Title IX is a United States federal law passed in 1972, which prohibits gender discrimination in all educational institutions receiving funding from the federal government. The United States does not guarantee constitutional protections against discrimination equivalent to those provided by the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Trans and intersex students instead turn to Title IX when their rights are violated in schools.

The redefinition proposed in the memo would be executive rather than legislative. Thus, it would take the form of instructions drafted by the Department of Health and Human Services similar to the departmental instructions used by the Obama administration to extend protections to trans students. The instructions of the Obama administration were however repealed in February 2017 by the Trump administration, which is now considering putting in place instructions which would instead further violate trans rights.

The Trump administration, […] is now considering putting in place instructions which would instead further violate trans rights.

Executive instructions are basically an explanation of the government’s interpretation of the law. It is similar to how the Canada Revenue Agency (CRA) explains on its website how it interprets the Income Tax Act: the interpretation can later be rejected by courts, but it nonetheless provides useful information regarding how the government will apply the law in the absence of a clear, contrary legal judgement. Since the US government is also in charge of receiving complaints under Title IX, trans students will have to turn to the courts for the protection of their rights.

But there is a significant difference between the CRA interpretations and this proposed redefinition by the Trump administration. Unlike the CRA’s interpretations, the interpretations adopted by the US government are granted deference. Normally, in court, all you have to do is convince the judge that your interpretation is the correct one. However, in the case of executive instructions in the United States, you instead have to prove that their interpretation is insufficiently persuasive — and in some cases, unreasonable.

The government’s decision to redefine sex a few weeks before the midterm elections is an overt attack on trans people. Trans youth […] could legally be excluded from [public] services.

The grant of deference to executive instructions explains why the case of young trans man Gavin Grimm, who sought access to the boy’s bathroom at school, was returned to the Court of Appeal by the US Supreme Court in March 2017. Although the Court of Appeal had previously ruled in favour of Grimm, the ruling was made before the Obama administration instructions were revoked by Trump. Since the instructions had been revoked by the time the case arrived before the Supreme Court, the Court of Appeal was asked to judge the case anew.

The government’s decision to redefine sex a few weeks before the midterm elections is an overt attack on trans people. Under the proposed definition, trans youth will be forced to use the changing rooms and bathrooms associated with their gender assigned at birth, and could legally be excluded from services offered to the public simply because they are trans. And while trans youth are the main target, the redefinition will also severely impact intersex youth.

Intersex people have bodily traits at birth that deviate from the binary socio-medical model of sex, which mistakenly assumes that all people have traits falling into one of two lists: men have XY chromosomes, a penis, testicles, no breasts, and a hormonal profile dominated by testosterone; women have XX chromosomes, a vulva, a vagina, breasts, and a hormonal profile dominated by estrogen. As InterACT, an organization for intersex youth, points out in a statement opposing the Trump administration’s redefinition, people are born with different combinations of traits and cannot be fit into a simple bimodal model. By redefining sex under Title IX, Trump’s government will also legitimize discrimination against intersex youth, and could justify the imposition of more nonconsensual surgeries on intersex newborns under the guise of “correcting sex.”

Although executive instructions are neither absolute nor final, their effects exceed their legal reach. Dean Spade, a lawyer, professor of law, and founder of the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, warns us against the reassurances offered by some organizations that claim that the redefinition will have a limited legal impact. The true impact of the redefinition is not legal, but social. For each time someone gets punished for violating official standards — whether laws, regulations, or guidelines — hundreds more go unpunished. In Canada, there have been only a few hundred legal opinions rendered by judges involving trans people in the last twenty years, despite an estimate of over 20,000 cases of discrimination against trans people per year across the country.

The real danger is not losing in court — no matter how real it can be — but rather the threat posed by people who are already hostile to trans lives and will now feel further legitimized by government policy when acting out against trans people. Let us remember the rise of Islamophobic, homophobic, and transphobic attacks in public space following the election of Donald Trump in 2016. Less than a month after the election, white supremacist flyers reading “It’s time to make Canada great again!” — an allusion to Trump’s slogan “Make America Great Again” — appeared around McGill. Since then, the far right has gained in visibility and anti-trans attacks are being increasingly reported on social media.

The real danger is not losing in court […] but rather the threat posed by people who are already hostile to trans lives and will now feel further legitimized by government policy when acting out against trans people.

Validated by their government, US school employees and students will feel free to engage in harassment, discrimination, and violence against trans and intersex youth. The effect won’t be limited to schools either. We can expect an increase in hostility and violence against trans people in all public spheres — the guys who shouted “faggot” at me in the streets of Montreal will hardly be discouraged by this redefinition. We can also expect conservative administrators and judges to rush to interpret gender narrowly so as to exclude trans and intersex people. Employees and managers will prevent their trans coworkers from using the safest and most appropriate bathrooms. Homeless shelters and shelters for people fleeing domestic violence will follow suit. The most vulnerable of us will be the first to be affected.

I can only hope that this wave of discrimination will fall silent before the voice of our allies, some of whom have already spoken up. We will not be able to fight against the rise of conservatism without your help. Cisgender, dyadic people — you who are neither transgender nor intersex — be there for us. If you love us, keep us close. And if you have a heart, raise your voice against the rise of crypto-fascism. Canada is not exempted from the shifting political landscape. The Doug Ford and CAQ governments are proof that it concerns us all. We will need you.

The post Trans People Under Attack appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The narrative that opposes an oversensitive younger generation to a tough, stoic older generation bears an imprint of conservatism. It is strikingly reminiscent of the conservative outcry over the the feminization of men today.

Yes, queer culture is growing more sensitive, but it’s because students today aren’t the same as queer activists in the past. It is because growing acceptance of queer people means that it doesn’t take the same toughness to come out of the closet. So, maybe it is less that today’s youth are oversensitive and more that our revered past required a degree of callousness that is no longer necessary. Possibly, it’s because minority stress, chronic high levels of stress experienced by minorities due to prejudice, is having more and more of an impact on people’s lives in an information-saturated capitalist world.

So, maybe it is less that today’s youth are oversensitive and more that our revered past required a degree of callousness that is no longer necessary.

Each of these points bears some truth and some falsehood. The demographics of queer communities are changing, and so are the voices which are loudest. But toughness isn’t callousness, sensitivity isn’t fragility, and we can’t reduce the queer world to a dichotomy of tough-old versus weak-new without betraying the diversity of queer experiences.

Instead of expanding those responses, I will focus my attention on call out and outrage culture, using Belmont’s piece as a springboard to talk about this.

I don’t believe that call out and outrage culture are a sign of fragility. Rather, they are a performative practice through which people signal their care for one another. When people call out something for being transphobic, what they are saying is: “Trans people, we are here for you. We hear you, and we won’t let people hurt you. You matter.” Calling out oppressive behaviour and language is about transforming moments of harm into a moment of solidarity and love. It’s not fragility: it is bonding and communal toughness.

Of course, call outs and outrage pose a risk of distortion. This is especially the case with performative practices, which can easily become separated from the values which underpinned their creation. It’s easier to cry out that something is transphobic without caring for trans folk and making space for us. I often see people reacting in hostility to older trans people for saying “transgendered,” not realising that it’s detracting from that person’s need for support and community. The risk of performativity isn’t specific to call out culture. How much of the older queer generation who shouted anti-capitalist slogans in the past refuse to criticise power now that they’re gainfully employed? How many self-labelled feminists do not embody their opinions on consent in their own relationships?

I often see people reacting in hostility to older trans people for saying “transgendered,” not realising that it’s detracting from that person’s need for support and community.

As behaviours become entrenched in communal practices and morph into cultural norms, their underlying rationale disappears from view. We lose perspective. Call outs, sadly, have too frequently become a way not of criticising power and demonstrating solidarity, but of signalling one’s cultural belonging and establishing one’s moral-political credentials. By saying something is transphobic, we show that we know how to analyse structures of oppression and position ourselves in a hierarchy of value: “I’m better than them because I know how not to be oppressive.” People who have less access to ever-shifting activist language and to a critical education are disproportionately excluded from spaces because they are problematic, entrenching the classism of most social justice spaces.

Call outs, sadly, have too frequently become a way not of criticising power and demonstrating solidarity, but of signalling one’s cultural belonging and establishing one’s moral-political credentials.

We also lose perspective of the relativity of oppressive behaviour. Caitlyn Jenner’s quip about “Dude Looks Like A Lady” is not on-par with trans elders saying “transgendered,” which is much less bad, nor with the withdrawal of federal protections for trans students, which is much worse. Yet, in call out culture, they all merge into the same word: “problematic.” And because saying “transgendered” is problematic, we make our elders feel unwelcome in our circles, effectively excluding them instead of kindly explaining ourselves. We reject the people we sought to show care and concern for because they did not have the same access than we did to the latest vocabulary of oppression.

Clearly, there is a lot to criticise in the evolution of queer culture. Yet, to call it fragile would be to misunderstand it. I hope that critics will see the good in change, rather than only the bad.

We should encourage a return to the roots of call out and outrage culture. More than ever in the days of Trump and the alt-right, we need to show solidarity and care for one another. We must refuse to leave oppression unchecked. But we must also retrieve our sense of proportion. Saying “transgendered” is bad practice, but it’s not the end of the world. Highlighting that it is bad practice should, in most cases, be sufficient. On the other hand, please spend more time criticising and protesting Trumpís policies. They’re hurting trans Americans.

No, queer culture hasn’t lost its edge. We’re still playful; we’re still tough. Playful and tough just look different as society changes. But underneath the surface, we survive, we love, we live, and we persist despite everything bad that’s being thrown at us. And if that’s not toughness, I don’t know what is.

The post Navigating Call-Out Culture appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Our university is currently at the heart of recent discussions about freedom of expression. Students and professors who face disciplinary measures from their higher learning institution seek safety under the protective veil of free speech. However, disciplinary measures are not the only way by which people target academics’ speech. When academics deploy critique as an extension of their scholarly endeavours, there is always the possibility that criticised individuals will file defamation lawsuits in response. This is a less-discussed yet serious threat to free speech in academia.

Recent experiences

I was implicated in such an unpleasant situation. In one of my recently published articles, I criticised a person and their work. That person then threatened to sue the newspaper and me, forcing the newspaper to withdraw my critique.

As a jurist, I have a good sense of where the law lies on defamation. I reviewed the law and asked a lawyer friend for confirmation, for good measure. Although the accusation of defamation had little to no legal plausibility, we had to fold. The cost of defending a lawsuit is too high, however unmeritorious the lawsuit may be. Though punitive damages can be sought, you are still required to pay out of pocket until damages are awarded. The whole ordeal left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I’m now more scared than ever of criticizing public figures.

My story is far from unique. A dear friend of mine who is an exceptional researcher was sued for penning an op-ed that criticized a psychologist known for engaging in conversion therapy on trans youth. The lawsuit was settled a few weeks ago, after close to two years of looming anxiety. He was the first to warn me against criticizing the powerful. But the powerful are the ones who most need criticism, and marginalized voices are the ones which most need to be heard.

Effect of the lawsuit threats

The risk of a lawsuit had a chilling effect on public debate, one which disproportionately impacts marginalized groups. The general public sees itself more in those we critique than in us. Few think our plight important enough to stand for, and we critics are often accused of overreacting and attempting to censor others. Those who stand behind me are also marginalized people with few resources and limited access to public platforms. No one is scared of what I might do. And because marginalized voices are rarer, singling them out for censorship is more effective.

University students don’t all write publicly. However, I am far from the only one, especially among graduate students. Our voices are integral to the flourishing of the McGill community and to its influence beyond the Roddick gates.

Engagement in public debate is a function of the university. Knowledge is empty if it does not translate into action. Indeed, academic freedom is often defended in light of the role of the university as a contributor to public debate. Protecting students against defamation lawsuit isn’t a fringe demand. It goes to the heart of what universities are about.

I began writing because I hold a lot of educational privilege. You wouldn’t expect it, reading my piece in the Daily’s Sex and Gender Issue, but I actually have two law degrees and am currently a graduate student in law. Legal knowledge, and to a lesser extent academic knowledge to a lesser extent, is rare in Quebec trans communities. Therefore, I feel that I have a duty to use it to defend and carry the voice of my trans siblings.

Education empowers us with a critical voice which we may freely apply to the world around us. Although we are notionally protected against university sanctions, publicly-minded students remain vulnerable to censorship from outside the university in the form of defamation lawsuits.

McGill University should encourage students, staff, and faculty to engage in public debate by granting them the soothing reassurance of defamation lawsuit insurance. Defamation lawsuit insurance is necessary for marginalized groups to keep the few platforms they have. Because promoting public debate is a function of the university, the duty falls upon it rather than upon student associations.

The post I won’t be silenced appeared first on The McGill Daily.

I am non-binary. I was assigned male at birth. When disclosing that I am transgender on dating apps, I usually put forward a trans female identity. People understand “trans woman” better than “non-binary.”

Disclosing that I am trans doesn’t always happen in the same way, since I don’t communicate being trans on my Tinder profile. To start, there’s the classic of simply telling the person “I am trans.” If you talk about trans-related topics, people often assume or ask. One of the ways I favour treating as a known or mundane fact, casually referring to my transitude when it’s relevant to the conversation. My absolute favourite has to be penis jokes, though! The guy says something about something being hard, to which I’ll reply: “…like my penis.” It’s doubly funny because I haven’t been able to have erections since I started taking hormones.

Reactions range, but you’d probably be surprised that outright rejection is not particularly common. The reality is that, for the most part, men are fine sleeping with trans women. The more conventionally attractive, the happier they are. It’s dating us and admitting to being attracted to us that’s the bigger barrier.

Whether they’re interested in sleeping with transfeminine people or are on the fence, one can discern a persistent discomfort. They’re attracted, and they’re afraid that that makes them gay.

The easy answer, of course, would be to reassure them. No, no, you’re not gay. How would being attracted to women make you gay? It wouldn’t. Some women have penises. Women’s penises are not male genitalia, but female genitalia. They’re all small and pink and cute.

However true that may be, it’s not the perspective I want us to take. What I want us to consider is the “what if…” side of things. What if it were gay?

“I don’t want to sleep with a trans woman because that would be gay,” says Gary. Gary is not attracted to trans women, and when asked about it, links it to the fact that he’s not gay.

“I don’t want to sleep with a trans woman because that would be gay,” says Jonathan. Jonathan is attracted to a trans woman. He doesn’t mind that she has a penis as far as attraction goes; if anything, it’s a bit of a turn-on for him. However, Jonathan identifies as a straight man and believes that trans women are men. So he refuses to sleep with trans women.

I suspect that more cases fall under the second scenario than under the first. Genitalia is a small part of the totality that constitutes sexual attraction and most people will be attracted to someone or not before they know which genitalia they have. Although one may prefer certain types of sexual acts to others, it’s implausible that a small body part would negate the (strong) attraction that was already established. Cisheteronormativity runs deep in our society, and people experience strong conscious and unconscious pressures to conform to those standards, which sheds doubts on the authenticity of swift changes in attraction. You don’t usually go from being attracted to someone one minute to not being attracted at all the next.

This is also confirmed by my experience with dating apps. The more conventionally attractive I appeared, the less men seemed to care. If genitalia were a strong determinant of attraction, we would expect the rate of people changing their minds to remain stable. Were they balancing their desire with the risk of appearing gay for their sexual interest? Probably.

The more conventionally attractive I appeared, the less men seemed to care.

Sexual orientation is about attraction, not behaviour. If you’re attracted to men and women, you’re bisexual whether or not you’ve slept with both men and women. Imagine if experience were necessary. Could anyone be pansexual given the endless variety of non-binary genders?

Remember, we’ve assumed for argument’s sake that there’s something gay about liking or sleeping with women who have penises. We’re forced to conclude that Jonathan is gay. Or, if we understand sexual orientation, either bisexual or pansexual. Either way, he’s not straight.

When Jonathan tells us that he doesn’t want to sleep with trans women because it conflicts with his straightness, we would have to conclude that he’s in bad faith. He’s not straight, and he’s only denying his own attraction in order to put up a facade of straightness in a world that devalues queerness.

That’s pretty gay.

Should Jonathan deny his own attraction in order to maintain his identity as straight? Should Jonathan avoid sleeping with people he’s attracted to in order to avoid admitting his own queerness? That seems wrong. He may not want to tell others, but that’s another issue. We’re talking of self-denial here, not of privacy. Jonathan is queer whether or not he sleeps with trans women, so he might as well. Sex can be fun! There are plenty of good reasons not to sleep with people. “It’s gay” is not one of them.

We’re a small portion of the population. A bit over 1/200. Perhaps around one per cent for our age group. Chances are you won’t sleep with a trans woman even if you want to. Plus we’re really bloody picky and tend to sleep with other queer and trans people, which makes it even less likely for you. So I want to point out another sex act where my argument is relevant.

Pegging.

The precise definition of pegging is unclear once we stray outside the boundaries of cis existence. From a cis perspective, pegging is when a woman puts a strap-on and engages in anal sex with a man as the receptive partner. It’s lovely, and also works for transfeminine people who are unable to have erections. I particularly appreciate it, on a personal level, because of the dysphoria I experience regarding my penis. The strap-on seems to confirm, symbolically, that my penis doesn’t belong there.

I’ve talked to men and women who were interested in trying pegging with their partners. Women are often concerned that their partner will refuse, whereas the men are concerned that it’d make them gay. See how my analogy works? Yeah.

The same rationale applies. It’s immaterial whether pegging is gay. If it’s gay, then congratulations you’re gay–or more likely bisexual or pansexual. If it’s not gay, then it’s not gay.

Either way, whether you’re gay or not isn’t based on whether you engage in pegging. So go ahead. You have a prostate, might as well use it!

The point I want to make here is this: it doesn’t matter whether sleeping with trans women is gay or not. If it’s not gay, then it’s not gay. If it’s gay, then you’re gay for being interested–whether or not you sleep with us. In any case, sleeping with us doesn’t change anything about your queerness. So, stop worrying and just do what you feel like doing. Don’t restrict yourself because of silly social constructs.

The post …Sounds pretty gay to me appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Often I’m told that I don’t have a woman’s body, that I have a man’s body. That a woman’s body has a vulva and a vagina. I don’t see why. Ain’t I a woman? If I am a woman, wouldn’t my body be a woman’s body? It seems logical.

How do we decide what is a woman’s body? I figure that you put together all women, look at the body they have in common, and call it a women’s body.

If we have a group of cubes, two hundred are red and one is blue, would we say that the colour of the cubes is red? We would say that the colour of the cubes is typically red, but sometimes blue. If we say that cubes are red, we’ll be accused of forgetting the blue cube. It’s child’s play.

When we say that a woman’s body has breasts, a vulva, and a vagina, we’re saying that trans women aren’t counted. We say that, at the time of deciding what a woman’s body is, we excluded trans women from the count. What we’re saying is that trans women are from the very beginning refused as women. To say that a trans woman has a man’s body is to say that we don’t consider her to really be a woman.

Yet, I am a woman. I should be counted, as much as any red cube. It’s as simple as saying that women’s bodies usually have breasts, a vulva, and a vagina, but sometimes not. Sometimes they don’t have breasts. Sometimes they have a penis. Women’s bodies come as varied as the women that inhabit them.

I have a woman’s body. My woman’s body comes with breasts and a penis. It’s no less a woman’s body.

The post A woman’s body appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Because it is a federal law, changes to the Human Rights Act only have consequences for areas falling under federal competency such as banks and airlines. Most interactions in day-to-day life occur in businesses and areas covered by provincial competency. In most provinces, gender identity and expression were added as protected grounds a number of years ago.
There are three parts to the new law: anti-discrimination, hate speech, and hate crime.

At the level of anti-discrimination, C-16 means that you can instigate a complaint for discrimination or harassment. Using the wrong pronouns repeatedly after being made aware that a person uses other pronouns might amount to harassment, a position that is taken by the Ontario Human Rights Commission. Accidental or occasional use of the wrong pronouns would not be sufficiently grave or frequent to be considered harassment under the law.

This new law is enforced administratively through the Human Rights Commission and Tribunal. Because of the obstacles and costs involved in the procedure, especially if the Commission does not support the case, enforcement of Bill C-16 is predicated on the time and financial access of complaintants, many of whom will not have the thousands of dollars necessary to sue without Commission support.

Anti-discrimination components to the law are most effective in informing the public of their rights and duties, motivating companies to adapt their policies, and enabling impact litigation.

In terms of hate speech, it is forbidden to incite “hatred against any identifiable group where such incitement is likely to lead to a breach of the peace” in a public space. As is plain from the text of the law, it will not suffice to disrespect a person by using the wrong pronouns. By inciting a breach of peace, you will open yourself up to two years imprisonment. Prosecutors are generally unwilling to charge people under that provision, and in the most famous hate speech case, R.V. Keegstra, the perpetrator was not sentenced to prison but rather to probation and community service.

Unlike hate crime law in the United States, hate crime law in Canada does not constitute independent violations prompting discrete sanctions. Rather, judges will have to consider whether you were motivated by bias against trans people at the sentencing stage of the prosecution of a separate crime. You still need to commit a crime, and you cannot go to jail for more than the maximum jail time for that crime. The hate crime provision is one additional consideration among over 24 provisions and sub-provisions setting out sentencing principles and factors.

Far from sending people to jail and fining them for using the wrong pronouns, we should be worried that Bill C-16 does too little to protect trans people who rarely have the resources to enforce their rights. Trans people are disproportionately poor, and our justice system is inaccessible for all but the richest. Anti-discrimination laws are only of use when properly enforced. Until they are, we will have to find alternative ways to protect those who face disproportionate levels of harassment, discrimination, and violence. And this starts with listening to trans people learning about the issues the face, and yes, using their preferred pronouns.

The post No, pronouns won’t send you to jail appeared first on The McGill Daily.

When this happens, trans students are left to decide between avoiding sending emails from our institutional email accounts and risking looking unprofessional, or out ourselves to every single person we message. Emails sent to us by others will inevitably show the wrong name. I opted for the latter option – outing myself – because I had important work emails to send, so now at least a few dozen new people know my deadname. It’s not very easy to forget, unfortunately, and all my interactions with those persons in the future will be made more uncomfortable by their knowledge – hopefully, they won’t discriminate against me for being a trans woman if the opportunity arises.

Those three weeks, unsurprisingly, corresponded to a low in my mental health, and the fallout is ongoing. The constant reminders of my pre-transition life also took a toll on my mental health. For weeks I had to see this name, multiple times a day – this name which caused me pain for most of my life, and which I am struggling to put behind me.

McGill’s current preferred name policy (when it works) is limited to students’ classlists, McGill emails, and myCourses. Outside of those three platforms, there is nothing. The policy fails to recognise trans people’s lived gender identity as well as failing to meet McGill’s legal obligations to accommodate trans students under the Quebec Charter of Human Rights and Freedom, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of gender identity. These failures harm trans students psychologically and emotionally, and make us vulnerable to discrimination, harassment, and violence.

Currently, myFuture sends the person’s deadname with the submitted documentation for job applications. Similarly, official transcripts are not available with preferred names. Trans students are systemically outed, unless they choose to forego using myFuture, or their official transcript. Applying for a job for which only the official transcript is accepted? Too bad. Applying for a job in which unofficial transcripts are accepted? Good luck appearing professional sending in a screenshot or a copy-pasted version as a transcript. With transphobia still being commonplace, it is simply unacceptable for McGill — an institution which claims to hold itself to the highest standards of social and academic practice — to force its trans students to use their deadnames.

I think it is important to emphasise that constantly having to see one’s deadname in the system is very distressing and invalidating, whether others are aware of it or not. Since all login systems use the “primary email,” which is composed of the person’s deadname, trans students have to type it every time they need to use a McGill service, usually a significant number of times per day. It causes much anxiety and discomfort in a student’s day to day life, given its recurrence. The Interlibrary Loan system, printers, among other systems, do not use the preferred name and email, either.

The issue is distinctively intersectional. There are many reasons to delay a legal name change or avoid it altogether, and when the process is available and desired, it can take months or years to go through. For a large number of students, however, the process is simply unavailable. Many countries disallow name changes on the basis of gender identity, or require genital surgery as a precondition for the change. The policy, as it stands, disproportionately impacts international students.

Trans rights are human rights. We should all get to use a name we identify with. Our privacy should be respected. In light of its legal duties and institutional commitments, McGill should foster a respectful environment in which trans students feel safe from discrimination, harassment and violence. The first step of many is to overhaul its preferred name policy so that trans students, staff, and faculty alike, may reliably use their chosen name across all McGill platforms.

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