Struggling for Ordinary. Andre Cavalcante
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that met weekly in a small Midwestern city. Reese was the lead facilitator of the group and one of its founders. A member of the working poor, she had little in terms of material wealth but devoted her life to helping transgender and queer communities. Week after week, as I observed the group, Reese offered me the same introduction, always concluding with, “He will be taking notes, but he knows the ground rules.” In order for Trans Chat to be a safe and welcoming space, ground rules were essential: everything discussed during the group meeting was confidential, everyone had a right to talk and share their experience, members would treat each other with respect and kindness, and talking over others or having side conversations was forbidden. As an outsider and observer, I also had my own ground rules. Under no circumstance could I record meetings with my digital voice recorder, and I was restricted from documenting the proper names or identifying information about individual group members in my notes. I was, however, allowed to notate recurring themes, general topics of concern, and the gist of individual conversations that emerged.
For two years, I observed and at times participated in Trans Chat’s meetings, which were held at a Midwestern LGBT community center and typically lasted two hours. For those who attended, Trans Chat was a sacred space. It reliably and routinely provided feelings of safety, belonging, and affirmation to its members, who were all along the transgender spectrum. Some identified as transsexual, and had or desired sexual reassignment surgery. Others had just begun experimenting with cross-dressing. A few claimed gender-fluid and non-binary identities. Members gathered to discuss a wide range of topics, from the mechanics of gender transition to political activism and interpersonal relationships. Mainly, they shared stories and explored strategies about managing everyday life as a transgender person. In this way, Trans Chat was a kind of naturally occurring focus group. Observing it allowed me to encounter a plurality of voices, themes, and opinions about transgender life through the medium of everyday talk (Lunt and Livingstone 1996). I was able to observe when, how, and if topics pertaining to media organically arose during conversation.
However, when I first began observing the group, many looked upon me with curiosity, even suspicion. Week after week, I walked into the conference room of the LGBT community center wondering how I was going to be received. As a cisgender, or non–transgender identifying person, I was an outsider. Each time I sat at the table, removed my black legal notebook from my bag, and began taking notes, I communicated my authority as a researcher and my outsider status. Indeed, the transgender community has a tenuous relationship with outsiders like me attempting to write about their lives. This is rooted in a history of writings and reportage that suffer from gross misrepresentation, sensationalism, and reductionism. However, I am not completely an outsider. As a gay man, I am familiar with and sensitive to struggles around gender expression and the pressures of conformity. Moreover, as a result of the political mobilizing of LGBT communities, I consider myself a transgender ally. As I became a more regular figure at the Trans Chat meetings, I began to share my own experiences and challenges. In doing so, I moved from “passive observer” to “participant observer,” and members became increasingly trusting of and comfortable with my presence. Nevertheless, my status as an outsider never fully evaporated.
Observing Trans Chat was one of the qualitative methods I employed during my extensive fieldwork with transgender individuals and communities in the American Midwest from 2008 to 2012. In addition to this observational fieldwork, I also conducted 35 in-depth interviews with a diverse group of self-identified transgender people. Interviews were semi-structured and many participants were interviewed several times over the course of a few weeks or months. My data collection was not bound by these formal interview moments. Study participants invited me into their social worlds, connecting me with their friends, lovers, spouses, and families. With some, I went out to eat, visited their workplaces, tagged along on shopping sprees, and attended dinner parties. We often emailed back and forth, trading thoughts and insights, sharing news articles and web links. One participant mailed a handwritten three-page letter to my office expressing her appreciation for having the opportunity to share her experiences. These multi-sited and multi-media research moments created a fuller awareness of participants’ daily lives, their local communities, and interpersonal networks.
To perform a more immersive inquiry, I traversed across the Northern Midwest to consult with transgender activists, community leaders, social workers, and therapists specializing in gender identity. I attended transgender social events, film screenings, and “clothes swap” parties. I observed Transgender Pride events, political fund-raisers, and public lectures. I went to transgender friendly nightclubs, restaurants, bars, and church services, and joined transgender social networking sites, mailing lists, and newsgroups.
For purposes of comparison, I supplemented my primary fieldwork in the Midwest with secondary fieldwork and interviews in San Francisco, a city with a sizable and highly visible transgender community. In addition to one-on-one interviews, I spoke with transgender activists and observed community events, attending, for example, a “Sexual Reassignment Fundraiser Party” for a young transgender woman in the Castro neighborhood of the city.
Originating from the Midwest and San Francisco, the participants in this study highlight the diversity of transgender individuals and communities. They vary across age, economic class, relationship status, race, profession, religion, and education. They are social workers, scientists, teachers, political activists, students, web designers, and cosmetologists. Some enjoy middle-class lifestyles, whereas many were struggling to survive during a severe economic recession in the industrial Midwest, where the once plentiful manufacturing and automotive jobs were rapidly disappearing. Some have crossed from one side of the gender binary to another—from male-to-female or female-to-male. A few were gender-fluid and non-binary. Some chose to live “in stealth,” concealing their transgender status through passing as a man or woman to avoid stigma and violence. Others refused to pass, publicly affirming their transgender and gender-nonconforming identities, or simply could not, unable to conform to society’s strict standards of appearance for men and women.
Nevertheless, the thread that weaves together the participants in my study is their self-identification as transgender people. In its everyday usage, the word “transgender” functions as an umbrella term that signifies a wide spectrum of gender-variant and gender-marginalized identifications including, but not limited to, transsexuals (who wish to change their sexual morphology), cross-dressers (who wear gender atypical clothing), drag queens and drag kings (who impersonate men and women as entertainment), and gender-queer, gender-fluid, and non-binary persons (whose gender identity fluctuates or rests in between or beyond the gender binary).6 As Valentine (2006) noted about transgender, “the power of the category is that it is actively seen as a collective term to gather in all non-normative expressions of gender … transgender experiences are seen to emanate from the experience of ‘gender,’ not ‘sexuality’ ” (409). In this book, I employ the word transgender as a way of speaking to a person’s actual gender, the gender that holds truth for them, which typically deviates from the one they were assigned at birth and/or falls outside normative social expectations and cultural scripts.
Even as all the participants in this study identified as transgender or “trans” (the shorthand version), they use the category and interpret its meaning in deeply personal ways. For example, one participant explained she is a “trans woman.” Continuing, “I am a trans woman. Two words not one word. One word suggests that we’re apart from women. Trans separated from it says we’re women and we have this qualifier.” Another participant identified as a “woman,” clarifying, “I’m a very particular kind of woman. I’m the kind that has a penis.” Some used transgender as a device to express a multilayered identity, as one participant said, “I would say I’m trans and I am a woman, and I am also a boy, and I’m sometimes gender queer, and I’m definitely queer. That’s how I would identify. I like to be called with female pronouns.” Other participants ignored the language of gender entirely in defining transgender. “There are so many differences in transgender. For me it is just expressing myself the way I truly am. Living my life in a way that feels comfortable to me.”
As these definitions suggest, the category “transgender” is unsettled and variable. It cuts across lines of race, ethnicity, socioeconomic class, nationality, ability, sexuality, religion, and age. Importantly, while this book introduces a broad range of voices and experiences, it