In my last two blog posts, I described my life between high school and the end of my first semester of giving college a second try. I'd started out pretty optimistic that I wasn't so different from everyone (or that I was, but that it didn't matter any more, that I would find my niche). I was confident at first that I would find an expression of masculinity that worked for me, that fit me and suited me and also provided me access to dating and the probability of girlfriends.

That didn't happen. I tried the blue-collar affirmative self-determination model as an auto mechanic but didn't fit in with the other guys, seldom met women, and couldn't support myself adequately. Then I retried college but found that the lightweight bantering of flirting was embedded with sexist assumptions and gender-specific roles that definitely did not fit me, and although people were less hostile and more accepting on campus than in mechanics' garages, they thought I needed to work on self-acceptance — that I needed to come out.

If things had been working out for me, I don't think other folks' opinions would have had much bite, but they weren't. The world might have guys like me in it who had girlfriends to love them, who had active and fulfilling sex lives, but I was still a virgin at 21 despite having sought and pined for a romantic relationship since I was 10 or so, and I spent a lot of my time feeling pathetic, a miserable failure in the way that mattered the most to me personally.

In fall of '79 I picked up one of those self-help growth and actualization workbooks from the UNM student bookstore, and one of the quizzes in it was about how much you matched up with gender expectations for your gender, and doing that quiz had really electrified me, startled me. It's not that I had never noticed or thought of myself as being more like the girls than I was like the other boys, but now I was seeing it in the context of being upset and frustrated about the dismal state of my romantic and sexual life, and whereas before it was just one difference among many, all of a sudden it looked like an explanation. Or a restatement of the problem. So with that in my head, the well-intentioned encouragement to "come out" added gasoline to the fire burning in my head: what was I? What did it mean, what were the implications for ever getting to have a girlfriend, what did all this make me? Was I gay and somehow didn't know it? Or, dear god, maybe it was less about what I wanted and more about the way I was, feminine instead of masculine, making me heterosexually ineligible??

Yeah, that was the big fear, really. I did not want to change and become more masculine. I'd rather be dead, frankly. I didn't want to spend my life never having a girlfriend and a sex life either.

Something clicked into place between December 1979 and February 1980. I finally lost my temper about the situation and stepped out to confront it. I realized women didn't come rolling out of a factory, identically produced and identically wired to only respond to conventionally masculine men who fulfilled conventionally masculine expectations in dating and flirting behavior — there would be women who found the generalizations and expectations no better a fit for them than they were for me. And hey, that was a big part of feminism! I was essentially rejecting patriarchal sexist stuff for myself on a personal level in a way that mirrored what radical feminists were saying and doing!

I came out in Spring of 1980. I didn't have terminology to express it (which is still a problem) and I wasn't entirely consistent in what terms I did use, but the phrase I used most often was "heterosexual sissy". I also used phrases like "straightbackwards people", "contramasculine", "diminutive-docile" as opposed to "dominant-aggressive", and a few other things.

Anyway, I also kept a scrapbook. I considered myself to be doing something important, something political, something radical. I was coming out of the closet.

SISSY SPRING SCRAPBOOK

These first two were continuations of the self help workbook quiz. I kept jotting down additional observations about myself and the ways in which I was more like one of the girls than one of the boys. (Some of those observations were pretty contrived and more than a couple are statements I would not make about myself, but never mind that). I was examining the idea: is this real, is this centrally true about myself? It is, isn't it?





These two are self-portraits from the first semester of college. Both of them reflect a feeling that I was walking through life as a cheerful zombie and trying to smile on the outside while I was cut off and miserable on the inside.





I used to draw with colored pencils especially when I was tripping acid. I had this one on my wall for awhile in Fall 1979. One of my roommate's friends said he knew what I was aiming for with this picture, that it represented a limp-wristed mincing prance with a Rockettes kick (he mimicked that posture to illustrate), and he winked and nodded his approval. I never knew how serious people were and whether they were being snarky and hostile and when they were being liberal and accepting, and I wasn't always sure how much of it was just in my own mind, but there were enough occurrences to populate all three of those categories with many such events.



When I started the scrapbook, I wrote directly into it, designing a title page and a statement of purpose:





Several pages in, I designed "the Questionnaire". I was trying to put down on paper a sort of questionnaire that I felt like the world had been administering to me in various ways my entire life, and I was making it explicit.

In the first panel, the question is whether or not you fit in as a typical guy, with conventionally masculine characteristics. People who answer "yes" don't get additional questions but anyone answering "no" would be receiving follow-up questions. I created an "option 2" ("you getting any?") as a way of saying that if your sexual and romantic life is working out to your satisfaction anyway, you need not be concerned about your masculinity or lack thereof and don't need to face any further questions —



Option 3 was the most common next question you get to face if you are male, not conventionally masculine, and if, no, things are not exactly working out for you (with the women) anyway: gay? If yes, you've arrived at your identity, but if not, you get to move on to some further questions...



Option 4 is basically the "There's something wrong with your head" possibility. It may not seem like an "identity" but it felt to me that it kept being offered as a way to think of myself, given the irreconcilable situation and the intensity of my feelings and increasingly obsessive nature of my thoughts on the matter.



Option 5 is even darker...



... and Option 6, the one I'd found for myself only after exhausting all the previous ones, was what this scrapbook was all about:



You'll notice:

• I had not as of yet contemplated the possibility that I was transsexual. I did shortly after this point. The word in 1980 was definitely "transsexual", not "transgender" and it specifically meant going the sex reassignment surgery route, it's what people did if they were transsexual. I became quite excited about that for awhile but because I was attracted to women it was not so obvious to me that I should pursue this. Transition to female in order to be a lesbian? Well, I could (even though, in 1980, I had never heard of anyone doing such a thing). But what lesbian would want to be with a woman who had once been a male? (Jan Raymond had just published The Transsexual Empire, an exclusionary feminist declaration of war against male to female transsexuals. Widespread lesbian acceptance of transsexual lesbians didn't seem too likely to me). I still could have, but with this many impediments to consider, I asked the most pertinent question: Do I dislike my body, in and of itself? Do I feel a need to have female parts, does this body feel wrong? And I realized that no, it wasn't about the body, not for me.

• No mention of being bisexual either. It didn't solve anything as an option. Calling myself bisexual wasn't going to conjure up girlfriends, and I didn't have any interest in sex with male people, and so it just didn't seem relevant.


Among my Spring 1980 courses was a poetry course. We were asked to write a poem about what we'd like as an epitaph or how we'd like to be remembered after we were gone. I wrote this one, drawing on how I'd felt the previous semester when I'd been haunted by all these questions and feeling so unknowable and lost —



This next snippet was scribbled in the margins of the scrapbook. I really saw this as a fundamental new identity I was embracing for myself, and it incorporated a vision for a different approach altogether to the matter of sex and romance with women. I was going to pursue it from now on as one of them, as an absolute equal with no tolerance for different expectations and roles based on gender. And I was going to find someone with whom that particular option was going to click.



I placed this personal ad in the Albuquerque Journal, as sort of a combination of personal ad and political call-to-action:





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Nowadays on LGBTQIA group chats and in leftist social discussions, the phrase "radical feminism" most often appears in a pejorative mention -- TERFS ("trans exclusive radical feminists") being castigated for their intransigence about female-spectrum transgender people, or disparaged for being anti-sex and anti-free-speech as exemplified by the MacKinnon-Dworkin pornography ordinance from a few decades ago, or accused of lying about data and making up statistics and being these vindictively hateful people who just want to blame males for everything.

Not that any of that would be a major surprise for the radical feminists I read throughout the 70s 80s and 90s. They knew they were hitting a nerve and were accustomed to receiving bad press and misrepresentation. I am sad to see them undercredited and disregarded by those who benefit from their insights though.

To review the basics, feminism in a broad general sense was a beacon of hope for me growing up, because its overall attitude towards gender was "hey, if it's sauce for the goose, it's sauce for the gander" -- that, regardless of whether men and women were different or were just regarded as different, it wasn't defensible to use a different yardstick of acceptable behavior. They pointed out the inconsistencies and folks recognized the unfairness. For me, as a gender invert, an exception to society's general rules about males and their personality and behavior, this translated as "hey, if it's OK for girls, it's OK for me; and if it's not OK for girls, then it's not right for the boys and hence it's not right to pressure me to be that way".

Now, RADICAL feminism, specifically, came to people's attention as it began to pinpoint topics that more mainstream feminism in the 70s shied away from: specifically sexuality, both in the sense of sexual orientation (yes, lesbian pride) but also more analytically in the sense of analyzing sexual politics, the politics of sexuality and sexual behaviors. Kate Millett taking contemporary depictions of sex and sexuality and holding them up for us to see how much they were about sex as an act of conquest and hostility, and about the eroticism of men having power over women. Susan Brownmiller writing about rape not as a horrifyingly deviant act but as a horrifyingly normative extension of how things otherwise were between the sexes, and as part and parcel of that overall situation. By going there, by having the courage and nerve to speak of such things as if they could perhaps be otherwise, and daring to condemn these situations instead of accepting them as a shameful but permanent part of human nature, radical feminism was the core from which central feminist tenets and understandings came in the 80s.

Catherine MacKinnon observed in 1987 (Feminism Unmodified), "...our subordination is eroticized in and as female; in fact, we get off on it to a degree, if nowhere near as much as men do. This is our stake in this sytem that is not in our interest, our stake in this system that is killing us. I'm saying femininity as we know it is how we come to want male dominance, which most emphatically is not in our interest."

Adrienne Rich, Jill Johnston and others questioned the "natural" centrality of heterosexuality, positing a different sexuality -- a sexuality between women but specifically different because, unlike heterosexuality as it existed and tended to define sexuality altogether, it could be mutually affirming, sensuous, not violent, an alternative to a conventional model of sexuality in which women's role was that of "natural sexual prey" (Rich) to men.

For me, that resonated powerfully: as a kid, I considered myself to be akin to the girls, regarding them and respecting them as colleagues and seeking them as friends, and now as a sexually adult person I wanted that mutually affirming sharing form of sex and wanted nothing to do with the adversarial and predatory model that was predominant in all understandings and portrayals of "wild uncivilized sex".

Nor did I find much to interest me in the non-wild, tamed, civilized version of sex, for that matter. Here there was a disparagement of sex itself as suspect, as something people should abstain from for a prolonged period after attaining the age of feeling the full appetite for it, and even after that should only engage in sex within very narrowly defined permissible channels. Here, perhaps, was a model for engaging in sex (eventually) without embracing all that adversarial and predatory hostility, yeah, sure, but it was basically saying that yes, sex IS like that, it's just that being like that is bad and naughty so sex is bad and naughty and we will therefore put sex in a cage. And even in this context, sexuality was not going to be mutually affirming, not as far as I could see: the nice girls had to preserve their reputations and also refrain from tempting the boys, and the boys were to suppress their desires and not sully the chastity of the girls, and then when he could adequately support a family he could get married and then she'd let him do it to her. The sexuality inside the cage was the same sexuality; the notions and understandings of it were still polarized and painted a picture of male sexuality that I wanted no part of.

Radical feminists tended to see sex as insurrection; they observed that even though it was politically dangerous to women in the current context, putting women in the position of sleeping with the enemy and eroticizing male domination, it was treated as dangerous by the patriarchy as well, and for good reason. The same intimacy that threatened women with too much identification and connection with their oppressor was a threat to the patriarchal system and its requirement that women be perceived as other.

Jan Raymond and Mary Daly, among other radical feminists, have indeed been hostile to any acceptance of transgender women. Those who have expressed such sentiments are not the entirety of radical feminism, though. Buried among the more publicized nasty sentiments, though, have been radical feminist voices whose concerns about the transgender phenomenon mirror, almost exactly, the concerns now being voiced by nonbinary activists: that jumping the fence, as it were, is not a radical solution to the fence between the genders, insofar as it leaves the fence intact. Neither the radical feminists nor the current wave of nonbinary genderqueer folks have a sufficient excuse for being as intolerant as they've often been towards people who simply feel that they personally will be happier when transitioned so as to be treated and perceived as the persons that they are. But it is a gross oversimplification to portray radical feminism as intrinsically opposed to transgender people.

Radical feminists spoke of the centrality of gender polarization. They said the political dynamics between the sexes was the central keystone issue in our society, and that the sexual dynamics as made erotic within patriarchal heterosexuality was the fundamental building block around which our political power arrangements were patterned. It wasn't the first time that one social factor had been pinpointed as the central core of all politics -- Marxism had done it with labor and the ownership of the means of production -- but it was the first to come along in a century and it took some common-place everyday understandings and inverted them to make sense of them in new ways: it wasn't that the awful world of competitive social and economic posturing tended to invade and corrupt the intimacy of sexuality and sexual relationships but that the corrupted form of sexuality and sexual relationships eroticized and rendered irresistible those forms of interaction and made them present everywhere that people interacted.

Society as we know it, as many of us conceptualize as human nature, is sexual subject-object polarized adversarial dynamics, writ large. Robin Morgan wrote about feminism as the "larger context":


For almost two decades, I've written about, lectured on, and
organized for the ideas and politics of feminism for the sake of
women ...as a matter of simple justice. If, in fact, these
were the sole reasons for and goals of the movement and
consciousness we call feminism, they would be quite
sufficient...nor is it necessary to apologize for feminism's
concerning itself 'merely" with women, or to justify feminism on
the "please, may I" ground that it's good for men too... In the
long run, it will be good for men, but even were it
permanently to prove as discomfiting for men as it seems to be in
the short run, that wouldn't make women's needs and demands any the
less just. So the fact that I place feminism in a "larger
context" is neither an apology nor a justification. It is simply
to show, once and for all, that feminism is the larger
context... The "Otherizing" of women is the oldest oppression
known to our species, and it's the model, the template, for all
other oppressions. Until and unless this division is
healed, we continue putting Band-Aids on our most mortal wound.

— The Anatomy of Freedom


Marilyn French wrote about power as the central patriarchal obsession, and taught us to recognize power by its own central imperative: the possession of control. Everywhere, she said, we see the sacrifices made in the name of obtaining and retaining control, as if it were an intrinsic good and a necessity in and of itself. And here again is the eroticized sexual imperative, the attempt to seize and make things happen according to one's own will and without concern for the will of that which is being controlled except as a possible impediment to be conquered.

Within the pages of lesbian radical feminism, as lesbian feminists sought to explain why this was important beyond the expressed choice of who to have sex with, came the growing recognition that in both gay and lesbian sexuality the people involved are not anchored by the body in which they were born to a preordained scripted role -- you weren't tied to being butch or femme, to being the man or the woman, on the basis of your bodily sex; and that that was, itself, radical. It wasn't how patriarchal heterosexuality was constructed and hence it was a threat, which went a long way towards explaining the hostility reserved for gay and lesbian people.

To say "patriarchal heterosexuality" was, and still is, somewhat akin to speaking of "women's lingerie" or "earthly lifeform" -- our conventional understanding of the category completely eliminates any need for the adjectives because those are the only forms we have tended to encounter.

Genderqueer sexual politics is radical sexual politics, and especially so the specific formulation of gender inversion: whether we refer to it as "heterosexual" or choose not to, to posit sexual relationships between male people and female people in which the participants are not gendered as men and women, respectively, elaborates on the radical departure from subject-object adversarial dynamics spoken of by the lesbian feminists; specifically, it extends it to where it is needed the most, directly dismantling what we've been describing as the core of the whole system. Untying male-female sexual possibilities from heterosexuality as we know it.

"Why", you may ask, "is it necessary to embrace gender inversion? Isn't it more useful to discard gender and embrace absolute gender equality instead? And if the female role is and has been on the receiving end of patriarchal oppression, of what conceivable value is it to issue a loud political hurrah for males styling themselves as feminine and wanting to be the girl in their relationships? Isn't that just making a fetish of the accoutrements of being one of the oppressed?"

Firstly, let's consider the limits of "let's just be equal shall we" optimistic idealism against the backdrop of the current eroticized 'devil boy chase angel girl' polarization. We go bravely forth (or we send forth the subsequent generation, all consciousness-raised and socially aware) into a social world that knows there may be sexually egalitarian people. It also knows to expect the continued existence of people in the traditional mold. The social milieu of expectations therefore is newly open to equality while still entirely familiar with the orthodox which is gender-specific. Anyone who has had to spend an evening doing arithmetic homework knows that when you do averages, the average that you obtain is less than the higher number, so when you average out the expectations of sexually egalitarian and sexually orthodox, your result is going to be sexually orthodox by some amount.

Secondly, yes, I can understand the misgivings about a set of traits and behaviors marked as submissive and subservient and offering them to males as a desirable experience and identity. But it is the subject-object adversarial worldview that tends to see things only in terms of power over and of domination or submission. Exactly WHAT is it that males are deprived of in a patriarchal context? Does it not strike you as odd that a patriarchy, a system of male power and privilege, should deny freedoms to its males with such intensity as it denies variant gender expression? The answer is that power is not a substance owned by the powerful. Power is instead a relationship that defines all parties involved, the powerful and the oppressed alike.

It's not about seeking subserviency or making a fetish of being dominated; there is and has always been an encoding of traits as feminine as part and parcel of encoding power as male, AND no, the boys don't get all the good ones. You're never going to understand this if you don't understand that some things are more desirable than power. But yes it is not a desire to be oppressed (by women or anyone else). I share Robin Morgan's and Marilyn French's radical feminist vision of a world no longer anchored by the obsession with controlling others.

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