WE'WHA: AN EXPLORATION INTO AGENCY

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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In 1886, a Zuni Two-Spirit artist visited the Smithsonian. Her name was We’wha. Brought to Washington by ethnologist Matilda Coxe Stevenson, We’wha was able to impart knowledge onto the museum in incredible ways.

A portrait taken of We'wha in 1894. Source

Gender is a weird thing, especially when talking about other culture’s genders. In Zuni culture, We’wha was a lhamana, someone who was assigned male at birth, but would take on the gender roles of women. While this may sound similar to what we in the West understanding of transgender people, it is important not to conflate the two as the lhamana played a significant social and religious role within Zuni society. For the purposes of this article, I will be using she/her pronouns for We’wha.

By all accounts, We’wha was a highly acclaimed artist. Her pottery and weaving skills drew the attention of Coxe Stevenson, who was sent by the Smithsonian to Zuni to document and collect research on the Zuni peoples. As a result, many pieces that were made by We’wha found their way into the Smithsonian collection. Unfortunately, due to the way that the Smithsonian recorded information in their ledgers, We’wha’s role was frequently lost.

We’wha’s  six month visit to Washington and the Smithsonian is truly a fascinating story. For Coxe Stevenson, bringing We’wha to the Capital served two purposes; spark interest in the nascent field of ethnology and to allow for more information to be collected on objects that had already been obtained from the Zuni peoples. Of her time at the Smithsonian, there are two instances that are particularly noteworthy: one involving a loom and another involving prayer feathers.

The loom had previously been collected by the Smithsonian, but it was disassembled upon arriving at the museum and catalogued as individual pieces. As a result, no one at the Smithsonian was aware of how the loom was meant to be used. With We’wha being on the museum's premises, she was able to assemble and use the loom. This was a highly documented moment in both newspaper articles as well as photographic evidence, as We’wha’s activities in the nation’s Capital were the talk of the town. A personal favourite of mine is the photograph of We’wha setting up the loom. In, what appears to be a storage room at the Smithsonian, We’wha is sitting on the floor while the loom is placed upon collection boxes and stepping stools. It is a brilliant contrast that feels out of place for a 19th Century institution.

We'wha and the loom in the Smithsonian. The loom came from the museum's collection. Source

The prayer feathers are a creation by We’wha in a most delightful way. While she was in Washington, the Summer Solstice was coming up and We’wha wanted to perform the traditional Zuni ceremonies that accompanied it. This involved the creation of prayer feathers. While the materials to make these would have been able to be purchased in Washington, Zuni customs forbade acquiring them through any sort of monetary system. This left only one option; the Smithsonian’s collections themselves. In an act that echoes the artist in residence programs of over a century later, the Smithsonian made its storage available for We’wha to use. And that is just what she did. The result was a set of prayer feathers that came from multiple birds local to Zuni as well as shells and dyes. Once the ceremony was performed, the feathers were planted for two days before re-entering the museum as something entirely new. In this way, We’wha was able to recontextualize the museum’s collection, highlighting the overlap between the strict categories that existed in the catalogues.

The prayer feathers that We'wha created to celebrate the Summer Solstice. Source

These are but two examples of We’wha’s time in Washington and this is really only just scratching the surface of her experiences with the museum. Her story is truly remarkable and if this article has piqued your interest, I would highly recommend reading more about her. Her role as not just a subject of the museum but a participant as well, in a time when institutions were predominantly concerned with preserving indigenous material culture without preserving the indigenous peoples themselves, opens up so many discussions that could not possibly be told in this article alone.

For further reading on We'wha, I would recommend:

Issac, Gwyneira. "We'wha Goes To Washington." In Reassembling the Collection: Ethnographic Museums and Indigenous Agency, edited by Rodney Harrison, Sarah Byrne, and Anne Clarke, 143-169. Santa Fe: School For Advanced Research Press, 2013.

Roscoe, Will. The Zuni Man-Woman. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1991.

IS QUEER ENOUGH? THOUGHTS ON QUEER MUSEUMS

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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Source

In his 2008 article Theorizing the Queer Museum, Robert Mills talks about the difficulties that would surround a queer museum. For the purposes of this article, queer is used here to refer to a wide variety of sexual and gender identities, like gay, lesbian, transgender, and more. Mills' main point is that queer theory is inherently antithetical to museums, as museums are normalizing while queer identities are intrinsically non-normative. Mills, quoting Kosofksy Sedgwick, says that history reflects the heteronormative ideals of “inheritance, marriage, dynasty, domesticity, and population” and that queer exhibitions challenge these tenants. These qualities help to erase queer identities, it is claimed, so presenting anything remotely queer can be seen as radical.

Democratic Candidate Pete Buttigieg, seen here being intrinsically non-normative. Source.

I disagree with this though. I do not believe that there is anything intrinsically non-normative about queer identities; it instead comes out of how one expresses their queerness. Referring back to the quote above, I find it laughable that queerness cannot fit into those descriptors that the author calls “history”. Marriage is the one that should stand out to anyone with even the briefest familiarity with queer history from the last 30 years. Marriage has been at the heart of the queer movement for decades now. Meanwhile, the idea of the “traditional family” (upon which marriage is the central pillar) has been used as a bludgeon by right wing ideologues to attack and demonize queer relationships. In an effort to get gay marriage recognized, queer activists had to shape queer love into something it was not; straight-passing. It had to abandon the BDSM, the kinks, the casual sex, the polyamory; to be accepted, queer love had to become palatable to straight observers, all over forms of love be damned. There is a term for this, where the heterosexual features of queer relationships are highlighted above all else; it is called homonormativity. This is why I do not agree with Mills’ claims on the antagonistic nature between queer and museums; queer can be just as normative.

A humourous representation of homonormativity in media. Source.

While I disagree with how Mills gets to his conclusion, I would agree with that queer museums cannot succeed, or at the very least are very difficult to create. We have this idea that LGBT+ history was a coming together of outcasts that finally fought for their rights. This really is not the whole story, and the phrase “a trans woman of colour threw the first brick at Stonewall” does not help this. Queer history is one of strange bedfellows, groups that could barely stand each other, trying to get along to advance their goals. Showing the intricacies of these groups that very rarely actually got along would prove to be a great challenge to any museum, especially when the dominant voices will disregard any wrongdoing. One of my favourite examples to highlight this is with Lesbian Organization of Toronto, or LOOT for short. From 1976 to 1980, LOOT claimed that every lesbian in Toronto was automatically a member. Because of this, they very rarely agreed on anything. One of the few times they were in agreement, however, was to not allow a transgender woman to attend their meetings. Theoretical differences in identity such as these make it incredibly difficult for a queer museum to just exist. Existential questions must be asked because queer is not enough. A queer museum must also be a trans museum. It must be an intersex museum. It must be asexual. It must represent every letter under the LGBT umbrella. Without those other identities, only the dominant voices get to have a say in how to present history.

TO MONUMENT OR NOT TO MONUMENT?

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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In 2016, the Stonewall Inn became the United State’s first LGBT national monument. Declared by Barack Obama, he called upon the memories and myths of the Stonewall Riots that took place in 1969. I feel that museums have a tendency to view national subsidies and recognition of this kind as a universal benefit, but for the queer community, it is not as black and white.

The Stonewall Inn. Source.

The Stonewall Riots were kicked off in response to an anti-gay police raid of the now legendary bar on Christopher Street in New York. Unlike previous raids, the patrons fought back. The Riots would continue for three days, becoming the catalyst needed to spark the Gay Liberation movement. This early movement was not satisfied with homosexuality being normalized, but wanted to improve the lives of all. It is this mentality of not assimilating into heterosexual society that is generally recalled in phrases like “the first pride was a riot”.

With this being said, not everyone held the same goals as the Liberationists. There were many in the movement who sought to elevate the needs of predominantly white middle class gays and lesbians, frequently at the expense of others. These voices became prominent within the LGBT community  and would guide much of the direction that the movement would take in the following decades. Organizations like the Human Rights Campaign fall into this category.

With these two perspectives in mind, thinking about the Stonewall Inn being declared a national monument becomes increasingly curious. The modern view of the Stonewall Riots is one of rebellion, fighting against an unjust system--a fight that continues to this day. While much has been achieved by activists so far, there is still a great deal that needs to be addressed, especially for trans women of colour who are most commonly the targets of violence.

Despite this, the commemoration of the site was described as being apolitical because it was an official government event. In doing so, queer history and state intervention in queer lives is presented as something that only existed in the past and no longer relevant today. This could not be farther from the truth.

What is especially galling about this is the timing of the commemoration; two weeks after the deadly Pulse Massacre in Orlando in which a gunman opened fired at a gay bar, killing 49 people. With the murders of so many members of the LGBT community still fresh on everyone’s minds, to present the Stonewall Inn as a symbol of how far we have come concerning LGBTQ rights,  is farcical at best.

To conclude, I wish to ask the question that guided this piece. Is there a time in which government involvement goes against the narrative at a historic centre or site? I contend that the Stonewall Inn is one such example.

LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY WITHIN THE MUSEUM

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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When I started researching into transgender history, I was frequently tripping over the language used in the articles I would find. The term “transsexual” kept coming up. As a transgender woman that came of age in the mid to late 2010s, transsexual was out of vogue, frequently with negative connotations. It was not until I read Susan Stryker’s “Transgender History” that I discovered that this has not always been the case.

Transgender language evolved quickly. Even the terms used as recently as a decade ago have been abandoned by the community, and so many are unaware of this phenomenon. Phrases like “transgendered” are viewed with skepticism, representing an ignorance of transgender issues from those that use it nowadays. But if you walk over to Church St and Wellesley St, you will find a large mural that includes the phrase in the heart of Toronto’s Gay Village.

The mural at Church and Wellesley. Note the use of "transgendered" in the top left. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

This presents a problem for museums wishing to talk about transgender history. How do we grapple with this changing language in exhibitions in which even the community is frequently not aware of? Do we use the language viewers are familiar with and apply labels to those that did not choose them or do we keep the original language, fearing a negative response from the community we are hoping to serve?

As I am sure many of us are aware, when it comes to label writing, we need to be very precise with our wording. In order to keep the visitor’s attention, the labels need to be short and direct. Unfortunately, this does not lend itself to in depth discussions of complex topics, such as the evolution of language. As such, simply explaining the issue in a label may not be the best option.

Additionally, many queer historians consider it problematic to apply labels to those that did not choose them for themselves. Without definite proof, it often becomes inserting modern understandings upon a past that might not have shared them. Identity is so incredibly personal, and to say that we know better than someone else about their identity is arrogant and elitist. Altering how they identify goes against so much of what the transgender community and the LGBT as a whole has fought for.

This practice of not applying labels to people from previous generations has also long been the target of ridicule by members of the LGBT as well. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

But, the work should be made for the transgender community as it exists today. As I spoke about in my previous article, transgender people have long been overlooked in museums. Using language that the community deems to be offensive, even if it has a place within the historical context, presents the danger of angering that same community.

I wish I could say that there is an easy solution to this issue, but I do not believe there to be. Each position has its pros and cons. The difficulties that surround presenting an evolving language that is often overlooked cannot be solved so simply and must be significantly considered when writing about transgender history.

WHY WE NEED A TRANSGENDER MUSEUM STUDIES

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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Transgender voices have grown louder and more prominent in recent years, but in the museum field, they still frequently lag behind. While there have been some fantastic efforts made in the past year, such as the series of guides that the American Alliance of Museums' Task Force for Transgender Inclusion has produced on transitioning in the museum field, but these have usually focused upon hiring practices and employees within the museum. The systems that propagate oppression continue to go unchecked. It is for this reason that I believe it is imperative that we develop a transgender museum studies; to bring attention to the unseen heteronormative practices that run rampant in museums.

Photograph courtesy of Joanna Wreakes.

Central to a transgender museum studies is the theory that transfeminist author Julia Serano calls “ungendering.” In her book Whipping Girl, Serano describes ungendering as a “phenomenon […] where gender-variant people are used as a device to bring conventional notions about maleness and femaleness into question.” Through ungendering, transgender voices are erased, because the focus is no longer upon their experiences, but on what can be understood about cisgender society through trans people.

We do not need to go very far to see the effects of ungendering in the museum field. At the end of last year on the fifth floor of Bissell Building, there was a small exhibition on transgender pornography. I previously wrote about a review of it while it was on, but using Serano’s framework provides an excellent opportunity for deeper analysis.

Transgender pornography and sex work are very prominent for trans people, so it would make sense to have an exhibition on the topic. The exhibition used materials such as photocopied zines, crossdressing BDSM pulp fiction, and DVD and VHS cases of trans porn. There was very little didactic panels that offered any kind of interpretation of the materials on display. These sections felt very disconnected from one another.

The vitrine from the exhibition, containing transgender porn VHS's. The lack of didactics prevents conversations to develop about the lasting impact that comes with fetishizing transgender women. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

What was missing most was trans voices. Transgender fetishism is an incredibly common phenomenon in trans circles, but nowhere was there any kind of discussion about the lingering effects of trans porn in the community. There are so many discussions that could be brought up by an exhibition on trans porn that were missed in this exhibit. Why do trans people so frequently go into sex work? Why are trans people so often associated with sex work? How does trans pornography help trans people explore their identity? What kind of effects does the representation of trans people as sex workers have on those looking to see themselves in media? All of these questions came to me when thinking about the exhibition, but the exhibition was not concerned with the trans experience  in regards to trans pornography. The voices of the trans sex workers or those that have to deal with the fetishization are erase.

If we want museums and exhibitions to appeal to wider audiences, we must not rely on assumptions about minority groups. For members of those minority groups, it is painfully obvious when their voices are not present. Julia Serano’s framework is just one way that we can learn to do better.  We can be better, and if we want to tell more vibrant stories through exhibitions, we have to be.

CURATORIAL DREAMING: A MUSEUM QUEERIES WORKSHOP

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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This past week, I was lucky enough to be able to go to Winnipeg for a workshop organized by the University of Winnipeg based Museum Queeries. Museum Queeries describes itself as an “interdisciplinary research project” with the aim to “challenge normative formations including white privilege, racism, and settler colonialism, among other systems of oppression, as they operate alongside and with transphobia and homophobia.” As a matter of transparency, it is important to note that the University of Winnipeg covered my travel expenses to help me be a part of the workshop. CORRECTION: It was Museum Queeries who paid for my expenses, not the University of Winnipeg.

Some members of Museum Queeries looking out at the Nonsuch in the Manitoba Museum. Photo courtesy of Lauren Bosc.

The workshop was based upon the “Curatorial Dreaming” model put forward by Shelley Ruth Butler and Erica Lehrer. The concept says that, while academics are quick to criticize an exhibition, it is often a lot more difficult to propose solutions. Therefore, it proposes dreaming imaginary exhibitions. As part of this workshop, the group visited both the Canadian Museum for Human Rights and the Manitoba Museum. We would then discuss ways that the labels, displays and exhibitions could be queeried.

Museum Queeries members on the Pride Tour, at the "Taking the Cake" exhibit on gay marriage. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

The two museums differed greatly from each other. At the CMHR, we went on their Pride Tour, a specifically LGBT focused tour offered usually only during Pride Month. The tour brought out queer stories that were scattered around the museum. As a piece of programming, it is a fantastic alternative to the usual curatorial decisions regarding queer content, but at only 75 minutes, the choices made as to what not to include are telling (the lack of any discussion on the Toronto Bathhouse Raids especially so).

Whereas the CMHR had some, at times problematic, queer content, the Manitoba Museum had none. The Manitoba Museum is a more traditional encyclopedic museum that tells the history of Manitoba. This ranges from the environment of the province, to the many Indigenous groups that lived there, to the colonial activities such as the fur trade. Unfortunately, aside from some camp labels, there was nothing that spoke to the queer history of Manitoba.

Members of Museum Queeries at the Manitoba Museum being shown pelts and animal remains. Photo courtesy of Lauren Bosc.

The different approaches to queer content between the two institutions created equally different discussions on how to queery them. For the CMHR, the discussions centred around reworking what was already there, adapting the framework that already existed. This took the form of focusing upon labels and sometimes adding new dimensions to the exhibits that were not already there. This proved to be challenging in places, as the limitations of labels often hampered the amount of information that could be included.

The results of the discussions that came out of the CMHR visit. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

The lack of content with the Manitoba Museum allowed for more flexibility in imagining a more queer museum. By having nothing, the museum unknowingly allowed us to focus on reshaping what content already existed. As a result, the discussions were much more diverse in the topics they touched on. One topic that was particularly interesting was the imagining of a brothel in the reconstruction of 1920s Winnipeg. This would have provided a look into the world of sex work in the 1920s as well as a conversation around how the police violence that the sex workers were frequently exposed to. This was but one of the reimaginings that participants created out of the Manitoba Museum.

The results of the discussions after the Manitoba Museum. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

The workshop, in my opinion, was a success. It challenged us to think in new ways about the exhibitions and displays that we saw. The discussions that arose out of the museum visits provided unique insights into curatorial process. It also offered an opportunity to apply a critical queer lens to museums that usually are overlooked.

The members of Museum Queeries in the entrance to the Manitoba Museum. Photo courtesy of Lauren Bosc.

I would like to express my sincere thanks to Angela Failler, Heather Milne, Lauren Bosc and Nicole Ritchie for organizing the workshop and for helping me to get out to Winnipeg for it. Had it not been for them, I would not have had the opportunity to experience the workshop and hear from others interested in queering museums.

THE T IS NOT SILENT

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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The Friday before the Pride Parade, Church Street is packed. At around 8 PM, the crowd makes its way up to Bloor Street before turning down Yonge Street and continuing to Allan Gardens. This march evokes a very different atmosphere than the festivities that are scheduled for this Sunday. There is no need for the corporate sponsors, just thousands of people walking in solidarity. This is the Transgender March, my personal highlight of Pride every year.

The banner carried at the front of the Trans March. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

This is the tenth year that Toronto had a Trans March to kick off Pride weekend. Starting as an unofficial event, the March has grown in size every year, with this year’s estimates sitting around 8,000 people. The energy was palpable and a farcry from the Pride Parade on Sunday. There were no banks with larger than life floats, no corporations trying to hock their wares on a public. Instead, there were thousands of people, all united in the same cause. They carried signs that conveyed a shared trans cultural production. They used memes and made references to things recognizable within online trans spaces, such as the now legendary 57 hour livestream of the 1999 game Donkey Kong 64 by Youtuber Hbomberguy that raised $340,000 for a trans charity earlier this year. Examples can be seen below.

VERY GOOD signs from the Trans March on Friday night!!!! Absolutely thrilled to see so many friends and people come out to march!!! LOVE YOU 💙💖⚪️💖💙 pic.twitter.com/Ngbpez2Tzq

— 💖 Gremlin Sherry 💖 (@rancidyogurt) June 23, 2019

Events such as the Trans March are incredibly important, both for individuals and for understanding Pride. Growing up transgender, no one ever spoke about trans people, and even more infrequently was actually seeing someone who was trans. It felt isolating. This contrasts to the Trans March, where I am surrounded by people being visible. These people are not just speaking about trans people but advocating for trans rights, which is incredibly powerful. Events like these signal to other closeted individuals that they are not alone.


Equally important is how it is viewed within Pride itself, for Pride and the Gay Rights Movement has a long history of transphobia. It is often said that the first Pride was a riot, but rarely is it mentioned that the second Pride in San Francisco excluded drag queens from attending. Even here in Toronto, Pride organizers tried to sabotage the Trans March for many years by restricting it to a much shorter route than those offered to the Dyke March or the Parade. By having the Trans March each and every year, it represents a resilience amongst the community and, with the March swelling in size every year, a stark reminder that trans issues are no longer on the periphery but now in the mainstream. The Trans March serves as encouragement for the future.

AFTER THE SECOND MOLOTOV: UNRAVELING STONEWALL'S HERITAGE

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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“A transgender woman of colour threw the first brick at Stonewall.” This is a phrase that frequently gets used to place trans people within the LGBT. Often, it is referring to Sylvia Rivera, a trans Latinx sex worker. While she was alive, Rivera rejected the claims, instead stating that she threw “the second Molotov.” Nevertheless, the claim she threw the first brick has had a monumental effect on how Stonewall is remembered and beyond.

For those that might not be aware, the Stonewall Inn was a meeting place for the LGBT community in New York during the 1960s. Because of this, it was often the target of police raids. The constant police harassment would culminate in the early hours on June 28, 1969. The patrons of the Stonewall Inn responded violently, kicking off a riot that would go down in history as starting the Gay Liberation Movement and the modern LGBT.

The legendary Stonewall Inn. Source

Soon after the riots on New York’s Christopher Street, gay rights activist groups began sprouting all over the world. Stonewall had been the spark that ignited a revolution, one based in the methods of the preceding Civil Rights Movement. The following years would see significant gains made by gay activists. But, this is where transgender history and gay history deviate.

Sylvia Rivera was in the Gay Liberation Movement from the start, having even been at Stonewall on the first day of the riots. But she would not stay long. The gay communities were changing, and changing in such a way that left very little room for trans people. The gay male culture was becoming hypermasculine, finding itself in gay clubs and through hard drugs. Meanwhile, the lesbian sphere was getting involved with Second Wave Feminism, typified by its exclusion of transgender individuals.

Gay communities were becoming hostile to trans people, and this shows in the 1971 Sexual Orientation Non-Discrimination Act in New York. Through backroom dealings, the language of the act was changed so as to remove all reference to gender expression in an effort to make it more palatable at the expense of trans individuals. This angered many trans activists, including Rivera, as it seemed like they had been betrayed.

Rivera would leave gay activism a couple years later. The rise of trans exclusionary rhetoric reached a peak at the 1973 Christopher Street Liberation Day Rally, when feminists in the crowd described the trans women present as mocking womanhood. In response, Rivera got on stage, amid boos from the crowd, to decry the inactivity of the gay activists. Her role in the movement would soon be forgotten, only to be rediscovered in the 1990s.



So, what does all this mean, then? To understand that, we need to delve into some theory, specifically Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities and Tony Bennett on narratives. In his essay “Museums and Progress,” Bennett describes narratives as only existing in retrospect, only having value once we give it value. In this way, narratives are entirely constructed and not inherent. This fits in well with Anderson’s Imagined Communities theory in which large groups that will never meet each other imagine a shared comradery.

These theories reflect how Stonewall is viewed in the LGBT. Much like Anderson’s examples of South East Asian monuments, Stonewall became an image that represented LGBT activism. The LGBT has taken the image of Stonewall and mythologized it. No longer does it just represent a place but a whole group and a mentality that can be seen and felt around the world. With the rediscovered involvement of trans activists like Rivera, the narrative that surrounds Stonewall and the LGBT has slowly shifted. No longer was it the start of just Gay Rights, but a larger LGBT community. It brought about more inclusion for trans individuals.

But this inclusion in the narrative problematizes transgender history. It creates an assumption that, since we were present at the start of the movement, gay and trans histories are one and the same. This results in a further erasure of trans history as it gets subsumed by the much larger and more vocal gay history.

TRANS PORNOGRAPHIES AND UNCHECKED FETISHIZATION

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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If you have been around the Faculty of Information lately, you may have noticed a small, recent exhibition on the fifth floor of the Inforum. This exhibition covers some aspects of transgender pornography in the later half of the 20th century. As a transgender museum professional that has been desperately trying to find a way to make those identities coexist, I was excited to see something that was relevant to my identity. At least, I was initially.

As I spent more time thinking about the exhibition, I started to feel more and more uncomfortable with the subject matter. The reason was simple: it did nothing to address the fetishization of trans bodies and instead unintentionally played into it.

To be clear, I am not claiming that trans porn is inherently a bad thing. For many trans individuals, sex work and pornography were the only way to make money and survive. Even the most revered trans activists like Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson were forced into sex work simply because of their identities. So, to act as though there is absolutely no place for this would be to ignore history.

The display case showing crossdressing fantasies on one side and real life trans experiences on the other.
Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

Where the problem arises, however, is in how the material is presented. With very few didactics, the exhibit demands the viewer to interpret the objects on display. No where is there a discussion on the outdated language and slurs that run rampant throughout the displays. Words such as "transexual" and "transvestite" have very nuanced histories that are completely lost on most audiences. A cisgender audience, of which the Faculty of Information predominantly is, would not be as familiar with these materials to question the underlying issues that arise from each of the displays.

The exhibit is split up into three sections, the wall, the display case and the vitrine. All of these cover different aspects and each have their own problems. The wall shows photocopies of the Gendertrash zine. The major problem with this section is that, quite simply, these are not pornographic, nor do they discuss trans bodies. They more closely discuss trans identities and the issues of being trans in a world that does not understand them. Simply put, the section is out of place in an exhibition on trans pornography. The only reason I can see it being included is because it was started by a sex worker, but again, there is no text panels to explain why it is there.

The wall covered with photocopies of the Gendertrash zine. The design makes this section fairly inaccessible.
 Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

The display case’s presentation is even more baffling. On one side is pulp erotic fiction detailing the forced feminization of men, and on the other is the real-life interviews with trans people. This is especially insulting considering one of the trans people on display was legendary film composer Wendy Carlos. The juxtaposition of crossdressing fetishism with real life trans icons waters down any kind of positive messages that could come from either.

The vitrine is probably the most noticeable of the three displays, containing within it the very explicit images of trans porn VHS tapes. These portray the fantasies of a largely cisgender audience, especially the transfemme ones. Fantasies such as these serve only to portray trans people as some kind of in between, a chance to experience gay sex without having to question one’s sexuality. But this underlying homophobia is never questioned, never addressed, because of the lack of panels discussing the exhibit.

The vitrine containing video trans porn. The use of slurs is most prevalent here.
Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

But the biggest problem in my mind with the exhibit is how it seems to portray the fetishism of trans bodies as being something of the past. Nothing seems to be from this millennium, which gives off a feeling of antiquity to these depictions. This fetishism is anything but antique. If anything, it has been bolstered with the internet. And it is a fact of life that every trans person that is even slightly public knows.

The realities of being openly trans online, an aspect of trans pornographies that this exhibit does not address. Photo courtesy of Amelia Smith.

The exhibit clearly wanted to educate people on the realities of trans porn, but it could have used a trans person to help give a trans voice.

WHERE'S THE T? TRANSGENDER INCLUSION IN THE MUSEUM

Not Your Average Cistory | Amelia Smith

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Last year, the Canadian Museums Association (CMA) released a draft document that attempted to address the issue of LGBTQ2+ inclusion within Canadian museums. Among the flaws of the document, one stands out from the rest, hitting at a deeper problem that runs throughout. In the section entitled “Self Identification,” the CMA seems to believe that simply including more diverse options in collecting data about employees will lead to more diverse results. Unfortunately though, there is a concept in the trans community called “being stealth.” Being stealth is when a trans person does not announce their identity, sometimes for safety reasons. If the work environment does not appear safe for the trans employee to come out, they will not announce their identity.

This gets to the root of the problem with the CMA’s inclusive policies; they deal with the top down, the hiring policies, the health benefits, data collection, but they ignore the culture that is already in place. There is very little that would let a museum know how they can help a trans employee directly.

A Transgender Pride flag flying on Transgender Day of Remembrance. Source.

In my conversations with trans museum professionals, one of the largest issues they faced was the emotional labour required to be open and out in the workplace. This is especially true for non-binary individuals, those whose identity goes beyond the traditional ‘male’ or ‘female’. For many trans people, it falls upon them to educate those around them about their identity and what it means to be trans. Being in an industry that is often contract based, a trans individual must begin the whole educating process anew with each new job. This on its own can feel like a whole other job on top of the one they were hired for. And that gets incredibly exhausting.

Another area that the CMA drops the ball on is with pronouns and how they discuss them. Everyone has a pronoun, but for most, it is just presumed based upon how they express themselves. In the CMA document, pronouns are only mentioned to say not to presume during the hiring process, when talking to the public, or when an employee needs to change their information. There are many more ways that pronouns can find their way into the workplace beyond these, and many can very easily be introduced to help a trans individual feel more welcome. One such suggestion is to normalize the idea of giving someone your pronouns. This should be done not only for trans employees, but for everyone so that it does not single out the trans employees. It can be as little as including your pronouns in your email signature, which is a practice that is becoming more and more common. This small act shows trans employees that you are thinking critically about the nature of pronouns. It can have a really big effect.

Buttons such as these can be very good to announce one’s pronouns to those around them. Source.

These are only a couple of the (many) issues with the CMA’s recent LGBTQ2+ inclusion document and ways that museums can try to be more inclusive of their employees. To find out the areas that an institution needs to improve upon, it would be best to talk to any trans employees the institution might have and listen to what they have to say. It is not enough to just assume what they need, adding their voice to the conversation is a must.