Messiah

Last night I sang Messiah with our town's Choral Society - a sell out concert at Reading University - and shed-loads of applause after.  The soloists were superb, the tenor especially so (but then I'm biased!)

The whole thing was emotionally interesting.  OK, I didn't get all the notes right, but that didn't cause me much shame - you can hide in a choir of 100, well, unless you're something odd like a lady tenor :o).  But there were a few folk from the Baptist Church that I tried attending for a while there.  It brought to mind how I would have been thinking even three years ago whilst singing this "magnum opus" - and, indeed, it was very long - we didn't finish until about 10:15!  In a strange way I felt it would have been easier to sing had I not lost my faith.  It was like I had to draw on emotional memories rather than actually feeling the moment.  And there is still a little part of me that wanted to simply scream out "the whole thing is just a story, a fable, something to inspire or, at worst, create fear".

But it's done, and the choir moves on to the next religious festival with lots of songs about how unworthy all humanity is.  I do wonder whether I ought to try to find a more secular music group.

Remembrance

Todd (see earlier posts) has asked for reflections of how the church treats homosexual people.  On Remembrance Sunday, I've spent a bit of time composing the following:

When you’re young and confused and being told that what you are is what you are not, any group that proclaims it has real answers is very attractive. Except, being "born again" at the age of 13, very quickly I realised that I had to conform even more – because I was a “young Christian”, I couldn’t possibly know enough, so I was content to learn. And stayed that way for 25 years until the internal struggle got too much, but by then I was in church leadership (in a small way), had married, a successful job and young children. Saying “actually, I think I’ve always been female” caused shock amongst many, but only real fear amongst the church. Counselling was arranged, but the drive was to “fix” me, not to listen or learn. Because I was “unrepentant”, taking the advice of qualified medics rather than unqualified pastors, I was “cast out”. After 18 months, my wife joined another church. I tried to follow, but was told that I was welcome but not fully accepted, or was that acceptable? Branded “not a person but an issue” was very hard to take – again.

I have lost lots of my Christian friends. They simply cannot consider the option that they might be wrong, so I am rejected, placed on the shelf to consider later. As a friend once said, some people have very long shelves. I wondered why Christians, when they say that what’s inside is important, paid so much attention to the outside that they ignored what was inside. Slowly I came to the conclusion that I just didn’t believe it any more. My wife and children have largely followed me down that path. While it’s important not to generalise, I’m going to do so, knowing that there are exceptions. There are differences between Christians and the “secular world”, but they aren’t what Christians want to believe they are. Instead Christians seem to be driven by fear, not love; by arrogance, not humility. I was saddened by the hypocrisy I saw amongst those who I had followed – some of them wrestling with the very same issue as me, and those usually reacting the strongest. Stepping away from the church, and ultimately from Christianity, has led me to the peace and fulfilment I had been seeking since I was 5. I’m slowly getting over the anger that has made me want to pull the whole Christian edifice down, but I don’t know whether I will ever get over the pain of rejection by those who told me repeatedly that they loved me.

The pain of loss is always hard, and harder when it seems so meaningless.  This morning I think of the general futility of war, the immense sacrifice that we place on those who we charge to fight on our behalf, the games politicians play.  I want to say "enough" - actually I want to shout it out as loud as I possibly can.  November 1918 was supposed to see the end of the war to end all wars - yet in 2009 we're still fighting, sending young British men and women thousands of miles away to an inhospitable land to try to wrest control in the futile attempt to prevent people placing bombs on our streets, little thinking that those who place those bombs are trying to do the same to us.  Madness - to snuff out all of that young energy and potential for what is an unachievable aim.

Pie in the Sky

Occasionally, when I get time to think, I start pondering deep and meaningful questions.

I read Victoria Cohen's rant on the Times website today.  She made reference to being greeted by name in her bank, and then refused permission to take out money she'd arranged to take out because she didn't have suitable proof of identity.  "Oh yes", we chortle along, "how absurd."

It was this that got me thinking.  We appear to have bred a society where trust is now wrong.  It's underpinned by the rationale that any risk must be eliminated.  The bank's thought processes would probably have gone something like - we get people impersonating others and illegally extracting money, so we must insist on ID for large withdrawals, and this must become policy with no exceptions so that we, the bank, cannot be blamed for fraudulent withdrawals as, at some point in the past, people have complained that we, the bank, should have recognised the withdrawer as fraudulent.  And that thought process appears sound - until we mock it for the absurdity that is created as outlined by Victoria Cohen.

I subscribe to a financial computer systems news feed, and there's a guy who posts on there quite regularly about the dangers of identity theft.  Each successive posting seems to scream out that no-one is doing enough yet, there are still loopholes.  The subtext is "we cannot trust anybody".

I see the same when dealing with children.  Yes, I am put off being a school governor by the thought that I have to fill in some kind of police check when all I have to my name are a couple of minor driving convictions going back, gosh, 20 years or more.  If I wasn't trans then I suspect I would have less of an issue, but the feeling that this outs me once again is powerful - and the person handling the CRB checks insists on having the forms for her to submit herself - we cannot do it for her.  We've had the outrage that people who look after others kids on an informal but regular basis now also need to be "vetted" by the government.  We must prove ourselves to be right and proper citizens.  And all the while the official stats indicate that 90% of sexual abuse on children is done within the family and 85% done before the child even starts school.  The logical conclusion - we must vet potential parents and families before the child is even born.  That would be political suicide for any party that proposes it - but somehow I get the feeling that we're not too far away.  After all, it does appear, as a parent, that I'm merely caring for two children at the state's convenience, and already have to abide by strict rules about when I can take family holidays and so on, with the concommitant cost implications.

The issue is the same - this underlying message that individuals cannot be trusted - misplaced trust is a risk that has to be eliminated.  And I find it sad.  Of course, I also think that a large part of this drive to eliminate risk has come from the media over the last 20 or 30 years.  Whenever a tragedy hits, there the media are outlining the calls that "something must be done".  Risk assessment is not a simple business, but the media, in their own relentless way, continue to frame the debate in black and white - and if you say "well, nothing could be done", suddenly you're painted black, evil and dangerous to know.  The answer, "well, shit sometimes happens", doesn't seem to cut the mustard, and is actually not a pleasant one for people who have been directly affected by the tragedy to hear.

Let me come back to the trans thing.  Why is disclosure of my past such a big thing?  After all, I know that all but one of the 8 or so folk who work with me know my past, and I don't know whether the eighth knows or not.  The trans lobbies have worked tirelessly over the last decade or so to ensure that the past shouldn't be something that is public knowledge - yet whenever something happens to a trans person, the previous gender and name is usually reported, as if that was in any way relevant.  No, I must steer away from the media.

But isn't a lot of that fear over disclosure to do with trust again?  Why do trans people feel we cannot trust anyone with that knowledge?  Certainly my own recent dealings with HMRC indicate that they cannot be trusted to hold correct information - somewhat worrying when they are responsible for collecting taxation and have swingeing powers to enforce things that they determine are right.  I certainly grew up in a culture whereby anything different, like homosexuality or trans-ness, was derided and needed to be hidden.  The fear of disclosure was real, tangible and terrible.  It was only when the suffocation threatened to kill me that I felt empowered to do anything about it.

I would love to live in a society which can accept difference and doesn't prejudice anyone by virtue of their background.  I would love to live in a society where we can go about our lawful business without having to prove our essential essence of being or goodwill.  It seems to me that those two liberties are actually what we should be fighting for.  It's just that I don't know how to do it.

Every so often I just am absolutely astounded at what has been accomplished in the last few years.  For example, at the moment work-wise, today I talked to our reseller company in South Africa about a big opportunity in Ghana, and my sales guy had a conversation with a chap in New York who's really interested in "buying" our software, all the time thinking that I must get round to reviewing the draft contract with potential resellers in Australia.  This is software that I have written - other folk have had input into the design, but every last line of code is mine - and people across the world are interested in it.  Wow!

And then I think back to a year ago, getting ready to go to Thailand.  I know my past, and I know it will never ever disappear, but I increasingly feel disconnected from the trans world in many ways.  It's like I've forgotten what it felt like, having this body that I really didn't want.  It leaves me in a strange place sometimes - revisiting the question "was it all really necessary", but without the constant feeling of pain that there had been for 35+ years.  And it makes it very difficult to answer in one way.  Of course, in many other ways, it's so obvious that transitioning and surgery was the right thing to do.

Then there's my daughter, already making a name for herself in her new drama school - she's the one who sings with a "good voice".  I'm dwarfed by the potential that seems to be opening up before her - and proud that I can afford to pay for the privilege.  Not forgetting my son, who seems to be deciding on a future career in the police, and is visibly starting to grow up.  I just love children of this age - they have so much new knowledge, yet so much to learn, but are still keen and eager and ready to have fun.

There's the choir, which I now seem fairly bedded into, and the possibility of being a school governor, and a campaigner on trans issues, ...   Life is full - sometimes I think too full.  But it's great!

Evangelicals - gah...

I must confess myself more than a little stunned at what I have found out this evening.

In my days in Leeds, I always felt uncomfortable with standard forms of Christian evangelism, such as "door-knocking" or "street-preaching".  It seemed too intrusive, too invasive, too impolite and not giving people the respect they deserved.  I was part of a church drama group, and we were asked to do some pieces on the streets in York as part of an evangelistic exercise.  Also invited was a young American guy named Todd Farley.  He did mime to music, contemporary Christian music.  I stood there almost open-mouthed as he was able to draw a crowd in.  Ok, the music was loud and "different", but even so people just stood and watched.  He then did a workshop, which I went to in order to see if I could add some depth to characters I portrayed.  I came out a trainee mime, and joined with four others in Leeds to create a troupe.  The last 3 years of my time in Leeds were dominated by mime ministry, and we were invited as a group by Todd to tour with him in Norway.

Even after I left Leeds, I was still involved in Todd's organisation for a while - until I moved to Scotland and it all got too difficult.  I grew to know this guy a little - his love of Star Trek, his sense of comedy, his flaws too - such as the occasional "pig-out" on things which really weren't too good for him!  And then - silence.  Occasionally I would have a look on Mimeistry's website to see what was going on, but marriage and work meant that I was no longer fit enough to do what I had done before.  It was more occasional interest than a strong desire.

I found Todd on Facebook last month, and decided I would see if he would become a friend to this strange woman.  He did.  And this evening I was thinking of him, so decided to look up his history on his "new" website.  And came away feeling stunned.

He and his wife, Marilyn (who I also really enjoyed being with) are now divorced.  He was disowned by Mimeistry for announcing that he believed practising gay people could be ministers in the church.  He has had divorce, death (of his mother and brother) and a loss of career to deal with in the last 2 years.  I was amazed - partly because I never thought that he would be someone who would make that stand for gay people in the church, although I don't really know why I thought that.  I was shocked that divorce had happened - although I realise that I only really knew them in their very early years of marriage.  And I'm left with some questions too.  Is he gay himself?  After all, Ray Boltz, who's music Todd used very powerfully, came out as gay a couple of years back, and was shunned by the evangelical Christian community as a result.  Todd talks about being an advocate for a gay friend - was that Ray?

Part of me thinks "good riddance - these evo fundie types cut off their noses to spite their own faces again - I hope the whole edifice fails".  But part of me is also sad, to see yet another person damaged by all of this, and this time someone who I did actually care for and respect, and who was in very, very deeply.  I'm surprised at how deeply I'm moved by it.  I guess it's because in 1990 I almost gave up my job to work with Todd for three months - unusually Todd gave me the choice - and also I guess because I look at what I could so easily have become or remained - a vindictive, small-minded, legalistic Christian.

Fear and the Future

So, the recovery is going well, and so is business.  I feel strangely disconnected from the way the media is reporting the economy, which appeared to be borne out by a solicitors trade event I attended in December.  We're growing, having recruited another part-time support "bod", and have a healthy pipeline, and are on course to be profitable again this year.

The question about our youngest's secondary education has been looming for a while - even though she's only in year 5, and has another 9 months to make a choice.  But she's a performer, loves singing and acting, and the school she attends pays lip service to those skills, preferring instead to concentrate on the "academic" subjects which they are monitored on.  Meanwhile, we're paying for out-of-school "classes" which she enjoys, although all of us feel that they're really not doing anything new.

Before I went to Thailand, I was hunting around for alternatives to these out-of-school classes, and stumbled across a drama school a few miles away that ran a day school.  Hmmm, I thought, and stored it away for future use.  Then, in January, J and I had a discussion about Z's secondary education, wondering how she would cope with the conformity that would be expected there.  Well, I said, there is another alternative...

The upshot of which is that, on Friday, we went to this school in Maidenhead, and came to the conclusion fairly quickly that Z would absolutely love it.  The issues are (a) distance, (b) the loss of certain subjects from her education, that we would have to supplement somehow, (c) the worry that it becomes a hot-house for stage, (d) the worry about the apparent focus on dance, which Z isn't so good at, and (e) the reaction of J's parents.  Actually, money is a worry too - although I'm trying not to think of that.  Having worked to build up a small annual extra reserve, to think that it will simply be swallowed up each year...

I do think that you can do pretty much anything to kids up to the age of 16.  While GCSE's may prove useful in some things, by the time you get past your mid-20s, they're pretty irrelevant.  And I do think that Z is bright enough (perhaps too bright) to do well in them almost whatever she does.  It means that we will have to work harder and get much more involved with her education in the future.  Are we doing the right thing by her?  You simply don't know - you'd have thought that I would have learnt that lesson by now, don't you!

But J and I agree that we'd be kicking ourselves if we didn't at least push the door a little.

Post-op

Thailand was an amazing set of experiences. Third world affluence next to first world poverty. So much human kindness in a jungle that hid viciousness. Phuket beaches showed struggle amidst much beauty. It was my first trip to Asia (as long as you don't count the 2 hour stopovers in Singapore en route to Australia).

There was a lot of emotional turmoil as J and I arrived in Phuket. Why was I having this operation? Would I be admitted? Would everything work afterwards? Then suddenly I was checked into the hospital, given the laxative (that tasted absolutely foul - they gave me two lots), and then met Dr Sanguan - who was incredibly reassuring. I had already worked out by then to stop thinking about "lasts" and start thinking about "firsts" - and I slept very well the night before - which I think is relatively unusual.

The next morning things all just happened. Dr Sanguan's question of "Shall we do this, then?" was met with a gruff "just get it done", and then the theatre lights looked strange, and then I woke up.

There were a couple of complications - some of the skin graft didn't take, and then I was fighting a steptococcal infection - but things generally seemed to go well. Two weeks in the hospital passed - getting used to the routine - wake up around 5:30am for routine checks, "sawat dee ka Helen" at 6 for an inspection of "the wound", breakfast around 7:30, "I clean room" and "Clean body?" around 8:30, Dr Sanguan between 9 and 10, and so on. Then a slightly delayed discharge into a hotel around 30 minutes away from the hospital. On first appearances the hotel was wonderful - until you discovered the hordes of tiny ants and the geckos in the bathroom!

My friend Jo came out to look after me for the last couple of weeks. She hired a car for the last week - and it was great having the freedom to travel around a bit, even though I was tired and had to sit on a soft doughnut cushion. Her domestic situation is abysmal, and I could tell that, two days before travelling home, she was dipping down - what was she going back to. Mind you, I was more than ready to go back, even to a British late autumn with dark nights and rain. The last Friday was very flat, with yet another day's rain in Thailand, and there were delays all over the shop on the flights back to Heathrow.

And so I'm back in the UK, fortunately with pictures to remind me of things I saw. It certainly was an amazing set of experiences.

"Do you have any regrets" is a question I've been asked a few times. The glib answer, and the one I give, is a fairly quick "no" - and largely that's true. Certainly the amazement that I "look right" now when I look in the mirror, and a sense of calmness for the last few weeks make me think that I have chosen right - even though I still feel "tied" to the bed with dilation three times daily and not a lot of energy, and even though things are still sore. The regret is actually that I don't think there would have been a way to stay as I was for much longer, and what that does specifically to J. She has been wonderful, very affectionate and caring - despite getting a bit lost in exploring her faith again in the last week or so.

I'm also grateful that the BBC decided not to carry out filming. Apparently the senior editor felt that transsexualism was too adult a topic to show at 8pm on a weekday evening - somewhat ironic that Sky 3 showed a series called "Sex Change" at 8pm on a weekday evening! But I wouldn't have had the energy to deal with the filming in a way that I would have been happy with.