Be Myself! - 36. A Lesson on Gender Identity

Thanks Lisa for the editing!
Back from an awesome weekend at BiCon (google if you don't know what it is), so chapter ended up a couple of minutes late (it's just past midnight here!). 
The headmistress has a plan to stop the attacks against her students. This is how it begins...

Please note that two weeks ago I updated the previous chapter of Be Myself!, so that it's no longer Oscar's cute writings, but the real chapter 35. If you haven't read it yet, please do so before coming to this one. It's a very short chapter, so won't take you long.

“Can I have your attention, please?” My chemistry teacher banged his pencil against the table to make everyone look at him. Mr Hendry was an old man who mentioned at least once per lesson how close he was to retirement. Unfortunately this tended to make him seem eager to leave his job and his students, which meant said students usually failed to give him the respect he deserved. “Attention, please!” he called again, banging the pencil harder against the table. Upon noticing that more than half the students were still busy looking at their phones or chatting to each other, Mr Hendry sighed and gave up. “Fine. Don’t listen to me. I guess it’ll happen a lot after I retire anyway. I was going to say that today’s lesson was cancelled because the headmistress wanted all S5 students to go to a special lecture in the Assembly Hall. But if you don’t want to listen, then we might as well have a lesson…” I was among three other people who heard him, in a class of twenty. Mr Hendry smiled to us, the select few, and beckoned us to get closer to him.

“What is it, Mr Hendry?” I asked. The teacher seemed almost glad that so few people had come to him.

“You are my favourite students,” he said to us. “You can go to the special lecture. I’ll explain to the headmistress why the rest of your class didn’t join you.”

We thanked Mr Hendry and silently made our way to the Assembly Hall. As we walked through the corridors, more fifth year students came out of their classes and joined us. Somehow, amidst all the chaos of rushing students, Oliver and Henry managed to spot me in the crowd.

“Hey, Oscar!” Oliver called. Other students got out of the way as he ran to reach me, with Henry following closely behind. “I’m glad we found you! Do you know what’s going on?”

“Not really. My teacher just said that the headmistress wanted us in the Assembly Hall for a special lecture.”

“Yeah, my Spanish teacher said the same thing. And I was so looking forward to today’s class!” Oliver pouted as much as he could, considering all the bruises, stitches, and swelling on his face.

“Why do you still take Spanish? Aren’t you like a native speaker anyway?” Henry asked.

“I do it because it’s fun, it’s easy, and on the days we have double Spanish we usually watch a movie or do roleplaying,” Oliver explained.

“And, let me guess, you were just about to have double Spanish.” Henry nodded in understanding and sympathy.

“Yeah. This lecture better be good.”

“Oh, it’ll be much better than any movie or roleplaying.” Helena appeared out of the blue with Hannah not far behind her. We were almost at the entrance to the hall, but the volume of students had increased so much by now that we were almost not moving at all.

“So you know what’s going on?” Henry asked. “How?”

“Well, let’s just say that being in a relationship with the headmistress’s daughter and spending most of my free time at their house has its perks.” Helena grinned smugly. “The headmistress wanted to keep this lecture more or less secret until the last minute, to avoid the risk of students not attending or coming prepared to say shit. But it turns out her timing was perfect.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked. Helena was staring at him somewhat creepily.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Helena noticed Oliver was more scared than reassured. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing you won’t like, at least not from what I heard about it.”

“Ok…”

It took the five of us some time to get into the Assembly Hall. The place soon filled up with the hundred and fifty or so students in our year, but thankfully we managed to find seats together relatively close to the front. A white man and a black woman watched us somewhat hidden off to the side. There was a huge white screen covering a good portion of the wall in front of us, and various piles of papers and booklets on a table nearby. Once all the students had found a seat, the woman called everyone’s attention by banging a set of Buddhist bell cymbals. We were not expecting that, so the piercing ring from the cymbals silenced the whole hall and brought a surprisingly calm atmosphere to the place.

The woman patiently waited to speak until everyone was looking at her. “Hello everyone, and thanks for coming here today. I was told your headmistress had promised you at the beginning of the school year that there would be some lessons and workshops about gender identity and sexual orientation. This is one such lesson. My name is Ann, I work for an organisation called Young LGBTI Network Scotland, and the workshop we’ll present today is called…” As Ann spoke, her colleague turned on the projector, and a PowerPoint slide appeared on the white screen. On cue, Ann read the title. “…Exploring Our Gender Identities”. Oliver and I exchanged surprised and amazed glances. Helena smirked. “I’ll let my colleague introduce himself, and then we’ll explain what we’ll do for the rest of the afternoon. How does that sound?” Most of the students were still trying to get past the surprising bell ring to realise they needed to answer a question, but a few managed to nod or say a timid ‘yes’. Ann took this as a signal that her colleague could now speak.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Lewis, and I work as the Transgender Policy Coordinator for the Young LGBTI Network Scotland. Ann and I have been working together for about four years delivering those kinds of workshop to students and youth groups. I’m a trans man, meaning that when I was born the doctors told my parents I was a little girl. But after a couple of years I realised I disagreed with that doctor, and I have since transitioned and lived as a man.” Oliver stared at Lewis with a mixture of fascination and adoration. This was the first time my boyfriend and I were seeing an adult, fully-transitioned trans man live in the flesh. Lewis was probably in his early thirties; his face was young, but he was beginning to go bald. His voice sounded very obviously male, and he had a neatly shaved goatee that made him look like some kind of boring office worker. He was wearing a formal long-sleeve shirt, through which we could see that his chest was completely flat.

Ann spoke again, forcing Oliver to stop ogling over Lewis in order to pay attention to her. “We’re here today because your headmistress wants every one of her students to learn a bit more about gender identity, gender expression, and how to make sure we help those who, like Lewis, were assigned a gender at birth that is at odds with how they feel. Over this week and the next, we’ll be talking to the whole school, one grade at a time, but you guys are the first to take part in the workshop.”

“We’ll start by showing you a quick PowerPoint about gender identity, gender expression, and how we all fit in it. Then, before it gets too boring for you, we’ll do a quick exercise to get you to think about those concepts in relation to yourselves.”

Lewis picked up where Ann had stopped. “Then I’ll tell you a bit about my story, and we’ll show a video with other trans people sharing their experiences. We’ll answer your questions at the end, and then you can all go home and forget about everything we said.”

“I don’t think we will forget,” Hannah murmured, rolling her eyes. Most of the other students laughed at the joke, though.

“Are there any questions?” Ann asked. There was no answer. From where I was sitting it was hard to see if it was because everyone was already looking bored or because they genuinely did not need to ask anything. My expectations concerning my classmates’ level of interest in school activities were always very low. Almost everyone seemed to treat school like a horrible chore they could not wait to be over and done with. My parents had always told me that school was important and interesting, and thus I had enjoyed learning and studying since I was very young. In a way, the more those around me turned against school, the more I felt an urge to appreciate it.

In other words, I was the ‘teacher’s pet’ for my entire school life. It did not bother me, but it made me sad that most people would probably not appreciate the true value of a workshop like this simply because the school had told them to be there.

“Let’s start, then. Don’t worry, we’ll try not to make it boring for you.” Ann started the PowerPoint presentation. True to her word, the very first slide after the title showed two semi-naked people. One seemed to be obviously a woman, and the other seemed to be clearly a man. In between them, there were two spectrums, one labelled ‘gender identity’ and the other ‘gender expression’. I noticed with some delight that the woman’s skin colour was a very close match to mine, while the man was clearly black. “As you can see, we have two people here. They are both standing facing forward, wearing only undergarments.” At this, some students snickered. “One of them has a flat chest, muscular body, and lots of very dark body hair. The other has breasts, a little less body hair, and visibly less muscle.”

“Why are you describing everything if we can all see it?” one student in the front role asked, rather rudely. Ann did not seem affected.

“Because it’s part of our work to be as accessible as possible for everyone. So every time we have presentations like this, we describe the contents in case there is someone who is visually impaired in the audience.”

“But there are no blind people here!” the same student protested. Some people around him nodded.

“But it’s still good practice for when there is, and it also gets those who are not visually impaired used to the experience of being in a more inclusive environment. Ideally, this kind of thing would be standard in lectures, regardless of whether there are visually impaired people present or not.”

“But that’s ridiculous! And a waste of time!” The student kept trying to argue, but Ann did not lose her cool. Hannah, on the other hand, quickly had had enough.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! There are naked people on that slide. It’s the closest we’ve ever been to school-sanctioned porn, so if you’re so bored you might as well distract yourself in other ways.” The student’s face turned red and he slumped down in his chair amidst wild laughter from everyone around him. For the rest of the presentation, Hannah sat with a ‘job well done’ face that was perhaps a little too intimidating.

Once again, Ann was completely unfazed. She kept talking about the slide like nothing had happened. “Under ‘gender identity’, we have ‘male’ on one side and ‘female’ on the other, with lots of space in between. Under the ‘gender expression’ spectrum, we have ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’. Hands up those who think that the person with breasts should be put under ‘female’.” Not surprisingly, almost everyone lifted their hands. The only exception was our little group of friends. “And hands up those who think this same person should be put under ‘male’.” Nobody raised their hand. When she asked the same about the naked guy, almost everyone agreed he should be under ‘male’, and nobody said he should be ‘female.’

“Ok, then. I’m sorry, everyone, but for the next part I’ll need to cover these people up a bit.” In the blink of an eye, the semi-naked people were magically clothed. Some people sighed very audibly, making others laugh. Ann described the clothes that each person was now wearing: a large, dark blue jacket for the person with breasts (the jacket was so large the breasts were no longer all that visible), and an orange t-shirt with blue shorts for the other person. “Ok, so this time I’m going to ask you the same questions as before, and I want you to consider just the clothes, not the body they’re in,” Ann instructed us. This time around, the students were more divided on where to place the people. Most people leaned ‘male’ for both.

The clothes changed again. This time, the person with breasts was wearing a simple summer dress and some make-up, while the other person appeared in bright yellow ski wear. The same questions were asked again. Most people placed the person with breasts back into the ‘female’ part, but the second person got a more even match between ‘male’ and ‘female’. Throughout this exercise, my friends and I did not raise our hands. We had a vague idea about what they were trying to get at, so we decided to just wait and see. At first, I thought Ann had not noticed our lack of responses, but I was soon proved wrong.

“I see you guys haven’t been doing anything at all. Can I ask why this is?” Ann asked us. Helena promptly answered.

“Because you’ve been asking us to tell you how two complete strangers identify based on stereotypical notions of gendered behaviour and body type. I don’t know these people, so I can’t tell you where they fit in your spectrum.” Hannah and Oliver nodded in agreement, and Ann smiled.

“That is a very good point, and I’m glad you brought this up,” Ann said to Helena. “Now, I’ve showed you the same people with two different types of clothes. By looking at your answers, I can see that we tend to associate a certain type of clothes and style to a particular gender.”

“Well, yeah, duh!” one student shouted. Ann promptly ignored him.

“It might seem pretty obvious to you now, but what if I say that, although I’ve been asking you about these people’s gender identity, all you’ve been telling me is in fact related to the other spectrum, the one about gender expression?” Ann waited for the students to try to make sense of her words. After about ten seconds or so, she spoke again. “All I showed you were a few pieces of clothing that made these people look more ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’ in your eyes. As your classmate pointed out, we don’t actually know how these people identify. We just know that they decided to express their gender, their taste in clothes, and their sense of personal style, in this particular way. Putting on a skirt is associated with expressing femininity, but putting on a tuxedo is a masculine thing. This doesn’t mean men can’t put on skirts or that women can’t wear tuxedos, but…”

“They would look ridiculous that way, though!” Yet another student interrupted. He got some murmurs of agreement and some laughter. Hannah rolled her eyes.

“But they still can.” As always, Ann carried on like she expected those interruptions to happen. “The point is, that things that relate directly to our appearance, like clothes and make-up, are part of our gender expression. This is how we choose to show the world who we are, how we express ourselves and our genders.”

“Then what about the gender identity thing?” someone near the front asked.

“Gender identity is how we see our own gender. It doesn’t depend on the clothes we wear, but on a more deep sense of self. I’m a woman. If I came here wearing a tux I would still be woman, but I would be presenting myself as more masculine. If I came in a wedding dress I would be a woman presenting very stereotypically feminine.”

“But what difference does it make?”

“Well, as your classmate rightly said, we can’t know people’s gender identities until they tell us. It’s true that most people born with penises…” Some students giggled at the mention of the word ‘penis’. As always when discussing these kinds of private matters, I felt a little uncomfortable, but tried to brush the feeling aside. Ann carried on talking “…that people born with penises identify as male, and that people born with vulvas usually identify as female. That association between genital and gender is so taken for granted that most people don’t even think twice about it.”

“But this is not always the case.” Lewis picked up the lecture. He and Ann acted like they had rehearsed this talk many times before. “For people like me, it’s not that straightforward. I identify as male, but back when I was just starting my transition, I looked a lot more like the person over here.” Lewis pointed to the person with breasts. “This is why we were saying that we can’t tell you what these people’s gender identities are. What our bodies look like doesn’t necessary mean one or the other.”

“But it’s still important to remember that, whether you’re trans or not, you still have a gender identity. We all do.” Ann spoke again. “And more importantly, we put those spectrums there for a reason. Just like I could say that wearing a dress makes my presentation extremely feminine, I could decide to wear formal trousers and a pink frilly shirt. It wouldn’t be such a traditionally feminine presentation, so I could mark that form of expression further along the spectrum. With gender identity it’s the same thing. I could identify very strongly with being a woman, and only a woman. I could identify very strongly with being a man, and only a man. Or I could say that sometimes I don’t feel very feminine, and I like to do ‘guy’ things, so I position myself a bit more towards ‘male’, but well into the ‘female’ part of the spectrum.”

Lewis continued the conversation. “I could take this even further and say that some people feel they fit well as both male and female, and place themselves in the centre of the spectrum. Other people might think the spectrum doesn’t apply to them at all and want to be completely out of it. There are as many gender identities as there are points in the spectrum.”

“Like in maths!” one overly-enthusiastic student shouted. “Like when we learned that there’s a never-ending number of points in a straight line, because you can always find the half-way between two points…”

“That’s right.” Ann smiled to the student. “So, now that you’re getting somewhat familiar with spectrums of gender identity and expression, please take a look under your chairs. You should find a sheet of paper with three spectrums in it.” As she spoke, Lewis got one such sheet from the table to show us. “The first spectrum reads ‘gender identity’. The second reads ‘assigned at birth’. The third reads ‘gender expression’. The suggestion is that we fill those out and maybe share with our friends closest to us.”

“What’s the point of that?” a student asked. This time around, Lewis answered.

“The idea is to explore our own sense of gender, try to get away from the idea that there’s only two rigid options out there. If you look at the spectrum and still think you belong in the extremes, then that’s perfectly fine, but it’s important to see and understand the idea that we have a lot more options than we think.”

Ann and Lewis gave us a couple of minutes to look at the spectrums. My first thought was that it was weird to have the ‘assigned at birth’ as a spectrum as well, but then I remembered that it probably referred to people like Charlie, who were born intersex. I had been assigned male at birth, so I marked a cross at the corresponding extreme of the spectrum. I saw Oliver mark a very faint cross at the ‘female’ part in his and I felt kind of sorry for him. To my surprise, under ‘gender identity’, Oliver marked his at about three- quarters on the male side instead of one hundred percent male.

“So you don’t think you’re extremely male, then?” I asked him.

“No. I don’t want to conform to perfect masculine ideals, even though I identify as a guy.” Oliver smiled faintly. Under ‘gender expression’ he marked two crosses: one very close to the extreme, and one at about three-quarters into the male. The one near the extreme male read ‘current’, and the other one read ‘desired’.

“Why did you mark it twice?” I asked my boyfriend again.

“Because people will keep misgendering me until I look more male, so I kind of have to try looking as masculine as possible to see if it happens less frequently. When I look male enough, I probably won’t try so hard.”

“That’s… that’s kinda…” I didn’t want to say to Oliver’s face that it was horrible; he seemed very aware of it already, but I did not know what else to say. I ended up never finishing my sentence, but Oliver got the message anyway.

The rest of our friends were soon done with their spectrums. Helena and Hannah marked full ‘female’ for ‘assigned at birth’ and ‘gender identity’. For ‘gender expression’, Helena marked very close to the extreme female, but not quite there. Hannah put hers at the female side too, but very close to the centre. Henry marked ‘assigned at birth’ on fully male, but his ‘gender expression’ and ‘gender identity’ ended up a little less extreme.

I looked at my own spectrum. So far I had only filled one of the three items. My first instinct was to give full ‘male’ marks to the other two as well. I still remembered all my father said about how to be a man and show masculinity, and I could still feel the consequences of failing to live up to that. But I took a deep breath and tried to get rid of my father’s voice. My internalised shame and my fear were still very strong, but if I wanted to get rid of them (and I really did), this spectrum was probably the safest place to start.

Did I really present that masculine? I had long hair and a ponytail, and I was not at all muscular. I did not like sports. My clothes were all in dark colours, and I liked it that way. I tentatively marked my cross for ‘gender expression’ about ninety percent into the ‘male’ area. I felt an odd tingle in my belly when it was done, a kind of rebel spirit rejoicing in what was, for me, a subversive act.

I still ended up giving full marks to ‘male’ in ‘gender identity’, even though I did not identify with all stereotypes about being a man. For me, it made sense that if I identified as a man I should mark it as such.

Ann’s Buddhist cymbals echoed again in the room, and we stopped playing around with our spectrums to look at her. She seemed very pleased with herself for being able to call our attention so quickly. “We’ll move on now to the part where you get to hear some stories of trans people. If you look at TV, books, and other media, it’s rare to see stories of people whose gender identity doesn’t match what they were assigned at birth. So this is a chance for you to get more familiar with trans people’s lives.”

“But we know some trans people already!” a male student sitting particularly close to us shouted. “We know what it’s like!”

“No, we know a grand total of two trans people.” Hannah answered, purposely not including Luce in her calculations. Luce had asked me to not tell anyone about her trans history, so she had probably asked Hannah the same. “That’s like me coming up to you and saying that I know what all men are like because I happen to know these two random guys at school.” Hannah scowled, and everyone in front of her involuntarily flinched. “Also, you’re a straight, cisgender, able-bodied, white guy. You don’t know shit about what it’s like to be trans or any other oppressed group, so you better shut up and listen.” Against Hannah’s intimidating posture, the student decided not to argue.

“On that bombshell, I think we can start…” Lewis spoke before someone else decided to challenge Hannah. “I’ll tell you my story with a couple of pictures for your entertainment, and then we’ll see a video.”

Lewis spoke for maybe ten minutes. The first picture he showed us was of an adorable toddler in a pink frilly dress, who happened to be him at age two. He said he began to think of himself as a boy at age eight, just as he put up a picture of a girl with long, wavy hair. It was definitely a mind-fuck to see what his past self looked like. Lewis said he came out to his parents at age thirteen, but at that point he did not know it was possible to transition, so he kept living as a girl until he was seventeen. There were two more picture of Lewis’s early teenage years. In them, he already looked boyish, with short hair and baggy clothes. He said that throughout his secondary school life, his classmates kept asking him if he was a lesbian because of the way he looked. At the time, Lewis did not know what to answer. He had apparently blocked any development of sexual orientation by thinking that liking girls would make him a lesbian (which he was sure he was not, because he already knew he was a male), and liking men would only prove other people’s point that he was really a girl.

“I didn’t really know trans people could be gay or bisexual,” he explained. “I blocked any thoughts of sexuality because I thought whichever kind of people I ended up liking would somehow point to me being a woman. And it was just wrong.” He changed slides, and a picture of a book appeared. The word ‘sex’ was written right in the middle of its cover, in letters big enough to fill one third of it. In the background there was an artistic shot of two people having a very intimate moment. It was very obvious what they were doing without being obviously pornographic. “Then I found this book by chance in the library. With such an attractive cover, I had no option but to pick it up.” Some students laughed. “As it happened, the book actually had a section about trans people, and the very first paragraph stated that trans people can be straight, gay, or bisexual, just like cis people. At the time, it was groundbreaking, completely new information for me.”

Lewis’ face broke out into a huge smile, and from then on his narrative became much more cheerful and energetic. The next picture in his slideshow was of a collection of dildos and strap-ons of many shapes and sizes, though most on the ‘bigger’ end of the scale. Lewis explained that once he realised he could be a gay man, he went through a ‘gay phase’ of intense porn consumption and wild sexual fantasies involving huge penises and daily orgies. It was way too much personal information for me, so I tried my best to look away from the pictures and tune out his speech until it changed to something safer. The more I tried to do this, though, the more Lewis reminded me of Jean. It only worsened my discomfort.

“But after a while, my excitement settled down and I began to realise I liked more kinds of people than just the stereotypical gay male porn star. I lost some of my fear of admitting to liking women too, and today I consider myself bisexual.” It looked like Lewis was going to stop talking about his personal sex life, but I was proved wrong merely two seconds later. “But while my wild gay phase lasted, I kept believing no gay man would want to have sex with me because of the way my body looked. I worried that only straight men would want me, and that if they did, they would see me as a woman and make me feel horrible. So I was having all these sexual thoughts, but I did not have the courage to try meeting someone to get busy with. My body dysphoria kept me from doing that. It was fear of rejection, fear of misgendering, and then resignation that it was just how things were. Thankfully, though, I got better. I found a partner who accepts me and body for what we are, and we’ve been very happy since.”

Oliver looked pointedly at me and his hand rubbed my thigh. Even though I was still way too shocked by the wave of TMI from Lewis, I was thankful for Oliver’s gesture. He was basically telling me that, just like Lewis, he had found a partner who saw him for who he was. I felt appreciated and warm inside.

Lewis then said that his partner was actually Ann. Some of the students, including Oliver and Henry, congratulated them, while many more laughed or made joking kissing sounds.

Next, we watched a twenty-minute video that basically consisted of five trans people telling their stories over a calming cello soundtrack which played in the background. With each story, the video first showed the person sitting on a couch. Then, as their story progressed, it showed shots of them doing random everyday tasks or photographs of important life events.

The first story was that of an older trans woman who started her transition at age fifty. She talked about how she lived her entire life ignoring the feeling that there was something wrong with her because it was what she was taught to do, until she finally had enough and stopped lying to herself. She spoke about how it was ok to transition late in life, though she highlighted some of the additional challenges of doing it, like people thinking she is not ‘trans enough’ for having waited so long to transition, or people thinking she is just a man in a dress because her voice is still very deep and she has to shave every morning. Still, she finished her story by saying she had never been happier. I could not help but feel that some of the things she said resonated with my own story, though for a different reason. I was also at a point where I had had enough of the things I had been taught by my family, and I wanted to break free of everything and find my own way. It was comforting to see someone who had been through a similar journey come out of it feeling so much better.

The second story was of a blind trans woman. Her guide dog sat by her side as she spoke about the problems she had had with carers not letting her dress in the clothes she wanted, forcing her to present as male ‘for her own safety’. When the carers had not outright called her slurs and told her how disgusting she was for trying to be herself, they claimed to be afraid of getting harassed if they walked with her in the streets while she was wearing a dress and make-up. This only changed when she met her current wife. This wife was a cisgender woman, but she was very understanding and accepting of her partner’s situation. For me, it was a good wake-up call to the fact that trans people could also be disabled, and thus face a whole load of new prejudices that were unique to their situation. For example, it was hard to imagine that a cisgender blind person would be prevented from wearing the clothes of their choice, and able-bodied transgender people would never experience a situation in which a carer acted as a gatekeeper for their choice of clothing.

The third story was from a trans guy living in one of Scotland’s small island communities. He described how he always had to travel for a whole day to be able to attend appointments at the gender identity clinic (which usually lasted for no more than ten minutes), how he could never socialise with other trans people because he lived so far away from all of the country’s support groups, and how it had been difficult for him to come out in the first place because in his small community everyone had known him from birth. The island was a conservative place used to very traditional social norms, so when he came out to them, he was forcibly isolated from everyone until they slowly realised he was the same person, just with a different name. Eventually, everyone accepted and supported him, but his other difficulties with accessing treatment and socialising with other people like him are a still hard to solve.

The last story in the video was that of a trans couple who met at a support group. They fell in love very quickly and have since then become each other’s main source of love and support. It was a nice, heartwarming story that made us all very happy and cheerful after the horrors described by the previous three people. The general feeling was that it was there to show that being trans does not always have to be about fear, sadness, and hardship, that trans people are allowed to have happy life stories, and that we should not automatically assume trans people are all suffering a lot. The couple did point out that most trans people do face a lot of hardships, but that was not so much because of their own struggles with their identity, but because of society’s reaction to their existence. Basically, if our cisgender society accepted trans people for who they are, treated them with respect and stopped trying to make them conform to outdated social norms, the world would become a better place for everyone.

“Don’t worry, we’re near the end now,” Lewis reassured us once the video was over. “We’re just slightly behind schedule, but we still have fifteen minutes to answer any questions you may have.”

The room fell silent as the students considered the pros and cons of raising their hands. It would not be surprising if most of them hoped there would be no questions, so that the workshop would finish earlier and let them go home ten minutes before they were meant to. Fortunately, Hannah’s hand in the air prevented this easy slack-off.

“I know that you were just covering the basic stuff today, so I guess you didn’t have much time to talk about it, but the thing is, I know transphobia can be classified as a hate crime and that we should report it. My question is: how much can we trust the police? Do they know how to handle those things sensitively or will they make my friend’s life even more miserable by being just as horrible as the person who committed the hate crime in the first place?”

“That’s a very good and important question, thank you,” Ann answered, smiling happily to Hannah. “Yes, in this country, transphobia is classified as a hate crime. When the law was introduced in 2010, we started working closely with the police to ensure they knew what they were doing when a transphobic hate crime was reported to them. We gave them training, and over the years we built a very good relationship with them.”

“At the same time, we worked with the trans community to make them aware of the willingness of the police to engage and learn with us,” Lewis added. “I think by now it’s safe to say that the police tend to know what they’re doing, and they will take any reports of hate crime seriously and respectfully.” Hannah nodded, glancing pointedly at Oliver. My boyfriend inched away from her, grabbing my arm and lying against me. “That said, if for any reason you’re not comfortable talking directly to the police, you can go to a number of third-party reporting centres. Third-party reporting means that you tell someone about the hate crime, and they pass on that information to the police while keeping your details anonymous. Our office in Glasgow can do third-party reporting for you, as can many other third-sector organisations in Glasgow. If you’re interested, I can give you a list of them.”

“I think that would be useful, thank you.” Hannah nodded to Lewis. Oliver’s grip on my arm tightened so much I feared my hand would go numb.

“Are there any other questions?” Ann asked. There was silence for a while, until another student raised her hand. She and her group of friends giggled as she spoke.

“How do you have sex?”

Lewis and Ann seemed to be making an effort not to roll their eyes. I felt embarrassed for them. Luckily, the duo seemed more than used to dealing with this kind of question. To his credit, Lewis’s answer was flawless. “Well, I find someone I like and trust, we discuss the kinds of things we like to do, make sure we both want to do what we’re about to do, and go find a safe place to do it in.” Most of the students laughed. The girl who asked the question kept insisting.

“But… but… like, how do you do it?”

“With lots of energy, fun, and full consent of all those involved,” Lewis deadpanned. More laughter filled the room.

“No, but…”

“Any other questions?” Lewis asked before the girl could try to invade his private life again.

“Do you have a penis? Or do you still have boobs?” another student asked. Oliver used my shoulder to face-palm, and Hannah looked like she wanted to strangle someone. Once again, Lewis seemed to expect such a question, answering promptly without letting on of any sign of discomfort.

“Trans people’s bodies come in many shapes and sizes, just like bodies of non-trans people do. Some trans guys decide to have surgery to remove their breasts, and some decide to have surgery that builds a penis. Another surgery available for trans men is a hysterectomy. But not all trans men will want all, if any, of those surgeries. It’s completely up to the person, and what they decide to do with their bodies doesn’t make them any more or less trans. Also, it’s possible to have both breasts and penis, they aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Yeah, but, like, what surgeries have you had?”

“I cannot answer that question right now because I cannot influence the choices of any potential trans people that might be in this workshop. I cannot let my personal opinions interfere with someone else’s journey.”

“Meh, that’s boring.” The student rolled his eyes, but Lewis smiled at him.

“What was your female name?” a different student asked.

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that question,” Lewis answered calmly and politely. “Some trans people are ok with sharing names and other things from their life before transitioning, but for others it’s a part of their life they would really rather forget. If you spend a good portion of your life trying to distance yourself away from that previous name, it’s not good to see that everyone else still seems so focused on it and so hung up on those unimportant details instead of paying attention to who you are now.”

“Ok, whatever.”

“What toilet do you use?” With the third annoying question of the day being asked by a guy I did not know, I began to wonder if those people had paid any attention to the workshop at all. I did not really expect them to, but their cluelessness and lack of manners rubbed it in my face in the most unpleasant way.

“I use the male toilet. Some trans people, when starting out, might not feel safe going to the toilet of the gender they identify as. Some people fear they’ll be harassed if they go to the female toilet, and beaten up if they go to the male one. For that reason, there are lots of trans people who just avoid public toilets altogether. This can be dangerous and cause things like urinary infections, but for these people their fear of being hurt outweighs the consequences.”

“That’s sick,” the same student who asked the question said. To his credit, he looked genuinely mortified.

“Then you can help by making sure you watch out for any bullies when you go to the toilet yourself,” Ann commented. The student blinked, probably not expecting to be told he could actually do something about it, and slowly nodded in understanding.

“I’ve had enough of those silly questions…” Hannah grumbled and raised her hand. “So, when someone we already know comes out as trans, what should we do?” Hannah grinned smugly and glanced towards Oliver again. My boyfriend finally let go of my arm and shoulder, reluctantly approaching Hannah once more.

“You accept the person’s new name and pronouns, if there are any, and you do your best to use them all the time,” Lewis answered. “If you forget once, apologise and correct yourself. Mistakes are common in the beginning, but gradually you should get used to it. Try to avoid asking personal questions; the person will share with you what they’re comfortable sharing. Most importantly, it’s not your job to question their decision or to tell them they can’t be trans or are not ‘man’ or ‘woman’ enough. It’s not up to you to decide that.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said. “I hope everyone was paying attention to what you just said.” Her tone was particularly stingy.

“We’re now running out of time for more questions,” Ann announced. She clang her Buddhist cymbals again, and the Assembly Hall took a collective deep, calming breath. “Thank you for being here today. It was a pleasure meeting you. We’ll leave some leaflets and contact information here on the table for those interested. Other than that, we wish you good luck in your new school year.” Hannah and Helena started clapping, and the rest of the students politely followed suit. Everyone was then swiftly ready to bolt out of the door, though, to my surprise, a good number of students approached the table with resources and grabbed a few things. Our group lagged behind, hoping to be able to talk to the facilitators.

“Thank you for today,” Hannah said to Ann as Lewis packed his laptop and projector. “I’m glad the school invited you. It’s about time we start looking into those things properly.”

“From your questions I gather you already know quite a lot about trans stuff,” Ann commented.

“I’m part of the school’s LGBTI Club, and we have a couple of trans members,” Hannah answered without looking at Oliver. My boyfriend and I stood slightly behind her, and were able to hear the conversation perfectly well. Henry and Helena had gone over to the table of resources.

“I see. I hope this workshop was still useful for you.”

“Oh, yes, it was. Is the list of third-party reporting centres on the table as well?”

“Yes, yes, feel free to grab as many copies as you want.” Ann observed as Hannah made her way to the table and looked things over Henry’s shoulder. She grabbed one copy of everything they had and came back to us. Ann smiled and spoke to her again. “If you’re in the LGBTI club, then you probably know Luce and Charlie, right?”

“Yes, I know them. They’re our friends.” We were all surprised to hear that Ann knew Luce and Charlie, so the rest of us decided to join Hannah in the conversation. “Are you all from the LGBTI Club?” Ann asked.

“Yes, we are,” Helena answered. “We used to be called just the Gay Club before they came along and convinced us we should change the name.”

“How do you know them?” Henry asked.

“They have been doing some volunteer work with us for about a year or so. In fact, they were the ones who spoke to your headmistress about having us come and do a workshop for the students. Everything was arranged as part of their enrolment in this school.”

“Cool. Can I volunteer with you too?” Henry asked. At this point, Oliver noticed that Lewis was done packing his things and headed over to him. I decided to follow him, in case he needed some moral support to start a conversation.

“Um… hi…” Oliver nearly whispered. I was surprised that Lewis heard him at all.

“Hi there. Did you like the workshop?” Lewis asked with a friendly smile. He was doing a good job ignoring Oliver’s bruised face.

“Yes, I did. Thank you for coming.” Oliver stood in front of Lewis, not sure of what to say next. There was an awkward silence between them, until Oliver gathered the confidence to be properly blunt. “I came out to my classmates as a trans guy yesterday. This was really good timing.”

“Oh, congratulations! How has it been so far?” Lewis smiled to Oliver.

“Mostly ok. My classmates didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it, and my friends had known for a while. The only problem I had was when I was walking back home…”

“Is this why your friend was asking about how to report a hate crime?” Lewis immediately linked Oliver’s words to the state of his face. It was an obvious conclusion, but Oliver did not seem too happy about it.

“Yes. She wants me to report it, but I don’t think I want to.”

“Why not?” Lewis asked in a neutral tone. Hopefully he was trying not to seem too judgemental about Oliver’s reluctance.

“Because I don’t want to have to relive all of that again. I know it’s important to report those things, but I can’t deal with it right now. It was already horrible once.”

“I understand.” Lewis smiled sympathetically. “You’re right, it is important to report hate crimes, but your priority should always be you and your wellbeing. You shouldn’t be forced to do something that could cause you harm.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell that to Hannah if she asks me about it again.”

“No problem.”

“Also, thank you for being here. You’re the first adult trans guy I’ve seen in person. I think until now I didn’t have any idea what I would look like if I transitioned, but after seeing you I’m much more sure about it.”

“I’m glad to hear that too.”

Oliver and Lewis chatted for a couple more minutes before Ann came by to tell us we were supposed to leave the building. We grabbed a couple of leaflets, thanked the facilitators once again, and left school for good. Arthur was nowhere to be seen on our way home, and so we had a pleasant walk discussing the workshop.

Later at dinner, Oliver told his parents everything about the workshop, coming really close to narrating it minute by minute. After all the pain and sorrow of the previous day, Oliver had turned into a shiny ginger ball of talkative energy, and for that I was grateful.