Peak Trans: Thoughtcrime and the Transgender Cult

There is a difference between my thoughts on transgender people and my thoughts on the Transgender Cult. However, these thoughts will mostly fall on indoctrinated minds and I will be TERFed regardless. I am ready for that.

These are my thoughts on transgender people.

Transgender people are people. They deserve equal opportunities and fair and just treatment. They deserve to have lives free of bullying and prejudiced attitudes. They deserve not to be treated as wrong or bad or "other." 

However, this way of thinking is not good enough for the Transgender Cult, a term I first heard used by the feminist scholar Phyllis Chesler. According to the Transgender Cult, one must speak of transgender people only in the most glowing terms, or one is a TERF. 

To repeat a phrase that I stole immediately upon hearing it, TERF is Feminazi covered in glitter. TERF is a means of admonishing women to shut up and toe the line. TERF is a gag to be shoved in the mouths of women who may dare to think critically about the ideologies of identity politics and the Transgender Cult.

Back in October, I published a short story about a young woman of size who is invited to a Halloween party at a fraternity house. Initially, she is treated respectfully and believes that her days of being bullied for her larger body may be at an end. Then one of the partygoers shouts: "take it off, Fat Girl," which is a cue for the others to begin sexually abusing their victim, groping her and exposing her breasts. One disdainful female partygoer kicks the girl in the backside and admonishes her that parties are for people, not pigs.

The young woman escapes the ordeal and hurries to inform the campus police of the assault. She is followed by the young man who invited her to the party, who begs her not to tell the police, attempting to placate her with the excuse that "things just got out of hand." She tells him to leave her alone and never speak to her again.

Both the campus police and the University president dismiss the young woman's concerns, telling her that they will have "a word" with the fraternity members. She realizes that her perpetrators will receive no punishment for their actions. She goes to the home of her aunt, a powerful Voodoo priestess.

The aunt exacts punishment on the perpetrators by casting a spell to change them into the opposite sex. I decided to put a modern spin on the story by referring to the shock of the community at the rash of gender reassignment surgeries that happened over the course of the weekend. Many key figures, including the Chief of Police, the University President, and the doctor's son were now women, much to the shock of their family members.

Pretty much to a person, all of the story's readers immediately jumped on the gender reassignment aspect of the story, a facet which only appeared briefly at the end of the tale. Rather than seeing that perhaps chauvinistic attitudes are harmful to everyone including transgender people, I was admonished that I should not have spoken of transgender people in anything but the most reverent of tones.

I had a one thousand word cap on the tale, and it is possible that I did not do a proper job of concisely executing the idea that now the people who perpetrated the assault against the heroine were being punished by having to live in a society which deems them second class citizens and, in the case of women, sex objects. The boys who abused the young woman were now women themselves and would soon see what it meant to be looked at as an object rather than a whole person. 

The girls who abused the victim were the sorts of girls who relied on their conventionally attractive appearances and would feel lost without that particular trait, now having to live life as rather ordinary young men.

I have republished the story on the Sly Fawkes blog to avoid incurring further admonitions of my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad TERFy ways on my flash fiction site.

I in no way meant to speak ill of transgender people. We live in a world where gender reassignment surgery is a fact rather than a world where people would believe that magic had transformed their son or husband into a woman. I suppose that "it's magic, I don't have to explain shit" is the approach I should have taken to avoid being jumped on for mentioning transgenderism in anything but the most glowing light. 

The Transgender Cult has people afraid to say anything negative or even neutral about any transgender person, which brings me to the next point.

The Transgender Cult does not postulate that transgender people should be treated like people. It postulates that transgender people must be treated specially. According to the Transgender Cult, trans women are not just women, they are superior women. Cis scum women need to shut their TERF mouths and choke on a Lady-dick. 

People are afraid to question any aspect of identity politics for fear of being branded a TERF. To have reservations about any aspect of transgenderism is to be guilty of a Thoughtcrime. There is no room for any kind of discourse. 

Have concerns about whether giving puberty blockers to adolescents may negatively impact their physical and mental health later? Prepare to be howled down by the Trans Cult and their sycophants.

Biological sex is biological sex

Gender roles are a social construct

Think that it's madness for doctors to have to do "cervical smears" on people who do not, in fact, have a cervix? Prepared to be branded a TERF, even if you do not feel that trans women are lesser human beings, you simply acknowledge the biological reality that they do not indeed have a cervix and that demands that doctors do unnecessary procedures to placate them is a waste of everybody's time.

Doctors have reasons for needing to know a patient's chromosomal makeup. There are medications given to XY males for prostate issues which literally should not be handled by XX females in their childbearing years because the medication could be absorbed through the skin and interfere with fertility.

I have two medications sitting on my computer desk which carry warnings that they should not be taken by women who suspect they may be pregnant because said medications can cause birth defects or miscarriage. One of these medications is progesterone, a female hormone which can be helpful for an XX woman such as me who has endocrine imbalances, but said medication could have detrimental effects on a developing fetus or on an XY male. But I imagine that I'm a big ole TERF for even acknowledging the possibility that some medications should not be given to persons who are biologically XX females or XY males.

Do you perhaps dare to postulate that in a society without rigid gender roles fewer people would see the need to physically transition because there would be nothing wrong with being a "feminine" man or a "masculine" woman? Watch out, because gender critical feminists are the TERFiest TERFs ever to TERF. If you question the existence of pink and blue brains, you are nothing but a terrible, awful, no-good, very bad TERF.

Do you realize that there are differences in the experiences of people born into an XX female body and those born as XY males who later transition to female? There is a difference, but one dare not acknowledge such for fear of being branded a TERF. 

When anyone can be branded a TERF for simply not agreeing 100% with every single aspect of the Trans Cult's agenda, there is a problem.

When it is worse to be called a TERF (whatever that really means) than to be called a rapist or child molester, there is a serious problem. A mass murderer would probably receive more sympathy than anyone found guilty of the Thoughtcrime of critical thinking who has been branded a TERF.

Trans activist "Char the Butcher"

It is okay to call for violence, to declare DIE CIS SCUM, and encourage brainwashed followers to PUNCH A TERF. It is not okay to question the swiftness with which the modern medical establishment begins the transitioning of vulnerable adolescents, some of whom may be gay but ashamed of being so in a society which, overall, remains homophobic. To do so is to be a TERF, a nebulous term which really means "anyone who doesn't entirely agree with me on every single point."

I support the rights of trans people to have equal opportunities and to receive compassionate and respectful treatment in their daily lives.

I do not support the Trans Cult.

People need to wake up and do some critical thinking.

It's time to be truly woke, not the brand of fake and bake "woke" in which no-one dares express a thought which has not been endorsed by the puppet masters.

~Sly Has Spoken~

Graphic copyright juliahenze

Purchased from 123rf.com

The Party: A Modern Tale of Prejudice and Revenge

Angela Bassett as Marie Laveau was my inspiration for Aunt Mila

Gabourey Sidibe as Queenie was my inspiration for Maria

The Party

Genre: Supernatural/Horror

Words: 1000

Content Warnings:

Body shaming, sexual assault, profanity, sexism

Rating: PG-13 

Note:

This story was originally published on my flash fiction blog for a Halloween  2018 short stories contest. Pretty much to a person, everyone who commented missed the point about the attitudes of sexism and sizeism and the intersection thereof, which led to the abuse of the protagonist. Readers instead fixated on my modernized take on the magical gender-swap revenge exacted on the protagonists. I was admonished that I should not refer to transgenderism in anything but the most glowing light.

I felt that my reference to gender reassignment was neutral and was only done to put the story in the twenty-first century rather than the nineteenth century. In modern times, gender reassignment surgery is a reality and people are more likely to believe that their relative who has been transformed into the opposite sex underwent gender reassignment surgery than that they were switched to being the opposite sex by magic.

Perhaps I could have done a better job of imparting this idea, but the story was not about gender reassignment. I was rather appalled that a neutral mention of gender reassignment surgery entirely overshadowed the actual point of the story, which was the way society objectifies women, despises and abuses larger women, and excuses the abuse and objectification of women.

There was absolutely no intention of belittling the struggles of transgender people when I wrote this story. I simply wished to modernize the setting rather than going with the old "it's magic, I don't need to explain shit" tactic.

The contentious tale follows below.

~Sly~

“Did they force you to their will, my girl?”

Ludmila Lum’s angular face bore a staid expression, but Maria could see the little vein in her aunt’s set jaw pulsing. Aunt Mila’s warm brown eyes had gone black as the sky over an angry sea, the kind of sky that produced storms which sent ships to their graves on the ocean floor.

Mila’s expression softened at the worry in her niece’s eyes. Her bony hand enfolded Maria’s soft, plump one and a gentle smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“It’s all right, Mee-Mee. I am not angry with you. Even if you were drunk or high, even if you were flirting with all the boys. Now, you tell your Auntie Mila, did those boys force you to their will?”

“It wasn’t…sex,” Maria said softly, looking down at her feet. “I suppose I am making too much of nothing, as the University President said.”

Maria’s soft, round face, usually so sweet and happy, reflected shame and self-loathing. Ludmila tried not to project anger, lest her sensitive niece believe the ire was directed at her. Maria was a big girl in a world that made no bones about its hatred of soft, pillowy bodies. Ludmila worked hard to teach Maria to love herself as she was, to give her shy, plump niece the confidence that reflected her loving spirit. Ludmila was enraged that awful people had exploited the innocent girl’s attempt at sociability in an unspeakable way.

“They did not put themselves inside me, Auntie,” Maria explained in a quavering voice. “When they first invited me into the party, they were nice enough. It was guys and girls together, just showing off their costumes, just everybody dancing and having fun. The boy who invited me in, I started to think that perhaps he was falling in love with me, as he seemed only to have eyes for me in those first two hours.”

“Does this boy have a name?” Ludmila inquired.

“Omer, Auntie,” Maria revealed quietly.

“Omer Raines? Doctor Raines’ boy? The one you’ve carried the torch for since you were ten years old?” Ludmila demanded.

Maria nodded, her body shuddering as she wept.

“All these years he was my friend,” she sobbed. “In school, he defended me whenever anyone made pig noises at me or called me names. I thought we were destined to be only friends, but at the party, he seemed to echo my feelings. I gave thanks to Erzulie for the gift. ‘His heart echoes my heart,’ I thought, and at that moment, I was so happy.”

“He brought me to the front of the stage where the band was playing, and he told me to dance,” Maria continued. “’Show the world how beautiful you are, Chere,’ he insisted. ‘Dance for us!’”

“So, I danced, and at first, it seemed that all the years of hate and shame for this big body were burned away. Here I was, dressed as the Queen of Hearts, but a kind queen, not one calling for heads to roll. Everyone was clapping and cheering, and I was dancing, Auntie! I was getting down, and everyone was getting down with me, and no-one was laughing at me. But then the fraternity president gave a signal with his hands, the band changed their tune, and so did everyone else.”

“Any special tune they played?” Ludmila inquired, and by the look in her eyes, Maria was sure her aunt knew the tune she meant.

“The stripper song, you know, the one they always play in cartoons and stuff. I thought it was a joke like maybe some of the fellows would drop their trousers and do a moon, all in fun like that. But then one of the boys called out ‘take it off, Fat Girl.’ I flipped him the bird, still laughing because I thought perhaps it was a joke. But then they started pulling at my clothes, boys and girls alike. There was a blonde girl wearing almost no clothes at all who slapped me and said: ‘you don’t belong at a party, you pig, you belong in a barnyard!’”

Maria shuddered as she dropped to the floor and rested her head against her aunt’s lap. Each of her niece’s violent sobs threatened to shatter Ludmila’s heart.

“They tore the front of my dress and exposed my breasts,” Maria revealed. “The boys were grabbing my breasts and slapping my backside. The skinny blonde girl kicked me in the backside and said ‘get your fat, ugly ass away from our party, Petunia Pig! This party is for people only!’”

“Omer followed me from the party,” Maria continued. “He asked where I was going. I said I was going to the police. He tried to stop me, said it was only a joke that got out of hand. I slapped him and told him to never talk to me again. The police just said I should have known better than to go to such a party. I went right to the home of the University president. He told me that he was sorry it happened and that he would talk to the fraternity President, but he asked me to keep things quiet because we would not want to bring shame upon the school. I have always believed in a just and fair world, Auntie, but I see now there is no justice for people like me.”

“There will be justice,” Ludmila reassured her niece. “You rest now, my love.”

While Maria slept, Ludmila worked her spell.

“Justice is served,” the Voodoo priestess declared, leaning back in her chair.

A day later, there were multiple articles about the sudden rash of gender reassignment surgeries among students and faculty at Bayou College. The wives of both the University president and the chief of the campus police publicly expressed their shock, and local doctor Henri Raines declared that he’d no inkling that so many students, including his own former son Omer, were seeking gender reassignment surgery.

~The Real Cie~