out of public school, took away my laptop and phone, and forbid me of getting on any sort of social media, completely isolating me from my friends. This was probably the part of my life when I was the most depressed, and I’m surprised I didn’t kill myself. I was completely alone for 5 months. No friends, no support, no love. Just my parent’s disappointment and the cruelty of loneliness.
At the end of the school year, my parents finally came around and gave me my phone and let me back on social media. I was excited, I finally had my friends back. They were extremely excited to see me and talk to me, but only at first. Eventually they realized they didn’t actually give a shit about me, and I felt even lonelier than I did before. The only friends I thought I had only liked me because they saw me five times a week.
After a summer of having almost no friends plus the weight of having to think about college, save money for moving out, keep my grades up, go to church each week and feel like shit because everyone there is against everything I live for, I have decided I’ve had enough. I’m never going to transition successfully, even when I move out. I’m never going to be happy with the way I look or sound. I’m never going to have enough friends to satisfy me. I’m never going to have enough love to satisfy me. I’m never going to find a man who loves me. I’m never going to be happy. Either I live the rest of my life as a lonely man who wishes he were a woman or I live my life as a lonelier woman who hates herself. There’s no winning. There’s no way out. I’m sad enough already, I don’t need my life to get any worse. People say “it gets better” but that isn’t true in my case. It gets worse. Each day I get worse.
That’s the gist of it, that’s why I feel like killing myself. Sorry if that’s not a good enough reason for you, it’s good enough for me. As for my will, I want 100% of the things that I legally own to be sold and the money (plus my money in the bank) to be given to trans civil rights movements and support groups, I don’t give a shit which one. The only way I will rest in peace is if one day transgender people aren’t treated the way I was, they’re treated like humans, with valid feelings and human rights. Gender needs to be taught about in schools, the earlier the better. My death needs to mean something. My death needs to be counted in the number of transgender people who commit suicide this year. I want someone to look at that number and say “that’s fucked up” and fix it. Fix society. Please.”
If you need help, there is help! Do NOT give up on the chance to live as you should be. Life is NOT an EITHER/OR question. Sometimes life is an AND. You can be transgendered AND live AND thrive AND cry AND grow AND have a life.
The Trevor Project is a crisis and support organization for LGBTIQ teens. They operate hotlines and a website. From their contact webpage:
We’re here for you. Please call the Trevor Lifeline (866-488-7386) – it’s free and available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You can also ask for help on TrevorChat or TrevorText.
Talk to us on the Trevor Lifeline (866-488-7386), over TrevorChat, or through TrevorText – our trained volunteer counselors are ready to listen.
by Alice Robb / newrepublic.com
One day in 1779, a London couple, seeking treatment for their seven-year-old daughter, showed up at the Soho Square Dispensary for the Relief of the Infant Poor. The first doctor thought she might have a hernia. The second had a different idea.
“I shall not trouble the reader with the surprise into which the parents were thrown when I first told them their child was not a girl, as they had supposed, but a boy,” wrote the second doctor. The case was recently discovered in the archives of the University of Kansas and written up in the latest issue of the journal Sexualities.
In the early 2000s, Carol Warren—then a professor of sociology at the University of Kansas—was researching the history of electricity in the college’s rare books library when she noticed an old pamphlet with an eye-catching title: “The case of a boy who had been mistaken for a girl; with three anatomical views of the parts, before and after the operation and cure,” by a surgeon called Thomas Brand. “I was looking through a bunch of materials that had been shoved together, and this one appeared,” recalls Warren.
According to Brand’s report, published in 1787, he noticed an “irregularity” in the patient’s “external parts.” After further examination, he concluded that the child’s “part, which had the appearance of the labia pudenda, was in fact the scrotum,” and suggested an “operation to free the penis from its confinement.” He went ahead and made some alterations, enabling the child—whose name is unknown—“to urinate standing up, wear trousers, and enjoy the privileges of being a male.” Brand, who practiced at the Royal Hospital at Greenwich, was “not a quack,” according to Mary Fissell, a professor of the History of Medicine at Johns Hopkins who I spoke to on the phone.
Brand saw the operation not as sex change, but as a means of returning the child to his “proper” gender; Brand seemed to believe that only two distinct sexes were possible. He denied the existence of hermaphrodites, although he was familiar with the concept: “The term ‘hermaphrodite’ is properly understood as an animal that has both the male and female organs equally and perfectly formed,” he wrote. “But,” he goes on, “There is no reason to believe that such a case ever had existence in the human subject.”
Brand’s attitude toward sex and gender was consistent with the predominant view of his time; according to eighteenth-century norms, sex was a medical fact that had nothing to do with choice or personal expression. In fact, neither the patient nor his parents seem to have even been consulted. “Gender wasn’t conceived of as a form of identity,” says Warren. “It was conceived of as a form of body.” The idea of a person being “transgender,” of course, is not something that would enter common conception until about two centuries later.
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Perhaps the most interesting and mysterious of these women was Ellen Tremayne, or Tremaye, who as Edward De Lacy Evans gained notoriety in Victoria in 1879. The Evans case attracted many lurid reports in colonial and international newspapers and sensationalist pamphlets with headlines such as ‘Extraordinary Personation Case’ or ‘The Impersonation Case’. People who claimed to have known her in Ireland or on the immigrant ship, the Ocean Monarch, came forward with hearsay and gossip trying to unravel the ‘mystery’ of this woman’s life.
Like ‘Jack’ Jorgensen, De Lacy Evans lived a large part of her life as a labourer. When her gender was discovered by the authorities she was persuaded to exhibit herself as an oddity at sideshows.
She may have been a transsexual, or gender dysphoric, that is, a person who felt herself to be male, despite being anatomically female. Today she might have had surgery and hormone treatment to arrive at gender comfort. On the other hand she might have been lesbian, preferring sex with women and using male garb as a way of surviving in an ostensibly ‘moral’ and heterosexual society. The newspapers treated such women mercilessly. The various accounts of her life show that Evans was unable to cope psychologically with circumstances both before her ‘masquerade’ and after her discovery.
Evans, or Ellen Tremayne, as she was known on the ship, arrived in Australia as an assisted immigrant in June 1856. According to the Shipping Lists she was from Kilkenny, 26 years old, was Roman Catholic, could read and write and was described as a housemaid. If we can believe the confused and often contradictory reports that appeared in 1879, when the ‘scandal’ broke, she had borne an illegitimate child in Ireland and fled to America. She is supposed to have returned to Ireland but was again forced by social disapproval of her ‘immoral’ life to sail to Australia by the Ocean Monarch.
During the voyage she caused much speculation on varying counts. She wore a man’s shirt and trousers under her dress and seemed to have formed sexual attachments to some of her female cabin mates, in particular, Mary Delahunty, a 34-year-old governess who came from the same part of Ireland, the Harristown-Waterford region. Some of her fellow passengers thought Evans was a man masquerading as a woman!
Soon after arrival Evans, or Tremayne, as she was then known, was employed as a maidservant at a Melton public house. After some time she left this position, donned men’s clothes, found Mary Delahunty and, calling herself Edmund De Lacy, ‘married’ Delahunty at St Francis’ Roman Catholic church in Lonsdale Street, Melbourne. There is evidence, however, that they ‘did not live comfortably together’. Delahunty opened a school in Blackwood and around 1862 left to marry Lyman Oatman Hart, an American mining surveyor in Daylesford.
What of the name De Lacy Evans? During the 1850s it was a famous one. General Sir George De Lacy Evans was a prominent military man at the Crimean War and part of the Irish establishment. Evans’s ‘third wife’, Julia Marquand, stated that Evans had told her that the general was his uncle. Further, it was reported that Ellen Tremayne had a cabin trunk marked with the words ‘Edward De Lacy Evans’. A woman who claimed to have been a Kilkenny neighbour told the newspapers that Evans was really Ellen Lacy, daughter of a well-to-do farmer of Harristown, Kilkenny, who had borne an illegitimate child and fled to North America. She returned as Mrs De Lacy Evans and was last remembered in the early 1850s as causing a furore when she rode her horse among the villagers at a gathering held by the Earl of Bessborough. The locals drove her out of town as an immoral woman. There is speculation in the Man-Woman pamphlet that her husband or paramour was named Edward De Lacy Evans, that he somehow tricked her by placing his trunk on the Ocean Monarch but had deserted her. A man of that name is supposed to have arrived in Melbourne in June 1858 on theMatoaka, ‘a rather handsome young fellow, well developed and with fine-flowing whiskers’ who worked as labourer around Ballarat and Bendigo.
During the next 20 years Evans ‘married’ two other women: Sarah Moore, who died of pulmonary tuberculosis in 1867, and Julia Marquand of Bendigo. Evans worked as a carter, miner, blacksmith and ploughman in the Blackwood, Bendigo and Stawell districts. During this time it seems that Evans was charged at the police court and jailed for seven days for being found in a servant’s bedroom at the hotel where she and her ‘wife’ Sarah worked, but got away with swindling a fellow miner out of £175. Nevertheless, the public record shows her as owning shares in various goldmines and paying rates for properties in Eaglehawk and Sandhurst.
When her third ‘wife’, Julia Marquand, gave birth to a child in March 1878 Evans registered herself as the father. Perhaps in a certain sense, we can see Evans as the embodiment of feminist Julia Kristeva’s theories of the ‘abject mother’ and the ‘imaginary father’. In the early 1850s Evans, as Ellen Tremaye, had borne a child and become outcast from her own region; now in 1878, by registering the child as her own in her masculine persona, she becomes a ‘father’.
Evans and Julia Marquand seem to have lived together only intermittently, Evans working in Stawell or Ballarat and Marquand working as a dressmaker near the City Family Hotelowned by Marquand’s brother-in-law Jean Baptiste Loridan. There must, however, have been deep resentments following on the discovery of her ‘wife’s’ pregnancy. In July 1879, she became violent to Julia and the 15-month-old daughter, fell into deep depression and was admitted to the Lunacy Ward of the Bendigo Hospital suffering from ‘amentia’. For the next six weeks she refused to bathe, and it was not until she was removed to the Kew Asylum and forcibly stripped, that her gender was discovered. She was promptly handed over to female nurses and dressed in ‘frocks and petticoats’. Bendigo newspapers reported the story with much prurient and salacious detail. Soon, the colonial and international press ran the stories.
When the De Lacy Evans ‘scandal’ broke, Aaron Flegeltaub, a Stawell photographer, exploited the situation bringing to light ‘excellent likenesses’ of Evans and Julia Marquand taken about 1870. He possibly made a tidy sum selling them ascartes-de-visite. Bendigo photographer Nicholas White somehow obtained access to Evans just after she had been readmitted to the Bendigo Lunacy ward, and took a trick photograph of her dressed in both male and female clothing. He also took a series of head and shoulders portraits of Evans wearing what seems to be a white hospital nightshirt (or straight-jacket). White’s action seems a clear case of exploitation. In the photographs Evans stares out at us, wild eyed and probably affronted by the intrusion. The Australian Medical Journal of 15 April 1880 gave a detailed description of another intrusion: a gynaecological examination that caused her to cry and scream while Dr Penfold used his speculum. This report, however, verifies that Evans was physiologically female and that she had carried and borne a child.
Not surprisingly the existence of a child and the ‘wife’s’ insistence that she did not know that Evans was a woman caused most public conjecture. Speaking to reporters, Julia Marquand ingenuously accounted for the child by saying that she believed that ‘some strange man entered the house one night about the time her husband should have returned home’. There was evidence that the second wife, Sarah Moore, after about a year of marriage, was aware of the masquerade and not happy with the situation. A witness reported Moore punching Evans on the breast, her ‘weak place’. While Marquand might not have been aware of Evans’s gender, it is likely that she nevertheless had sought sexual gratification with her brother-in-law.
After her release from Kew Asylum, Evans, dressed as a woman and still mentally distressed, was a witness at Julia Marquand’s paternity suit against her brother-in-law Jean Baptiste Loridan, a prosperous Bendigo businessman, married to Marquand’s sister, and father of four children. Evans gave the only corroborative evidence in the case stating that she’ had seen them in bed together. But her evidence, given in an incoherent manner, was not accepted and the case was dismissed. The scandal and business problems led to the ruin of Loridan’s career in Bendigo and he left for Queensland where he was involved in the start of the sugarcane industry.
The furore of the De Lacy Evans case caused entertainment entrepreneurs to apply to the Bendigo Hospital for permission for her to be ‘publicly exhibited’. Samuel Lazar of Sydney offered £3 and £5 per week for a tour. To their credit, the Asylum authorities refused the offers. Nevertheless, after her release from the hospital in December 1879 Evans was being exhibited by panorama showmen at Geelong and Stawell.
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by Kat Callahan / jezebel.com
According to a local media outlet, the victim was identified as Yazmin or Yaz’min Shancez, which was the woman’s preferred name according to her family, although the police reported that her documents had not yet been changed to reflect this. The same report quoted Fort Myers Police Lt. Jay Rodriguez as saying the police have not determined a cause of death, and are not investigating the homicide as a hate crime.
We have no indication at this time to say this was specifically done because it was a male living as a female or anything like that. If you really think about it, a hate crime is killing someone for a specific reason, being black, Hispanic, gay. We’re investigating as we would any other homicide.
…I’m sorry, Officer Rodriguez, but are you trying to suggest here that killing someone because they’re transgender isn’t a specific enough reason? Or maybe that the reason doesn’t count because it’s not on your official “hate crime” cheat sheet? If I really think about it? Jesus fucking Christ, sir, I think about it constantly. Do you typically see non-hate crime related homicides that end with burning the already dead body and then dumping it like worthless refuse in a garbage bin? Is this a pattern in Fort Myers which makes it like “every other homicide?”
Her father, identified as Harvey Loggins, said that he and his family left balloons and stuffed animals in the small private drive in an industrial area of the city where the garbage bin was located.
With the exception of her father (who continued to use male pronouns, despite his daughter’sidentity), the majority of her family appears to have accepted her decision to live as a woman, which she apparently began to do in 2004. Her aunt, Beatrice Loggins, spoke lovingly of Shancez, citing her uniqueness as a person.
Nobody deserves that. Straight, gay, purple, pink, white, black. Nobody…There will never be another T, you couldn’t clone her, couldn’t mold her.
Cousin Jasmine Weaver seemed at a loss to understand the crime (you and me, both, Jasmine, you and me both).
We don’t know of any person who would do something like that to T. It’s mind-boggling. You’d never think that would happen to your family.
Mind-boggling? Horrific. Abhorrent. And an altogether too common reality for transgender people, especially trans women of color. I’d love to shout from the rooftops that this is so horrible because it is incredibly rare. Well, it’s not. It happens all the goddamned time.
And if this story could get any worse, if that’s at all possible when dealing with such a terrible crime, this is a second heartbreak for the family. They have already lost one child, as Shancez’s 15-year-old little sister was also murdered, gunned down in a drive-by shooting almost exactly two years before.
I hate everything right now.