An Open Letter About the Gender Binary
Binaries are intrinsically part of society – it is an all too common experience for people to think of many things in binary ways. Whether that is right/wrong, black/white, good/bad – binaries are wrapped around our everyday lives, identities, and experiences. Binaries can have severe consequences for minoritized individuals by attempting to force them to fit into narrow boxes that could not possibly contain the vast ways people can identify and express themselves. As someone who is non-binary, queer, and asexual, I have personally experienced these negative impacts of the enforcement of binaries, especially the gender binary, within my life.
The gender binary is arguably one of the most common and prevalent binaries within society, as we become influenced by the gender binary even before we are born. In particular, gender reveal parties are one of the most socially acceptable ways to encourage a gender binary (even before the little human is out in the world). This is done by reinforcing the idea that blue (quite literally) means boy, and pink means a girl, and that gender is the same as the sex assigned at birth. 1 In these parties, the parent(s) reveal the (presumed) sex of the infant, often accompanied with blue or pink toys, clothing, and decorations. A name may be chosen that “matches” the presumed sex, and the baby is automatically assigned pronouns of either she/her or he/him. Thus, the gender binary is immediately enforced pre and post-birth. This was particularly evident in the controversy surrounding a Toronto family who decided to keep their child’s sex a secret, instead raising a genderless baby “Storm”. They did so to give their children the freedom to choose who they want to be, unconstrained by social norms about males and females.”
My parents intentionally chose not to have a gender reveal party for me, and did not know my sex until it was assigned at birth. They also selected an androgynous name, Sydney, which I have kept. When I was a baby, my mom describes that many people would ask: “is it a boy or a girl?” to which my mom would typically respond something along the lines of: “why does it matter?” As a child, I preferred to shop in the “boy’s” section of the store, as I hated (and still dislike) the colour pink, which often filled the “girl’s” section. I also played with a variety of toys, though my parents kept me away from Barbie as they believed that it forced unrealistic and unhealthy body standards for women. In this way, they gave me the freedom to explore my gender – such that I was often referred to as a “tomboy”.
However, even with an affirming space at home, I was still exposed to the gender binary, which seems to be inescapable. When I was in Grade 1, I remember getting into an argument with my teacher who insisted that the tools in the house had to belong to “dad”, while “mom” did the cooking and cleaning (this also enforced heteronormativity and amatonormativity). I countered my teacher by explaining that this was not how things worked in my household. Similarly, my mom challenged a different teacher who wanted to plan a field trip day where the “girls” would get their nails done and the “boys” would play sports. As I grew older, I continued to challenge gendered roles and norms, even more so when I discovered my identity as a nonbinary person in high school.
One of my favourite books is Alok Vaid-Menon’s Beyond the Gender Binary, as much of it resonated with my own experience of gender and the gender binary. Alok writes about how they learned about gender through shame, and these became inseparable – when I first tried to come out as queer in grade 6, I experienced a great deal of shame and homophobic violence. Then, I experienced victim blaming from the teachers and administration, because everyone thinks that since we “made a choice” to “look like that”, we are bringing it upon ourselves. I tried to conform to the binaries that were violently enforced upon me, but I was unable to do so. After all, as Alok Vaid-Menon states, “the gender binary is set up for us to fail. For us all to fail.” I had to choose my authenticity while also risking my safety – something that many trans and gender diverse individuals struggle with, in navigating our identities in a world that seeks to erase us.
As a result of the strict enforcement of binaries, minoritized people experienced greater rates of personal shame (often relating to the body and how one “fails” the binary and society’s standards). Minoritized people are also more likely to experience violence on the basis of binaries, and to be blamed for being victimized by the binary. In reflecting on this, Alok Vaid-Menon states: “To speak about the violence would mean acknowledging that I was different from the people around me, which would result in more violence.” This is an important reflection on the price of visibility – with greater visibility (in one’s authenticity as counter to binaries) increases the risk of experiencing binary enforcement, often through violent means.
This echoes my own experiences, particularly in my recent run for City Council in Windsor. From the moment I launched my campaign, I made the choice to be visible as a queer, non-binary person, including having my pronouns beside my name, as well as incorporating the rainbow as part of my lawn signs and other literature. This increased visibility, particularly whenever I was interviewed by the media, led to me experiencing homophobic and transphobic harassment, including one of my lawn signs being vandalized with slurs. However, despite the hate, I also knew that it was important for me to remain visible – both to be true to myself and my authenticity, and for other queer and trans folks to be able to see themselves represented.
