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BLOG: “Why I’m Exhausted, but Still Speaking Up”

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Mewn ymateb i benderfyniad diweddar y Goruchaf Lys — sy’n galluogi sefydliadau i wahardd menywod traws o fannau ar gyfer menywod yn unig, ac sy’n peri risg wirioneddol i gymunedau traws ac LGBTQIA+ — fe wnaethom ofyn i un o aelodau ein bwrdd, Christian Hey, i rannu ei safbwynt.

Yn Music Theatre Wales, rydym yn sefyll mewn undod â phobl draws, rhyngrywiol a anneuaidd, ac rydym yn ymrwymedig i greu gofodau cynhwysol a pharchus yn y byd opera. Mae Christian yn cynnig myfyrdod personol grymus ar beth mae’r foment hon yn ei olygu iddo ef fel dyn traws sy’n gweithio ym myd opera — ac ar sut gallwn ni i gyd weithredu gyda mwy o ofal a bwriad

Why I’m Exhausted, but Still Speaking Up

Why I’m Exhausted, but Still Speaking Up

 

I’m sure you’ll have seen the headlines over the past month: the Supreme Court ruling on the legal definition of a woman, the shocking EHRC guidance that followed, the unrelenting slew of uninformed comments, and the proposed data bill which even further challenged the right to privacy granted by the Gender Recognition Act, and of course the horrors that continue to echo from across the Atlantic. I’m not going to speak on the legal and practical implications these have had on the trans community here in the UK, because writers like Shon Faye and Shivani Dave are already doing that with far more grace, composure, and eloquence than I ever will.

I believe that much of the political landscape – including in the arts, and in opera, is shaped by the fact that, broadly speaking, the cis population sees only the trans people it wants to see. As a result, the opportunity for a meaningful understanding of the individual lives of trans people, whoever they may be in your life and locale, is lost. Therefore, this post presents my personal account of the state of things, and my personal thoughts on what can be done, as someone who is also part of MTW’s network, and working within the opera world, just as you might be.

So, allow me to introduce myself. Hello there. My name is Christian. I’m one of MTW’s trustees. I’m in my late twenties, I direct opera, and I’m also a trans man. I came out at 15. (The jury is still out on which of those people find most surprising.) But above all, I’m very, very tired. Whilst I’m grateful for the platform, I don’t want to be writing any of this. It would be so much easier to disengage from the topic completely. But, here’s the thing:

When your very self-understanding – your own hard-won self; your lens through which you watch yourself make a cup of tea, hang washing on the line, draft a rehearsal schedule, note a score, catch up with colleagues, (or – god forbid – use a public toilet); when your two-feet-on-the-ground-going-about-your-day becomes the subject of an existential debate you never asked for, there is no disengagement. It’s simply not possible.

I can’t overstate that, whilst the row over transgender rights spans broad concepts – womanhood, human rights, adulthood, healthcare, biology – the atmosphere generated by the friction is permeating the everyday lives of real people, including children and their parents, affecting even the most ordinary parts of daily life. Even small errands now carry the weight of resistance, because they illustrate a life so deeply unrecognisable from the images of trans people that have been painted. In response, we say “To exist is to resist”; but, resistance, by definition, burns energy. I’ll continue to exist until I don’t anymore. Is that when the exhaustion ends?

Good allies ask me, “what can I do?”. Even better allies take stock of their skills, resources and platforms, then ask themselves that question. Then, they do it.

I want allies to feel empowered to act and speak up in ways that align with the values and practices they, and/or their organisations, hold. I know a lot of people close to me feel scared “to get it wrong”, and I empathise: achieving an accepting future is a multifaceted issue, and transness represents a lived experience that often feels incomprehensible to those who’ve never known gender-related dysphoria.

But believe me, with just the smallest amount of education, it’s very difficult to do the wrong thing, and educating yourself on these matters does not mean reaching for the nearest copy of Gender Trouble and achieving a white-knuckle grasp of queer theory since the mid 90s. The real task is simply keeping up to date with current events and listening to the responses from the trans community. If you’re not sure what a word means, there is no shame in googling it.

Developing your understanding of concepts like gender performativity and gender as a social construct is useful, sure, but not necessary. I would even go so far as to say you don’t have to understand gender at all to help the transgender people in your life. The question of whether your music director refers to “upper/lower voices” instead of “men’s/women’s voices”, for example, is a simple one. The question of whether everyone should have access to medication that will save their life is an even simpler one. If you don’t know how to apply your newfound awareness, that’s okay, too. The best first thing to do is ask the trans people in your life how they’re doing, listen to their answer, and remind them that you see them fully.

As I said, really good allies take stock of their own skills, resources, and platforms. If you’re part of the operatic world in any capacity, here’s where your actions matter. 

It’s frequently discussed how backwards and traditionalist the opera industry and its output is, compared to other genres of live performance (not that I necessarily agree, I think there is good work being done by talented artists to combat a difficult precedent, and that we are at least poised for change now more than ever, but that’s a seperate point.) My main point is that opera bears this traditionalist reputation, and, as an embodied practice, this reputation allows malpractice and harm to manifest in ways that disproportionately impact marginalised groups, including trans people.

On the whole, the harm done to trans people is harm done to anyone who sits outside a set of expectations around gender. Those expectations will change depending on the context of a given situation and the culture within which it is happening – for example, in a gynaecology clinic’s waiting room, you might expect any men sitting around to be partners or friends of a female patient. This is a gendered expectation, and is certainly not always the case.

In opera and classical music making, there are many specific gendered expectations, and they have been well documented by the trans individuals who have encountered them, and their allies. They include expectations around vocal range (high or low); the default portrayal of female characters; pronoun usage; dressing room assignments; audience tolerance for gender ambiguity – and even for queer themes. Add to that concert dress codes, expectations around authority for directors and conductors, and many other unspoken norms. The list is as expansive as the situations our creative industry can present, as well as the lived experiences of the people operating within them. To list them all would be overwhelming for both you and me.

When considering your own organisation or practice, think about how you may be enforcing or even generating gender-specific expectations, and use your resources to challenge them. For example, are sanitary products and bins available in all toilets, or just the women’s? Do costume measurement forms include the cast member’s preferred pronouns? Once you start to develop your awareness of how gendered expectations are at play within your sphere of influence, you will be better equipped to spot how they can become a problem for the transgender people who move through it.

Furthermore, if you challenge them, or change your policies, do so publicly! Be visible in your support, not only does it show solidarity to the trans people who dearly need it, but it may empower other allies to do the same.

As a final note: please take these steps in the order I’ve suggested. There is nothing more disappointing – or in some cases, more dangerous – than a show of solidarity that lacks real thought or consideration for practical reality. This is known as performative activism, and I fear that the opera world’s low bar for inclusive practice means that it is very easy for individuals and organisations to speak out for the cultural caché, when in fact, in practice, and behind closed doors, they repeat the cycles of abuse that necessitated the discussion in the first place. 

And there you have it, I wrote the blog post. The last thing I will say is that if you are trans and reading this, remember that our industry needs you. Selfishly, I need you. Keep honing your craft and your skills, do good work, and don’t be afraid to speak your needs to the people you trust. And on that, I’m going to send this to Dylan now and get some rest. I’m knackered.

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