Ragashanti Interviews 'Male Cross-Dresser'

I find the content of this interview quite objectionable, because Raga’s analysis is characterized by misunderstandings, and ignorance about human sexuality and gender identity. Sadly, she too supports the anachronistic gender binary, which renders people like her invisible.

Ragashanti ignorantly refers to her as being “gay” numerous times, as if to suggest that gay men typically cross-dress. This is a fallacy. Being effeminate does not equate to being a woman, and even so, many gay men are not effeminate. Therein lies a popular misperception that Ragahanti uses the interview to perpetuate. His insistence that she is not a woman is ridiculous, but understandable, since it is common knowledge that most Jamaicans conflate genitalia with gender identity. A baby with a penis is male, which means he must like trucks and the colour blue, and he will be attracted to girls. This reductionist model of human sexuality and gender fuels our belligerent reaction to gender non-conformists.

What does it mean to be male or female? When we meet people, we assume their gender based on their gender presentation- clothing being the most significant gender marker. It is improbable, that you would ask someone if they have the genitalia to match their gender presentation. This woman clearly has a feminine gender presentation, and has genuine interest in undergoing gender reassignment surgery. If the genitalia of all your friends whose genitalia you have not yet seen is insignificant to your understanding of their gender, then it shouldn’t be used to disqualify this woman’s claim that she is a woman.

Ragashanti expresses his desire for her to stop “deceiving” people. Gender is not something you turn off or on at will; it is inherent to your being. It is unfair to expect that this woman should conform to unrealistic gender norms that do not reflect the way she identifies herself. Deception is unavoidable in this situation, because she cannot speak truthfully about her gender without realistically fearing that she might be on the receiving end of vigilante justice. And for what? Many Jamaicans do not fit into the binary model of gender and sexuality. This may be hard to imagine, but males do not always have a penis, and having a penis does not necessarily indicate that someone is attracted to women. The sky will not fall, and the world will not end with the acknowledgement of this truth.

Coming Out to My Mother

Coming out is never easy. I think we can all agree with this statement, no matter our personal experiences. I knew I had to tell my mother before I left Jamaica, but I was growing scared that this might never happen. We watched gay-themed movies; we had discussions about gender, and sexuality; I told her of my gay friends, but I couldn't say three simple words: I am gay.

Yesterday, I did it. She went silent, perfectly on cue. It didn't help that I said the words most bluntly, in a matter of fact tone (as I've said before, people deal with the news a lot better when you sound sorry for yourself, concede that what you are doing is wrong/immoral, and that you want to change). For the rest of the evening her brows remained knitted, concern etched into her face. "I want to talk about this," I said to her, but she wasn't ready. Today, I pushed her to tell me how she felt. Though I am familiar with all the concerns she raised, it was still hard to hear them from her. I keep forgetting I do not have the luxury of living in a country where gay issues are pertinent, and where parents are sensitive to the issues that their gay children face. I was caught off-guard.

God. Sin. Anal Sex. Blood. Gender Incompatibility. Childhood. Effeminacy. Nature v Nurture. Love. Fear. Disbelief. Shock. Tears.

She couldn't sleep last night, and probably wont tonight either.

Sometimes in life it is much easier to leave things unsaid. Today, I chose the difficult alternative, and said things my mother would rather not hear, despite her suspicions. I'm not sure how things will progress from here, but I believe her when she tells me that she doesn't love me any less. Perhaps now she is just torn between her loyalty to me, her son, and her pastor who tells her to rid her life of sin. I am sin walking, I suppose.

~*~*~

*Knowing how deeply immoral homosexuality is, I should never have chosen that lifestyle for myself.

This is the same woman whose sons have had multiple children out of wedlock, with multiple women. They have collectively screwed half the women in my Parish. I doubt she ever chided them for choosing an immoral lifestyle. But oh, fornication is not sinful.

*I made her feel bad about the event with her Bishop, where I was fondled. Luckily the ordeal was lessened by the prayers and bible scriptures he chanted simultaneously. She would be so embarrassed now, if she had ever confronted her Bishop.

Okay. So heterosexual people who are raped shouldn't get redress, because they are supposed to enjoy heterosexual sex? The man put his filthy hands on me!!! Whether I am gay or fucking straight, my mother should be furious!

* She is not condemning me, I am reassured. That is very comforting to me, having just gone through all the reasons why homosexuality is bad.

Forget that I have to live with the fact that "my choice" is the bane of the entire developing/ religious world's existence. Being a gay Jamaican is nice and dandy. I am so thankful that my mother is stopping just short of kicking me out.

I agree she is ignorant, but I would rather she try to understand, rather than recycle all the misinformed, homophobic garb that I have heard time and time again.

*Sodom and Gomorra? Really?!

I don't give a fuck at this point. I told the truth. Perhaps she would rather live in Utopia, where all her children are heterosexual, and are busy populating the earth with their many babies.

She wants to put her hands to her head and holler out, crying. Okay.

I'm being very insensitive here, but didn't she say she always surmised? It seems to me that her reaction should be, "what took you so long," as opposed to one of outrage. The Gleaner article on the characteristics of a gay teenager were very explicit, she says, and everyone in the house read and confirmed that I fit the bill perfectly. I sent her blood pressure skyrocketing. My apologies. There isn't really a good way to tell you I'm gay.

She used an interesting analogy to explain her reaction.

You know when you know you are sick, but you try to convince yourself you are fine... and then after a while the doctor makes a damning prognosis that you don't want to hear: You have cancer, and but a few months left to live.

I'm not sure if the cancer is a pun for my malignant homosexuality.

I am angry. People are stupid. Instead of pulling people closer, they push them away. I don't fancy being regarded as a casualty of North American attitudes, and an imperfect son, because I know there is nothing wrong with me.

I am convinced that people can project negativity on you. I come to Jamaica and I morph in to this self-concious, fearful, self-hating version of myself. In the house now, I am battling a melange of feelings ranging from, resentment, to regret, to guilt and sorrow. I can't be surrounded by this.

Thankfully, I am just days from freedom.

~*~*~

When she returns she comes to the room with tears in her eyes. My sibling asks her what is wrong- if she is still troubled by what I told her.

Yes. She hasn't been able to sleep for the last few days. Every minute she thinks on it, and she breaks down crying. The way she is feeling now, she wished I never said anything. Then she said the words I never wanted to hear. It's the kind of stuff you hear in movies- the kind of thing that you know no gay child should ever hear: I do not now, and will never accept that you are gay.

*"What of every man, like you, decided to be this way (she can't quite say the word gay/ battyman), what would happen to humanity?"

Ammm, ok. People tend to ask this a lot. That statement is based on the premise that people can "turn" gay. This is simply not so. Homosexuals have always existed, and if they never undermined population growth before, they surely wont now. Everyone wont "turn" gay. The majority of people are predisposed (for whatever host of reasons) to be heterosexual.

My sibling tried to respond to her ridiculous question (I'm being harsh, yes, but I really do hold my mom to higher intellectual standards), and by this time I was so frustrated that I flew past her and ran out of the house. According to her, nothing I say or do will justify my "behaviour", so I saved my breath.

~*~*~

I watched the film Boys Don't Cry with my mom a few months ago, so we could have some serious conversation about gender, and sexuality. That obviously didn't work too well, because now she swears that I want to be a girl. "He doesn't walk like a boy", she says to my sister. "And look at the way he dances!" Okay. I have a penis, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I am ultra-masculine, and it doesn't mean that I like girls. There are variations of human gender identity and sexuality. I thought watching and discussing the key issues in the film would make that clear, and I thought she understood, but I guess everything changes when the subject of such discussions is your own child- well, apparently.

Anyway, I still tried to reach out to her before I left the island. The day before I left, I begged her to watch the film For The Bible Tells Me So. We started watching, and then she fell asleep. I woke her up, but in another minute, her eyes were closed. I grew so frustrated. I'm trying to make this woman understand me, even if from a perspective, which affirms some of her own biases (some of the families still think homosexuality is morally reprehensible), but she wouldn't even try. When she woke up after I walked away, she ended up staying up for the entire night. I guess she wasn't that tired.

The next morning, as I packed to leave, she asked if I could leave her a did of the documentary. I couldn't.

So I left the island, with a huge unresolved issue behind, but I am very glad the big secret is out. A huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I'm sure she will come around eventually. I'm sure she doesn't mean it when she says, "If I wasn't a Christian, I would beat you with a broom-stick and kick you out of my house." After all, I am still her baby.

Preteen Lesbians on a Jamaican School Bus

I was on a school trip recently, with about 40 pre-teens. At lunch, one girl ran off crying and the students were abuzz with apprehension. One student came to us (myself and a close friend of mine) and whispered, "Miss a because Miss Audrey call her lesbian." (Miss Audrey is one of the permanent employees of the school). Immediately, the only other permanent employee rushed over to her co-worker's defense, failing at her attempt to deflect blame to the children. It was more than obvious to me that she was merely trying to save her own ass. This is the story she told:

Rishanna and Monique were sitting together for the entire bus ride. Rishanna had her arms around Moniques waist, with her hands "down there". So Miss Audrey told her to sit properly, or change seats because that kind of behaviour is not appropriate. The students know that if the principal was here on the trip that they could only hug around the shoulders. (Ammmm, ok). So then when the inappropriate behaviour persisted, Miss Audrey told her fi lego di pikni because they are not simese... and then Miss Audrey stuttered, and a student shouted out LESBIAN. Then comes Miss Audrey. "I did not say that. I would never say that word. The children are liars."

Now if it's one thing I have learnt from working with Jamaican children is that they do not lie without ample reason. They are extremely frank, and blunt, and will say whatever is on their minds. Tishina, one of our most industrious students came to us afterwards and said, "Miss (they call me Miss, by the way) I will swear on the cross that dem call Rishanna lesbian." I believed her. The confirmation that Miss Audrey had referred to a pre-teen as a lesbian wasn't from Tishina, however, it was from Miss Audrey herself. While defending herself poorly (I didn't buy a second of it), she said at the end "she lives with her aunty who is a lesbian and she does anything around Tishina, so I know Tishina will do those things!" This is when I almost exploded. She did not just say that. Right?

I said to my friend, I think I am going to withhold my tongue on this one. My friend agreed. I walked away. My close friends then had a talk with all the students about not calling other people names, and not being concerned about sex and sexualities, because they were too young. She comforted Tishina, and told her she could hug her friends however she'd like to.

Can you imagine? You see two pre-teen girls hugging around the waist- two boys, and that would be something else- and you immediately assume that their friendship must be sexual? Are we so afraid of homosexuality that we must curtail homosexual physical contact on the whole from that stage? Paranoia I tell you. Miss Audrey and her colleage were absolutely "outavaada". They should feel lucky I said nothing to them.

Billy Elliot

Even though I haven't been updating this blog recently, I have still been writing. I just managed to make three different posts. I swear, the motivation to write disappears when one loses access to the internet.

But, finally...

I just saw the film Billy Elliot, for the millionth time. Have you seen it? It is such an amazing movie! Aside from me finding some difficulty understanding the accents of the actors, the themes explored in the film resonate well with me- for obvious reasons. I look forward to the time when my family will be proud to see me in whatever capacity I find myself, as an openly gay man.

I find myself watching and re-watching films with gay themes recently. It's My Party, Prayers for Bobby, For the Bible Tells Me So, Boys Don't Cry, Milk, Noah's Arc- Jumping the Broom. I lived without representations of queer culture and people for such a long time, that I revel in my newfound collection of timeless films that inspire me to be proud of my sexuality. I once thought it was my greatest burden, but it is now turning into one of my strengths.

It's a Boy! Gender and Sex

The room is poorly lit and humid. Kimeisha lies on the bed, legs spread, panting heavily. The midwife hovers over her, insisting that she remain calm, for increased apprehension will make the process more difficult. She manages to inhale enough air to push feebly. Her energies are spent. "Again...Push! Puuuush! Puuuush! I see th...there we go!”

(without hesitation)

"It's a BOY!"

A day later

It’s a boy, so give Aunt Donnette all the pink and yellow chemises for her daughter. Oral wont need them, of course. “He’s so cute. All the girls ago rush im. Den nurse, a how fi im likkle buddy big so? Dat normal? Heh! Like father like son.

2 years later

Oral cries constantly (…who knew babies do that). His mother snatched the ball away from him, because “im ramp tumoch! Tap di bawlin to man…yaa gyal pikni?”

1 year later

“Gwaan go play wid Stefani, shi pretty. Man fi lov ooman. Yu si how shi sexy? Watch yaaaaa… a di real man dis yuno. Watch how im whole on pan ar frack tail. Big op Oral! A my bwoy dat.” (The mother smiles proudly)

***

Gender. So much of our understanding of the term is based on cultural practice, yet we consider gender roles to be essential. From the moment we are born, we are typecast into roles that we have no choice in shaping. All men wear blue, because men are the same. And all girls wear pink, because girls are the same. Personality traits are irrelevant to this. By virtue of one's having a penis, or a vagina, they are bonded to all others with the same sexual organ.

There will be effeminate boys and masculine girls, but dealing with them is easy. All we need is for them to fit the gender binary we have created. Each time they exhibit tendencies considered to be typical of the opposite gender, we must chastise them. Forget the potential hurt your insensitive words might inflict. This is for their own good.

So gender benders get ridiculed...so long as they choose to defy the norm. Their only escape is reformation, migration, or slaughter.

You choose. Because obviously your sexuality is a choice. You decide which of the escape routes best appeals to you...

Will societies ever learn that gender and sexuality are not as rigid as they would like it to be? I doubt it. Surely it is easier to assume that everyone belongs to one of two distinct gender descriptions. And surely, a homosexual individual who might not identify with the stereotypes of "their gender" will contribute to social chaos and anarchy. God forbid "normal people" be influenced to engage in homoerotic activity. We don't want you here...I am normal, why can't you be?

I have managed to suppress aspects of my personality that society deems objectionable- why can't you?

You disturb my Christian sensibilities...

You disgraceful excuse for a human being...why would you ahhh! I don't understand you. I want nothing to do with you.

You cannot be my friend anymore. You are no longer my child. You aren't even a citizen of this country. Go away, to debased societies where you can be appreciated. No here...not Jamaica.

FINE!

Chi Chi Man Fi Ded! A Gay Jamaican's Lament

Challenging the Gender Binary,

Signing Your Own Death Warrant

Jamaica is the proud and resolute, self-proclaimed most homophobic country in the world. Walking through the streets, it is common to hear, (whether on the radio, or from individuals), the following exclamations at the mention of homosexuality, in any context: ‘Wi no waahn no bati man bout ya’ (we do not want homosexuals here), ‘faiya bon fi a batibwaai’, (burn homosexuals), ‘dem fi ded’ (they must be killed). The popular 90’s song by Buju Banton still rings out at nightclubs, to popular appeal:

Eni taim Buju Bantan kom
Batibwaai git op ahn ron
Bum bai bai iina batibwaai hed
Ruud bwaai no promuot no naasi man, dem a fi ded
Sen fi di matik an di Uzi insted
Shuut dem, no kom ef wi shat dem.
Gai kom nier mi den im skin mos piil
Bon im op bad laik uol taiya wiil.

Translation:

Whenever Buju Banton comes
Faggots get up and run
Boom bai bai (the sounds from a gun) in a faggot’s head
Rude boys don’t promote nasty men, they have to die
Send for the automatic and the Uzi instead
Shoot them, don’t come if we shot them
If a guy comes near me then his skin must peel*

Burn him up badly, like an old tire wheel.
*from acid thrown on him

Violence against homosexuals (‘batiman’, as we call them) is a recurrent theme in the Jamaican Danceheall, as we use our music to promote traditional Jamaican values, and the rejection of debased western lifestyles, which are now corrupting the minds of our youth, as noted by the perceived increased prevalence of homosexuality in our Christian country.

We rock to the cool sea breezes of our Caribbean paradise, while listening to songs like TOK’s Chi chi man (faggot):

My kruu, my daagz, set ruulz, set laaz
Far wii riprizent di laads av yaads
A gyal aluon a fiil op mi baalz.

Fram dem a paar iina chi chi man kyaar
Bliez di faiya mek wi bon dem! Bon dem!
Fram dem a jrink iina chi chi man baar
Bliez di faiya mek we don dem! Don dem!

So mi go so, yu si we ai si?
Nigaz wen yu duiin dat
Nof a dem a friik, dem a kyari aal dem doti ak
Tog niga wana-biiz, nof a dem a lik I bak
Ef dem bring it tu wi, huol on, nof kapa a shat
Kapa shat raiz op, evri kyaliko go rat-tat-tat
Rat-tat-tat, evri chi-chi man dem ha fi get flat.
Get flat! Mi ahn mai niggas a go mek a pak
Chi-chi man fi ded ahn das a fak.

So mi go so la la la la la la la la la
Na go mek no chi-chi man waak rait ya so
Fram a bwaai a duiit wi a go don dem rait nou

Lef im huol faambli dem a blou wou.

Translation:

My crew, my dogs, set rules, set laws
For we represent the lords of yards
Only girls feel up my balls.If they're hanging in a queer man’s car
Blaze the fire, let’s burn them! Burn them!
If they're drinking in a queer bar

Blaze the fire, let’s finish them! Finish them!

That's how I go, do you see what I see?
Niggas when you are doing that
Many are freaks, they bring all their dirty acts
Thug nigga wannabees, lots of them are doing it
If they approach us, hold on, much copper shots
Copper shots fly, every calico ( gun ) goes rat-tat-tat
Rat-tat-tat, every queer has to run for cover.
Hit the floor! Me and my niggas will make a pact
Faggots must die and that’s a fact.

That's how I go, la la la la la la la la
Not going to let any faggot go by right here
If a boy is doing it we're going to finish him right now
Leaving his family behind.

How refreshing it is to hear the assertion of true Christian values in Jamaican popular culture. That is what Jamaica needs more of, and precisely what secular societies are trying to snatch from us. I have traveled to America, and let me tell you, there is nothing but moral depravity being paraded around as normality. Men trying to be women, women trying to be men, and the like, which God explicitly condemns in good old King James. That must never be witnessed in Jamaican society, for we know better. The high murder, and rape rates we have are bad enough already; having homosexuals parade around freely would only hasten society’s moral degeneration. Our children would suddenly be at risk, for fags believe that everyone is gay, and so their mission is to convert as many as they can. That is what I heard anyway. Thank God buggery is still illegal in my country- men having sex with men is against all that I know to be natural. I don’t know any homosexuals personally, but my good friend, Keisha, was telling me about a male coworker who was excessively effeminate. He stared at the boss once, for a tad too long, as she put it, and was fired immediately. How presumptuous of him! Those people need to be kept in their place. Fortunately, there is no place for them, here in Jamaica.

__________________________________________________________________

My name is F, and I hail from Jamaica, a beautiful island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. During my formative years, I was often bombarded with questions challenging various elements of my being: ‘Why do you look like a girl?’ ‘Why do you walk and talk like your sister?’ ‘Why won’t you play football?’ ‘Why can’t you change?’ Immeasurably perturbed by how different everyone perceived me to be, I experienced numerous identity crises. I had heard enough, from my family, my friends, and the world at large- I had to try to change. Fortunately, as fate would have it, the pressures exerted by the different forces around me were insufficient to produce any irreversible changes to the boy that ultramasculine Jamaican norms tried to obliterate.

The jeers were hard to ignore; there was no escape, no enclave of solace for someone of my nature. Only in the realm of the unconscious could I get tender relief, but even then my otherness haunted me, with each malicious criticism progressively lacerating the very core of my humanity. I woke each morning unsettled, wondering, ‘would today hold anything different for me to experience?’ I was constantly trying to reinvent myself, to be less effeminate. Each new school year presented a new opportunity, for I had been away for two months, and surely, people would understand, and even appreciate, if I changed radically from my effeminate self. Year after year, I failed. I was fully aware of the ideal, which was all around me, but I was never possessed of the substance needed to be the ideal.

My last relapse occurred when I was sixteen years old. I convinced myself that the fruits of change would be much sweeter than those borne from my unyielding stance against societal norms. I can vividly remember strutting home with a gangster twitch in my steps, while singing a dancehall song; my speech was slurred and I was resolute in the profound need for a transformation. I awoke the following morning with the sentinel of my soul shining through from my core; I looked into a mirror and all I could see was a lonely little boy- not a ‘batiman,’ not a sissy, but a young Jamaican. The scales of my repeated attempts at metamorphosis were instantaneously shed. Whether it was the futility of my efforts to gain acceptance, or my inability to face the world as a teen desperately crying out to be loved, I stopped wishing I was like everyone else.

Thereafter I began to challenge all those values that had shaped the way I thought gender. Why was effeminacy a vice? Women were not different from men when the relevant aspects of an individual’s contribution to the world were measured, I reasoned. Why was there a force in society that legitimized conformity? The progression of humankind over generations depended on the dynamism and uniqueness of individuals who believed there was a need for change, so why should modern Jamaica be stagnant in its understanding of gender identity? My reaction to the world thenceforth created even more upheaval in the society, but I was unfaltering. Unless those who criticized me could rationally explain why the peculiarity of my personality necessitated a change, I refused to make any compromises to who I was. No more was I living for those around me, my life belonged to me.

My personality is not independent of the influence of Jamaican society, but I am not characteristic of an individual who was nurtured by its traditional values. I am now a liberated man; the chains representative of Jamaican society, which strangulate those who attempt to express an individual position outside of the norm, have been broken. Changes to the society dynamic are warranted, and my desires for such demand my return to Jamaica in the near future.