At the Broken Places

by Mary Collins

  The following are select excerpts from our conversation, which engaged the life-saving effects of representation and Aly’s commitment to a conception of “trans” that is not defined by medical procedures.

  How did you get interested in performing and acting? And why do you think theater is a good medium for advocacy?

  ALY: When I was in eighth grade I discovered that I really liked to read out loud in class. And people liked me to read out loud in class because I would give people different voices and make it kinda funny or really dramatic. And when I got to high school I was in drama club, and in tenth grade I was the lead male role. I really just liked acting and being able to connect with an audience and tell a story and have them “vibe.”

  If an actor is good you should be able to connect to their story, and connect with their emotions and how real the character is. If you put your all into a character, people will feel that, whether it’s onstage or onscreen. And that’s what I want to do.

  Aly joined the True Colors troupe in Boston, a theater program that engages and trains LGBTQ youth as artists and leaders. They write and put on plays based on their lives, stories that no one else is telling. Aly credits her time with True Colors as solidifying her passion for writing and acting.

  For her, art and activism are a natural combination. Not only can theater and film depict a variety of human perspectives, but they also can provide role models or, in Laverne Cox’s words, “possibility models.” In Cordelia Fine’s 2010 book Delusions of Gender, she contends, “People’s self-evaluations, aspirations, and performance are all enhanced by encountering the success of similar role models—and the more similar, the better.”

  ALY: I realize how important it is to see yourself, and to imagine yourself in any role, any position, anything you want to do in life.

  As her own possibility models, Aly brought up prime-time TV actresses who are also black women: Angela Bassett (American Horror Story), Viola Davis (How to Get Away with Murder), Kerry Washington (Scandal), and prolific writer and TV showrunner Shonda Rhimes. Aly pointed out that many actors of color spend years in smaller parts and have a far more limited number of big-break opportunities than white people.

  Media representation is shifting to include a more diverse (real) spread of human beings, yet our screens and stages are still dominated by white actors, particularly white male actors. If you just look at boxoffice statistics, you get a strong picture of the current gender disparity.

  The Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film’s survey of the top one hundred films of 2015 found that women accounted for 34 percent of major characters; only 13 percent of those were black, with Latina and Asian women coming in at 4 percent and 3 percent, respectively.

  Another survey of women’s involvement behind the scenes was even more dire, finding that, in 2015, women made up 19 percent of “all directors, writers, producers, executive producers, editors, and cinematographers working on the top 250 domestic grossing films.” The second study doesn’t even factor in race, and neither includes queer identities. And as Aly herself proves, lack of talent isn’t the issue; opportunity is.

  ALY: Laverne Cox won an award for being on Orange Is the New Black, but she’s barely on that show. I like the fact that she’s gonna be Dr. Frank-N-Furter [in the Rocky Horror Picture Show reboot], and the fact that she’ll be on the CBS show Doubt. Amiyah [Scott, a trans actress and model] got cast on Star, which is gonna be on Fox in January.

  That trans actresses are getting roles is important—Alexandra Billings is gonna be on Transparent—but I want to create more roles for people of color. Especially trans kids.

  Anyone who’s on that spectrum, whether they’re trans, genderqueer, gender nonconforming, agender, bigender, there’s still not a lot of visibility. There’s not a lot of roles out there. And if they’re not gonna give them to us, we just have to create them.

  How do you look at gender and how do you define “trans”?

  ALY: I think gender is a spectrum. I don’t believe in it just being two genders, but I think some people really adhere to being one gender or the other. I don’t think that’s a problem. I think that’s fine. But I also believe people exist within that, and we have to make space for the people who live in between.

  For me, personally, trans is being assigned a gender/sex at birth and not feeling completely comfortable with that label.

  I think the important thing to remember about being trans is you don’t actually have to transition. Like that’s never a thing. It’s just not being completely comfortable with the gender identity and/or sex assigned at birth.

  What was your coming-out like?

  ALY: It was very stressful. I feel like a lot of my friends and people outside of my family [and] some of my relatives supported me, and then a lot of people in my family were not okay with it. Some people were.

  [When] I finally did say, “I’m transitioning; I’m doing this,” I was nineteen, and I got kicked out. And it was my senior year of high school, and I was getting accepted to colleges and starting hormones and sleeping on my aunt’s couch and living with [one of my sisters] and trying to work to support myself. That was stressful, and I actually stopped talking to my mom for a long time. We got into a lot of arguments that were mostly about me being trans and me feeling disrespected. And I was definitely disrespectful in return, something that I’m not completely proud of. But I think I was just trying to survive.

  My coming-out—it was a mixed bag. But overall I don’t think it was the worst coming-out, and I’m glad that I had support.

  Aly lived with her sisters and an aunt for periods of time. “I didn’t know where I was going a lot of times in college when we would be on breaks,” she explained. “I would be figuring that shit out a few days before I would have to.”

  I asked how her relationship with her family has progressed. She said it varies. While two of her brothers see her as their sister and have even gotten a little too “overprotective,” Aly and another of her brothers don’t talk at all.

  ALY: My sisters are still very supportive. I don’t know; I don’t really talk to my dad, but he does tell me that he loves me and wishes me a happy birthday and [isn’t] disrespectful. So, like, you know, that’s good. And my mother and I are working on things.

  She hasn’t come around to calling me “she,” but I think I’ve gotten her to stop calling me “he,” so that’s good.

  Whether it was other family members or friends, or school or organizations, what was the most helpful support network for you?

  ALY: All of that. All of that was needed to help me survive. I don’t think I would have gotten through [my coming-out] because I was so trapped in my head a lot of the time and angry and sad when I first transitioned. Happy for me but also angry that I was losing so much and for such a dumb reason.

  Aly cited Boston’s Alliance of Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Youth (BAGLY) and the city’s renowned LGBTQ wellness center, Fenway Health, as havens. She counted GLAAD, trans-positive doctors, and her friends and their families, as well as her aunts, sisters, and cousins as necessary support. She also joined a performance collective at her college, a group called “Flawless Brown,” which aims to tell the stories of women of color. Whether it was knowing she had to get up for rehearsal or having a validating exchange with another queer student, Aly found seemingly small measures of community added up to great effect.

  In one instance during her freshman year, Aly showed up to her assigned dorm room to find the wrong nametag on the door. She told her RA and he had it changed in a matter of hours.

  What would you say to someone younger who’s trans and dealing with these questions, the anger, the sadness, for the first time?

  ALY: The first thing is, remember that you’re not alone. You are not the only person dealing with this. Things do actually get better. Sometimes they get worse—a lot worse—before they get better.

  Something else to keep in mind is when people get your pronouns
wrong and you’re younger and you’re in that angry-sensitive mode when you start to transition, lots of people aren’t doing it on purpose. Sometimes people slip up. Allow for that, just because it will be easier on you and your anger, and it will be easier on your relationships with people.

  A lot of times you don’t think people are trying, but they are. Make space for them.

  But also keep in mind that you know who you are, and even if who you are changes, that’s okay because we make who we are. You kind of “find” yourself, but for the most part you make yourself. Be who you wanna be and don’t let anyone else tell you differently, even if you hear a bunch of people calling you a boy and you know you’re a girl. Keep that. You keep that. Hold onto that and don’t let anyone take that from you.

  And also if you’re okay with your body, don’t let any other trans person tell you that you need to do work or be on hormones or any of that. None of that makes you trans. If you know in your heart and your mind that you are who you are, don’t let anyone change that; don’t let anybody push you into anything you don’t want to do.

  Aly then mentioned that she didn’t endorse the word “passing.” As discussed in other sections, “passing” refers to the ability of a trans person to assimilate into the binary, to be undetectable as trans.

  Can you elaborate a little bit about why the term “passing” can be damaging?

  ALY: Because it implies that, one, if you “pass,” that you’re lying about something or you’re “getting one over.” I hate that. And it also implies that women and men are only supposed to look one sort of way.

  You shouldn’t have to look a certain way to be regarded by the pronouns you want to use or have people look at you and respect you for who you are.

  “Passing” is a complex issue that is often very personal for trans folk. It is also the basis for many gender compliments, such as “You look great; no one would ever know you were trans!”

  While statements like this can seem like a real self-esteem boost, they’re also creepy and invasive. An outsider is evaluating your body and literally judging if you “pass” the test of looking. And while many trans people “pass” both with and without medical intervention, there are those who don’t and won’t ever blend in. As Aly argued, “passing” also demands adherence to strict cultural beauty standards for men and women, standards that are impossible for anyone to meet.

  What is self-care for you?

  ALY: Definitely being onstage. I have to act. I have to either be acting or creating. I need to be working on my art, because that is my self-care.

  Also, taking time away from social media or from the news and watching sometimes mindless television, or just reading a book, something that’s not so depressing. I can’t handle all the news about black people being killed or trans women and trans men constantly being attacked or harassed. I just can’t. I can’t handle that. Being woke is a lot for me.

  But, also, treat youself. You know? Like, do what you wanna do. Have fun, go out with friends, spend time alone if you need to, listen to music, write.

  Aly listed therapy as another important means of support. As a survivor of sexual abuse and a trans person, she says it can be incredibly helpful to vent “to somebody who isn’t going to judge you and who you know isn’t going to tell anybody.”

  ALY: It’s important to just be able to be like “ugh!” and talk about all the shit that’s bothering you, and get it off your chest so it’s not trapped up inside of you. Don’t let that anger and that sadness just sit in you and take over.

  ASK A TRANS PERSON: MAL

  Mal M. is a genderqueer transmasculine person who uses they/them/their pronouns. They grew up in the Midwest and now work as a broadcast journalist in Minnesota. Over the years, Mal has volunteered for many LGBTQ organizations, coordinating educational outreach, public events, and support groups. At the time of our interview, they lived in San Francisco and worked for a marketing company.

  The following are select excerpts from our conversation, which covered Mal’s experiences working in such organizations, their journey to selfhood, and their relationship to the various expectations associated with transitioning.

  How has your understanding of your gender, and your gender identity, changed in the last few years?

  MAL: So I first heard of “trans” in high school. I don’t think it was really anything I ever contemplated. I came out as bisexual in middle school, which would have been like ten years ago.

  Mal expressed that they never really knew of many other LGBTQ people in their Midwestern hometown. Coming out openly in middle school, as they did, was not the norm. Then, in high school, Mal came out as a lesbian.

  MAL: But it wasn’t until my senior year that things about gender got complicated.

  I think I started just contemplating transitioning. And heard more about it. And saw a lot of masculine traits within myself that I wanted more [of] through transitioning. I cut my hair short; I started just wearing men’s clothes. I think this was very hard on my parents, and it was hard on me too because, you know, you want support from your parents and your family more than you want acceptance from others.

  Even going back to elementary school, I was always such a “tomboy.” I played on the boys’ baseball team for years. And, so, I think a lot of people understood, even before I did, why I was having such “masculine” tendencies.

  And I think my parents didn’t want to see this, and other people who were close to me didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to accept it.

  When I came to college I had a female roommate. It felt like I was being shoved back in the closet again. And I didn’t know if I was ready to fully come out, if I was ready to fully transition yet.

  And so then I started coming out in select places. I joined an outside LGBT group besides just the one at my college, so I could try out a new name and stuff like that. And it felt affirming, so I decided to come out in between my freshman and sophomore year as trans male.

  As Mal entered college, anxiety surrounding their transition grew. They didn’t feel comfortable speaking to family about it, and meanwhile, their body dissatisfaction intensified. Mal edited their broadcast journalism footage with dismay, dreading watching and listening to themselves.

  MAL: I was very depressed and suicidal in between my sophomore and junior year. So I decided to see a therapist to talk about it, to talk about transitioning. That winter, I started testosterone. And it was great; I was excited about it.

  But through my transition, things like voice changes and stuff, that also became overwhelming. And so I started to think deeper about how I fit in with other people around me. And for a long time I was on the wrong dose of T, so I kind of went through . . . not transition but not reversal. I actually went through like menopause for a few months.

  Their doctor, a practitioner within a major medical organization that championed LGBTQ health care, did not make it clear to Mal how often they were supposed take the hormone dose. It was supposed to be every week; Mal took it every other week. If that sounds odd to readers, understand that many endocrinologists prescribe biweekly doses.

  Essentially, Mal’s body didn’t have enough testosterone to take over as the dominant hormone but still had enough to interfere with estrogen production. For someone experiencing gender dissonance, the dose mix-up was anything but harmless. Mal called it the worst time of their life.

  MAL: I felt really sick. It was horrible. So the anxiety of that forced me to think more deeply about gender and what I wanted from transitioning. I definitely had this moment where I was like, “I need to just stop. I don’t know if I want to move forward. I don’t know if I really necessarily want to move backward. I think I just need to take this time to reassess all these things that I thought I knew about myself.”

  And that was a huge journey to go on. I kind of took time to reassess. At first I told all my friends, “I think I want to de-transition.” But then I was like, “No, that’s stupid. I don’t want to de-tr
ansition. I don’t want to be going back to female. And I don’t know if I necessarily want to keep moving forward as just male identified. I think I’m just me. I think I’m just Mal. I think I need to just move forward, just as myself.”

  I think that’s just how I’ve kind of approached gender since. That’s why I use they/them/theirs. Just because I still don’t see myself as necessarily female or male. I think I definitely am more towards the more male or masculine side. But I don’t think I see myself as necessarily male.

  Do you feel there is a pressure to transition medically and to “pass”?

  MAL: Yeah. I think there [are] three main components to why people medically transition. One, what you want for yourself. Two, what others want for you, aka society. And three, I think there’s also pressure from the trans community.

  I hated my body, I hated myself, I hated my voice, I hated my hairline. I hated that when I put on men’s clothing that it always fit wrong. There was a lot of pressure that I put on myself, of just all these different things that I was not.

  And I thought that by medically transitioning, I could fit better into men’s clothing, that I could like my body more. So there was a lot of pressure that I put on myself.

  And then I think, while support groups really helped me, a lot of the people that surrounded me were very binary identified. I didn’t know a lot of genderqueer people. So I think that also put pressure on me.

  The phrase binary identified, as used above, refers to trans folk like myself who identify within the binary of male/female, men/women.