Medicare works because it focuses on two major goals: equity and cost control. Medicare achieves equity by providing the same basic plan to everyone who enrolls, and cost control by creating one governmental agency that pays for everyone’s health care, since when there’s only one buyer but many sellers, the buyer tends to control the prices. However, in Canada, health coverage for international students does not meet these goals, since they typically must obtain their insurance from a private monopoly designated by their university.

Quebec makes for a good example of this. When international students come to Quebec, the provincial government requires that they have some form of health insurance that is valid in Quebec. Students from France, Denmark, Luxembourg, Norway, Portugal, and Sweden can obtain Quebec medicare due to bilateral agreements. However, all other international students must buy private insurance, and each university establishes one company as a monopoly for this service.

Many Quebec universities, including Université Laval, Université de Montréal, Université de Sherbrooke, and the entire Université du Québec system are part of a consortium that grants a monopoly on international student health insurance to Desjardins Securité financière. Bizarrely, different members of the consortium appear to charge different rates for the same plan. For example, UQAM’s web site lists the cost of one year of health insurance as $1,265, while UdeM’s, lists the costs as only $720.

McGill and Concordia are not members. Instead, they have contracts with Blue Cross. Again, even though the two plans (and even the insurance claim forms) are largely the same, international students pay different rates at each school – $750 for Concordia, but only $591 for McGill. Bishop’s University uses Expert Travel Financial Security (ETFS), which charges $787.20.

These private insurance plans generally mimic the public plan as set out by la Régie de l’assurance maladie du Québec (RAMQ), with some differences. For example, Blue Cross has been denying trans people prescription drug coverage for hormones since at least September 2010, even though RAMQ covers hormones.

International students also face some additional disadvantages due to having private rather than public insurance coverage. RAMQ will cover prescription drugs at the pharmacy, while private plans require submitting a formal claim – and waiting weeks for reimbursement. Furthermore, since international students cannot obtain a health card, many of them lack any form of Canadian government-issued ID, which can sometimes cause complications even when doing something simple, like picking up a package from the post office.

These issues only disappear once an international student graduates, decides to stay in Quebec, applies for a post-graduate work permit from Immigration Canada, submits another application to RAMQ, and then waits three months for RAMQ to start providing coverage.

All these different rules clearly undermine the principles of equity and cost control. Why should an international student at UQAM pay over twice as much as an international student at McGill? And why should an international student, as compared with a Quebec student, have a different set of benefits? And why bother having multiple bureaucracies when one alone can do the job more efficiently?

The solution is for the Quebec government to allow international students to buy into medicare. International students would have to pay a premium to RAMQ, particularly since their families have not been paying taxes to fund the public health care system. These premiums would also provide additional revenue for RAMQ and likely decrease per capita health costs, since students tend to be in their late teens or twenties – typically healthier age groups than the population at large.

SSMU, PGSS, and the McGill administration should lobby the Quebec government to expand access of Quebec medicare to international students, for the good of both international students and Quebec society as a whole.

—

Quinn Albaugh is a B.A. candidate in Political Science (Honours). They can be reached at quinn.albaugh@mail.mcgill.ca.

The post The case for medicare appeared first on The McGill Daily.

But what really interests me is that some of the reactions to my column contradict each other. The No Committee on the Daily Publications Society fee referendum this year used my piece on black market hormones as an example of content that didn’t resonate with many students, in the context of arguing that The Daily was too “radical” – but I have also heard people at McGill critique my column for not being “radical” enough.

I can see why people might think my column wasn’t “radical.” For example, when I discussed trans people in prisons, I didn’t mention the arguments in favour of reducing the number of people in prisons, let alone abolishing prisons. I’ve also kept away from queer politics’ third rail – how much of gender and sexuality is biological and how much is socially constructed – which could play a part in “radical” analyses. And I’ve argued against the idea that religion is inherently anti-queer; in the present left/right division of attitudes, being positive about religion seems to push people further right, not left, but that’s not necessarily the case.

 In large part, my column has rested on a few basic ideas. First, all human beings should be equal, even though society doesn’t treat them equally. Second, society systemically treats people of different genders and sexualities differently – and it’s women, queer people, trans people, intersex people, and others who pay for these inequalities. Third, issues that supposedly only affect one discrete class of people often affect other groups as well – for example, full-body scanners affect a number of different groups of people, such as members of religious minorities and people with disabilities, even though society doesn’t usually see them as facing the same issues. Fourth, society should listen to members of marginalized communities and recognize their experiences in developing its policies and sense of equality.

To people in queer circles, though, these ideas often aren’t “radical.” Instead, they’re the starting points. What’s “radical,” then, are even broader critiques of how we structure society, including arguments against the existence of marriage or even the state itself, or arguments over what methods we should use to change society, including both civil disobedience and violence. Many of us dismiss these ideas out of hand.

But the principles behind my column are still outside the mainstream. What’s mainstream is the idea that being trans is abnormal, and that trans people should be ashamed of themselves. And, for those who wouldn’t go that far, there’s always the notion that trans issues aren’t really worth hearing. In that context, writing any kind of column as an openly trans person could be “radical.”

 Really, though, the label “radical” is unimportant to me. I’m sure that whoever reads this column can make up their own mind. What does matter to me is that I have been open and spoken my conscience.

Quinn Albaugh’s outta here. It’s been real, do you feel me? Write her at quinn.albaugh@gmail.com.

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Intersex advocacy organizations do not agree on how to respond to this change. The Intersex Society of North America (ISNA) shut down in 2007 due in part to the development of DSD. In 2008, former associates of ISNA founded a new organization, the Accord Alliance, which now uses the term “disorders of sex development” instead of “intersex.” Other organizations, such as the Organisation Internationale des Intersexes (OII), which has chapters in several countries (including Canada) oppose this terminology.

I am skeptical of this terminology shift. I’m particularly doubtful that we can ever use the term “disorder” in a way that does not result in stigmatizing the individual to which it is applied.

I should note that I do not identify as intersex or as a person with a DSD. But I’ve seen enough problems with the use of the term “disorder” as applied to trans people to raise some concerns about how this terminology will affect care and social perceptions. I also have a particular concern with this case because some individuals have advocated that transsexuality be considered an intersex condition – effectively, transsexuality would mean having a cross-sexed brain.

The term “disorder” stigmatizes people in such a way that discourages them from seeking care. I know that the possibility of receiving a “gender identity disorder” diagnosis made me conflicted about seeking help from health-care providers. I knew ways of improving my life were available – but only if I accepted that label.

What’s more, if a characteristic gives someone a “disorder,” not having that characteristic becomes “normal” and “desirable.” As long as we refer to intersex conditions as disorders, we are preventing the emergence of the notion that no form of sex variation is better than another.

The terminology also reflects a particular medical model. The medical establishment tends to assign labels and diagnoses to various groups based on their own traditions and thinking, without taking into consideration the thinking of the groups affected. While the medical community collaborated with some intersex advocacy organizations, such as ISNA, the “consensus statement” ultimately was passed down from the medical establishment itself. Given the imbalance of power between the two, I’m curious as to how much the current phrasing reflects intersex people’s opinions.

Under a DSD model, all intersex people, regardless of their bodily variations, have a disorder – which implies a need to fix, correct, or treat the “disorder,” the same way people attempt to solve, say, post-traumatic stress disorder. But not all intersex people want or need medical intervention. In fact, the urge to fix intersex people has led to surgeons modifying infants’ genitalia to what they think would be best for the child. A significant portion of these children have had to later seek “transgender” care in order to address the problems that surgeons made for them when they were too young to consent.

We need to make several changes to this model. Members of marginalized groups should be able to participate as equal partners in developing their own standards of care. Since communities don’t always agree on self-identification labels, health-care providers should respect how individuals refer to themselves. People with different bodies should have different care depending on their individual needs. We should avoid using stigmatizing language that would interfere with care. And individuals should be the only ones who can consent to their own care; health-care providers shouldn’t make decisions for anyone – instead, they should inform and assist. Without these changes, we won’t be providing the right care.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week, but time is running out. To stay in touch, write her at quinn.albaugh@gmail.com.

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In retrospect, using hormone blockers would have saved me a considerable amount of trouble. I wouldn’t have had to deal with an unwanted male puberty. But in my case, I was too deep in denial to seek HBs out – and they still weren’t as mainstream then as they are now. Nowadays, the Endocrine Society, a professional organization that deals with appropriateness of hormone treatments, recommends hormone blockers as standard practice.

But some people still have reservations about hormone blockers, arguing that trans youth aren’t capable of deciding for themselves whether HBs are appropriate, that trans youth might change their minds, or that it’s risky to mess with young people’s hormones.

These attitudes exist despite the reality that delaying puberty actually allows young people to avoid risk. If you have any concerns about being trans, allowing puberty to happen is dangerous. Trans people often become intensely depressed during puberty. But the risks of using HBs are relatively low; whenever a person on hormone blockers wants, they can choose to allow puberty to begin.

So why does anyone oppose this practice? Ingrained societal biases against both gender non-conformity and youth.

Thanks to ultrasounds, we start enforcing gender norms from before birth. Most people in North America receive gendered names. Baby rooms and toys are often gendered male or female using blue and pink as colour cues. When they start going to school, they see gender-segregated bathrooms.

Our society abhors gender-variance, even in infants. Life & Style, that paragon of journalism, published a cover story criticizing Angelina Jolie for having her three-year-old child, assigned female, wear “men’s clothing” and short haircuts, worrying that such parenting measures would “harm” the child (“Why is Angelina turning Shiloh into a boy?”, March 4). This kind of commentary completely dismisses children’s agency, since it assumes that only parents can make decisions about their child’s lives. But if the Life & Style piece is accurate, then her child actually asked to be called John and to wear such clothing. I have to ask – what if Shiloh, or John, is trans? Life & Style doesn’t appear to have considered the possibility.

This coverage also assumes that children and youth are not reliable sources about who they are. This notion is pervasive in our society, particularly regarding queer youth. People say, “It’s just a phase,” or, “How do you know?” Straight or gender-conforming people don’t have to deal with these questions – their identities receive validation regardless of age. This double standard, this denial of queer identities, doesn’t stop when we become legal adults. Since writing this column, people have asked how I could possibly know that I’m trans, and I’m 21.

Adults know better. Who cares if a child has been saying from the age of three that they’re different from what the adults think?
The idea that adults know who children really are better than the children themselves flies in the face of many queer people’s life stories. I knew I didn’t fit in with “the other boys” when I was seven. I’ve also met queer people who were certain in their identities at even younger ages. While these experiences are not universal, they show that children can and do know who they are at young ages.

But the widespread idea that young people can’t know their own identities because they’re too young isn’t just wrong – it’s actively harmful. This notion presents queer people with a no-win situation. If queer youth come out, society refuses to recognize their identities. If they don’t conform, they risk hostility and harassment. To avoid facing these problems, they have to deny themselves. That kind of denial leaves a deep and lasting psychological wound.

These problems become even worse when schools do not intervene against bullies. In 2009, Egale, a Canadian LGBTQ rights organization, released the results of their first survey of bullying in Canadian schools. The survey indicated that 75 per cent of self-identified lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and questioning youth felt unsafe at school and that 95 per cent of the trans youth surveyed indicated that they felt unsafe. When queer youth feel unsafe, they are much more likely to try to be someone they’re not.

Parents – like Angelina Jolie – often take the blame for the existence of queer people. Focus on the Family and other right-wing groups believe that queer people are the results of “bad parenting.” Examples include the notions that absent fathers and overbearing mothers turn their sons gay. As a result, they argue that society needs to “protect” children from the harmful effects of “bad parenting” and enforce what they consider traditional gender norms. But this entire argument rests on the idea that the existence of queer people is a problem, one that requires someone to blame. Queerness isn’t a problem – society makes it one by considering it problematic.

The rhetoric of “protecting children” serves to legitimate actions that actually harm children and youth. For example, whenever trans non-discrimination policies are discussed, social conservatives contend that such moves would allow male sexual predators to harass women, particularly girls, in women’s bathrooms by claiming that their gender identity is female. But this argument never includes evidence that a sexual predator has ever used such a tactic. What’s more, nothing’s stopping a sexual predator from going into a women’s bathroom now – especially if they’re already female.

This framing also calls to mind an image of queer people as bogeymen, “deviants” who prey on children. Ironically, queer people, especially trans people, are disproportionately survivors of sexual assault. And trans people, including children and youth in school, face a higher chance of harassment if they look like one gender but have to use another’s bathroom facilities. Instead of protecting anyone, opponents of non-discrimination policies only hurt people who need to have access to safe bathroom facilities.

We need to turn that classic right-wing argument – “Think of the children!” – on its head. Imagine what would happen if we actually thought of queer youth as people. If we actually considered the needs of children, we wouldn’t force them to conform to arbitrary standards from birth. Instead, we would foster the idea that good parents don’t try to force their kids to be someone they’re not. If we actually considered the needs of queer students, we would not stand back and allow bigoted bullying to continue. Instead, we would implement anti-bullying policies in every school in Canada. If we actually considered the needs of trans youth, we would give hormone blockers to those who ask and make sure they can use the bathroom without fear. Won’t someone please think of the children for once?

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. They want to hear what you think: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

The post Think of the children! appeared first on The McGill Daily.

My reaction: “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Hormones produce sweeping effects on the body. In addition to encouraging the development of secondary sex characteristics, hormones also affect one’s libido, alcohol tolerance, and behaviour. Testosterone affects heart functioning and can increase the risk of sleep apnea. Estrogen generally produces sterility in transwomen in under a year.

Many buyers lack the information to determine the correct dosage, which varies from person to person. And without the help of medical providers, most people either cannot or do not monitor their hormone levels – which is necessary to prevent harmful effects.

The way you take hormones can produce additional risks. Hormone pills strain the liver, which has to process the hormones that one’s body produces naturally and those delivered by the pills at the same time. Hormone injections necessarily involve needle use – without safeguards, some people use unclean needles or share them with other people, increasing the risk of spreading HIV and other infections.

The black market also leaves buyers without legal protections. Unscrupulous sellers can scam them by providing impure dosages or substituting the wrong substance without legal repercussions.

Despite all of these risks, I never had to wonder why she chose that way to transition. For her, the other options were extreme depression or suicide. When those are the alternative, dangerous choices make sense.

However, depression isn’t the only reason why some trans people turn to the black market. Systemic factors also encourage people to pursue bootleg hormones. Some “gender specialists” still require a “real-life test” before allowing trans people access to transition services. Under this model, trans people have to prove that they can function in the “opposite” gender role without changing their bodies in order to receive treatment. For many people, following that test would force them to risk harassment or losing their jobs and families. Other doctors use decades-old research to try to restrict hormones to straight trans people only. So a transwoman who likes other women is less likely to be eligible. The World Professional Association for Transgender Health, the traditional reference point for trans health issues, no longer includes either of these criteria as part of its standards of care.

I didn’t have to deal with these barriers, but even with more progressive health care providers, I still had to undergo a semester of psychotherapy before receiving a recommendation for hormone replacement therapy (HRT). Some trans people can’t afford to wait that long for relief from depression or suicidal thoughts.

Other trans people who want HRT choose to do so through the black market in order to avoid a stigmatized mental health diagnosis. The Diagnostic Statistical Manual (DSM), the handbook put out by the American Psychiatric Association to assist in the diagnosis of mental disorders, labels anyone in the U.S. who seeks to transition through the medical establishment as mentally ill for life. The DSM also affects trans people in Canada, since some mental health providers here use it.

I would never condemn anyone who takes black market hormones, though I would encourage everyone to avoid doing so if they can. If someone has no other alternative, though, we should ensure that they use hormones as safely as possible.

Some doctors are starting to agree. Harm reduction techniques, such as offering to prescribe hormones to those obtaining them through the black market and providing safe injection sites, are increasingly becoming considered good practice, since they lower the risks of over- or misdosing and needle-sharing.

But harm reduction only mitigates the effects of a system that denies many people the opportunity to obtain hormones through legal channels. If we want people to avoid black market hormones, we have to make HRT more accessible through the medical establishment.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. Share your thoughts with Quinn: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

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In Canada, we often discuss Muslim women’s dress in terms of religious freedom, framing it as a part of the debate over secularism, immigration, and multiculturalism, or – particularly in Quebec – “reasonable accommodations.” And sure enough, the school’s excuse for expelling her was that the woman’s insistence on wearing the niqab was “unreasonable.” According to the administration, the clothing interfered with the student’s ability to communicate by not allowing the teacher to see her lip movements, which they say is necessary in language-learning classes.

What I find “unreasonable” is forcing someone to choose between their identity and their education. Ironically, if she never learns French, she’ll never integrate into Quebec society – and she’s unlikely to accept French if she has to choose between that language and her identity.

I’ve followed this issue in both Quebec and France for years and have noticed that these frames tend to portray the struggles of Muslim women, who may also be immigrants or people of colour, as unconnected to those of other marginalized groups – as unique cases.

But how society treats people who wear the niqab has implications for other groups – particularly people with disabilities, trans people, and the queer community as a whole.

Who decides what’s reasonable? Cis employers, when they determine that it’s “reasonable” for trans people to use the bathroom for their assigned sex, regardless of gender presentation, or that it’s “reasonable” to have trans people use separate bathrooms from other employees. The sighted, when they decide what’s reasonable for the visually impaired. The able-bodied, when they decide for those who cannot walk. People without mental illness, when they decide for the mentally ill.

The dominant groups decide what’s reasonable for groups with much less political and social power. The people actually affected have little say.

The queer movement also has a stake in whether the niqab becomes outlawed. If the state bans the niqab from the public sphere, it provides a precedent for banning various other kinds of dress, including gender-variant clothing. Such a move would also undermine non-discrimination laws based on gender expression because the niqab clearly expresses gender (though, of course, it conveys more than just that aspect of identity). Queer people should have these protections to live their lives with a bit more freedom from bigotry.

Banning the niqab is another means of enforcing conformity – the exact opposite of what the queer movement seeks to achieve.

Some may note that this case also included requests from the student wearing the niqab to be separated from male students. That’s a more complicated issue. But the administrators didn’t expel her because she wanted to segregate herself from male students – they expelled her for wearing the niqab.

On that, the school is simply wrong – and other marginalized groups should support this student’s complaint, even if they wind up with strange bedfellows.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. Tell them what you been thinkin’: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

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Before I transitioned, I had no energy. I slept constantly. I had little interest in eating. And I couldn’t really muster enthusiasm about anything, even when I had strong opinions. I was depressed.

For some people, depression comes from certain life events. For others, depression has no clear cause at all – it might be a result of brain chemistry. For me, depression is a result of the inescapable fact that my internal body map is female while my body is not. My brain tells me that my body should be female, including all the parts, even though my eyes have always told me that I don’t have them.

When I first heard about phantom limbs, I couldn’t help but compare the phenomenon with my own experiences, since I’m missing body parts that my brain expects to be there. No matter how much I tried to tell myself that I was wrong, I couldn’t escape this reality.

Puberty was hell. I developed all the wrong secondary sex characteristics – hair all over the place, a prodigious beard, and a voice so low that I often sang the lowest bass notes in choirs. I also had to feel myself developing a male sex drive. That particular development was so distressing that I often imagined my life would be better without any sex drive at all.

Shortly after puberty started, I went online and learned about transsexuality. When I read about what transsexuality felt like, I knew instantly that the concept fit me – and that I would be much happier if I could make my body more like how I knew it should be. But then I thought about how other people might react – especially my parents – and I started developing rationalizations about how I wasn’t really trans. For example, my attraction to women and my lack of interest in female clothing helped me convince myself that I was “really” a man. I couldn’t escape into denial completely, though; every month, I had at least a couple days when I couldn’t do anything but confront the incongruence between my brain and my body.

This problem had gone unaddressed for so long that I didn’t even realize I was depressed – I had always felt the same way. Eventually, though, the situation reached a point where I could no longer be oblivious: to keep functioning, I had to address the issue.

When I went on hormones at the beginning of my transition, I felt an immediate sense of relief. That feeling has grown since then. However, I still have to deal with low energy moments. Whenever I present myself as a man in public, whenever someone takes me as male, I feel drained. For me, interacting socially as a man is essentially an act. I’ve learned the part passably, but that’s not who I actually am. I also still have trouble avoiding presenting myself as a man because some of my features, my voice and facial hair especially, unavoidably cue people into thinking that I’m male.

I’m not telling you about my experiences because I have a deep desire to talk about myself. In fact, I’d rather not relive my pre-transition years. I’m telling you this because we cannot just discuss depression, sex, or gender in the abstract. We need stories like mine to remind us that these issues are a part of real people’s lives.

The post Through the looking glass appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Frankly, I find his commentary on The Daily in general reflects a belief that the paper should be “mainstream” – missing the entire point of The Daily. The Daily is an anti-oppressive newspaper with a clear statement of principles. The public editor shouldn’t be criticizing The Daily for not being “mainstream” – they should hold The Daily up to its principles and to high standards of journalistic ethics. Right now, The Daily is giving a platform to someone who is not fulfilling the role of a public editor, who opposes the paper’s politics, and who hasn’t even accurately represented Daily pieces. This isn’t productive for anyone. Mike Prebil needs to do his job or abandon ship.

Quinn Albaugh
U3 Political Science
Daily columnist

The post Oh snap appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Last November, she committed suicide. We can’t know exactly what was going through her head. But her minister has stated that she was very clear that, even though she was publicly male, she would always be Christine (which is why I refer to her with female pronouns). We do know that she was facing a considerable amount of pressure and stress – from a divorce, from trans people who wanted her to be an activist, and from society at large. We also know that she, like other transsexuals, faced a world that treated her as neither male nor female. These observations help explain why she returned to living as male, against her own wishes.

In a perfect society, the social pressures that she confronted would not have made her life harder to live – because they wouldn’t exist. In the real world, however, that she survived as long as she did is surprising.

Transsexuals have a much higher risk of suicide than the general population. No one who studies the issue really disputes this claim, though we have not yet developed a consensus of how much higher rates of suicides and attempted suicides are.

Suicide rates among transsexuals are so high primarily because our society has constructed obstacles to transition. Since transitioning is the most successful way of addressing the depression and body image issues that many transsexuals face, any barrier to that process allows those problems to remain. Unaddressed, these problems can lead to suicide.

Social stigma undoubtedly plays a central role in preventing transition. For example, when I was first learning about transsexuality, I learned that other people had successfully transitioned. Despite this, I decided not to talk about my feelings – and eventually started pretending that they never existed – because I was afraid that my family would ostracize me. Because they are afraid of job or housing discrimination, other trans people do not transition.

Our mental health system has created even more explicit barriers. Psychologists, psychiatrists ,and therapists often vet trans clients for how well they fit into a specific narrative of transsexuality. For example, they often look at how young a person was when they first felt trans feelings. According to the traditional narrative, transsexuals are supposed to have “cross-gender” thoughts before the age of seven – and five is even more authentic. The medical establishment is likely to refuse treatment to anyone who reports these feelings at a later age. Many mental health “experts” have thought that “real” male-to-female transsexuals are only attracted to men. If they had their way, I wouldn’t have been able to transition physically because I’m generally attracted to women. These mental health gatekeepers can and do block trans people who are depressed – and, consequently, at higher risk for suicide – from obtaining hormones when they need them. As a result, some trans people purchase hormones on the black market, endangering their health. Others simply go without hormones, which again, in severe cases, can lead to suicide.

We need to tear down these barriers. Mental health providers need to expand their sense of who is eligible for hormone replacement therapy so that anyone who needs it can get it. We need to educate everyone about trans people to remove the stigma – and, in the meantime, pass laws prohibiting discrimination against those who need to transition.

Whenever we think about trans issues, we need to remember the many transsexuals like Christine Daniels who have to choose between transition and suicide.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. Send Quinn your thoughts at binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

The post The life-or-death stakes of transition appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The story’s headline calls Moore the “second pregnant man,” referencing the sensationalized story of Thomas Beatie as the first “pregnant man” from 2008. These titles aren’t actually accurate. We know of at least one other trans man, Matt Rice, who bore a child – and it’s quite likely that there are many more – a fact takes away the “novelty” of the story.

There are several problems with the Los Angeles Times piece. For example, the author mentioned the pre-transition names of both Moore and his partner, Thomas (who is also a trans man). Reporting in this way encourages readers to think of the Moores as not “real” men, invalidating their identities.

The delegitimization that trans men have to deal with becomes inescapable during pregnancy because our society cannot conceive of a man getting pregnant. Denying a trans person’s identity in this way damages their wellbeing – leading to anything from depression to suicide.

What struck me most in the article was this bit: “Thomas started taking testosterone in 1999, had his 44GG breasts removed in 2004, had a hysterectomy, and had a penis made out of flesh from his thigh attached.”

I find it incredible that the article’s author thought that the medical history of the partner of the “pregnant man” – the ostensible subject of the story – is in any way relevant to the story, especially since Scott Moore’s own medical history is absent from the piece. Perhaps the author thought that Scott’s partner would provide an example of the physical changes that trans men have when they transition. Still, I had to reread that sentence a few times to try to understand why exactly Thomas’s medical procedures were relevant.

But the presumption that someone else’s medical history is completely open for discussion is even more troubling. The privacy that surrounds most people’s medical histories is a privilege that trans people do not have in our society. People who aren’t trans assume that they have a right to ask anything they want once a trans person comes out to them.

I’ve seen this in my own life. People all too frequently ask me whether I’m going to have sex-reassignment surgery or how I have sex. When I’m comfortable with the person, I try to answer honestly. But really, I find this fixation on the physical aspects of transition rather silly at best and invasive at worst.

Some would argue that the Moores have opened themselves up to questioning about this issue by discussing their story with the media. But no journalist would ever interview a pregnant woman’s partner about their medications or past surgeries without a clear connection to the story – it probably wouldn’t even enter their mind.

This lack of privacy affects other groups as well. For example, someone who has a prosthetic limb might face interrogation about how their prosthesis works. This may seem like an innocent question. Asking it, however, prevents the person who has the prosthesis from determining their own boundaries and, ultimately, from living their life in peace.

We need to extend our sense of privacy to cover everyone’s medical history. After all, it’s possible for anyone to develop a condition they’d rather not talk about. So next time someone you know has a “fascinating” history, take a step back and put yourself in their place. They’re probably sick of all the questions.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. Don’t ask them about their sex life: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

The post Mind your own business appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The “gender identity” provision would provide non-discrimination protections in housing and employment, along with hate crimes protections, to anyone who knows that they are a certain gender, even if it does not match with their birth sex. This kind of provision usually applies to transsexuals. “Gender expression” is much broader, however, and includes dress, speech, and other behaviours that have associations with gender – this provision applies to a much larger group.

Such protections are necessary at the federal level because out of Canada’s provinces and territories, only the Northwest Territories currently has “gender identity” protections. Right now, transsexuals may have coverage under “sex” or “gender” classifications through court rulings. However, unfavourable judges could limit the extent of the protections that these rulings offer, since, at present, there is no explicit safeguard for transsexuals. Adding “gender identity” to these laws would provide them with that.

Furthermore, other trans people, including some people who cross-dress, those who don’t identify as male or female, and many others, lack even court rulings prohibiting discrimination against them. Adding “gender expression” would cover them as well.

Some might say that in this political environment, it doesn’t make sense to try to address this issue because it affects only a small number of people. While I hold more that we should not let injustices persist for any group simply because of its size, this objection underestimates the number of people Bill C-389 will affect, both because of our demographic statistics on trans people and because the bill would also affect people who are not trans.

We just don’t know how many people are trans. Often, people use estimates of how many people have had sex reassignment surgery (SRS), but this underestimates the transsexual population, for at least three reasons: many people cannot afford SRS; others have travelled abroad, for example to Thailand, where the surgery is affordable; and others might not report the information. Furthermore, by looking only at SRS, these statistics ignore all of the trans people who have no interest, including some who cross-dress or identify with neither gender. As a result, the trans population is much higher than people think.

But this bill wouldn’t just cover trans people. C-389 would also cover queer people who don’t identify as trans, who may think they’re protected by sexual orientation non-discrimination laws. However, without “gender expression” protections, it’s possible to argue that “sexual orientation” only includes a person’s attractions, not their behaviour or appearance – even though many people who aren’t straight are also gender-variant.

This bill even covers people who wouldn’t identify as queer at all. Even some straight cis people could face discrimination in housing or employment – or even hate crimes – for behaving in some way that is not strictly in accordance with their gender, including “masculine” women and “feminine” men. For example, in June 2008, Stacey Fearnall, an Ontario woman who shaved her head to raise money for cancer research, was fired from her job as a waitress. This may not seem like a gender issue on the surface. However, since her appearance was the basis for her firing, it’s not hard to imagine that her boss fired her because she appeared too “masculine” and might turn away customers. This bill would prevent the unjust firing of people like Fearnall, too.

Our society often thinks that trans issues don’t relate to cis people’s lives. However, a successful trans bill would not only aim to make a society where trans people can live their own lives, but also enable them to defend the freedom of others to express themselves. We need to realize that bias against gender-variance harms people regardless. It doesn’t matter whether a boy in elementary school is cis and straight; if he doesn’t show an interest in “masculine” activities, others will ridicule him. As long as we allow any such stigmas to exist, narrow, socially-delineated boundaries will limit the behaviour of all people.

So, please – write your MP, the party leaders, and newspapers. We need to mobilize now to pass Bill C-389 when Parliament returns.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. Tell ’em what you think: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

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My reaction when I heard about the proposed scanners was that I simply wouldn’t fly anymore. Part of being transsexual, at least for me, is an immense sense of discomfort with my body, which makes me avoid situations where I might have to expose myself. For example, at present I avoid going to the gym because I don’t want to change clothing there. (Of course there are other issues involved in such situations: e.g., sex-segregated facilities.)
However, this action also cuts to a deeper issue – the risk of discrimination or harassment. Before body scanners, I felt comfortable travelling knowing that I could still present myself as male, which would at least allow my general appearance to match with my identity documents. In that way I could avoid the problems that trans people face when travelling by clothing myself in cis (meaning “non-trans”) privilege. But the body scanners would prevent me from doing that: they would display the physical results of my hormone replacement therapy, including breast development and the reshaping of my waist and hips, despite the clothing on my body.

The machines, then, would instantly out me to whoever is operating them. This can be dangerous, since I have no idea how the scanner operator will react to trans people. Though the risk that a screener would be overtly hostile may not be very high, the results of such attitudes, including verbal and physical harassment, are terrifying. This problem is an even more serious concern because once someone else knows I’m trans, that person could tell anyone else they want – which increases the chances that someone I wouldn’t want to know would find out without my consent.

Furthermore, since policies tend to assume that those operating the scanners will be of the same sex as the person scanned, a male scanner might have some questions if he saw my increasingly female body contour on the screen. I can’t help but think that my body could delay the security process or lead to selection for additional screening.

All of this makes me feel unsafe at airports – which is ironic, since the goal of the policy is to increase safety. (Or, more cynically, to make voters feel safer regardless of how much protection the scanners would actually provide).

I’ve since realized that I will probably have to fly at some point – which makes the lack of mainstream media coverage of how full-body scanners will affect trans people all the more frustrating. Instead, the mainstream narrative has tended to frame the issue of full-body scanners as a debate between privacy and security.

An implicit assumption in the discourse around the scanners seems to be that the people going through them will be members of dominant groups (a term that refers to those who are cis, white, male etc.). This idea obscures the role of privacy in protecting people who aren’t in socially privileged positions, such as trans people and people with stigmatized medical conditions (for example, urinary catheters may show up on the scanners). Privacy rights allow members of marginalized groups to hide their marginalized qualities if they so choose. This allows them to receive treatment closer to that received by members of dominant groups and, hopefully, to avoid harassment.

This aspect of privacy hasn’t really been a part of public conversations on the scanners. Instead, the assumption is that privacy would protect people’s modesty, and, indeed, this is a legitimate concern, particularly for certain religious minorities that place value on modesty. However, without an awareness of how privacy protects members of some marginalized groups, our notion of privacy will necessarily be incomplete. This more limited sense of privacy is then much easier for security advocates to debate.

The framing of the issue as involving privacy and security also sweeps other concerns under the carpet – including those of equality. On the surface, this seems to be equal – after all, if everyone has to go through the same process, how could it not be? However, when this process interacts with social attitudes towards trans people, it produces disproportionate effects on us. Cis people don’t have to worry about the same issues. That isn’t substantive equality.

There are plenty of other situations in which we recognize that treating everyone in the same way wouldn’t really be equal. For example, the LSAT usually takes place on a Saturday. However, out of a recognition that some people would have to choose between observing the Sabbath and taking the LSAT (which practically all common law schools in Canada require), there are other dates for Saturday Sabbath observers. Now, clearly, this example is on a different scale; the LSAT doesn’t involve security of hundreds or thousands of people in the way counter-terrorism does. However, it illustrates nonetheless that these sorts of equality issues do exist – and that we can devise remedies.

Such problems remind us that what we need is an equality that recognizes that people are different – and that putting everyone through the same process can sometimes lead to unequal results because of those differences.

Most importantly, however, before anyone rushes into introducing scanners, we need to have a fuller discussion of how this policy will affect everyone – including those who we often forget.

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I have experienced many of these problems first-hand. For example, although McGill allows students to enter a “preferred name” on Minerva, only one instructor in one of my classes has ever acknowledged my preferred name. All my other instructors and TAs have taken attendance using my legal name only. There is also the requirement that legal first names appeared before preferred names on class lists. This encourages instructors to read legal names rather than preferred names. If my legal name weren’t on the class lists, this wouldn’t even be an issue. However, I’m somewhat grateful that my “preferred” name doesn’t immediately out me as trans, which is a particular danger for this policy, since someone with a “male-gendered” legal name but a “female-gendered” preferred name – or vice versa – could be instantly outed on class lists.

In contrast, McGill ID cards are a mixed bag. For one thing, there is no explicit gender marker on them, which actually makes them somewhat progressive. However, since the University automatically puts legal names on the cards when issuing them and generally doesn’t allow students to change their names without documentation of a legal name change, they can’t really serve as a reliable piece of identification for trans people in transition, particularly when interacting with various parts of the University. For example, just a few days ago, I went to McGill Health Services to pick up some documents from my doctor. My doctor left the package for Quinn, but the receptionist automatically asked for my McGill ID card, which left me in a position of explaining why the names don’t match. Though I left with the documents in the end, the receptionist was clearly reluctant to hand them over. Furthermore, the lack of preferred names on ID cards prevents trans people from using them as identification in other contexts when they might not be able to use a state-issued ID – a lost opportunity for McGill to become a pioneer on trans issues.

Another aspect of this system affects McGill emails, which is problematic not just for trans people, but for anyone who uses a name that doesn’t match exactly with what McGill has in its records. I have a TA who has a traditionally Spanish legal name, including both the father’s family name and the mother’s; McGill wouldn’t allow a shortening of the email to include only the father’s. There’s no option to change last names without legal documentation, which is problematic for some trans people who want to change their last name for safety or privacy reasons. There is a system in place for changing first names in McGill emails, though I had to dig quite a bit to find it. The guidelines very clearly state that they prefer that emails be based on legal names, and there’s a very clear power differential in the guidelines – McGill is the one who ultimately approves email changes, not students.

I have another vision for McGill. Instead of following the state’s lead in centralizing and standardizing names, McGill should develop more progressive name change policies. I suggest revising class lists so that they no longer require legal first names – only preferred first names, establishing the option to use preferred names on ID cards and allowing, at the very least, sensible changes to last names, such as choosing one last name in McGill emails when, legally, one has more than one. Finally, McGill should make these policy changes public, both to educate people about trans issues and to make their current policies more accessible to students.

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In particular, the mainstream media has seized upon a sliver of the guide, entitled the “Equality of Women and Men,” because it condemns “barbaric cultural practices,” which primarily refer to practices within certain Middle Eastern or African cultures and which have been sticking points in the “reasonable accommodation” debate of the past few years. The National Post (“New citizenship guide says no to ‘barbaric cultural practices,’” November 12) is an example of this, writing that, “the inclusion of honour killings and spousal abuse in the guide reminded some onlookers of the tension over reasonable accommodation, a concept that came to a boiling point in Hérouxville, Que., in 2007 when the town council passed a motion governing the behaviour of immigrants, including provisions against stoning women and genital mutilation.”

It’s not just the mainstream media, however; The Daily also wrote about this in its last editorial (“Immigration Canada’s delusional new guide,” November 19).

I don’t disagree with covering this angle of the story. After all, “reasonable accommodation” has been a major debate within contemporary Canadian politics that has affected marginalized communities. However, there’s another story behind this portion of the immigration guide that I haven’t seen in the press: the development of the term “equality of women and men” and its political implications for other marginalized groups.

Before Stephen Harper, the Liberals pioneered the use of “gender” and “gender equality” as terms in international affairs. They chose this wording over “sex” or the phrase “men and women” because gender includes a social aspect.

When the Conservatives came to power, they brought with them an ideology that both rejects the Liberals’ conception of Canada’s international role and denies the social construction of gender. Instead, the Conservatives tend to see the gender binary as “natural,” particularly on religious grounds – an example of this is Harper’s own opposition to marriage equality (though he has decided not to challenge the law).

As a result of these ideological commitments, the Conservatives started replacing the term “gender equality” with “equality between men and women,” which is similar to “equality of women and men.” in foreign policy documents. This undermines Canada’s ability to be an international leader not just for trans issues but also on gender issues in general, since Canada now refuses to use the established language of the international community on the subject of gender. More importantly, ignoring social aspects of gender makes it difficult to discuss gender relations in their social context. How are we to discuss rape without looking at how different societies view virginity or other related concepts?
This move indicates that the Conservatives are committed to using this language not just for international affairs but also more broadly in government documents, a significant but largely unrecognized change.

It’s pretty easy to see the binary’s either/or mentality in phrasing like “equality between men and women,” which excludes anyone who isn’t male or female – so much so that I can’t help but wonder whether I’m really welcome in Harper’s Canada, since I generally don’t fit within the binary but am contemplating immigrating here.

Now, it’s not surprising to me that media organizations wouldn’t recognize how other groups are affected when covering the release of this guide. After all, the “reasonable accommodation” angle is low-hanging fruit. News organizations also tend to parrot the same narratives both from one event to another and from their competitors’ coverage. Most importantly, media outlets often don’t require education on queer issues, which probably means that many of the people covering the guide didn’t examine it from that angle. However, we need to examine the guide in more than one light.

More importantly, however, we need to take the Tories to task for their changes to the citizenship guide, including but not limited to the “Equality of Women and Men” section. Personally, I’d suggest just voting them out next time. Ironically, as a potential immigrant, I’d have to take the citizenship test first – which means studying the very same guide that I find so objectionable.

Quinn Albaugh’s taking a vacation. Send them season’s greetings: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

The post The gender binary in foreign affairs appeared first on The McGill Daily.

When I reveal that I’m Anglican to people, they often ask certain questions: “Why are you part of a religion that hates you?” “How can you be both queer and a Christian?”

These questions usually have their basis in a certain belief I’ve frequently encountered in queer circles, and in leftist circles more generally, which holds that Christianity is inherently anti-queer. According to this story, there’s no way to queer Christianity.

This belief poses several problems.

First, it oversimplifies Christian thought. Christianity as a religion is extremely diverse. Anglicanism, in particular, gives its adherents much leeway in matters of faith. You can find everyone from Roman Catholic-style “traditionalists” to “postmodernists” within the Anglican Communion. This narrative usually reduces Christianity as a concept to Roman Catholic or conservative evangelical theology. Though Roman Catholicism and evangelical Protestantism are very socially prominent, their views obviously do not represent all Christians.

Second, it ignores the progress that Anglicans have made within their own faith and in society in general. In recent years, various Anglican clergy have started blessing or marrying queer couples without the Church hierarchy’s say-so. Although it’s against church policy at present, it’s pretty clear that North American Anglicanism will have marriage equality soon, both because support for it is common and growing and because many hardline conservatives have been trickling out of the established church. In the U.S., conservatives have been particularly discontent with the ordination of openly gay bishops, such as Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, and the election of Katharine Jefferts Schori as the first female head of the Episcopal Church in the United States, the American province of the Anglican Communion.

Furthermore, Anglican clergy have also supported the LGBT rights movement within the political sphere. For example, Stephen T. Lane, the Bishop of Maine, openly opposed Question 1, a referendum question in the state which sought to deny queer people civil marriage.

Third, this construction of Christianity creates a bizarre and foolhardy consensus with conservatives, who hold the same beliefs about the inherency of anti-queer messages in Christian theology. This consensus implicitly accepts the conservative reading of the Bible, even though it’s based on cherry-picked verses known as the “clobber texts,” passages interpreted without any consideration of their historical-cultural context – or of the context of the Bible as a whole. By agreeing with conservatives, leftists cede all ground to the conservatives in Christian discourse, which allows them to gain ground among people of faith, since their ideas face fewer challenges in the public sphere. This retreat marginalizes the Christian left, including queer allies.

Fourth, this discourse ironically parallels the gender binary. The binary assumes that all people are straight and cis gender. As a result of these assumptions, society “straight-washes” and “cis-washes” queer people, effectively denying either the existence of queer people as individuals or as a group. In the same way, this idea about Christianity “conservative-washes” Christians, denying the existence of those who dissent from the conservative view.

Such a conception of Christianity erases many people’s personal experiences in faith. At my own current church, Christ Church Cathedral on Ste. Catherine, I see the rainbow flag flying in the narthex every Sunday, and I hear explicitly pro-women and pro-LGBT sermons quite frequently. Most importantly, Anglicanism has provided me with the support to come out as trans. A couple months after I came out to myself as trans, I had lunch with my Anglican minister back home. He suspected I was queer and attempted to make me feel comfortable enough to come out. He was so successful that, several hours later, I came out to my parents, even though I hadn’t come out to anyone else before that, apart from one of my best friends in Montreal and a therapist.

Not surprisingly, then, I find this view of Christianity frustrating.

That said, the church today isn’t queer. Queer people still the face “Christian” bigots, both in churches and in the public sphere, where conservative interpretations of Christianity serve as justifications for bigotry. Additionally, even though there’s support for LGBT Anglicans, there’s still a crucial lack of understanding of what “queer” or “genderqueer” mean – or what the gender binary does. That binary infects Christian ritual – for example, in the Eucharistic prayer, where it’s said that “male and female He created them,” and the binary governs one of the most socially-significant Christian rituals: marriage.

However, I don’t believe the binary to be inherent to the religion – indeed, when I read the Bible, I find a message that opposes all forms of oppression. As a result, I have no intention of leaving the faith. Instead, I seek to queer Anglicanism, just as I seek to queer society.

Quinn Albaugh writes in this space every week. Draw them a fish in the sand: binaryforcomputers@mcgilldaily.com.

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