Putting on privilege

 AMDG

I, a lowly one whom the Lord has filled with good things, to you, my brothers and sisters in Christ. My weeks of waiting for my visa stretch on, so I remain here in the states, studying language, filing my taxes, and otherwise keeping busy in body and spirit. I’m certainly digesting national events and wondering, what is mine to do about it? If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the same dark clouds, I’d recommend these words by Father John Collins, CsSR.

As I move to Brazil, I occasionally think about what I will take with me and what I will leave behind. Will all those pesticide applicator and prescribed burn trainings ever be relevant again? My decade of teaching myself Spanish? What about my interest in theology and spiritual direction? My aim is to be detached, and that detachment brings an excited curiosity. Here, Lord, is our toolbox. What will you ask for?

One of these aspects that I’m trying to hold openly is the disclosure, or nondisclosure, that I am transgender. Either choice holds truth and consequence, and unlike a skill or a hobby that can be taken out and put away at need, disclosure is more or less irreversible. The only way to “put it back” is to transplant social circles.

Wearing my own clothes

Nondisclosure used to be my modus operandi. As a teenager, I was masculine or androgynous-presenting. By the time I understood myself as a boy, I had the liberty of going into new places and being seen that way quite naturally, albeit with conditions. Nondisclosure allowed me to experience being seen and received as myself and thereby being myself in a more integral way. It was free, with conditions, and it was safe. Subsequent hormone therapy, a legal name change, and chest surgery alleviated a lot of the conditionality. I became totally used to this free and normal life. I was moving forward.

Wearing the badge

Over time, cracks began to appear. Trans issues moved forward on the public stage, and I became more self-conscious. Friends made little disparaging or uninformed remarks about trans or gay people, and I kept quiet to protect the life I was leading. Even when I was grieving my dream of conventional religious life – and realizing the conditionality of the male privilege I had taken for granted – I still initially kept quiet out of instinct. That hurt. For my own sake and for the sake of others, I eventually started disclosing.

I experienced great acceptance, love, and support. I connected with more people and I connected with people more deeply. I had only a few awkward conversations, but they mattered. One such was with the chapter head of a Catholic fellowship group with whom I had been in a small group for years. When I initially shared what I had been going through as a transgender discerner with him, he tried to be respectful and loving, but also made clear his disagreement and his interpretation of Scripture. I thought we were OK, but the consequences began to add up: he revoked my invitation to lead. He spoke to international leadership about my case. During a 1:1 some time later he dug into my past and argued again about the wrongness of gender transition. I was censored and eventually excluded from our small group on the grounds that it was a men’s group. Regional leadership met with me about finding a compromise by which I could be spiritually fed, but by then I was about to leave for mission orientation anyway. Yet, during our meeting, these regional leaders listened to me, gave their arguments diplomatically, and prayed over me lovingly and inoffensively. The whole experience, from disclosure to separation, was a lesson and a warning. The lesson was that people could be genuinely loving and well-intentioned but also harmful and relentless. The warning was to keep my guard up in Brazil. It only takes one person to turn things around.

Removing the badge

Indeed, the forewarning was well timed. Within my mission organization, I have been candid with the appropriate staff that I am transgender but otherwise have not disclosed. I made this decision because I don’t have an adequate grasp of the consequences of disclosure, as relates to personal safety and otherwise, in my region of Brazil. I also don’t know what ramifications there could be for my organization’s relationships with governments, dioceses, partners, donors, et cetera. Even though there are individuals I could trust, each confidence adds risk. With that in mind, I began this new old practice of nondisclosure as I joined my organization and attended formation. Doing so provided necessary practice in being stealth: I had accustomed myself to sharing my story here in the US, and I needed to unlearn that before I got to Brazil.

As I moved through the mission formation program, I encountered challenges. My fellow missioner-candidates shared their stories quite vulnerably, but I could not be fully seen or understood for my past challenges and how they have shaped me. I felt guilty that I was not reciprocating their trust. I knew that I undermined the support they could give me for the challenges I face and precluded whatever graces might have germinated in light of my total sharing. It was sometimes difficult to avoid disclosure, such as in telling my life story, in explaining my motivations, and in discussions around passports and birth certificates. Even in ministry at the homeless shelter, I was tested. I once saw a woman enter who was probably transgender. I knew in my heart that if I saw her again I should talk to her 1:1 to offer support. But how would this work in Brazil? If I had the same conviction there, what would I do?

Besides those practical challenges, I wrestled spiritually with being seen as a white man occupying a space of privilege. Once in a while, someone would explain something to me as if to say, you don’t understand, being a man. I would hit ‘pause’ on these moments and then grapple with them later. Within me was resistance, and then acknowledgement. Some few things I think I understand perfectly well. But although my male privilege is conditional, it is nevertheless operational, giving me the same advantages (and blind spots) as any other man.

Practicing nondisclosure was hard during the first few weeks of formation, but it got easier. I’ve done this before, and the old ways came back to me. I realized that I can still be an ally, and I still have a host of friends in the US to talk to when I need someone who knows. Nondisclosure became comfortable. It became so comfortable that despite the advice to disclose to at least one peer in Brazil, I don’t know if I will.

Wearing privilege

As I head to Brazil, settling into my new old way of being like a favorite sweater I thought I had lost, I wonder... is this dangerous? My paralysis over telling even a single person in Brazil, in contrast to my longing to share this fall, whispers to me of vices hidden in the liberties of privacy. The truth is, I am picking up privilege, power, and the temptations that go with them.

So I ask God for wisdom. I ask for the wisdom, in this early part of my journey, to know the difference between prudence and cowardice; to set healthy boundaries; and to navigate conversations with honest ambiguity and not casual dishonesty. May this privilege be something I use or abandon according to God’s will in the service of the poor. And I thank those advocates who are very publicly “out,” whose ministry and calling do not allow them the same cloak of privilege. May we all appreciate what privilege we have and use it to become more loving persons.

Peace,

Your Other Brother