A Plucked Chicken or a Pile of Secrets?

I am once again dipping a tentative toe into the debate around gender. Over the course of the last couple of years or so, and perhaps even longer, there has been a distasteful politicalisation and weaponisation of this debate, for the purposes of scoring political points, and opening up fresh fronts in the culture war to firmly establish the line between Us and Them.

As part of this, certain right-wing politicians have rather hyperbolically claimed that the acceptance of trans women represents an erosion of women’s rights, and an attack on the very concept of womanhood. They rail against ‘gender ideology’ as though their own position was any less ideological.

As part of this culture-warring and riling up of their core voter base, there have been sneering attacks on certain politicians perceived to be on the more liberal side that “they can’t even tell you what a woman is!” This is, in part, due to those politicians’ self-defeating efforts to hedge their bets for fear of losing votes from the more conservative parts of the electorate, when they’d be far better off actually taking a stand, but there you go.

Others have written thoughtful responses to this supposedly clever ‘gotcha’ question, ‘What is a woman?’ However, I’d like to do something rather politicianly myself, and respond by answering a different question instead.

Can I define a woman? I could attempt to, but as a cis-gendered male, I'd much rather let each woman define themselves. Instead, I shall try and answer a question I am somewhat better qualified to tackle; ‘What is a man?’ After all, why is the question always 'Can you say what a woman is?' There seems to be an obsession in certain conservative circles with trans women that doesn’t apply to trans men.

So then, what is a man? Is it a plucked chicken, perhaps, or nothing but a miserable little pile of secrets? (Score one point for recognising each of those). Should we instead ask, ‘Why should we call them a man?’

I will answer with reference to the man I know best; myself. Firstly, I don’t believe my biological make-up really comes into it all that much. A woman is not (or at least should not be) defined by her body, any more than a man is (or ought to be). I was born biologically male, but I am not a man because I have a penis and lack a womb.

I look, sound, dress and act the way we have traditionally expected a man to look, sound, dress and act. I have taken on some of the roles, responsibilities and (occasionally unearned) privileges that society has traditionally given to men, and my interests and pastimes are amongst those traditionally associated with men. Others perceive me as a man, and the language they use with regards to me is that used of men; I am 'he' and 'him'.

These are far less important, however than the simple fact that I feel in myself that I am a man. Society identifies me as a man because I appear mannish and do mannish things, but much more important is that I identify myself as a man. Others perceive me as a man, and I happen to agree with them. I perceive myself to be a man, as I understand the word, and therefore I am a man.

If someone who happens to have been born biologically female tells me that they are a man, then I will do him the courtesy of believing him, and in no way feel that my own manhood is somehow eroded or threatened as a result. How can it be? His manhood is his own, and mine is my own. Neither impinges or impacts on the other. I don’t look at any other cis-gendered man and think ‘If he is a man, then what am I?’.  Why then should I do so with a transgender man? I define myself according to my own understanding of what a man is and ought to be, and I let others do the same.

Nor do I feel like my rights as a man are somehow “diluted” by the addition of another individual to the pool of men. Rights aren’t a pie; more for someone else doesn’t mean less for you.

I find myself rather curiously in agreement with Conservative Prime Minister Rishi Sunak when he recently said, “A man is a man, and a woman is a woman. It’s just common sense.”

Hear, hear! Men are men. Women are women. Whether they are cis or trans doesn’t enter into it. If you’re a man, you’re a man, regardless of whether you were born male or female, and likewise you are a woman if you’re a woman. That’s not at all what he meant of course, but I don’t care about that.

The exact configuration of your organs at the moment of your birth is of far less importance to me than your present comfort, wellbeing and happiness. Tell me how you perceive yourself and how you’d like to be addressed, and I will do my imperfect best to respect your wishes, remember your preferences and believe that you know yourself better than I ever could. That is my gender ideology.

A Review and a Clarification

Karl Rutlidge, who interviewed me at the book launch, has posted a review of Three Men on his blog, here.

Over all it is a very positive review, for which I thank him profusely.  However, he does take issue with one chapter, which I would like to discuss, not in a spirit of refutation, argument or defensiveness, since I very much see his point, but in the hope of clarifying my intentions regarding the analogy used, and of my position on the issues raised.

I dithered slightly about responding on here to the point raised, since responding to negative reviews, or as with this case, the one negative aspect of an otherwise very positive review, is rarely of value to anyone concerned, but I thought that in this case it was worth clarifying my position, and I hope I will succeed.

To briefly summarise the chapter in question, which is entitled ‘Thoughts on Continual Grace’, the three pilgrims encounter a woman who is badly bruised and beaten.  They react with horror and indignation when she reveals that her husband has beaten her, and even more so when she reveals that she is planning on going back to him.  She explains that no matter how much he hurts her or rejects her, he needs her love, and she is willing to be hurt for his sake.  Having had a glimpse of grace, the three somewhat reluctantly continue on their journey.

Now, the intended meaning was that the woman represented God, with the husband representing us, you and me both.  No matter what we do to hurt or reject God, either deliberately or accidentally, His love for us remains undaunted and unfaded, and He will never give up on us, no matter how much it might hurt Him.

Karl has quite correctly pointed out an alternative interpretation that never occurred to me when writing the chapter, but having read his review, and having re-read the chapter, I can see what he means.  He has pointed out that a possible interpretation is that there is something inherently virtuous or valuable in a human being remaining in an obviously abusive relationship, and that it is even the Christian thing to do.  Having, thankfully, never been exposed to anything like an abusive relationship, it might be thought that I am trivialising the issue, or even that I’m casting aspersions on those who don’t ‘stick it out’.

Hopefully I don’t have to say that I do not expect, or would ever advocate, that someone remain in an abusive relationship, and it was this unspoken (and possibly incorrect) assumption that was the main thrust of my analogy.  Domestic abuse, both physical and psychological, is an extremely serious issue, and one that I would never deliberately dismiss or trivialise.  If this is how it comes across in that chapter, then I can only apologise.  This is something that nobody should ever be expected to suffer, and being so, it makes the willing love, patience and grace of God all the more wonderful and amazing.  He is doing, unasked, what I would never ask or expect any person to do, let alone God Himself, and doing even more than that, even to death upon the cross.