Dean Spade

Methodologies of Trans Resistance

Introduction

In the past ten years, trans [MM1] <= span style=3D'font-family:Arial'> issues and activism have emerged with a new le= vel of energy and visibility that crosses the legal, cultural, and activist realms. Trans rights protecti= ons in the law are growing at a fast pace, with seven states now explicitly naming gender identity and/or expression discrimination as a forbidden category of discrimination in statewide protections.[1] While only 5.3% of the US population was covered by = gender identity-explicit anti-discrimination law in 2000, 28% is as of 2005.= = [2] At the same time, trans representations in the media have been expanding, and trans characters are moving out of the typical roles of criminal and murder victim (think Boys Don’t Cry<= /i> and Law & Order) and into n= ew, if not uncontroversial depictions like Transgeneration. More importantly local, state, and national trans activism is changing the status of trans people in activist movements. Organizations traditionally focused on sexual orientation issues have added trans inclusi= ve language to their mission statements and sometimes organization names, and organizations that serve communities in which trans people are included are= , in some cities, increasingly adding trans-inclusive language to intake forms, surveys, and other tools. In general, trans activists and our allies are raising questions about trans people’s access to basic necessities and participation in political movements in settings that range from needle exchanges and free health clin= ics to universities, community centers, and grassroots activist meetings and events.

        &= nbsp;   At the same time, despite these apparent gains, discrimination and violence against trans communities is still rampant. A 2003 study by the National Cente= r for Lesbian Rights and the Transgender Law Center found that nearly 1 in every 2 respondents has experienced gender identity-based employment discrimination more than 1 in 3 respondents had suffered from gender identity discriminati= on in a place of public accommodation, nearly 1 in every 3 respondents had been the victim of gender identity discrimination in housing, over 30% of respondents had been discriminated against while trying to access health ca= re, more than 1 in 4 respondents had been harassed or abused by a police officer, 1 = of every 5 respondents had suffered discrimination while attempting to access services from a social service provider and 14% of respondents had suffered from discrimination in jail or prison.
Further, many areas of trans rights are facing severe rollbacks with little discussi= on or attention being paid. Chan= ges in regulations concerning identity documents and increased surveillance that h= ave emerged since the advent of the Bush Administration’s “War on Terror= 221; threaten to undermine the ability of trans people to change our gender on o= ur identity documents, a form of access key to working and living safely. In addition, as I discuss in great= er depth below, recent changes in immigration law have made it more difficult = for trans people to immigrate to the U.S. when facing persecution = in their home country. Further, = the major law and policy changes around the country that have endangered poor people and people targeted by the criminal justice and immigration systems, such as “welfare reform,” the 1996 changes to federal immigrati= on laws, the advent of “three strikes” laws, and the tactics of the War on Drugs have had disproportionate affects on trans people due to our disproportionate poverty and overexposure to police violence and arrest.[GEH2]   = These and other conditions related to increasingly conservative, racist, anti-immigrant, and anti-poor initiatives from the federal government have = had continuing detrimental affects on the most vulnerable trans communities in = the last decade.

In this complex, contradicting context in which= trans people are targets of protection, violence and representation, many controversies that are familiar from other social movements emerge and re-emerge.These controversial questions include: Who is included in the ter= m “trans”?[MM3] <= span style=3D'font-family:Arial'> = What is the relationship between social change work focused on gender identity and expression oppression and sexual orientation oppression? What narratives about trans identity should we use in our activist work? How is analysi= s of racism and white supremacy being incorporated or not being incorporated into work on trans issues? What is= the relationship between gender identity and expression anti-oppression work and feminism? With whom should we= be allied? How should we priorit= ize different areas of our work, and the multiple constituencies included in any definiti= on of “trans communities”? What approach should we have to legal and medical regulation of gend= er and specifically of trans people as we seek change? What incremental changes should we= push for, and what incremental changes should we avoid because they further entr= ench our oppression?[MM4] <= span style=3D'font-family:Arial'>

These questions frequently become organized aro= und debates about “movement vision.” As has been noted by many other sc= holars and activists,[3] the rising tide of conservatism in the US over the last twenty-five = years has expunged the public imagination of the understandings of alternatives to current power relations and racial and economic structures. The national political conversatio= n has become dominated by a Christian conservative version of morality and the public narratives against the continued attacks on civil liberties, poor people, c= ivil rights, and immigrant rights have increasingly articulated only a reactiona= ry position that requests “don’t take this away” but very li= ttle affirmative vision of the power-redistributed world we want to live in. Within movements, this has often m= eant a shift toward a conservative agenda,[4] often seen as necessary by those promoting it, but frequently noted by critics to include exclusions of issues most central to the most marginalized people affected by a given issue.[MM5] = [5] = Within the controversies that arise, questions often center around the scope and priorities of the work as well as the legitimacy of the leadership and decisionmaking within movements.

In this essay, I want to look at these question= s of vision and strategy as they apply to social change work focused on gender identity and expression. I ap= proach these questions as an activist and a lawyer working on reducing and elimina= ting state regulation and coercion of gender through a variety of strategies.Her= e I explore existing tensions and controversies in order to propose a vision and method of analysis for examining the complex day-to-day negotiations that c= ome up in the work of individuals and organizations engaged in resistance to ge= nder regulation and oppression.[GEH6]   = Such proposals are always inadequate and perspective-based, but without attempti= ng to build such shared analysis we only end up inheriting conservative norms = that yield narrow relief.

The difficulties attendant to fighting for basic survival, safety, and political participation for a population that is seve= rely marginalized, criminalized, and routinely brutalized often deprive us of op= portunities to step back and question our vision and our methods of achieving it. Too often, I fear, trans activism = has borrowed strategies from the most well-funded, well-publicized lesbian and = gay rights work with an assumption of its success and a blindness to its shortcomings in our attempts to take up opportunities to forward our work.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Drawing on existing analyses about movement frameworks for guiding work toward concrete anti-oppression vision= s, I hope to propose some compass points to navigate through the thorny territor= y in which we engage work that is vital for the survival of trans people.

In my analysis, I borrow from the framework lai= d out by Chela Sandoval in Methodology of the Oppressed. Utilizing Sandoval’s analysi= s of five forms of consciousness that have emerged as useful tactics in social justice movements in the last half-century, I examine how her suggestion th= at “differential consciousness” is the paradigm that best allows movements to draw on the strength of other narratives of resistance and uti= lize these effectively while guided by a concrete commitment to anti-oppression.= I focus on three examples relevant= to current struggles engaged by trans activists: the 2005 passage of the Real = ID Act, the push for gender identity to be included in the Local Law Enforceme= nt Enhancement Act (passed by the senate with gender identity included in 2005= ), and the current negotiations taking place in New York City to eliminate the City’s practice of placing transgender women in men’s homeless shelters. Using these three examples as start= ing points, I propose a set of criteria for trans activists that combined with = the development of clear visions of what we want the world to look like can hel= p to assess the anti-oppression potential of various political acts and campaigns which can be approached using the Differential tactic.[GEH7] CRAIG W= ANTS A STRONGER DESCRIPTION HERE

Four Forms of Oppositional Consciousness

In Methodology of the Oppressed, Sandoval identifies the desire of subordinated classes to find subjective forms of resistance other than those determined by the social order itself. (54) Sandoval provides a useful analyti= cal framework for understanding the various forms of resistance-consciousness engaged commonly by social movements in the US. She outlines four forms or tactics = used by social movements, describing how fractures within movements often come f= rom battles between groups utilizing one form or another and seeing it as the exclusive strategy that should be used (44). She then articulates a fifth form, “differential consciousness,” that she sees practiced in U.S. t= hird world feminism and that shifts the paradigm, recognizing the usefulness of = all of the other forms without privileging any one. She suggests that differential consciousness provides a new model for social movement work that opens up n= ew possibilities for effective coalitional work that is essential for resistan= ce movements operating in a climate of postmodern transnationalization.= [MM8] <= span style=3D'font-family:Arial'> (54)

Sandoval seeks to create a science of oppositio= nal ideology, “identifying forms of ideology in opposition that can be generated and coordinated by those classes self-consciously seeking affecti= ve liberatory stances in relation to the dominant social order.” (43,44)= Her theory builds on the work of Althusser, acknowledging that the citizen-subj= ect always speaks from within ideology, but can also learn to “identify, develop, and control the means of ideology...[to] marshal the knowledge necessary to ‘break with ideology.’” Her analysis identifies five princ= ipal categories around which oppositional consciousness is organized, which movements use to transform power relations. (44)   The five categories are “equal rights,” “revolutionary,” “supremacist,” “separatist,” and “differential.” (44) For her central example, she focuses on feminist movements during this time per= iod [MM9] <= span style=3D'font-family:Arial'> to elucidate the five forms of consciousness, = but contends that all US= liberation movements active during the latter half of the 20^th century included expression of these five.=

Sandoval articulates the first four forms of resistance consciousness:

1)     Equal rights form: This form says “we are= the same as you.” “Aesthetically, the equal rights mode of consciousness seeks duplication, politically it seeks integration, psychica= lly, it seeks assimilation.” (56) This form of consciousness articulates that differences between the oppressed group and the dominant group have been over-emphasized, and that = the oppressed group should be given an opportunity to access citizenship as it = is currently defined within the dominant system.

2)     Revolutionary form: This form argues that assimilation of differences is not possible within the confines of the pres= ent social order. It articulates = a need to restructure society to change what is affirmed and valued at a deeper le= vel than the equality form. Its ultimate aim is to move society away from domination/subordination power axes.

3)     The Supremacist Form: In this form, oppressed g= roups assert that their differences have provided them access to a higher evoluti= onary level, and an elevated ethical and moral position than those who hold social power.

4)     The Separatist Form: The goal of this form is “to protect and nurture the differences that define its practitioners through their complete separation from the dominant social order.” (56).

The Equality Form and the Revolutionary Form ha= ve more publicly vied for attention and created more oft-repeated conflicts amongst activists challenging heterosexism. The marriage and military inclusion debates are both useful examples of these splits. The most well-funded, national, le= gal and legislation-focused gay and lesbian[6] organizations have supported these two central agenda items, focused on a notion that gays and lesbians should be included in the institutions of mar= riage and the military. Arguments h= ave centered on the fact that “our families are just like yours” or “we can perform military service honorably just like straight people.” The benefits l= aid out by advocates of these positions have focused on how inclusion in these institutions would provide gays and lesbians with both economic opportunity (employment in the military or access to shared insurance benefits and other economic trappings of marriage) as well as signify a symbolic shift in the perception of gays and lesbians. Marriage and military service are seen as keys to full citizenship recognition, allowing gays and lesbians to claim citizenship equally through military service and to be recognized in family formations viewed as equal = to heterosexual marriages. =

Activists working to end sexual orientation oppression but opposed to these agendas have utilized the Revolutionary For= m, arguing that the institutions of marriage and the military themselves perpetuate heteronormativity and demanding that “queer” activist vision be expanded to end state sanctioning of certain family forms (and its converse punishment of others) and to overturn the traditionally masculinist and heterosexist institution of the military.[7] These activists argue that seeking= inclusion in these institutions further legitimizes the institutions and enhances the marginalization of those who remain excluded,[8] undermines opportunities to make coalition with other communities harmed by these institutions in order to seek out broader change, and sells out the broader promise of queer disruption of hetero norms that operate to oppress queers and other oppressed groups.

The debates between those utilizing an equality-focused oppositional consciousness and those utilizing a revolutionary-focused oppositional consciousness have been central to inter= nal discussions in lesbian and gay activist spaces regarding these two agenda items, and have highlighted essential differences in vision that have often coincided with race, gender, and class differences.   The equality vision was perh= aps best articulated in Andrew Sullivan’s controversial statement “After we get gay marriage and a few other things, let’s pack up the whole movement and go home.”[9] This vision sees a world where sex= ual orientation differences are downplayed, and state policies do not different= iate between gays and lesbians and straight people. The “queer” consciousn= ess vision includes a deeper set of changes, including an end to state privileg= ing of certain sexual and familial relationships over others such that people c= an form families and have sex how they want without certain financial penaltie= s or incentives ensuing. It also includes an undermining of militarism, and an end to a military industrial complex that has included tactics of sexual violence both within its ranks = and through sexual exploitation and abuse of people targeted by the U.S. around the world. In recent years, publicity about these debates, even in lesbian and gay circles, has receded with increased pressure to present a unified front in the face of successful counter-moves by the Right Wing that have increased expulsions of lesbians = and gay men (particularly lesbians of color [10]) and resulted in ballot measures that not only preemptively bar recognition = of same-sex marriage but, in some cases, undermine existing parental rights of same-sex partners.[11] However, the underlying tension be= tween strategies focused on accessing institutions key to current understandings = of citizenship, and strategies focused on restructuring society to eliminate oppressive hierarchies, remain central to debates about issue priorities for eliminating heterosexism.

The Fifth Form: Differential Consciousness=

The four forms described above, according to Sandoval, have been utilized successfully by U.S. social movements for the= last fifty years. However, they ha= ve also created divisions within movements, like those described in the marriage/military example, because groups within movements have believed th= at these forms are mutually exclusive, and battled bitterly over which form is appropriate. Sandoval offers = the “differential” form as the alternative.

Sandoval describes that the “differential consciousness” form is different from the others, and operates as a kaleidoscope of the others, “a kinetic motion that maneuvers, poetica= lly transfigures, and orchestrates while demanding alienation, perversion, and reformation in both spectators and practitioners.” For Sandoval, it is the new subjec= t position suggested by Althusser that can function both within and beyond dominant ideology.(44) Sandoval finds = the expression of differential consciousness in the U.S. third world feminism of = the 1970s and 80s.[GEH10]    <= /span>

Sandoval paints the history of feminists of col= or responding to the white feminist movement of the 70s and 80s with critical analysis about the homogeneity demanded by a movement that exclusively exam= ined gender as a vector of oppression. She describes how feminists of color named this phenomenon by articu= lating that the experiences of women of color were neither like those of white wom= en nor men of color, and suggesting that women of color existed in the “interstices between normalized social categories” or as another gender category altogether. (46-47) This analysis “insist[s] on the recognition of a third, divergent, and supplementary category for social identity” which Sandoval calls an “in-between space,” and= a “third gender category.” The push for “unity” by white feminists, focusing exclusively on their oppression as women and denying any intersectional analysis, erased the significance of racism and white supremacy. The challenges women of color brou= ght to this erasure were often ignored, their analysis dismissed as merely descrip= tive of their experience but not as a paradigm shift in oppositional consciousne= ss. (47) The white feminist movement’s “inability to reconcile in a= ny meaningful way the challenges lodged by U.S. feminists of color indic= ated a structural deficiency within feminist praxis.” (50)=

To explore how women of color developed differe= ntial consciousness as a new form of oppositional consciousness, Sandoval turns to Aida Hurtado and Cherrie Moraga’s work. Hurtado and = Moraga contend that women of color are = like guerrilla fighters trained by doing every day battle with the state apparat= us to survive. This struggle req= uires constant evaluation of who to trust and ally with, what to say and do, utilization of sometimes contradictory strategies and narratives to survive= . The connections between women of c= olor articulated by these writers, which are connections across culture, languag= e, race, sexual orientation, and class, are ones that do not require similar solutions to the problems of oppression, but rather see all tactical positionings as, in the words of Audre Lorde “a fund of necessary polarities between which our creativities spark like a dialectic.” In this differential form, the var= ious ideological stands are viewed as “potential tactics drawn from a never-ending interventionary fund, the contents of which remobilizes power.= ” (60) Differential consciousness emerges from the survival skill of “b= eing able to commit to a well-defined structure of identity for one hour, day, w= eek, month, year; transform that identity according to the requisites of another oppositional ideological tactic if readings of power’s formation requ= ire it;…to recognize alliance with others committed to egalitarian social relations. . . when these other readings of power call of alternative oppositional stands.” (60)[GEH11]

Differential consciousness undermines the parad= igm upon which the other four forms rest, in that it privileges none of these forms, but instead creates “consciousness-in-resistance” which Sandoval argues is “particularly effective under global late-capitali= st and postmodern cultural conditions.” (55). Without the kind of analys= is provided by the differential form, which “shatter[s] the construction= of any one ideology as the single most correct site where truth can be represented”, “any ‘liberation’ or social movement eventually becomes destined to repeat the oppressive authoritarianism from which it is attempting to free itself, and become trapped inside a drive for truth that ends only in producing its own brand of dominations.” (59). The differential is a “tactical subjectivity,” utilizing various forms to move power. The differential is about traveling across worlds of meaning, shuttling between systems of understanding identity, and engaging narratives strategically wi= th an underlying ethical commitment to equalize power between social constitue= ncies as its guide. (61) Differenti= al consciousness sees all four tactics, equality, revolutionary, supremacist a= nd separatist consciousness, as technologies of power to be utilized, as “transformable social narratives that are designed to intervene in reality for the sake of social justice.”(61) It abandons the quest for a single narrative of identity and power, and engages nonnarrative, whereby “narrative is viewed as only a means to an end—the end of domination.” (63) Sando= val argues that the differential form opens new possibilities for coalitional consciousness, allowing “affinities inside of difference [to] attract, combine, and relate new constituencies into coalitions of resistance.” (63)

Equality and Revolutionary Consciousness in Trans POlitics

        &= nbsp;   It is difficult to study the law and have radical politics, or be a radical lawyer, without bumping up against difficult questions about reforming syst= ems of oppression versus overturning them.&nbs= p; Frequently, legal rights-focused work within anti-oppression movemen= ts centrally articulates the Equality Form discussed above, utilizing long-critiqued formal legal understandings of “discrimination”= [12] to attempt to remedy oppression. Critical Race Theorists have provided extensive analysis of the limi= ts of formal legal equality approaches to white supremacy that shed light on the limits of formal legal equality for achieving meaningful redistribution of power. The history of the eroding of the legal gains of the Civil Rights Movement, the Women’s Movement, and the Disability Rights Movement ov= er the last few decades demonstrate the limited reach of formal legal equality= to remedy the racism, sexism and ableism that are still rampant in the U.S..= [13] Movement activists commonly note th= at U.S. law’s structure focuses on individual plaintiffs and is often incapab= le of conceiving oppression that occurs against whole communities or populatio= ns, and usually results in remedies that provide the narrowest possible framewo= rk of change. Additionally, the = legal profession is dominated by white people with economic privilege in position= s of power, and legal recourse remains mostly inaccessible to poor people due to= the expense of legal representation and the continued cuts to free legal servic= es. <= ![if !supportAnnotations]>[GEH12]

        &= nbsp;   As trans activists build resistance strategies and organize resources for chan= ge, we need frameworks for asking essential questions about how to go about our work in the current cultural and political conditions. I come to these questions with a s= trong critique of the limited vision of the equality framework offered up by the = most visible and well-funded lesbian and gay organizations, and with a belief th= at for trans activists to be effective we should use the history of the lesbian and gay rights movement as instructive but not as a roadmap for our activist work. I am interested in thin= king about how we can identify the places where utilizing narratives derived from equality consciousness can be helpful, and also recognize the limits of restricting ourselves to the vision allowed by that frameworkThis conversat= ion can disrupt the false division that exists frequently in arguments between activists utilizing the four different tactics described by Sandoval, which often posits equality frameworks as the only “viable” approach = to social change and suggests that any stronger claims or more radical visions= of the world are idealistic and impossible.&n= bsp; I would suggest, instead, that while equality narratives have a cent= ral role in strategies for social change in the current political climate, with= out a vision for broader change and a commitment to avoid “reforms” that violate that vision, we stand to gain nothing more than a retrenchment= of current systems of domination with slight adjustments to increase inclusion= of only the most privileged and least vulnerable people affected by homophobia= and transphobia.

A central critique leveled at the equality tactic’s use in the feminist movement has been that its singular focu= s on gender universalized white women’s experience as “women’s experience.” (45) Femin= ist writers of color suggested that if gender were the only category of oppress= ion under analysis, a “female-dominated white America”= [14] was the vision being promoted by white feminism, a vision deeply unsatisfac= tory to feminist of color. (46) Cr= itiques of the universalization of white womanhood were often met with charges that women of color were being ‘divisive’ of the movement.[MM13]

Similar critiques of single-vector politics have consistently been leveled at the lesbian and gay rights movement, and those offering critiques have frequently been called divisive as well. Ian Barnard’s provocative 19= 96 article, “Fuck Community or Why I Support Gay-Bashing”= [15] discusses this phenomenon. Ba= rnard identifies lesbian and gay politics as well as queer politics as white-centered, noting “Any U.S. politics, no matter how coalitional = its compass, that identifies itself in terms of gender and/or sexual orientation only (“lesbian separatism,” “Queer Nation,” “Lesbian and Gay Studies”) will be a white-centered and dominat= ed politics, since only white people in this society can afford to see their r= ace as unmarked, as an irrelevant or subordinate category of analysis.” (77) Barnard expresses rage a= t the charges of divisiveness leveled at anyone who critiques the unifying narrat= ive of white lesbian/gay/queer experience.&nbs= p; He illustrates this approach with a quote from a white trans woman writing about queer politics in a San Diego gay newspaper. Connie Norman writes:

All right folks, don’t you think it is ju= st about time that we started circling the wagons? And I don’t really gi= ve a shit if ‘indigenous peoples’ object to my use of the phrase ‘circle the wagons’ or not.&nb= sp; I don’t give one whit if that phrase comes from the dominating white imperialist culture and therefore is racist in connotation and is the tool of language that western culture has used to dominate and oppress peop= le of color and on and on and politically correct this and multiculturalism th= at, I’m just sick of it!

When in the hell are we going to come together = as a community and start fighting our real enemy, homohatred!(77)

No doubt Norman’s opinion that an analysis of racism and imperialism is irrelevant to the uni= ty needed by queer and trans communities to fight oppression is more explicit = than what usually gets said. Howev= er, the essence of her message, and the questions it raises about the breadth of the vision of movements focused on ending oppression against queer and trans people, is all too familiar.   These conversations have continually emerged regarding what prioriti= es of “LGBT”[16] organizations should be, what our requirements for endorsement should be of candidates who vote for anti-discrimination laws or family recognition for queer families but otherwise vote for oppressive policies,= [17] what categories of discrimination we will or won’t include in legislation,[18] what relationships our organizations should have to corporations that do harmful things in the world,[19] who should be in leadership of sexual orientation or gender identity-focused organizations,[20] and whether or not poor, homeless and youth populations of queer and trans people should have access to space in the “gayborhood.”= [21]

        &= nbsp;   A central question that critiques of single issues LGBT politics have raised = is “Who benefits from the victories of a single-issue queer and/or trans politics?”[MM14]   = Critics have argued that the limits of the vision of gay and lesbian (and sometimes= bi and trans) equality espoused by single-issue activism can only yield benefi= ts that can be accessed by those who already possess racial and economic privilege. Because the agenda= fails to challenge a broader realm of oppressions affecting queer and trans poor people, people of color, immigrants, and others targeted by state violence = and maldistribution of wealth and power, it is only a quest for people who poss= ess privilege but-for their sexual orientation and/or gender identity to become equal with others who possess those same privileges. It has been framed as a quest for = those with adequate access to housing and employment to maintain it despite being queer or trans, for those with access to private health insurance to be abl= e to share it with their same-sex partners, for those with citizenship status to= be able to share with their same-sex partners, for those who feel protected by= the criminal justice system to have access to its processes to punish those who harm them, etc.[22] Given the conditions of late capit= alism under which we live, where wealth continues to become more concentrated and poverty more widespread domestically and globally,= [23] this wisdom of a strategy that wins rights and protections for a shrinking class of securely housed, employed, and state-protected queer and trans peo= ple remains dubious at best.

        &= nbsp;   This critique of the limits of the formal equality sought by single-vector movem= ents has a great deal of resonance for current discussions of trans politics, and the questions I outlined at the beginning regarding the scope of the vision= of trans liberation.

        &= nbsp;   I want to examine three examples of where these issues emerge from recent tra= ns political history in order to trace how the questions Sandoval raises about= the shortfalls of single-vector politics are playing out in trans contexts, and= to examine the utility of the differential tactic for work to end the coercive systems of gender.

The= Local Law Enforcement Enhancement Act of 2005

        &= nbsp;   In 2005, trans activists lauded as a major victory the House passage of the Lo= cal Law Enforcement Enhancement Act of 2005 (LLEEA). This legislation would put in plac= e a federal hate crimes law, and activists celebrated the fact that the version passed by the House included gender identity in its laundry list of categor= ies of bias motivation targeted by the law.[24]   This law would provide grants= to states to enhance their investigations and prosecutions of bias-motivated crimes, and make it possible for the federal government to investigate and prosecute hate crimes that they determine are not being adequately investig= ated by local authorities.[25] For proponents of the law, namely = the National Center for Transgender Equality an= d the Human Rights Campaign, its significance lay both in its actual purpose and = in the fact that, if passed, it would be the first federal legislation explici= tly extending a protection of oppressed groups to include gender identity as a category. &nb= sp;

Queer and trans activists and organizations who oppose hate crimes legislation have offered a critique of this approach, suggesting that hate crimes laws enhance the punishing power of the criminal justice system, which targets people of color and poor people and disproportionately punishes queer and trans people.= [26] According to this analysis, placing reliance on the criminal justice system to resolve violence against queer a= nd trans people misunderstands the operation of this violence in our culture by focusing attention on individual perpetrators rather than the systemic conditions of oppression that result in widespread violence against our communities at the hands of the state, especially those who are targeted by police or who are incarcerated. This reframing of the question of violence suggests that enhancing t= he power of the criminal justice system further endangers, rather than protects sexual and gender outsiders, especially since there is no evidence to sugge= st that hate crimes laws operate as a deterrent to crimes motivated by bias. Further, the campaigns to pass the= se laws promote the idea that homophobic and transphobic violence is primarily= an issue of individual violent people, rather than systemic conditions that endanger the survival of queer and trans people. Critics have suggested that it is specifically a white perspective that has prioritized hate crimes laws as a primary strategy in queer and trans politics, informed by the experiences of white and upper class people who see the criminal justice system and the po= lice in a favorable light and seek protection through them. Conversely, queer and trans people= of color and poor people, who may be targeted by police and experience the vio= lence of the criminal justice system in their personal lives or through family or loved ones, are less likely to view the enhancement of this system as a mea= ns to safety from violence.[GEH15]

        &= nbsp;   Interestingly, when it came time for the LLEEA to go to vote in the Senate, back room brokering between the Human Rights Campaign and the bill’s Senate spo= nsors resulted in the elimination of “gender identity” from the bill. This was not an enormous shock to trans advocates, given HRC’s long history of excluding gender identity from the Employment Non-Discrimination Act many questioned the dep= th of HRC’s committment to trans inclusion. In fact, battles about whether or = not gender identity should be included in bills that address sexual orientation issues has been a divisive issue in many places, with gay-run groups often arguing that cutting out gender identity is the only way to get a bill pass= ed and displacing blame onto elected officials, and trans people asking why th= is is a legitimate bargaining chip and whether there is another strategy that could yield different results.[27]

        &= nbsp;   The story of the LLEEA, including the analysis of its critics and the ultimate = exclusion of gender identity provide a location to examine the applicability of Sandoval’s model to trans politics.&= nbsp; The critique of hate crimes laws articulated above highlights the eq= uality form vs. revolutionary form divide examined by Sandoval. The proponents of hate crimes laws= utilize an equality framework in choosing to seek these laws as their approach to violence. The message of the campaigns for hate crimes laws is “We’re human, we deserve to be protected from what the culture has defined as violence as much as anyone else.” The campaigns typically focus attention on white victims of hate violence, like Mathew Sh= epherd and Brandon Teena, and draw out sympathy from those outside the community w= ho can recognize the pain of these victims who are oh-so-similar to them but for their sexual orientation or gender identity. <= /span>

        &= nbsp;   Hate crimes laws opponents demand a broader reform, suggesting that oppression cannot meaningfully be undermined within the current understanding of viole= nce and crime propagated by the criminal justice system.<= ![if !supportAnnotations]>[GEH16]   = They see homophobic and transphobic violence as inherent to the current criminal jus= tice system and broadly practiced by the state in other realms, and promote a vi= sion of change informed by the experiences of those most vulnerable to the multi-faceted oppression of the state.&nbs= p;

        &= nbsp;   The divide between these two forms of oppositional consciousness, as Sandoval explains, yields charges of “divisiveness” in part because each viewpoint sees its own position as mutually exclusive of the other. From the perspective of hate crime= s laws proponents, this kind of incremental change, having gender identity named i= n a federal law and having federal law recognize the humanity of trans people a= nd name us for protection, is an essential step toward other changes. Changing the whole system is unrealistic, and especially in the current political climate it makes sense= to align with the popularity of “law and order” approaches to soci= al problems to win any gains. Fr= om the revolutionary perspective, buying into racist, sexist, homophobic and transphobic criminal justice approaches to transphobia and homophobia stand= s to hurt both individual queer and trans people and to strengthen a system that oppresses us, while offering no relief from the violence we suffer.

        &= nbsp;   The ultimate exclusion of trans people from the LLEEA I would ascribe to the political expediency that is often a feature of the equality form, as has b= een repeatedly demonstrated by HRC. Their primary concern remains centralized around issues of sexual orientation, and the battles over “inclusion” of people who experience society’s wrath and repulsion because of our violations of gender norms in addition to norms of sexual orientation or, as conflated by culture with violation of norms of sexual orientation, have not yet expanded their narrow single-issue politics. Their agenda focuses on the narrow issue of whether gays and lesbians are equally human with straight people, and their continued exclusion of tr= ans people underscores their wavering commitment to the humanity of trans people. The rhetoric again fo= cuses on incrementalism and expediency—we should take our chance to get something passed now, we’ll = come back for you later. Interesti= ngly, the HRC has actually never passed a single federal law, despite being the m= ost well-funded LGB organization in the country, which begs the question of whe= ther political expediency is, in fact, being served.[MM17]

The= Real ID Act

&= nbsp;           A second location through which to view to the operation of these forms of resistance consciousness in queer and trans politics is the 2005 passage of the Real ID Act. This new law is part of a slew of “War on Terror” law and policy changes targeted to further marginalize and criminalize immigrants.&nb= sp; It was passed amid a flurry of news coverage about how terrorists co= uld use false information to get drivers licenses. The Real ID Act accomplishes two m= ajor feats worth mentioning here. = First, it increases barriers to asylum applications. The Real ID Act changes the asylum process to allow asylum officers to demand that an applicant get corroborat= ing evidence of their persecution from their home government. It also reduces the ability of jud= ges to question the asylum officers’ judgment of an applicant’s credibility, thereby making it harder for an applicant who has been treated unfairly to successfully appeal.[28] Additionally, the Real ID Act func= tionally accomplishes the creation of a national identification card, a move too politically unpopular to approach directly. It does this by creating uniform standards for departments of motor vehicles across the country, demanding t= hat all states comply with making their DMV IDs the same as one another in orde= r to have those IDs be treated as “federal ID” for purposes of enter= ing federal buildings, boarding planes, etc. The law creates federal standards = for what type of documents may be used to support and application for an ID, and requires that states make electronic copies of all the documents used to support the application. These electronic copies will then be part of a national database available to law enforcement officials.

        &= nbsp;   The implications of these changes for queer and trans people are especially significant. Asylum is an imp= ortant avenue of immigration for many queer and trans people who come to the United States after facing more severe violence and persecution in their home countries b= ased on sexual orientation or gender identity.&= nbsp; Further, changes in ID that reduce states’ ability to make the= ir own rules and require the collection of documentation into a national datab= ase may have a very significant effect on transgender people. Currently, DMV policies vary widely across the country regarding sex designation change, often based on what ki= nds of state and local activism transgender advocates have been able to accomplish. In some states, a person can change their gender on their DMV ID only if they can demonstrate that they have undergone genital surgery.&= nbsp; In others, they may change their ID if they can show that they’= ;ve changed a birth certificate. = In others, only a letter from a doctor is required stating that they are transgender and their license should be changed to reflect their current gender. This patchwork of pol= icies is unfair, arbitrary, and it endangers the safety and well-being of many transgender people. However, = it is far better than a national policy that, depending on how it is implemented, might rollback rights and establish a national standard that comports with = the current worst state standards, or worse yet forbids sex designation change altogether.[29]   Further, the placement of doc= uments used in an application for a state drivers’ licenses into a national database stands to have significant implications for trans people, who often submit letters about very private medical treatment as well as documents th= at list former identities as part of these application processes. For example, a person seeking a dri= ver’s license might submit a birth certificate that bears their old name and birth gender, a name change decree from a court, and a letter from a medical prov= ider or surgeon discussing why their license should reflect a different gender t= han their birth certificate reflects. Having all of this available to any state or federal agent who can s= wipe the magnetic strip on the back of a license greatly increases the vulnerabi= lity of trans people and reduces our ability to determine to whom we want to disclose our transgender identities or histories. For many, the police are the peopl= e we would be most afraid to know this information about us in a given interacti= on.= [30]

        &= nbsp;   Using the analysis laid out above regarding single-vector politics in the LGBT context, we can examine how the passage of the Real ID Act, which was a foc= us of much concerted political resistance by many movements on the Left, faile= d to emerge as a “gay issue” in 2005. Post-passage there has been some response to and discussion of the Act, in the form a few conference panels,= in some queer political spaces. However, overall, this was never and remains not a concern of queer politics nationally, as embodied in the well-resourced gay political agenda= s of the major organizations.

        &= nbsp;   Analysis about the failure of the most well-resourced gay and lesbian organizations = to take up issues of central concern trans people, people of color, poor peopl= e, immigrants and others who are most highly vulnerable to state homophobia and transphobia is not new. It ha= s been applied to the long gay silence surrounding welfare reform, the occupation = of Iraq, the expansion of the prison industrial complex, homelessness, and countless other issues. Divides have em= erged around these issues, particularly when they become highly visible marginalizations such as the rejection of plans for a queer youth homeless shelter in San Francisco’s gayborhoo= d, the Castro, or the expulsion of queer and trans youth of color from the Christo= pher Street Piers in New York [MM18] by a coalition of gay, lesbian and straight up= per class residents. <= /span>

Choices about what to put on the “gay agenda” are actually choices about who the constituency of the gay ri= ghts movement isand about the ultimate visionary goals of this movement. The Revolutionary consciousness-mi= nded critics of a gay politics that is silent (with a little dash of patriotism thrown in for flavor) on these issues argue that the vision of the gay rights movement articulated by the marriage-hate crimes statutes-military-ENDA agenda is fundamentally unsatisfying. B= ecause its strategies interrogate only articulations of “discrimination̶= 1; on the basis of sexual orientation, but have no deeper redistributionist ai= m.   This single-vector politics f= ails to makea broader or more disruptive claim than “our identity group is human.” Possibilities of Differential Consciousness for Trans Poli= tics

        &= nbsp;   The moment in national trans politics framed by 2005’s stories about the = Real ID Act and the LLEEA provides an illustration of the operations of equality consciousness (the dominant strategy being pursued by the most well-resourc= ed LGB(T?) organizations) and its revolutionary consciousness-minded critics.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> While on the national stage, public debate about the strategies and tactics of the LGB(T?) rights movement has = all but disappeared, with equality tactics becoming the dominant framework, wit= hin movement spaces and amongst theorists of queer and trans politics the divid= es are all too visible. Within t= rans politics, specifically, these questions are emerging with great force, as t= rans struggles become increasingly institutionalized and familiar questions about priorities, leadership, and exclusion come to the fore.

        &= nbsp;   Differential consciousness can offer us an alternative to a repetition of the familiar e= quality-revolutionary debates that often emerge as incrementalism and political expediency versus idealism, as it is framed by equality advocates, or legitimization of oppressive institutions versus deep meaningful reform, as it is framed by r= evolutionary advocates. An example of this= type of debate is the ongoing discussion about reforming health care systems to include coverage of trans health. In her recent book Sex Change, Social Change, as well as in a speech to the 2005 Gay and Lesbian Medical Association Conference in Montreal, Viviane = Namaste offered her critique of efforts by trans advocates to secure the inclusion = of trans health care in insurance benefits.[31] Namaste looks at the successful 20= 01 campaign by San Francisco trans activists to get the City to cover transgender health care in the hea= lth benefits provided to City employees. Namaste charges that the celebration of the victory of this campaign= , as discussed in a 2001 article by James Green, an activist working for the cha= nge, undermines struggles for universal health care, and is a strategic mistake, because it only reifies a system of health care in which a narrow segment of the population has access to health insurance through employment.= [32] For Namaste, viewing the campaign through the revolutionary consciousness framework, fighting for a change in= the terms of health insurance policies that protect a few people only strengthe= ns a system that deprives health care to most people, and represents a mis-prioritization of American trans activists, who would better spend time joining the fight for universal health care that will benefit those with le= ast access to health care of all kinds. For activists engaged in struggles to include trans health care in health insurance programs, Namaste’s critique misses the multiple benefits of this incremental step. <= /span>Nick Gorton, a trans medical expert and physic= ian working on similar campaigns nationally, has argued that the real victory of the San Francisco campaign is not in the admittedly limited number of people who benefit from this policy, but rather in its role as an essential instan= ce of government recognition of the legitimacy of trans health care.= [33] Dr. Gorton identifies himself as a proponent of universal health care, and also as an activist focused on acce= ss to health care for poor people and people in state custody. Dr. Gorton sees victories like tha= t of the San Francisco advocates as essential to building an ongoing case that t= he state should be responsible for providing this care, a point still hotly contested in a context where 24(?) states have explicit exclusions of trans health care from Medicaid coverage= and most trans prisoners, foster youth, and juvenile offenders are still routin= ely denied access to hormones and other gender-related care. Each victory, in his view, contrib= utes to building a case for the inclusion of this kind of health care in various existing programs now, and, increases the possibility that when [MM19] the US adopts a universal healthcare system trans care will be included, a battle still being fought in many Canadian provinces and EU nations.= [34]    <= ![if !supportAnnotations]>[GEH20]

        &= nbsp;   Debates like this are occurring across trans politics on many familiar questions: Should Gender Identity Disorder be removed from the DSM because it patholog= izes gender variance or is it a vital tool for trans health coverage? [GEH21] Should attorneys utilize disability discriminat= ion claims in trans cases because they are more readily received by courts that gender discrimination claims, or should they be avoided because they rely on medical evidence that depicts gender identity in a way that excludes many t= rans people’s experiences? S= hould attorneys fight for recognition of marriage rights for heterosexual couples involving one trans partner, or work toward abolishing marriage laws that privilege some trans people in areas of immigration, health care access, and family recognition? Should tr= ans activists fight for prison reforms to increase the safety of incarcerated t= rans people, or focus energies solely on prison abolition because all reform strengthens the prison system and directs more resources towards the creati= on and maintenance of prisons?

        &= nbsp;   Differential consciousness as a mode of analysis offers us an option beyond the either/o= r of equality vs revolutionary, and hopefully could move us beyond the “sell-out/unrealistic idealist” name calling game. The Differential offers a possibil= ity for engaging in tactical resistance that releases activists from overcommittment to the various truth claims underlying the other four posit= ions outlined by Sandoval, and instead focusing an underlying commitment to anti-oppression. Differential consciousness is particularly appealing given the conditions of trans survi= val and trans activism that create conditions for shared analysis with US third world feminists. Trans people battle consistently against state violence, which both causes and results f= rom our disproportionate poverty and incarceration. As gender outsiders, trans people = face lack of recognition by the government, inability to access ID and other bas= ic necessities that permit employment, and misclassification in the shelters, group homes, jails and prisons in which we are overrepresented. The history of our resistance shows continual rejection from our communities of origin and activist movements, being labeled as sexists with “male privilege” by some wings of white feminism,[35] being marginalized and erased as unassimillable by the mainstream gay and lesbian rights movement,[36] and facing continued interaction with a medical establishment that seeks to disappear us either by denying us trans health care or providing it on condition that we strive to pass as non-trans people post-transition.= [37] Trans survival necessitates the utilization of multiple narratives about our identities, our beliefs regard= ing gender and our bodies, our sexual practices and proclivities, our relations= hips to family, and the other information that culture continually demands or fo= rces we alternately disclose and deny.<= span style=3D'font-size:8.0pt;line-height:200%'>[GEH22]   = We may be read as male on the subway, female at the welfare office, male at the airport, female at the clinic, freakishly gendered in the prison, dangerous= ly gendered in the shelter. To s= urvive our day to day interactions with the various institutions of power that cla= ssify us differently and respond to us with simultaneous sexism and transphobia, = in addition to the racism, xenophobia, ableism, and ageism that the most vulnerable trans people face, we are often required to alternate between varying and contradictory narratives about our own experience and identity = as needed. Sandoval describes th= at the differential emerges from the experiences of women of color facing violence= at the hands of the state, and deftly resisting by utilizing multiple forms of consciousness. These conditio= ns resonate in many trans experiences, particularly the experiences of those w= ho are most overexposed to police and state violence and control: poor people, people of color, immigrants and incarcerated people.

        &= nbsp;   Differential consciousness also fits into a broader picture of trans survival in the con= text of activism. While differences regarding how gender should be viewed and discussed, why people are transgender, and how transgender people should approach our lives and our stories exist and manifest in much conflict in trans communities, trans activists are also familiar with working together across these differences = with other trans people who share common goals.= I have worked in dozens of trans activist spaces and campaigns where people who understood their identity through a postmodern gender deconstruc= tive frame worked closely with others who experienced being trans as a mental he= alth impairment as well as others who understood their trans identity to be a genetic trait. The difference= s in these views (and so many others) can certainly cause irreparable conflict on some issues, but frequently trans people with varying understandings of gender a= nd their own lives have been able to agree to a shared narrative and strategy = for accomplishing a goal that stood to benefit all trans people, such as medical access, ID access or increasing sensitivity and awareness in a key institution. Additionally, we frequently are able to utilize these varying and conflicting views as tacti= cs to achieve the changes we seek.[MM23]

        &= nbsp;   One recent example of the differential at work in trans policy reform negotiati= ons occurred in the campaign to for homeless shelter access for trans people in= New York City. New York City’s Department of Homeless Services (DHS) has no written policy about the placement of transgender people in its shelters,[38] and consistently places trans people according to birth gender, and transfe= rs trans people to shelters that comport with their birth gender if they pass = well enough to get through intake in their current gender and then are discovere= d to be trans later. Former shelter residents, particularly trans women, report rape and sexual harassment in men’s shelters where they are placed. The result is that many trans home= less people are afraid to enter the shelter system, and remain street homeless a= nd ineligible for DHS’s longer-term housing programs. Activists have been drawing the City’s attention to this problem for at least a decade, without achie= ving policy change. In 2003, a new coalition of activists began a negotiation with DHS, with the goal of establishing a policy that would make self-identification and safety of tra= ns people the basis for determining placement in the shelter system. Meetings between representatives f= rom the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, the New York City Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Community Services Center, and Queers for Economic Justice and = DHS occurred over the next two years, often under hostile conditions with DHS vacillating between refusal to ever change its practices or create a formal policy and suggesting it might do so. The counterarguments of DHS were the predictable ones: 1) non-trans women will = be uncomfortable if trans women who haven’t had genital surgery or “look like men” are in shelters with them and we have to respect their rights, 2) we won’t be able to tell who is really trans and who= is faking it in order to be in women’s shelters 3) this isn’t real= ly a problem 4) our computer system is old and gender cannot be changed on it. At times they would suggest that t= hey might be willing to allow trans women into women’s shelters based on = how feminine their appearances were, or based on genital surgery. The coalition took apart DHS’= ;s position again and again, describing that surgical status was irrelevant and created a class bar that homeless people could rarely pass, that homeless people frequently had few opportunities to feminize their appearances, that= it was unethical to allow misunderstandings about trans women on the part of o= ther women in shelters to determine the access of trans women, and that fraudule= nt or sexually violent intentions of some people should not determine a policy= for a highly vulnerable group of homeless people. The underlying issue in the negoti= ations was usually stalling and mistrust, sometimes resulting in outright discussi= ons between DHS’s attorneys and myself about the fact that they fundament= ally did not believe we could ever win a lawsuit on the issue and therefore were unwilling to make a change. I= n 2005 the coalition broadened its reach, meeting with a variety of LGBT and pover= ty organizations and drafting a letter to the mayor about the continued failur= e of DHS to make change on an issue that had been identified by the mayor as significant. Miraculously, th= is letter prompted immediate action from DHS, who took all the model policies = the coalition had provided from jurisdictions in the US and Canada and drafted a very conservative version. At our next meeting, they read us = the prime points of their draft policy in a defensive tone, letting us know that they felt their trust had been violated by us going above them, and that th= ey were not interested in working together on the policy. The policy included some of the mo= re anti-trans and anti-homeless elements from the sample policies we had shared. These included putting in some ver= sion of the language used by San Franscisco’s policy that states “Clients may not go back and forth in gender identification for the sole purpose of obtaining shelter space.= [39]  &nb= sp;    During the meetings, the coalition members utilized varying arguments to counter t= he resistance to change presented by DHS that sometimes could be categorized a= s equality consciousness positions and sometimes revolutionary consciousness positions. Frequently DHS sta= ffers would state that because DHS had long ago issued a Request for Proposals fo= r an LGBT shelter, and no one had yet come along with the resources to build and= run such a shelter, they had done enough. In those instances, coalition members would make equality arguments, stating that providing a special shelter that could only accommodate a frac= tion of the trans homeless population was not satisfying, and that a policy was required that would make the entire system include appropriate placements f= or trans people. We pointed out = that not all trans people desire to be placed in LGBT shelters or primarily iden= tify as LGBT or even trans, and that opening a LGBT shelter, while a beneficial thing to do, would not resolve the issues we were there to discuss. At other times, our arguments more explicitly focused on the problems with the system as a whole, utilizing a = revolutionary consciousness framework to point out that having a shelter system that is entirely bifurcated based on binary gender creates fundamental obstacles to trans homeless people that the City is obligated to address. In these instances, we would talk = about the City creating an alternative to their current system of shelter intake which requires male residents to do intake at certain facilities and females residents to do intake at others.

For most trans homeless people, who lack identi= ty documents that verify their current gender due to the obstacles that exist = to changing gender on these documents[40] the intake system alone entails being forced to a gender inappropriate inta= ke facility. Our arguments about= the obstacle that this bifurcated intake and placement system borrowed in part = from the language contributed by the disability rights movement, which initiated= a conversation about “access” that suggests that “the way things are” entails artificial barriers to the full participation of people who could, given fair changes, participate in activities and privile= ges from which they are currently excluded.&nb= sp; This vision moves past an equality model and into revolutionary consciousness because it demands that changes be made to the way the world operates in order to cure oppression. In stead of merely requiring that people terminate practices of deny= ing job opportunities or housing to people based on their bias against people w= ith disabilities, this vision insists that housing or employment conditions be restructured to remove obstacles to access for people with disabilities. The demand for access to shelters = built on those understandings forged by the disability activists, stating that the shelters are inaccessible to trans people even if they don’t turn peo= ple away at the door, because they place trans people inappropriately and endan= ger our safety and well-being. Vacillating between equality and revolutionary tactics was key during our negotiations to educating DHS staff about the issues, providing a range= of arguments they could bring back to the superiors they had to convince of change, justifying the specific policy options we sought, and having ready responses to their stalling and defense strategies.

        &= nbsp;   When DHS returned to us with their draft policy ideas, it was very centrally foc= used in an equality framework. The deputy commissioner opened his remarks with a statement that they were comm= itted to placing trans people based on self-identity, and creating a policy applicable to the entire system, because they knew that “separate but equal is not equal.” It= was no surprise to us that they had clung to our more conservative arguments, a= nd the most fraud-presuming anti-homeless passages from the sample policies we= had provided that they could find. Their draft policy focused heavily on making sure that trans people did not “flip flop” genders, and that identity-based placement had to b= e a firm commitment. Having achie= ved a major long-sought-after victory of getting their commitment to create a wri= tten policy and to honor self-identity rather than birth gender, appearance, or genital status for placement purposes, the coalition could now bring a focu= s to the conversation about what full access to the shelters, given the bifurcat= ed system, would really mean for trans people. We brought up a variety of issues, including that some trans men may not feel comfortable in men’s shelt= ers, that people need to be able to transition while in the shelter system and c= ome to an individualized decision about if and when they are ready to move to a facility that matches their new gender, that some people identify outside of binary gender and need to be supported in making decisions about the availa= ble shelter options that will be safe and appropriate for them, and insisted on more meetings to iron out these policies together and engage in planning for training DHS staff.

        &= nbsp;   The use of differential consciousness in this process accounts for its success, because it allowed the coalition members to make a variety of arguments that won us commitments from the City in stages moving us toward the achievement= of our very clear shared goal.[GEH24]   = Members of the coalition have varying tactical approaches and commitments which are reflections of the different forms of resistance consciousness outlined by Sandoval. In terms of the she= lter work, these differences included different levels of commitment to achieving shelter access for people who identify outside the gender binary, varying i= deas about the viability and desirability of having a trans-specific shelter in = NYC, and varying beliefs about how aggressively to approach city government. However, our shared belief that bi= rth-gender placement is not acceptable and that winning a identity and safety-based placement policy was essential to the survival of trans homeless people in = NYC enabled us to engage differential tactics together to navigate the transpho= bic and change-resistant bureaucracy, providing them frameworks for understandi= ng and supporting our position while applying pressure from a variety of angles for change.

Conclusion

        &= nbsp;   Sandoval’s model helps to highlight key strands of consciousness that frequently divide activists working on similar or overlapping issues. In the realm of queer and trans politics, the most frequently emerging conflicts occur between equality and= revolutionary tactics, and often take include rquality-side activists arguing about the necessity of gradual change and incremental steps, and revolutionary-side activists pointing out that those steps frequently exclude the most vulnera= ble people (people of color, homeless people, youth, trans people, incarcerated people, poor people) and further legitimate oppressive systems (marriage, military participation, privatized health care, the criminal justice system). Sandoval’s ana= lysis opens up space for us to inquire about alternatives to this conflict, and it invites trans activists, to i= magine our resistance as not having to inherit the limits and conflicts of the gay rights movement but to instead build on the skills that trans people often utilize to survive by mobilizing multiple tactics with a clear vision of anti-oppression as our goal.

&= nbsp;           Sandoval discusses the differential tactic, describing that the use of multiple tactics toward the goal of anti-oppress= ion is what holds it together. Fo= r the purposes of focusing this analysis for trans activists, I would like to fur= ther elaborate what that commitment to anti-oppression might look like, proposing criteria for evaluating decisions regarding issue prioritization and tactic= s in trans activism. The key first= step I propose is the need for a clear vision of what we want the world to look like, knowing that this image is most useful if it reaches broadly addressi= ng multiple issues, but also knowing that issues will inevitably arise about w= hich individuals, organizations, or movements have not yet formulated a vision [MM25] . At the bare minimum, it seems key to have clear understandings of vision regarding issues central to the survival and well-being of trans people and other tar= gets of gender enforcement, and key emergent social justice issues on the nation= al and global horizons. This vis= ion would almost certainly include principles and positions regarding law and policy reform related to discrimination and its enforcement, the effects of= the War on Terror and the War on Drugs, the immigration system, the criminal justice system, poverty and the welfare system, taxation and the redistribu= tion of wealth, the right to vote and the electoral system, allocation of health care, “free trade” agreements and global issues of labor and environmental safety.   Trans-specific issues that would require clear vision might be explo= red by answering: What should gender look like:no gender categories? binary with the option to change? more than two gender categories? optional gender? infinite gender categories? gender as expression but untracked and unregula= ted by the state and coercive institutions?&nb= sp; What relationship should medical authority have to trans and gender non-conforming people? How, i= f at all, should prevailing norms about sex-segregated facilities (bathrooms, lo= cker rooms, shelters, group homes, prisons, dormitories) be changed? Should Gender Identity Disorder be considered a mental impairment? What relationship should trans people have to feminist movements? What should leadership in trans organizations and the trans movement look like in terms of creating a multi= -gendered and multi-racial movement?

        &= nbsp;   With a shared vision in mind that includes all or some of the issues above, organizations or coalitions can approach the criteria below for measuring engagement with political action. In order to determine engagement, trans activists can ask the follow= ing questions:

1.      =             What affect would this campaign or action have on the most vulnerable individuals in our community or constituency?

2.      =             Does anyone suffer exclusion if we pursue this goal or strategy? Is any portion of our community marginalized by this strategy, framing, or rhetoric?

3.      =             How does i= t fit into the overall vision of what we want the world to look like or what we w= ant the specific system that this campaign engages with to look like? In this question we examine the re= form/revolution question: Is this strategy legitimizing an oppressive system? If so, is that concern offset by immediate gains in terms of survival and political participation for our constituency, such that making the reform is worthwhile because it will significantly strengthen the ability of our most vulnerable community membe= rs in leading change that more deeply opposes the oppressive institution in question?

These questions, utilized in combination with a broad vision for the trans moveme= nt, may help flesh out the underlying commitment to anti-oppression that can gu= ide discussions regarding engagement in various political actions, and move us = into a principled engagement with political action rather than an inherited or reactionary engagement. <= ![if !supportAnnotations]>[GEH26]

To exemplify the utilization of this criteria, = let us look at the examples focused on in this section: hate crimes laws, the Real= ID Act, trans health care inclusion in existing health insurance systems, and homeless shelter access for trans people.

        &= nbsp;   According to these criteria, campaigns for hate crimes laws would not fit within a tr= ans anti-oppression campaign. They increase the vulnerability of trans people who are already targets of the criminal justice system, especially people of color and poor people who are over exposed to police violence and criminal punishment. They provide no immediate survival relief to trans people, because they have never been proven to prevent hate crimes, but they increase resources to the criminal justice system which currently endangers trans people’s survival.

        &= nbsp;   The Real ID Act, however, would make sense as a target of trans activism, becau= se opposing it would benefit many of the most vulnerable trans people, immigra= nts and those who for whom lack of access to ID results in the most severe consequences: youth, undocumented people, homeless people, poor people, and people of color. Because this legislation endangers the safety and survival of many highly vulnerable tra= ns people, because it comports with a vision of reduced surveillance and incre= ased privacy of trans people’s medical histories, and because it is about repealing this legislation but not institution-building or legitimizing, it emerges as a wise priority for trans activists.

        &= nbsp;   The Gorton-Namaste debate can also be run through these criteria. While Namaste’s critique articulates a strong revolutionary vision, when examined with these criteri= a in mind, Gorton’s reasoning for pursuing trans health care exclusion for city employees make more sense. For Gorton, the vision of achieving access to trans health care for those most vulnerable to having no health care, and for all people when we win univers= al healthcare, is served by forcing state recognition of the legitimacy of tra= ns health care in every instance possible in the immediate. Doing so strengthens arguments tha= t this health care is legitimate and should be required to be included in health c= are for Medicaid recipients, prisoners, foster youth, and others for whom trans health becomes most unattainable when it remains “elective” and uncovered by insurance. For G= orton, building the case for trans health care inclusion now is essential to prepa= ring for its inclusion when universal health care is achieved. Doing so does not legitimate exist= ing health care systems nor strengthen an argument that universal health care is unnecessary, and is, in fact, an essential precursor step to achieving universal health care that includes trans healthcare.

        &= nbsp;   Similarly, focusing on trans access to shelters emerges as a clear priority when exami= ned through this criteria. Even i= f the coalition or organization in question has a long-term vision of a world in which wealth is redistributed and everyone lives in safe permanent housing,= accessing shelters and escaping homelessness clearly benefits highly vulnerable trans people and is essential to their survival and ultimate ability to participa= te and take up leadership in movements for housing equity.
        &= nbsp;   It is likely that these criteria are incomplete, but my hope is that they migh= t be a starting place from which U.S. trans activists engaging in any variety of strategies and coalitions at the local, state, or national level might begi= n to formulate clear principled understandings and analysis about why we pursue various campaigns and political actions.&n= bsp; Working from a clear vision of what we want the world to look like, utilizing differential consciousness, and examining questions of inclusion = and exclusions, reform and revolution can move us beyond repetitive conflicts a= bout “incrementalism and idealism” and toward meaningful change that increases political participation and survival for those suffering the most severe consequences of coercive gender systems.<= ![if !supportAnnotations]>[GEH27] [MM28]

        &= nbsp;

Ian Barnard, Fuck Community, or Why I Support Gay Bashing, in States of Rage: Emotional Eruption, Violence, and Social Change (Renee R. Curry and Terry L. Allison, eds., 1996)

Chela Sandoval, Methodology of the Oppressed (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 2000).=