My dilemma, the non-binary dilemma, is to make my gender legible in a world that refuses to see it. The cumulative effect is exhausting. To be told, again and again, that non-binary people can’t exist, that my gender isn’t real, is like an unending sequence of paper cuts. Each cut is a minor irritant, easy to ignore. But with enough cuts, over time, you’re reduced into one big open wound, bleeding all over the place.
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But it doesn’t have to be like this. We could acknowledge that gender is more varied than a crude binary. Alok Vaid-Menon, author of Beyond the Gender Binary, explains that “the real crisis is not that gender non-conforming people exist, it’s that we’ve been taught to believe in only two genders in the first place”. If the true crisis is the false belief in binary gender, the solution is to expand our imagination of what gender can be. In truth, people who are not men and women are not deluded or sick or dangerous; we’re part of the glorious variation of humanity.
Although non-binary is sometimes derided as a new fashion, diverse genders have a long history. For instance, the recent study of a thousand-year-old grave in Finland suggests that the individual in question lived outside the gender binary. The presence of feminine and masculine objects in the grave, plus physical evidence from the skeleton, led researchers to conclude that “it was a respected person whose gender identity may well have been non-binary”.
Diverse genders remain common in many cultures today. In North America, Indigenous cultures recognise “two-spirit” people who combine masculine and feminine energies. An estimated 168 Indigenous languages in the United States have terms to describe someone who is neither a man nor a woman. In Australia, First Nations people use the terms “brotherboy” and “sistergirl” to describe genders beyond the binary. Diverse genders are widespread elsewhere, including hijra in India, fa’afafine in Samoa, and ogbanje among the Igbo people of Nigeria.
As Europe colonised the world, the binary came to dominate our imaginations. But gender diversity has always been here: called different things, understood in different ways, cropping up again and again wherever there are people. It’s part of our humanity.
Non-binary people aren’t counted, so our very existence is effectively erased by the state. My life, along with other gender diverse lives, is made inconceivable. We are reduced to shadow citizens, living outside the realm of the possible.
So how many non-binary people are there in Australia today? The answer is that we don’t know – and that’s part of the problem. The Australian census only asks about sex and doesn’t collect data on gender identity, so there are no authoritative stats on the trans and gender diverse (TGD) population. Non-binary people aren’t counted, so our very existence is effectively erased by the state. My life, along with other gender diverse lives, is made inconceivable. We are reduced to shadow citizens, living outside the realm of the possible.
On a more practical level, our absence from demographic data also means that TGD people cannot be allocated the funding and services we so desperately need. Because we’re not counted, our requirements for appropriate healthcare and specialised amenities can be overlooked. All in all, when you’re non-binary, the world can feel a hostile place.
All TGD people face stigma and prejudice, but it’s generally easier for our binary world to understand and accommodate those who transition from one side to the other.
A male-assigned person who starts living as a woman, or female-assigned person who starts living as a man, can still be located within the gender binary that shapes our world. By contrast, non-binary people are sitting on the sidelines, thumbing their nose at the whole endeavour. In practice, this makes daily life an uphill battle. Although the entire TGD community suffer elevated rates of mental illness and distress, research suggests that non-binary people experience particularly poor health outcomes. A British study of trans youth, published in 2019, found that non-binary participants “experienced significantly more anxiety and depression and had significantly lower self-esteem than the binary group”. The study concluded that being non-binary in a binary world comes with “greater barriers and feelings of discrimination”
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Non-binary genders are also associated with higher rates of self-harm and substance abuse, according to Australian research from 2020. The same study found that 70 per cent of non-binary people experienced depression, compared to 52 per cent of binary trans people. On almost every measure, non-binary people have a rough ride. This is not to minimise the very real struggles of binary trans people, but rather to acknowledge that non-binary folk experience unique challenges that stem from being at odds with the gender system that organises our world.
But maybe that gender system is the real problem here? After all, gender norms and expectations are damaging to everyone, trans or otherwise. Women are told to be thin, but not too thin; pretty but not airheads, but not so smart they intimidate men. They must be sexy but not a “slut”.
Confident but not aggressive, maternal yet not mumsy. Men are stifled by their own set of suffocating rules. They must be tough and strong, but not remote or aggressive; they should be a “good guy” but not a wimp who cries. A family man, but not a doormat.
For everyone, the standards are impossible and impossibly narrow. Every day is a new test, an endless gender exam in front of a thousand judging eyes. “The gender binary is set up for us to fail. For us all to fail,” Vaid-Menon explains. We’ve all been sold a pup.
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Faced with this broken gender system, living outside the gender binary is an act of resistance. The good news is that more and more people are doing so. A poll of 15,000 Americans, released in 2021, found Gen Z has the biggest trans contingent of any generation to date. Nearly 2 per cent identify as trans, compared to 1.2 per cent of Millennials and 0.2 per cent of Baby Boomers. At a moment when the future can seem grim, this is a rare trend that gives me hope for the coming decades.
Maybe one day, before too long, I’ll be able to visit a public bathroom without stress, because the facilities will accommodate all genders. As we look forward to a world beyond COVID lockdowns, I envisage a time when everyone can go to the movies without worrying if there’s somewhere safe to take a leak.
All About Yves: Notes from a Transition (Allen & Unwin) by Yves Rees is out now.
This article appears in Sunday Life magazine within the Sun-Herald and the Sunday Age on sale October 24. To read more from Sunday Life, visit The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age.
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