Me, Myself, They

Life Beyond the Binary

Luna M. Ferguson

• Publisher: House of Anansi Press
• Year: 2019
• eBook ISBN: 9781487004781
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Social Science Biographies
• Index: Social Sciences

From renowned trans activist, Luna M. Ferguson, comes a work of memoir and critical analysis that embraces an inclusive understanding of sex and gender.

Me, Myself, They: Life Beyond the Binary chronicles Luna M. Ferguson's extraordinary story of transformation to become a celebrated non-binary filmmaker, writer, and advocate for trans rights. Beginning with their birth and early childhood of gender creativity, Ferguson recounts the complex and often challenging evolution of their identity, including traumatizing experiences with gender conversion therapy, bullying, depression, sexual assault, and violence. Above all, Ferguson's story is about survival, empathy, and self-acceptance. By combining personal reflections on what it feels like to never truly fit into prescribed roles of male and female, and using an informed analysis of the ongoing shifts in contemporary attitudes towards sex and gender, Ferguson calls for an inclusive understanding of diverse human identity and respect for trans, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming people. Through their honest and impassioned storytelling, we learn what it means to reclaim one's identity and to live beyond the binary.

eleven

The Advocate

Over the nine years of my university studies, my experience of academia evolved. I developed an affinity for putting theory into practice by not only acting to reclaim myself, but working to assist people like me with my advocacy. Fighting the cultural schema of the gender binary was one such instance. Through my doctoral research at the University of British Columbia, I found the tools to carve out clarity about my complex trans identity, sharpening my voice as an advocate. What ignited from my research was an intimate path of learning to come to terms with my own language. I was able to do this subjective mining by first recognizing and then challenging a dominant idea that I termed the “transgender metanarrative” — the dominant understanding in society that most trans people are either men or women. Transgender referring to being a woman or man makes sense for many trans people, but it didn’t make sense for me. Consider it for a second: when you think about trans people, do the trans people that come to mind identify as trans men and trans women? This understanding is expanding as non-binary visibility widens, and I’m certainly not suggesting that our language shouldn’t elevate all trans lives, including trans men and trans women. This is especially important considering that much focus needs to be given to the lives of trans women, particularly trans women of colour, who have to face a high risk of violence in our society caused by the intersecting oppressions of race, sex, and gender. But the dominant narrative I was hearing about in the media made me think that there might be only one possible way for me to be a trans person.

Was I a trans woman? Why didn’t I feel comfortable with that identity at the time? Coming to terms with the fact that I am neither a man nor a woman was a part of my process of rediscovering myself. I knew that I was not happy as a man or a woman, so something had to change. I thought that this change had to match what I knew about trans people through popular culture, and back in 2013–14 I wasn’t seeing anyone like me; there was a decided absence of non-binary trans people who were public with their identities.

I had to come to terms with my non-binary identity. What I mean is that I finally found the language to describe me, that felt like home to me. I had always felt non-binary, even in childhood, but the dehumanization had ripped this part from me. And then my doctoral dissertation helped to heal me. It was literally writing my way through my identity that enabled me to unify the language and the feelings I had been having since I was very young. It all made sense to me. I began to think critically about how to take this knowledge, and what I had theorized in my dissertation, to create change not just for me but for the non-binary community. I wanted to make it possible for others to be seen as non-binary people, to assert our existence; I wanted to make this contribution to visibility. I needed to put it plainly into words that we exist — write about it, speak about it, and stamp it with my self.

I started to enact my non-binary visibility through my online writing and by posting images of myself, selfies mostly, on social media in 2016. My dissertation would exist forever, outlining my thoughts and ideas, set in that specific time and place, which already, in some places, feel outdated.

Yet I wanted my ideas to have a life outside of academia, where I could reach people. My first piece of published writing appeared in HuffPost on October 11, 2016, shortly after I’d completed my Ph.D. It was entitled “We Are Non-Binary Trans People and Yes, We Exist.” I wrote about the lack of non-binary visibility and how our erasure from discourse contributes to transphobic perspectives about our existence, pointing to emerging legal recognition of our community and subsequent backlash. The article was read by tens of thousands of people within days of it going live. Seeing my face on the front page of HuffPost felt surreal, but it felt right. I was proud of making this contribution to non-binary visibility, and the responses to this article were incredibly supportive and appreciative. It was a turning point to transform my education into action. I discovered that I could make an intervention into the very problems I had examined in my doctoral research by writing short essays to confront non-binary erasure; I was turning my academic voice into practice.

The reach of these online outlets opened a space for me to inspire acceptance and to raise awareness for non-binary people. Around the time my first HuffPost piece was published, non-binary activists in the United States started to make headlines with their historic legal wins for non-binary recognition. Sara Kelly Keenan became one of the first people in the United States, and the first person in the state of California, to be legally recognized as non-binary. Keenan would then become the first American to be legally recognized as intersex on her birth certificate. These high-profile legal victories for non-binary recognition started to make the impossible feel possible. It was an articulation of our identity, under legal terms, on a public scale, that propelled the conversation forward and widened our visibility. It was then, in early 2017, that I began to think about how I too could be officially and legally recognized as a non-binary trans person in Canada.

A wave of non-binary legal recognition across North America followed Keenan’s victories. In Canada, Gemma M. Hickey, a non-binary person living in Newfoundland and Labrador, became the first person to apply publicly for a non-binary birth certificate in their province and in the country as a whole. Seeing other non-binary people advocate for their legal recognition was the final piece of my own puzzle in reclaiming my identity. It was time to apply everything from my education and my past advocacy to contribute to this movement. I decided I had to act for myself.

When I decided to apply for my non-binary birth certificate in Ontario, it felt as though I was summoning a new wave of strength and courage, but the truth is that I had been preparing myself for this fight for a long time. The application process itself was slow going. It took weeks to gather the many documents and materials necessary to challenge the absence of a non-binary birth certificate option. I paid careful attention to every detail to avoid making the kind of mistake the government could use to reject my application out of hand. I reviewed the paperwork meticulously, and I brought in experts to help me pull together the evidence required to attest to my change of sex designation from male to non-binary. The hardest part, for me at least, was having to ask my doctor to confirm my gender identity in an official letter — as if gender isn’t self-determined. Fortunately, she was amenable to confirming my change of sex designation and wrote me the letter — her first. The time it took to collect the various documents and double-check the details felt like a necessary part of the process; these were critical steps that were part of the challenge. My hope was that the government would see my attention to detail as a sign of the authenticity of my determination to effect change.

During this time, I was living in Vancouver with Florian. It was easy enough to assemble and submit my application from a distance, but I decided that wasn’t going to be enough. I wanted to bring attention to the issue, since I knew that my application would challenge the system. This would be a significant moment, not only for me but for all non-binary people. So I decided to travel to Toronto to apply in person at the central Service Ontario office. I also decided to go public with my application, involving the media and posting about my story on social media. I gave the exclusive story to CBC News in Toronto the day before I submitted my application. For me, that was the point of no return for my privacy, yet it was a powerful return to myself.

I applied for my non-binary Ontario birth certificate on May 12, 2017, making the explicit request for a non-binary designation by drawing a box on the application form and writing “male to non-binary” next to it. I won’t lie, it was terrifying to make the personal so public. Yet I felt a force, a power within me, and it was impossible to ignore. Walking into the Service Ontario office in person, and seeing my intention through, called on the entirety of my life’s experience. My voice carried with it every moment in my life when I spoke out against inequality, oppression, and abuse. I acted with everything in my mind, heart, and soul when I submitted my application. And I could feel past generations of trans warriors lifting me up through the process.

In May 2017, as my fight for non-binary legal recognition in Canada began, I began to record my thoughts and feelings in a journal. We also started filming the process in the summer of 2017 to serve as footage for a documentary. Starting on the plane from Vancouver to Toronto, I wrote in an unfiltered way about my experiences over the next twelve months. I’ve included excerpts from some of these entries below.

May 11, 2017

I know there will be hate. There is always hate. People get scared when they don’t understand, and they redirect this fear onto the easiest target: me.

I spent the day giving interviews. I imagine people driving in their cars, sitting at home, working in an office or a mechanics shop, listening to me speak about non-binary recognition, and hopefully ending their day with just a little more understanding and tolerance. I imagine parents going home and sitting down with their kids to discuss these ideas. I imagine families coming together around my words — perhaps even turning this tolerance into compassion for their children, their siblings, and their parents who are neither men nor women.

Tomorrow is the day.

May 12, 2017

I did it. I applied for my non-binary birth certificate while juggling several CBC News segments in Toronto. I am too tired to write anything else now. I gave everything today. I want to make our society a better place for non-binary people. I don’t want them to have to cope with the incredible amount of stress, anxiety, and depression that results from being invisible.

May 13, 2017

I am on a train travelling through Napanee to Kingston. I wonder if I’ll look up through the window at the right time to see a view of my old family home. I used to watch the train from our back porch.

I thought of something important today: The birth certificate issued to my parents shortly after my birth on July 10, 1982, was false. I have had to live with this lie for thirty-four years, and will have to put up with it for even longer if the Ontario government refuses to approve my application. I wonder how much this lie has contributed to my experiences with depression over my lifetime. Someone could argue that a birth certificate is merely a piece of paper and shouldn’t have such an effect on me, but that person is probably already accepted, recognized, and included in society. The thing is, I’m not.

The birth certificate that I applied for yesterday is the truthful one — the one that I chose for myself, not what has been forced upon me by a system that fails to recognize my truth.

May 29, 2017

The anti-transphobia rally on Parliament Hill was symbolic for me. To turn a week of advocating for non-binary people in the public eye into action, standing on the hill in front of the media and over a hundred trans people and allies, was a moment that showed how my actions had come full circle. But I was paranoid almost the entire time. My story and my face had been everywhere. Standing there on the hill with MPP Cheri DiNovo, who has championed our community, I was worried that someone was going to ridicule me, assault me, harass me, erase me. I was thinking about protection, privacy, and shelter in those moments. How would I escape an attack? How would I deal with a verbal onslaught? This is how non-binary people often think in public, often when we have already put ourselves out there for scrutiny.

We flew home in the evening after the rally. The first morning back in Vancouver made me realize that I wouldn’t be able to take a break from the press just yet. Cheri DiNovo questioned the Ontario Legislature, specifically the Minister in charge of birth certificates and Service Ontario, about my non-binary birth certificate application. The Minister’s official response indicated that the government was following my story and that they would conduct consultations this summer and begin issuing gender-neutral birth certificates in 2018. This wasn’t good enough for me because, under Ontario law, I have a right to receive my non-binary birth certificate in the same amount of time as every other Ontarian, within six weeks of the submission of my application.

I feel an enormous amount of pressure emanating from an axis of forces: governmental, societal, media-based, and even from my own family. Why wasn’t this announcement good enough? Should I just accept this as a positive response to my application and allow the government to take the time they need to implement their new policy? No, because all these forces focused on the headline instead of the deeper issue — that it is beyond time non-binary people are socially and legally recognized in Ontario.

The attention that ensued from the national and international news elevated me to the status of a trans activist in Canada. I didn’t ask for that title, and in some ways I’m a little uncomfortable with it, as I never wanted to become a spokesperson for the community in the eyes of the media. But my initial goal to reclaim my identity through proper legal recognition had evolved into a responsibility to enact change for members of my community. I wanted to contribute to legal recognition for non-binary people, not necessarily to be seen as a leader. In any event, there was no turning back now. I had embarked on a path to disrupt the status quo that recognized only “M” or “F” for sex and gender in Canada — and beyond. It still overwhelms me to think about the responsibility that came into my life from that day forward. People all over the country, and all over the world, began to contact me to share their stories and their gratitude for my advocacy. Their feelings of erasure fuelled my determination to keep moving forward. And their supportive and appreciative messages kept me optimistic and hopeful.

I had been motivated to apply for my non-binary birth certificate out of my own personal feelings of invisibility and erasure; I wanted to make myself visible in the eyes of the law. But after I went public, the non-binary community was constantly on my mind — non-binary children, t...

Table of contents

• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Author’s Note
• Introduction
• one
• two
• three
• four
• five
• six
• seven
• eight
• nine
• ten
• eleven
• twelve
• thirteen
• Appendix i
• Appendix II
• Appendix III
• Acknowledgements
• About the Author
• About the Publisher