Conquering the World
by
Evan Young
MAJOR, US Army, Ret.
President, Transgender
American Veterans Association |
|
Underneath my cover, I walk a straight line,
returning salutes as I pass. A sergeant salutes
and says, “Good morning, Sir.”
A warm glow flushes my cheeks, and I reply,
“Good morning!” Closer to work a familiar face
draws near and salutes; “Good morning, Ma’am.” A
heavy feeling of discontent weighs on me, and I
return the salute with the grudging reply, “Good
morning.”
I am a transgender
military officer.
Outside of work, I live
my life as a man. Once
on post, I am female. My
short hair and manly
features present an
androgynous and
confusing appearance.
I grew up in
Arkansas, and knew that
many outsiders perceived
women there as “barefoot
and pregnant” rednecks.
That stereotype drove me
to move out of the state
and join the Army. I
wanted to be on an equal
footing with men. I
found new confidence
along the way as my
drive to exceed
expectations helped me
rise through the ranks.
Yet, I always had the
feeling of being a
second class soldier
because of my gender.
Males have confidence
ingrained in them at an
early age. Men are
encouraged to stand up
for themselves and speak
their mind. When they
don’t, they are often
labeled effeminate or
called derogatory terms
such as faggot or
princess. The
“stereotypical male”
role is enforced by men
as well as women. A
woman speaking to a man
that seems effeminate
will treat him
differently.
I elicited slurs such
as “tomboy” or “lesbian”
because I was seen as a
strong female. Although
I wore these labels
proudly, I never felt as
if I measured up to the
boys in my class. As a
female, I was encouraged
by my parents to play
sports and follow my
interests in math and
science. They were very
supportive and allowed
me to pursue what I
wanted. Society, on the
other hand, looked down
on my pursuit of more
stereotypically male
interests. After all,
women are expected to
want to marry and have
children.
I always knew that I
was not just a strong
woman. I have known from
an early age that one
day I would grow up and
be a man. It wasn’t
until the past few years
that I came to realize
that I could do
something about it.
Patriarchal dominance
in society keeps women
from reaching their
highest potential. In
the military, denying
women roles in combat
ensured men always held
the positions of highest
authority. Women were
enshrined as something
less, trapped beneath a
glass ceiling. This is
changing now with
Secretary Panetta’s
historical lifting of
the ban of women in
combat. However, the
mindset of some will
never change. Mitigating
generations of dogma
about women will take
time and effort.
Bringing young women up
to see unlimited role
models and opportunities
will be a big part of
ushering in the next
generation of leading
women.
As a trans man, I
recognize the male
privilege that surfaces
when I am recognized as
male. I am seen as
knowledgeable about the
mechanics of my truck
even if I have no clue
what is causing my
starter to not turn
over. I can buy a new
car without having
someone try to pull the
wool over my eyes. I can
call the plumber, and he
speaks with me as an
equal. Rebecca Solnit
observed this too, and
wrote:
“Men explain things
to me, and to other
women, whether or not
they know what they’re
talking about…every
woman knows what I mean.
It’s the presumption
that makes it hard, at
times, for any woman in
any field; that keeps
women from speaking up
and from being heard
when they dare; that
crushes young women into
silence by indicating,
the way harassment on
the street does, that
this is not their world.
It trains us in
self-doubt and
self-limitation just as
it exercises men’s
unsupported
overconfidence.”
Internalized
privilege generates the
confidence that I exude
when returning a salute
after being called
“sir.” I have no
preconceived lack of
ability. I can be called
upon to run an operation
without my superiors
thinking I need help.
Sometimes, I think all
of this may be just in
my head. But then, I’ve
seen this first-hand far
too many times when male
officers were chosen
over me even though I
was more qualified.
I did not transition
to gain male privilege.
Some lesbians, however,
perceive me as a
traitor. Inheriting male
privilege is a
by-product of
transitioning from
female to male.
Hopefully, one day the
world will rid itself of
the patriarchal mindset. Women are different than
men, but everyone should
have the same
opportunity to excel. Misogyny has no place in
our military, and I am
gratified leadership is
moving to affirm this.
In that moment where
I am called “sir”,
though, I feel like I
can take on the world.
Losing My Past
Explaining the past is difficult for anyone who
is transgender. Stories of playing softball for
your alma mater become blended with your
brother’s experiences playing baseball so you
don’t “out” yourself as transgender. Explaining
how you busted your knee in high school football
becomes a story about playing a powderpuff
pick-up game with friends.
Sports are largely
separated by gender. The same is true for the
military. This will slowly change with women
being allowed to serve in combat roles. Today,
however, if you went to Marine Corps boot camp
in San Diego it labels you as male since no
women are sent there for training. You cannot
talk about boot camp without exposing who you
were – your gender assigned at birth – just as
discussing your time on submarines or serving in
the infantry would out you.
There are many transgender people serving in
the military today. We serve in silence. Some of
us go to great lengths to hide who we are while
in the service. Once out of the service, a lot
of us go to great lengths to hide our new
gender. After transitioning, we do not want
others to know of our past because we want
others to accept us for our new gender. But
hiding our background creates a whole new set of
fears and anxieties.
By gaining the male characteristics that I
had always wanted, I lost my history as a woman. It is as if I never existed before my
transition. I can no longer share some of my
most joyous moments that expose me as having
once lived my life as a woman. When someone asks
where my daughter’s mother is, I cringe and say
it is complicated. I want to tell them that it
was me that gave birth to them, but I choose to
remain silent. In my silence, I feel guilty that
I am doing a disservice to other transgender
persons by remaining invisible and passing as
male.
I do not voice my transgender status in my
local community. It is a personal choice, and I
have had to come to terms with it. It is not
just me I have to think about; it is my family
as well. Being transgender is still stigmatized
in society. I know we need to change the hearts
and minds of Americans, but the price to pay to
make change happen is very steep. Since I am new
to this town, I want to gain the community’s
respect before I come out. Beyond the city
limits, though, I want my voice as a trans man
to be heard.
At my daughters’ school Valentine’s Day
party, red and pink hearts, balloons and
streamers dotted the classroom. My Valentine’s
Day sweethearts are my twin daughters. I gave
birth to them, yet I can no longer share that
joyous moment with other mothers. While watching
the kids pass out candy and cards, two mothers
were talking about their pregnancy experiences.
One spoke of how difficult her daughter was to
deliver. The other said she had a pretty easy
time. My thoughts raced; I wanted to connect
with them, but how could I? I wanted to say
having twins was amazing. Feeling both of them
wrestle around inside me was such a strange
sensation. I wanted to say I had a C-section.
That they came early because the doctor
accidentally induced early labor. But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I am Dad now. And nobody knows that I used to
be their mother.
So instead, I said, “We had twins.” That was
all I said and all I could say. From there, one
mom said her sister had twins and that she used
to breast feed them both at the same time. The
other cut in and said she just doesn’t know how
those mothers do it, and that she has the utmost
respect for women who have twins. I wanted to be
a part of that magic.
A trans woman veteran named Paula told me,
Those of us who are no longer serving in
uniform have an obligation to tell our
histories truthfully if we ever hope to
change the regulations for those who are in
uniform and can’t tell their truths. The
public needs to know our stories and putting
faces and real people on the issue of
‘transgender service’ will be vital to
winning just as it was in repealing ‘Don’t
Ask, Don’t Tell.’
However, outing yourself is complicated at
best.
A friend of mine, an active duty trans man in
the Army, tries to embrace his past in hopes
that it will help others that are questioning
their gender.
I’m trying to embrace myself and my past
– both civilian and military. I tell people
why I left [the military] and my story, and
it outs me. But I want to come to terms with
myself in every point of my life, and am
hoping that my story helps other people
someday…Overall, though, being honest and
open seems to be my best bet. I’ve gotten
nothing but respect in return…nothing
malicious yet.
Explaining one’s past is a personal choice,
but the decision nonetheless causes a great deal
of anxiety. I am still conflicted about choosing
to lose my history as a woman. Hopefully, I will
overcome my fears and embrace my past so others
can see the true me.