Posted 11th November by @Eunuch_Onegin in series The Call-Out
content warning: morality; world music
tags: Armageddon; carpentry; feminism; cheese
Fortunate autumn. September rushes
over our heads. Migrating flocks
of warblers, jays, petrels, thrushes,
come, then leave. The equinox,
when the sun aligns with the equator,
passes. The dawns start coming later,
the sunsets sooner. The sudden rains
don’t last for long. The heat remains:
that’s global warming. Even the roses
are hanging on, this late in the year.
We know what’s coming, the signs are clear,
whatever falls soon decomposes,
we know the world is in decay
but for now, it seems like a lovely day.
Kate’s euphoric. She joyfully bounces
out of the subway, into the light.
—“I think it’s positive,” she announces,
“it’s really a chance to get something right.”
Kate’s just agreed, which is why she’s elated,
to lead this panel that is being created
for Day to be accountable to.
—“Or are you just flattered that Gaia asked you?”
—“Well, okay, I’m not denying
it’s nice if I’m someone that people trust,
but also, if I can help, then I must.”
—“Whatever,” I say, “the world is dying,
We killed it, so do what you want. It’s fine:
you have your pleasures, and I have mine.”
I’m referring to the building we’re about to enter:
the Morgan Library. Kate’s never been,
and suspects it’s immoral. —“We need to decenter
this view of the past as this kind of serene
procession of aristocratic ‘cultures’
and remember that the rich are always vultures
feeding on the bodies of the dispossessed . . .”
—“Okay, but look! This place is the best.”
It’s three stories high. The ceiling is golden
and painted with copies from Raphael,
or someone like that, done pretty well.
There’s a fireplace out of a castle in olden-
day Europa, and of course, there are books,
shelf upon shelf, wherever one looks.
I show Kate the way that, carefully hidden
behind a bookcase, a spiral stair,
provides the access to those forbidden
tiers of volumes, high in the air.
—“Okay,” I say, “so grant your position
that there’s something obscene about the condition
of being so rich that you can build
this stuff, but still, at least he fulfilled
well, I won’t say, some kind of duty,
but some kind of vision. The world’s unfair
and there’s no justice anywhere,
but at least in places like this there’s beauty.
He made us a refuge, a place to go.
There are worse things to do with that kind of dough.”
—“Oh GOD!” Kate replies, extremely loudly.
Numerous bystanders turn and stare.
I give her a look. She laughs proudly.
“You’re such an aesthete. Do you really care
that much about art, that you make excuses
for the exploitation which produces
this stuff? I think we have to believe
in justice as something we can achieve.”
I laugh myself —“And good will prevail?”
Are we, I wonder, getting in a fight?
I know I should stop, but I can’t: I’m right.
“Movements for justice necessarily fail.
You can’t fight power unless you’re strong
But then you’re in power, and you’re what’s wrong.”
—“That’s such a fatalistic perspective . . .”
—“That power corrupts? Seems clearly true.”
—“Like, power’s not the only objective,
there are other kinds of things you can do . . .
I know you’ll accuse me of separatism,
But I think that radical feminism,
it’s not just transphobes buying farms,
these were women responding to the actual harms
they faced, and it’s part of a wider tradition
or asking, like, how do you build outside
of abusive structures. Separatism can provide
one way of working towards abolition.”
—“So you think we can learn from Charlotte Bunch
or Mary Daly? You’re out to lunch!”
—“Okay, well yes, I’ve been re-reading
Mary Daly . . .” —“I know! I saw
the book by the bed!” —“. . . and fine, conceding
of course she hates us, there’s also more
to it than that. She gets that oppression
is material, that violence and dispossession,
are all about bodies, it’s just she can’t see
we’re women as well, materially.”
—“Kate, what is this, this is alarming.
Aren’t you the one who’s like ‘fuck cis queers’?
So why would you care about their ideas?
This is like cutting, it’s like you’re self-harming!”
—“Well my relation to transness is very much like
Daly’s relation to being a dyke . . .”
—“That’s not the point! Like, this is madness!”
—“That’s kind of an ableist thing to say.”
And I look in her eyes, and I see sadness
where before she’d been so joyous and gay.
—“Alright,” I breathe out, “Let’s stop debating.
I’m sorry, okay, I’m de-escalating.
I realize I may have been a bit mean.”
—“Yeah, you were.” —“Okay, have you seen
these?” And I show her the illuminated
books of hours, and the autograph
Brontë poems. She sees a staff
member and asks if he’s compensated
fairly. He says he’d rather not say.
We adjourn to the Starbucks across the way.
We buy our coffees and find some seating.
Kate’s gone in one of her quiet moods.
I get the impression she’s avoiding meeting
my eyes. The sudden vicissitudes
of others’ emotions are things I’m sorely
unprepared for. I handle them poorly.
—“Hey Kate, will you look me in the eyes.
Please, come on, I’ll apologize,
I promise. Just will you please engage me?”
—“I’m not not engaging. I just feel ill.
I’ve got a headache. So please, can you chill?”
—“I’m sorry, it’s just, it tends to enrage me,
this silent treatment. If we’re in a fight,
we need to talk about it, alright?”
—“Okay, what is it you have this burning
need to discuss?” —“Okay, I’ll admit
I think this whole panel is very concerning,
I’m unhappy you’re getting involved in it.
I mean, so there’s this accusation
but you haven’t conducted an investigation
you don’t know what happened, or even to who,
or whether this accusation is even true!”
—“Do you really think a person would make it
if it wasn’t? I mean, for what? For fun?
Come on, this is feminism 101.”
—“It’s not that I think someone would fake it
it’s just, it’s hard, but if both those involved
are trans, is it really that easily resolved?”
—“You mean, if there isn’t a clearly lopsided
power imbalance? But we have to face
the material factors by which we’re divided,
like class, and age, and clout and race.
Day’s super visible, people know her,
she’s always inviting people to blow her
on Twitter, and posting about being non-op.
She has a brand. She’s like, power top.
And she’s white, she has money. I might be frightened
of her, if I was young, or poor.”
—“There are power differences between us, sure,
but whatever, also, it ain’t enlightened
to suggest trans women are a sexual threat.
I dunno, this discourse just makes me fret.”
—“Well okay, I agree. I mean, ideally
a justice system shouldn’t blame, or shun,
but help the person to admit freely
that they’re responsible for hurting someone.
That’s really the only way anyone heals:
I mean, with my rapist, if he knew how it feels
to be raped, if he really, deep in his heart
understood what he did, that could be the start
of healing for us both. Of restoration.”
—“Oh Kate, you’re so good. And you know, of course
that would be lovely. But you simply can’t force
people to repent, or make expiation.
If we build our own system, we’ll just replicate
the defense of order we all say we hate.”
—“The idea that justice is just a fiction
is copaganda! It makes us submit
to the cops, and to the jurisdiction
of the courts, instead of fighting it.”
—“Yeah well, I wish I could be persuaded.
These kids won’t find any justice unaided,
but what kind of justice do you think you can give?
Accountability? It’s punitive!
I know I’m against the spirit of the times,
but what’s at issue here is a relationship
and I think it’s really a dangerous slip
to start seeing that in terms of crimes.
I preferred it the way it used to be,
before queerness discovered morality.
—“I feel like recently, claims to virtue
have become the way you win a fight.
Like I’m totally licensed to hate or hurt you
if I first establish, I’m in the right.”
—“Come on, that’s bullshit. You’re misconstruing
everything I say. What we’re doing
isn’t punishment, it’s about being there
for your sisters, about the duty of care
we have for each other. It’s about relying
on other trans women, and you know, I thought
I’d be able to turn to you for support.
Like, can’t you help me? I’m here, I’m trying
to do something good.” —“Okay, that’s true.
But that goodness might be misguiding you.”
—“Well if not goodness, what should I be guided
by, do you think?” —“Well what about us?
Not that I need your undivided
attention, or for you to like, make a fuss
of me, but we’re new, and it’s kind of exciting,
and instead, you’re obsessed with these children fighting.”
—“It isn’t fighting. And shut up, there’s no need
for you to be jealous. I’m feeling freed.
It’s not zero-sum. I finally ended
things with Aashvi, who was such a rock
she became a burden, and like, it’s a shock,
But it’s like I finally comprehended
that I have all this energy. I feel so light.”
—“That’s good,” I lean back. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Why do I say this? The truth is, reader
I’ve gone and fallen in love with Kate.
I can’t upset her too much. I need her.
And also she isn’t wrong: she’s great!
She’s has such passion, such hope, she’s so dashing,
her hands waving, her eyes flashing,
her little jumps in her seat, the way
she pulls at her hair when she wants to say
something, but is letting me finish speaking,
this gesture of barely managed restraint:
she’s crazy, but there’s nothing about her faint
or listless. And so I’m kind of freaking
out, and realizing if I want to defuse
this argument, then I have to lose.
Kate says —“You can help me, we’ll do this together . . .”
—“Listen,” I say, “this is all a lot.
Let’s go for a walk. It’s gorgeous weather,
warm but not unbearably hot.
Plus I swear, since we’ve been seated
this is the seventh time they’ve repeated
that same bloody Ibeyi song.
Which means it’s a fact: we’ve been here too long.”
Kate laughs, and I think okay I’m succeeding!
and basically drag her out through the door.
“How about a joke? Okay, Niels Bohr,
a cop pulls him over because he’s speeding
and asks, ‘Do you know you were going too fast?’
He says, ‘No. But I know where I am at last!’”
Kate doesn’t get it, so I start outlining
quantum theory, and uncertainty:
“It’s the physics version of not defining
that which has a history . . .”
—“We’ve gone from Niels Bohr to Nietzsche!”
She laughs again. “You’re such a teacher!”
—“I wish! I got my PhD
in Early Modern poetry!
Imagine thinking I had the potential
to get hired without doing something queer,
or dating to earlier than, like, last year.
If I’d stuck to the experiential
I wouldn’t be working in a fucking shop!”
—“Yeah, well I’m freelance! You want to swap?”
—“So now we’re competing over whose position
is most precarious?” —“We are! Hell yeah!
That’s trans girl culture! It’s the trans condition.”
—“Well it’s good to know there’s something we share.”
We laugh, and this isn’t commiseration.
but instead a kind of celebration:
we stand together against the cis!
At Twentieth and Park we stop and kiss
and I buy her a single perfect flower
from a guy outside a health-food shop
Kate says —“I could almost punch a cop!
When we’re together we have so much power.”
At Twelfth, I realize where we are.
—“Oh Kate, we’re almost at Giant Bar!”
—“What’s that?” —“Okay, the name’s misleading,
the place is tiny, I mean really small.
It’s the only bar in this whole bleeding
country I actually like at all.
It’s not a pub, but it’s a consolation.”
—“It’s a little early for inebriation . . .”
—“No! If anything, it’s already too late.
I mean, this is supposed to be a date!
And we went for coffee! What a blunder!”
I take her hand, and together we flit
through East Village streets obliquely lit
by the unseasonal sun, as it’s sinking under
the tops of the towers we’re leaving behind:
our footsteps matching, our fingers entwined.
When we get there, the bar’s still quiet.
I order Campari with a little squeeze
of orange, and Kate has whisky and diet.
The gay bartender has put out cheese
thoughtfully cut up, on a little platter,
(these little touches really matter)
and Prince and Lisa are duetting on “Head.”
—“You were just a virgin on your way to be wed,”
I sing to Kate, and we both start dancing.
—“And then I came on your wedding gown!”
I conclude, and giggling, we settle down
and begin to get tipsy. The fall is advancing
remorselessly outside, but within this banquette,
at least for an evening, we’re able to forget.