They Might Not Be Giants

“”Take care, sir,” cried Sancho. “Those over there are not giants but windmills.” Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

 

According to legend, they once hanged a monkey in Hartlepool.  The story goes that the local populace, fearful of the Napoleonic menace, and primed to be on the lookout for nefarious enemy spies, found a very small and hairy ‘Frenchman’ washed up on the shore from the nearby wreck of a warship.  Despite his inability to understand English they gave him a summary sea-shore trial and hanged him from the mast of a fishing-boat. With much cheering, drinking and singing no doubt.  They had visited personal judgement on a feared and hated enemy.  Whether he was indeed a Frenchman or no didn’t trouble them much I’m sure. He seemed French enough for their purposes.

 

I’m sure a rousing chorus of “Bash the Fash,”a 1993 song by anarcho-punk band Oi Polloi, would have tripped happily from the sea-side lynch-mob’s lips.  It quotes Hitler as saying that the only way the Nazi party could have been stopped was if it had been “smashed in its infancy with utmost force.” Well of course he would say that, he was a genocidal fascist dictator – his solution to every problem was to use murderous violence.  I wouldn’t suggest taking Hitler’s advice on anything, unless you are happy to risk becoming like him.  Bash the Fash became a popular term on the internet in 2017 following the American white-nationalist Richard Spencer getting a smack in the mouth live on television and the ensuing debate on whether violence was now an acceptable form of political protest.  It seems that for a growing number bashing the fashes is indeed acceptable.  But who exactly are these “fashes” that they now feel justified in bashing?

 

“I wanna fuck some terfs up, they are no better than fash.” The words of Tara Flik-Wood.  That statement formed part of the evidence presented at Flik-Woods prosecution for the beating of 61-yr-old Maria MacLachlan, Facebook-ed as it was just a few hours before that attack at Speaker’s Corner.  Despite the matter being conclusively decided against her assailant in open court (and before a rather unsympathetic judge) to this day, MacLachlan has to contend with a campaign of disinformation that tries to present her as the aggressor. How can this lunatic claim (that a slight 5’5” grandmother with osteoporosis overpowered a 6’tall male-bodied person in their twenties and shook them like a “rag doll”) be taken seriously by any intelligent human being and in spite of all the abundant freely-available video evidence to the contrary?  MacLachlan is undoubtedly a feisty female but Wonder Woman she ain’t.  So what peculiar mental process is at work here?

Time for another song; “Terfs Are Trash” by the Bo String Duo, a pair of modern-day monkey-hangers.  This gleeful slice of sadly-broke woke-bloke folk contains lyrics telling “terfs” that they “deserve a brick in the teeth” and a “sidewalk curbstomp.”  They are not alone in expressing these sentiments; Their compatriots the Degenderettes held an exhibition of rainbow-coloured weaponry at the San Francisco Public Library along with a blood-stained t-shirt bearing the logo “I Punch Terfs”.  “We must be radically and transformatively violent..Violence against terfs is always self-defence..Fascism must be smashed with the greatest violence.” These words were tweeted by Edinburgh Action for Trans Health the day after Maria MacLachlan was assaulted and in defence of her attacker.  “Imagine being a TERF and sticking razor blades under your stickers, inspired by Nazis doing that” just one of many tweeted in support of a ridiculous claim about the ‘Sticker Woman’ phenomenon that, despite investigations by police found absolutely nothing, undertaken while their attentions were sorely needed elsewhere.

Who are these terrible terfs, these supposed ‘crypto-fascists’, that such violence should be visited upon them?  Women who recognise that sex-based oppression cannot be challenged if it is hidden.  Lesbians who defend their boundaries against male encroachment.  Parents who do not want their children to suffer surgical or chemical treatment for psychological problems.  Even men who do not agree they have to identify as female if they don’t behave in a stereotypically ‘masculine’ way.  Terf was coined as a vaguely disparaging term to describe a subset of feminists (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists) but it has since become an umbrella term of abuse to slur anyone who dares question any part of the increasingly extremist trans-activist ideology.  There is nothing “radical” or necessarily “feminist” about asserting the biological fact that a male-bodied person with a penis is a man and an empirical fact is exclusionary by its nature.

Ironically for proponents of a non-binary society, the label TERF is used to enforce an exclusively binary “us-and-them” mentality.    The slogan ‘transwomen are women’, in the absence of any non-circular definition of ‘women’ by its proponents, is offered as a statement of political allegiance rather than as any sort of testable proposition.   It is mainly used as a test for heretical terf-ery, always accompanied by the statement that there can be ‘no debate’ about it.  If you do not accept it completely and unquestioningly, then you are a “terf,” and, they would have you now believe, automatically by extension some variety of “neo-Nazi”.

One of the marks of a civilised society is that it promotes the protection of the weak from the strong as a reflexive moral response.  The twisted genius of the post-modern left is that is has found a form of words to turn the oppressed into the oppressors for the purposes of no-cost public displays of moral virtue. Why go to all the danger and discomfort of hunting out the scarce crop of actual, possibly violent, neo-nazis in the UK when they can conjure up softer and more plentiful targets closer to hand, even if they are in reality concerned parents or older feminists?  The Disney-fied, quixotic left are desperate for a fight with someone(anyone)to earn their spurs and fill their on-line hours with glory. Dress up a “thought-criminal” in Nazi garb and then, mob-handed and anonymously, you can lynch them at your leisure to the approving roar of the crowd.  Yes, much easier and safer for these social justice “warriors” to tilt at “terf” windmills.  How brave, I leave for you to decide.

The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name (Again)

“Will: [to Jack] Oh my God, it’s finally happened. You’ve gotten so gay that you looped around to straight again” – Will & Grace

 

“Oh, so you hate trans people then.”  This was delivered, quietly and plainly, as a statement and not a question.  A ludicrous assertion from a person who has known me since we were both awkward gay teenagers.  And what had brought on this quick and thoughtless dismissal?  My statement that I had the week before been to a meeting with speeches by radical feminists and gender-critical transsexuals.  That one reported act of mine, to go to a meeting, was enough to banish in an instant all of our thirty years or so of shared history, laughter, tears, learning, growing, nervous flirtation and drunken fumbling.  All of that long knowledge of one another swept aside in a Pavlovian rush to judgement. My subsequent attempts to explain what had actually been said there, to discuss the actual ideas, counted for nothing – the issue had already been neatly decided, sorted and labelled.   Having once been warned not to “die of ignorance” we live to witness reason getting smacked to death with slogans.

 

A very modern faux-pas; I had misjudged the acceptable limit.  I had assumed our long acquaintance would allow me a little latitude to talk a little freely.  But, no, I had gone too far.  Just as, not so long ago, growing up in small towns in the West Country, we had both had to watch our mannerisms, our way of speaking, where we looked and for how long, what we said.  “You’re being a bit camp…you might want to tone it down a bit…stop staring…you’re being embarrassing…stop being so gay.”  But here we are in 2018 still policing each other for fear of offending mainstream morality.  Old habits die hard.

 

When is diversity not diversity?  When it smothers actual difference to appear inclusive.  Gay Pride is becoming seen to be lacking in this department with its unfashionable and ‘exclusionary’ implication that gay men and women should be its primary focus, hence the rise of Diversity Festivals & Carnivals, the lopping off of ‘Gay’ from ‘Pride.’  But why are they going to all the effort of rebranding the gay away when they could just redefine homosexuality itself?  Thus spake the San Francisco Dyke March this year: “We want to confirm..our commitment to ALL Dyke’s(sic);including transdyke, MTF, transfeminine, transmasculine, genderqueer and genderfluid dykes.”  What about gay-male dykes?  Unopened-jar-of-Grey-Poupon dykes? Sharpei-Lhasa-Apso dykes?

 

I have no doubt that my old friend would not argue with this hash-tag style redefinition of dyke.  Would probably applaud the censure of a group of boring-old-vanilla-lesbian dykes for holding “anti-trans signs” that read ‘Biology is not Bigotry’ and ‘Violence will not Silence Us’(and the bullying mob there tested that last statement to its limit and proved its truth.) Would approve of the ‘Dyke’ march organisers excusing the harassment of actual dykes while fawningly offering the word as a label for anyone who feels like trying it on for a while.  “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” asked Mummy Dyke, “Anyone who fucking wants to” replied the massed Goldilocks of the SF Dyke March.

 

The same attitude was in evidence at the London Pride March when lesbians staged a daring protest and the responses were predictable.  Again, the issues raised by actual lesbians at an event conceived as a political statement of their existence were ignored and they were defamed and ridiculed, told to shut up and go away.  Their fears of coercion and attack are not imaginary, but they remain determinedly unaddressed by their community.  The simple fact is that lesbians are now considered a minority within the ‘lesbian’ community, (amongst all these new transdykes, genderqueers and genderfluids) and are expected to behave as such.  To know their place..to tone it down a bit..to stop being so obviously lesbian!

 

Lesbians are undoubtedly at the sharp end of this, but luckily they have their gay brothers standing with them, don’t they?  Those who lesbians stood shoulder-to-shoulder with through the AIDS crisis; there at every march, every protest, every fundraiser, though they were the least affected group of all.  Surely gay men have immediately rallied to their beleaguered sisters’ defence in THEIR time of crisis?  No.  The silence from gay men has been both shameful and self-serving.  After all, they are not scared of women using male toilets, of being coerced into accepting man-gina into their sex lives, of being physically attacked by transmen for holding a banner at a march.  It is a betrayal based on convenience and a studiously-maintained show of ignorance, at least in public.  In private you may hear gay men expressing views quite different from the ones they carefully voice in public; I certainly have.  With the aid of a couple of pints and a quiet corner, you will too.

 

The perception, though, is that to speak out would be ‘taking a side’- as if it were a schoolyard soccer match!  Well, dear brothers, your side has already been picked for you.  You can flood our community with inclusively re-labelled straight people with interestingly coloured hair, male ‘lesbians’ and non-binary performance artists but the experience of men-who-love-men and women-who-love-women will always be distinct and different, and the threat to us from the majority persists – all it has done is take off its crucifix and slap on a wig instead.

 

Already there are growing numbers calling same-sex attraction “transphobic” and insisting it is merely a “genital preference,” of course there are – the ideology behind all this by definition relies on gender stereotypes and so is unavoidably homophobic in its outcomes.  The ‘Queer’ community is becoming a new closet for gay people, one in which we are not shut away so much as overwhelmed, drowned out and lost from view. There was a time when strategic shows of submission in the face of a hostile mainstream seemed necessary, but I would point out that all our gains came once we abandoned this attitude.  If “so you hate trans people then?”  is your response to a mere mention of scepticism then you need to ask yourself why you don’t dare value lesbians and gays more.

Transfixed

This is a rough draft and not finished yet, but here it is.  All rights reserved.

 

KITCHEN. NIGHT. A FEW CANDLES PROVIDE LIGHT.

GOODY APHABA STANDS SLICING POTATOES. SHE IS DRESSED IN A MODERN VERSION OF PURITAN CLOTHING WITH A PINAFORE OVER IT AND HER HAIR IS COVERED. OFFSTAGE AND AT A DISTANCE, FROM FURTHER INSIDE THE HOUSE, A MALE VOICE CRIES OUT IN HORROR. APHABA STOPS, LISTENS. THERE IS A SECOND SIMILAR CRY THAT DESCENDS INTO SOBBING THEN SILENCE. SHE WAITS PATIENTLY FOR A THIRD CRY THAT DOESN’T COME AND THEN CONTINUES CHOPPING AS EFFICIENTLY AS BEFORE.

MASTER AMOB ENTERS FROM OUTSIDE. SHE IS WEARING A MAN’S BLACK SUIT AND SHOES. HER HAIR IS VERY SHORT IN A MASCULINE CUT OR TIED BACK. PERHAPS A HAT ALSO, A FEDORA?

AMOB: I pissed in the bucket.

APHABA: (gasps) Master Amob, how could you?

AMOB: I did. I squatted right down and I pissed right in it.

APHABA: Sister Gesta washes her wimple in that bucket!

AMOB: I know. I hope it goes all yellow and smelly. Like her.

APHABA: Sister Gesta is a good woman!

AMOB: Sister Gesta is a horrible cow. With big white horns.

APHABA: Amob! If I didn’t know you were joking…

AMOB: I’m not. What’s for dinner?

APHABA: For you? Nothing. Her Ladyship will be having hotpot.

AMOB: I don’t think she will be, not tonight. Did she sound hungry to you?

APHABA: Once she’s had her pills and a nap she will be.

AMOB: She won’t be taking any naps tonight.

APHABA: Why not?

AMOB TAKES A LARGE, OFFICIAL-LOOKING ENVELOPE OUT OF HER INSIDE POCKET, HANDS IT TO APHABA. SHE ACCEPTS IT, SUSPICIOUSLY, TAKES THE SHEET OF PAPER OUT OF IT AND READS. SHE STARTS, RUNS TO THE INNER DOOR, THROWS IT OPEN.

APHABA: Sister Gesta!

AMOB: (grabbing her arm) She already knows.

APHABA: Master Amob, please unhand me.

AMOB: (letting go of her) Forgive me, Goody Aphaba. I meant no offence.

APHABA: Then I won’t take any. But I don’t much like being grabbed at, sir. Nor do I much like surprises, of any sort! (shoves letter at her.) Nor can I make hotpot for such guests. And I have nothing in. Nothing! (she starts digging through cupboards)

AMOB: They won’t be eating.

APHABA: It doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. There must be something.

AMOB: Is there anything I can do to help?

APHABA: Yes, go put your head in that bucket. No, on second thoughts, put my head in the bucket.

SISTER GESTA APPEARS IN THE INNER DOORWAY, CANDLE IN HAND. SHE WEARS BLACK ROBES BUT NO RELIGIOUS SYMBOLS. HER HAIR IS UNCOVERED AND IN SOME DISARRAY.

GESTA: What is all this infernal racket??

AMOB: We thought you were with her ladyship.

GESTA: Not that racket, this racket. All this clattering about and calling-out.

APHABA & AMOB: Sorry, Sister Gesta.

GESTA: Her Ladyship is not herself. She is distressed, transported! She must be calmed. She must be soothed. She must be coaxed back, gently, serenely, to herself. In peace! In quiet!! In tranquility!!! Tranquility, d’you hear me – I DEMAND A LITTLE PEACE AND TRANQUILITY HERE!!!!

APHABA & AMOB: Sorry, Sister Gesta.

GESTA: Was ever there such a cacophony! Such hullaballooing and caterwauling? I will not stand for it. I will not suffer such a hubbub and pandemonium. Not one bit of it. Has everyone here lost their senses? Where is your dignity? Your sense of propriety? We are gentlefolk who dwell here, not common guttersnipes. I will have at least SOME semblance of order in this house. I insist upon it, and I will have it, do you understand?

APHABA & AMOB: Yes, Sister Gesta.

GESTA: (unaware) An orderly appearance begets an orderly life. An orderly life is a happy life. Without order there is only chaos and anarchy and confusion.

AMOB: You seem a bit disordered yourself, Sister.

GESTA: Master Amob, I disapprove of cleverness.

AMOB: Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister. It was just..(points at her uncovered hair)

GESTA: Cleverness leads to questioning and questioning leads to doubt. Authenticity will not suffer questioning, it is outraged by it and rightly so. No, a happy mind is a mind free from questions and doubt. An educated mind knows what to think and what to call things. An education is freedom from doubt, as modesty is freedom from vanity, submission freedom from conflict, marriage freedom from lust..(sees Aphaba pointing gingerly up at her own head) What is it, girl? (remembers, smooths at her hair) T’was not my doing! Her Ladyship, in a passion, snatched my wimple.

APHABA: (handing her a clean cloth) Oh! Is it damaged?

GESTA: (tying the cloth neatly over her hair) I think not. Though she worried at it with her tooth. It will, I fear, need washing.

AMOB: Shall I wash it for you? In the bucket?

GESTA: Certainly not.

APHABA: She is no better then, her ladyship?

GESTA: Worse, much worse. So little of her remains. She is unrecognisable now, even to herself.

AMOB: Is she fit to receive visitors?

GESTA: She is not fit for anything. And almost every word out of her mouth is a heresy.

APHABA: Heresy!

GESTA: Unwittingly so, to be sure. But heresy nonetheless.

APHABA: Oh, goodness!

AMOB: Should I send and tell them she is indisposed?

GESTA: That will not work again, now. They will come tonight whatever we say. If I can just calm her enough. She does listen to me, sometimes. There are times she thinks me a common nurse or some such. And she listens then. If I could just calm her long enough for her to actually hear me, to follow what I say. Then I could persuade her, or at least provide her the words she needs to say. I believe it could be done.

APHABA: But, heresy! Would they punish her? In her condition?

GESTA: I think not. But nor would they leave her here, with us, unsupervised again. If she were to be discovered saying such things. Her, of all people. I fear they will take her in. I know they would.

APHABA: And what will become of us, then?

AMOB: Maybe just a little pill or two crushed in her food?

GESTA: No, her mind must be active, alert, else how can I persuade her? And persuade her I must. Time is wasting. Goody Aphaba, what have we for dinner?

APHABA: Hotpot, Sister Gesta.

GESTA: Hotpot?

APHABA: I didn’t know!

GESTA: You didn’t need to know. I decide what you need to know and when. I thought you’d know enough to have a fully-stocked larder. Wait a minute, how do you know?

AMOB: It was me. I confess. I showed her the letter, Sister.

GESTA: Why?

AMOB: I thought she needed to know.

APHABA: But I didn’t know until now. And now all I have is hotpot.

ON THE PIANO, ‘CHOPSTICKS’ PLAYED TENTATIVELY AND MOURNFULLY SOMEWHERE DISTANT INSIDE THE HOUSE. THEY LISTEN, TENSELY, FOR A MOMENT.

GESTA: I thought I told you to lock the piano.

AMOB: You did. But you didn’t give me the key.

GESTA: More cleverness. I must go to her.

APHABA: But, hotpot?

GESTA: Put the good cheese on the top.

APHABA: Yes, Sister Gesta.

GESTA: And salad.

APHABA: Salad?

GESTA: Yes. Are you deaf, girl? Serve it with salad. We have salad, don’t we?

APHABA: Yes, plenty.

AMOB: Lots of nice stuff, grown fresh from the garden.

GESTA: Then salad it is! And plenty of it. They won’t eat it anyway.

SISTER GESTA EXITS BACK THROUGH THE INNER DOOR, CLOSING IT BEHIND HER. APHABA BEGINS FRANTICALLY SEARCHING OUT AND ASSEMBLING SALAD.

AMOB: I have offended you.

APHABA: Thank you for showing me the letter.

AMOB: I meant no disrespect.

APHABA: I have no tomatoes.

THE MUSIC STOPS SUDDENLY. THEY BOTH STOP AND LOOK AT THE INNER DOOR. THERE IS NOTHING BUT SILENCE.

AMOB: Under the sink. Behind the potatoes. They’re on the vine.

APHABA: How did you know that?

AMOB: I am a man of many parts.

APHABA: Are you indeed.

AMOB: I put them there. They taste funny out of the fridge. I like tomatoes.

APHABA: Then grow your own. (she retrieves them) Thank you.

AMOB: Can I help?

APHABA: This lettuce is dusty. Wash the lettuce, if you want.

AMOB: Will do. (She takes her suit jacket off, she has a plain shirt-and-tie on underneath. She hangs it on the back of a chair.)

APHABA: Not there! On the hook. Please. This is an orderly house.

AMOB: Orderly, yes everything must be orderly. Orderly appearance, orderly thoughts. Orders must be obeyed.

APHABA: Wash your hands first.

AMOB: My hands are quite sore, still. From digging the garden yesterday. Turned the soil. Trimmed the bush. Laid some turf. Hard work though. Hard on the old hands. Look, that’s a blister, almost.

APHABA: I haven’t got time for hands. What are you bothering me with hands for now?

AMOB: Look! See?

APHABA: I can’t see anything.

AMOB: Definitely coming. And they’re quite rough anyway. From working on my bike, too. I like to go for rides in the countryside. Do you like the countryside?

APHABA: I’ve been in it.

AMOB: And did you like it? The great untamed wilds? The savage majesty of nature?

APHABA: It rained.

AMOB: Oh.

APHABA: And it smelt funny.

AMOB: Oh.

APHABA: Have you finished with that lettuce yet? Then put it in that bowl for now.

AMOB: I bet your hands aren’t rough. I imagine yours are very smooth…

APHABA: Can you please stop talking to me about hands! We are having a crisis! I have no more time for hands!

AMOB: Goody Aphaba, will you step out with me?

APHABA: I beg your pardon?

AMOB: You are not courting at the moment?

APHABA: No! But…

AMOB: Then will you do me the honour of walking out with me? Please?

APHABA: Master Amob, this is hardly the time. I have salad to make. Hotpot to heat. I have eggs to hardboil. I cannot be talking about courting now!

AMOB: Now might be all the time we have left.

APHABA: Nonsense. Don’t say that.

AMOB: I am a good man. I am an honest man. I have a bike. I have a little money put by.

APHABA: Amob, I am not of a mind to discuss this now!

AMOB: I would look after you. Care for you. I am a gentle man. I am told I am quite fetching. I would honour you, with my mind and with my body…

APHABA: Master Amob, please stop! This is not to my liking. You are not to my liking. I’m sorry to have to say it but there it is.

AMOB: But how can you say that? How can you know?

APHABA: I just do.

AMOB: I’m only asking you to walk out with me. You are unattached. What harm can it do? Why not give it a try? I may grow on you.

APHABA: I am not interested. Please leave this. I am busy.

AMOB: Why do you find me so displeasing?

APHABA: I don’t. I am very fond of you. I just don’t think of you that way.

AMOB: Why not? What do you find wrong with me? Am I too short? Too pale? Too bumptious?

APHABA: No, it is nothing like that. You are very nicely put together, I’m sure. But some people like carrots and other people do not. Her Ladyship loves carrots and I do not.

AMOB: But how do you know if I am a carrot or not.

APHABA: I have worked in kitchens long enough to know a carrot when I see one.

AMOB: But what if I am in fact an unusually ruddy parsnip?

APHABA: I have never come across such a thing.

AMOB: But it is possible?

APHABA: It’s possible, but I’d still know anyway.

AMOB: But how would you know it was actually a parsnip just by looking at it?

APHABA: Its not just a matter of colour. Parsnips are smaller and thinner and have little beardy-bits on them.

AMOB: And if a carrot had all those things too.

APHABA: It would still taste wrong.

AMOB: But you’d need to take a bite to know, wouldn’t you?

APHABA: Yes, but I wouldn’t bite it so I’d never know. I don’t like carrots. Why would I take a bite out of a weird-looking carrot when there are plenty of lovely parsnips about? Hang on, are you a parsnip or a carrot now?

AMOB: (thinks) I am no longer sure. I have confused myself.

APHABA: And me. But you have reminded me to put the hotpot in the oven.

AMOB: Do you not find me pleasant company?

APHABA: Yes, mostly.

AMOB: Then why will you not walk out with me?

APHABA: Because, Amob, it would be a waste of time. You are wasting your time, right now, because..I am a lesbian.

AMOB: A lesbian? You?

APHABA: Yes.

AMOB: Why didn’t you tell me this before?

APHABA: Because, quite frankly, it was none of your business.

AMOB: Have you always been a lesbian?

APHABA: What’s that got to do with anything? When. I mean, weren’t you a lesbian once?

AMOB: I have always been a man. Even before I knew I was.

APHABA: But you used to describe yourself as a lesbian didn’t you? Before you were confirmed?

AMOB: I wasn’t confirmed, I am identified.

APHABA: Oh. Does that mean..

AMOB: Yes. I am the sort of man that a lesbian such as yourself would find interesting.

APHABA: No.

AMOB: No?

APHABA: I only like lesbians with penises. Sorry.

AMOB: What have you got against vagina-lesbians?

APHABA: Nothing at all. I am one, aren’t I.

AMOB: I have a vagina!

APHABA: But you’re a man. I only like women.

AMOB: But what about men with penises?

APHABA: Terrible creatures. I avoid them.

AMOB: I know there is something wrong with what you are saying, but I can’t quite put my finger on it right now. Give me just a moment to think.

APHABA: No, Master Amob, you are just a bit confused.

AMOB: No, no. Something is not right here. I’m sure of it.

APHABA: Nonsense. You have carroted yourself again.

AMOB: That’s it! Lesbians love women, not penises! You have fallen into exclusion..ary..ness.

APHABA: No, don’t be so silly. What are you saying? I am a good woman, I don’t exclude anyone. I just have a particular preference, that’s all.

AMOB: A preference? So you find a certain women lacking then?

APHABA: It is not a matter of lacking. Not at all.

AMOB: Isn’t it? Are you sure about that? I wonder what would Sister Gesta would make of your penis “preference”?

APHABA: No. Please, listen, you have misunderstood me.

AMOB: I’m starting to think there may be more than one sort of heresy at work in this house tonight.

THE INNER DOOR FLIES OPEN AND GESTA ENTERS, AGITATED. HER CLOTHES ARE IN SOME DISARRAY, HER HAIR IS UNCOVERED AGAIN AND WILDER.

GESTA: Heresy! Heresy! I hear nothing but heresy!

APHABA: (Throwing herself on her knees, bursting into tears) Please, forgive me, sister. I didn’t know what I was saying.

GESTA: She feels a lack, a LACK!

APHABA: No, I feel no lacking. Master Amob, he lacks for nothing. I swear!

GESTA: She weeps for that was taken from her.

APHABA: I weep for shame. Please forgive me, such shame.

GESTA: Oh, the shame, the confusion. She is beyond help.

APHABA: No, no! Please, Master Amob, I would love to go to the smelly countryside with you on your knackered bike. I can make sandwiches, if you like!

GESTA: There is no hope for her. She will be put away.

APHABA: No, please Sister, don’t put me away. It was just a silly mistake, don’t put me away! I forgot myself.

GESTA: What are you talking about, stupid girl? It is she, SHE, that has forgot herself. Her Ladyship, she is beside herself. She can speak of nothing but her loss.

AMOB: What loss? What has she lost?

GESTA: It. That thing. The thing they took from her when she was confirmed. It!

APHABA: (Gasps) You mean..

GESTA: Yes, that. Her fleshly misfortune. That miserable appendage that nature cruelly inflicted upon her at birth. She is fixated upon it. She can no longer encompass its loss

AMOB: Oh. Lost? Does she still have it somewhere in the house?

GESTA: Of course not, you idiot. Where would one keep an eighty-year-old penis?

AMOB: In the freezer?

APHABA: But she has not lost it, not really. It was just reshaped when she was confirmed, right? She still has it, just..refashioned.

AMOB: Inverted!

APHABA: You should tell her.

GESTA: I did.

APHABA: Did it help?

GESTA: She fainted.

AMOB: Is there nothing can be done to save her?

APHABA: To save us?

GESTA: I cannot make her listen. She is transfixed upon it. It fills her mind entirely and whilst it does I cannot make her listen. We must prepare for the worst.

AMOB: This is terrible. And I’ve just got the runners bedded in. I hope they look after the garden, whoever they are.

GESTA: They will see this as a failure, on my part. I will be finished.

APHABA: But what will become of me! I have no prospects. All I’ve ever done is work here. And I only got this job because I’m cheap and local. What am I going to do?

AMOB: I’ll look after you. I’ll find us something. I have my bike!

APHABA: Look after me? You can’t even look after your bike. Its in pieces. It’s scrap.

AMOB: I’m improving it.

APHABA: How are you going to find work on it? It has no wheels!

AMOB: It’s still a bike, even with the wheels off.

GESTA: Stop! Wait! That’s it. A wheel-less bike is still a bike. A wimple-less Sister is still a Sister..

AMOB: A dickless man is still a man!

GESTA: No! By all the thousand genders, no!

APHABA: Master Amob! How can you even say such a thing!

GESTA: No. A woman who has forgotten her gender is still a woman.

AMOB: Yes, yes of course she is! That’s what I meant. Isn’t it?

GESTA: Yes! Her mind may be gone. But not her self, her authentic self, that cannot be changed, only revealed. She has gone back to the first stage of her journey of self-discovery. She has become like a newborn, like a child again and what does one do with a child?

AMOB: Face-painting!

GESTA: One educates them. I see my mistake now, it is not heresy it is confusion. I sought to persuade when I should rather have instructed. The only thing she lacks is the path to follow. I can provide it, I will lead her back to herself.

APHABA: Can you do it?

GESTA: It is what I have always done, it is my life’s work. Teach the language, name the names, provide the certainty. Yes, that I can do. (she picks up a carrot) She misses what she has lost only because she needs to have it so she can reject it again, to claim her innate womanhood. A beautiful rebirth in truth. How brave they are these lucky people, to claim womanhood, a pure, ideal womanhood. To fight for it and win it while we lesser creatures squander it and wallow in our mere biology.

APHABA: So brave.

GESTA: Inspiring.

AMOB: And men too!

GESTA: What?

AMOB: We are brave and lucky too. With our manhood. Claiming it and stuff. Aren’t we?

GESTA: Oh, goodness, yes. Yes, of course.

APHABA: Definitely. Oh, yes. Stunning. Absolutely.

GESTA: Goes without saying.

APHABA: Yes.

AMOB: Oh, well. That’s good to know.

AN AWKWARD PAUSE.

APHABA: How will you do it? Re-educate her.

GESTA: Basically. As I would a small child. I might start with this.

APHABA: A carrot?

GESTA: This isn’t a carrot.

AMOB: Is it a parsnip?

GESTA: No.

APHABA: What is it then?

GESTA: Its a penis.

APHABA: But it is a carrot.

GESTA: Excuse me?

APHABA: I mean, its obviously a carrot. Isn’t it.

GESTA: Goody Aphaba, are you questioning me?

APHABA: No, not really. I’m just…

GESTA: Your questioning has upset me. Disappointed me. It has made me angry.

APHABA: I’m sorry, Sister Gesta, I truly didn’t mean…

GESTA: Do you want to be a disappointment to me? Do you want me to be angry?

APHABA: No, of course not.

GESTA: What do you think would happen to you if I were to remain angry and disappointed with you?

APHABA: I don’t know. I wouldn’t like to say. Please don’t be angry with me.

GESTA: Kneel.

APHABA: Pardon me?

GESTA: Kneel. Now.

APHABA: But what for…

GESTA: Do it.

AMOB: Do you want me to kneel too?

GESTA: Be quiet. Kneel.

APHABA KNEELS.

GESTA: Sensible girl. Tell me now, what do you see me holding in my hand. Think, before you answer.

APHABA: I see a penis, Sister Gesta. I see it clearly now, thank you.

GESTA: A penis, yes. (she snaps the carrot in half, throws the pieces aside) You can get up now. Master Amob, put on your jacket. (AMOB does) There, doesn’t he look smart now?

APHABA: Yes, Sister Gesta.

GESTA: A fine figure of a man. And quite imposing too. You will accompany me, Master Amob. I may be in need of your assistance.

AMOB: Of course, Sister Gesta. Happy to help, always.

GESTA: Don’t say anything and don’t smile.

AMOB: (confidentially) You might want to swing by the medicine cabinet on the way up. Half of a blue one will calm her a little but not too much.

GESTA: (nods) Goody Aphaba, the food please. Our guests will be here before long.

APHABA: Yes, Sister Gesta.

AMOB WINKS CONSPIRATORIALLY AT APHABA THEN FOLLOWS GESTA OUT THROUGH THE INNER DOOR.

APHABA WATCHES AFTER THEM FOR A MOMENT. SHE CHECKS THE HOTPOT IN THE OVEN. SHE THEN HURRIEDLY GATHERS UP ALL THE CARROTS AND CUCUMBERS SHE CAN FIND AND BEGINS HURLING THEM FURIOUSLY ONE-BY-ONE OUT THROUGH THE OUTER DOOR. AS SHE IS DOING THIS HEADLIGHTS SUDDENLY ILLUMINATE HER AND THERE IS THE SOUND OF A CAR ON GRAVEL. SHE CLOSES THE DOOR QUICKLY. FROM INSIDE, THE PIANO STARTS, ‘CHOPSTICKS’ AGAIN BUT THIS TIME PLAYED JOYOUSLY, CONFIDENTLY AND IN A BOOGIE-WOOGIE STYLE. SHE PUTS OUT THE CANDLES AND SITS IN THE DARKNESS.

LIGHTS DOWN.

My Letter to my employer about their new ‘Respect & Dignity’ and ‘Transitioning At Work’ policies.

I sent this to them, via e-mail, on 24th April 2018.  I had a twenty-minute meeting acknowledging receipt of this letter and discussing its contents the week after, but have had no further response to it of any sort since then.  The name of the company and any individuals (except for myself) have been redacted.

“xxxxx,

I would like to thank xxxx for the sensitive way in which this issue is being handled. I appreciate you giving us all the opportunity to discuss these matters privately and in confidence so that we can speak freely about them. And I am also grateful that you have given me the opportunity to direct my concerns to you personally. I think that reflects very well on xxxx as a company and on the xxxx store and its management particularly.

I understand that you are seeking only to protect the rights and well-being of your workforce with the introduction of your new ‘Dignity and Respect at Work Policy’ and ‘Transitioning At Work Policy’ of March 2018. Having read both these policies carefully, though, I do feel that you have not fully considered the practical implications of all of them. I have several issues regarding some of the definitions that you use, which I consider imprecise and not having a commonly understood meaning, but I think a lot of these will not be able to be judged until they are put into practice. For the purpose of this letter, then, I am going to confine myself to the two major issues that I see arising from them in their current form.

Firstly, the ‘Dignity and Respect at Work Policy’ states: “A single incident can amount to harassment.” And then later: “Harassment of someone who is trans could include unwanted attention, using the ‘he’, ‘him’, or ‘his’ pronouns deliberately to upset someone, or carelessly towards someone”. My concern here is that “carelessly” is an unhelpfully vague word with a variety of possible interpretations. Would forgetfulness count as carelessness in this context if it caused offence? There are a growing number of pronouns coming into use, here are some of them; co, en, ey, he, she, they, xie, yo, ze ,ve, zie, tey, e, sie, hi, le, hesh, thon, himer, hann, ne, ay, et, phe, shkle. This is not an exhaustive list, more can be found here; https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Appendix:List_of_protologisms/third_person_singular_gender_neutral_pronouns. These are just the nominative, each of these also has an accusative (e.g. I saw THEM) a possessive adjective (THEIR head) a possessive pronoun (that is THEIRS) and a reflexive(they like THEMSELF.) I am not even sure how all of them are pronounced. I think the chance of mistakes, and even repeated mistakes, is fairly high, particularly when genderfluid people may use more than one set of pronouns. Of course, given time it is possible to learn any set of new words or terms, but when you can be disciplined for a “single incident” of “carelessly” using the wrong pronoun I feel that you are exposing your employees to an unfair risk. You might reply “We wouldn’t discipline someone for using the wrong pronoun once or twice” but what if the complainant insists that the incidents are carelessness? If they genuinely believe it (rightly or wrongly) its written in your policy and that gives them the right to insist that you act upon it. Does carelessness require malice, or does it also encompass a failure of memory? How much effort would you have to prove to refute a charge of carelessness and how would you prove it?

The second issue I think potentially has more serious consequences for the company as a whole. In the ‘Transitioning At Work Policy’ it says: “If you identify as trans you can start using different facilities. You will use toilets and locker/ changing rooms that correspond/ match the gender you identify as. We’ll never expect you or ask you to use the disabled toilets instead. If you identify as non-binary you may use gender neutral toilets if they’re available, or the toilets that you feel most comfortable using.” Neither of the definitions “trans” or “nonbinary” as used here are recognised in law. The 2004 Gender Recognition Act does recognise a class of person who has changed legal gender upon receiving a Gender Recognition Certificate, but you are not requiring that. Under the law, women are a protected class and so even a trans person with A GRC can be prohibited access to certain women-only facilities (such as changing rooms and toilets.) If you do not want to enforce these legal exemptions, that is your choice. But I think there is another protected class that you need to consider also. A significant proportion of the workforce at our store (and I am sure many others) are under the age of 18, legally minors. Under your proposals, someone such as myself – a six-foot-tall, heavy, hairy male could go to my line manager or P&C and say that I am now non-binary and am going to use the ladies locker room and toilets. Knowing me as you do, you might be very surprised to hear this, you might even doubt it, but your policy says; “Everyone is unique – you will choose your own way to transition and decide the pace at which this happens.” So you can’t challenge me, in fact you have no criteria for defining these statuses with which to challenge me! I am not aware of any person at my level or lower in the workforce at our store who has been DBS checked for previous convictions. So now I am free to go into any locker room or toilet, unvetted, unchallenged, unsupervised and in areas with no cameras or security and share these spaces with smaller, weaker, more vulnerable girls aged 16 or 17 in various states of dressing or undressing. Does xxxx not see the possible danger in such an arrangement and the legal repercussions that you are leaving yourself open to? You might feel justified in waiving the legal exemptions for women, but for children? Has waiving these exemptions for children ever been allowed? Also, quite a few of our colleagues are hijab-wearing muslim girls who are not even allowed to display their hair in front of males who are not blood relations, let alone undress. You might decide that a trans woman is a woman (and non-binary people are by definition not women,) but will their mosques,imams or parents agree? Again, without even a GRC the law offers you no support in this.

We all want everyone to feel safe, happy and valued at work, but introducing policies that makes one group of people safe while exposing other groups to risk will not achieve this. I applaud what is being attempted here but would urge xxxx to look again at this policy again, thinking of the impact on and safety of ALL of its employees.

Thank you for listening to my concerns, xxxx, and I am happy for you to share this letter with anyone else in the company whom you think should see it.

Yours sincerely,

Matthew Greenfield”