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"You have stuck him
in the Devil's face and said,
'Look what I can do'"
in the Devil's face and said,
'Look what I can do'"
The Transformation
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The following is part 1 of an ongoing series
on Exemplum and Eunuchs
focusing on the Transformation (1994)
a documentary by Susan Aikin
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The Dicta of the Eunuch
“Let’s talk about Ricardo,” says Terry at the film’s opening, over a black-screen introducing the preacher as the primary narrative, the source of the dicta that will grab hold of Sara/Ricardo's body in order to narrate it into an exemplum on eunuchs in the 1990s. “Let’s talk about Ricardo,” he repeats as the film cuts to him sitting in a white room, on a white couch with a photo-album in hand.[i] As if acknowledging this absent presence, the scene ends with fading back again from the white room to a black-screen announcing the film’s title. This movement from white to black plays with notions of death and heavenly light. In these spaces suggest that Terry is speaking a metanarrative dicta from outside of Time. Terry's principles are associated with scriptural dicta, a priori, and then the body is produced as facta to demonstrate it. The "talk about Ricardo," depends on the showing and looking as key to the operations of power, yet depend on laying hands on Ricardo's body in order to grab him and shove him in people's faces.
Wrestling with the splitting of these two forms of the exempla by the 1990s, Terry works to turn Ricardo, understood as a “homosexual” or “transsexual” back into an eunuch and thus reclaim a public discourse into religious, locating the medical authority with Satan in order to hold up the scripture. Public and sermon authorities, function as different dicta that differently frames the factum of the eunuch body around which he pivots. This is the necessary turn in an exemplum where the dicta must give way to the power of the facta. Yet in all these cases, the authority of nature, religion, or medicine is exterior to the body it defines. In turn, the exemplary bodies are called upon to present their bodies as facta for the Christus Medicus proses to make incomplete bodies, taking control of them, in order to “make themselves eunuchs for the Kingdom.”
"First of all, you can probably focus on this," Terry says opening up his photo album, on the right a picture of Sara and on the left a picture of Ricardo. "Find Ricardo in here, so everyone is on the same page. This is Ricardo. When I met Ricardo he was Sara." Holding Sara and Ricardo's images as illustrative facta, Terry sets himself as the authority of the exemplum that will both not only verbal but visual. He orders the engagement, tells the audience where to focus, and defines the terms. "The thing that makes him unusual," says Terry, "he is enormously charismatic. He attracts people. He has power, he has presence. he has a personality." While Terry positions himself as the authority, but he needs Ricardo as factum in order to provide the physical "presence" in order to attract people to his message. For medieval audiences examples were highly persuasive, but for modern audiences steeped in scientific empiricism and materialism, the physical facts of a eunuch are indispensible to keep these sharp machines operational.
In order for the eunuch to be a proper operative, operations cut out parts of their body and history, in order to make it fit into the Church’s sexual regulatory operations. As such, Terry must renarrate Ricardo’s history to contain and cut down Sara’s presence. "Ricardo was there on that first night [the Church visited]" Terry recounts. "Sara," he corrects himself. "Sara was there on that first night." This slip is significant. It places Ricardo before Sara; a narrative it has Sara collaborate when the film cuts to her account of living as an unhappy man in Cuba before traveling to New York to live as a woman. Ricardo is the origin and the ending, while Sara is an interruption in the middle. "There was something missing,” Terry of Sara, “He never knew what it was to be a man.” Sara becomes the non-masculine part that is always already cut away, in the story an eunuch, lacking and castrated from birth, a pre-op subject for Christ’s reparative operations.
Wrestling with the splitting of these two forms of the exempla by the 1990s, Terry works to turn Ricardo, understood as a “homosexual” or “transsexual” back into an eunuch and thus reclaim a public discourse into religious, locating the medical authority with Satan in order to hold up the scripture. Public and sermon authorities, function as different dicta that differently frames the factum of the eunuch body around which he pivots. This is the necessary turn in an exemplum where the dicta must give way to the power of the facta. Yet in all these cases, the authority of nature, religion, or medicine is exterior to the body it defines. In turn, the exemplary bodies are called upon to present their bodies as facta for the Christus Medicus proses to make incomplete bodies, taking control of them, in order to “make themselves eunuchs for the Kingdom.”
"First of all, you can probably focus on this," Terry says opening up his photo album, on the right a picture of Sara and on the left a picture of Ricardo. "Find Ricardo in here, so everyone is on the same page. This is Ricardo. When I met Ricardo he was Sara." Holding Sara and Ricardo's images as illustrative facta, Terry sets himself as the authority of the exemplum that will both not only verbal but visual. He orders the engagement, tells the audience where to focus, and defines the terms. "The thing that makes him unusual," says Terry, "he is enormously charismatic. He attracts people. He has power, he has presence. he has a personality." While Terry positions himself as the authority, but he needs Ricardo as factum in order to provide the physical "presence" in order to attract people to his message. For medieval audiences examples were highly persuasive, but for modern audiences steeped in scientific empiricism and materialism, the physical facts of a eunuch are indispensible to keep these sharp machines operational.
In order for the eunuch to be a proper operative, operations cut out parts of their body and history, in order to make it fit into the Church’s sexual regulatory operations. As such, Terry must renarrate Ricardo’s history to contain and cut down Sara’s presence. "Ricardo was there on that first night [the Church visited]" Terry recounts. "Sara," he corrects himself. "Sara was there on that first night." This slip is significant. It places Ricardo before Sara; a narrative it has Sara collaborate when the film cuts to her account of living as an unhappy man in Cuba before traveling to New York to live as a woman. Ricardo is the origin and the ending, while Sara is an interruption in the middle. "There was something missing,” Terry of Sara, “He never knew what it was to be a man.” Sara becomes the non-masculine part that is always already cut away, in the story an eunuch, lacking and castrated from birth, a pre-op subject for Christ’s reparative operations.
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Naturalizing Authority
Ricardo’s latent “power” and Sara’s lingering “presence” in the film, however, remains dangerous to authorities and narratives that try to contain them. Holding images of Ricardo in his hand as he narrates the film, a mise en scène figurative of material dependences, Terry asserts the dominance of his dicta to frame and authorize the facta of the eunuch’s life story. Positioning himself as Christus Medicus, a kind of surgeon, Terry excuses laying hands on trans images and bodies by establishing a state of crisis that requires him to resolve. The poverty of trans women, the physical need for nourishment and medical care, becomes evidence of the supposed to lack of meaning without the dictum of the Church providing structure. This is especially true in cultures, medieval and modern, based on a “Gospel of Wealth” or “Prosperity Gospel” where financial success or failure is supposed to reflect degrees of God’s favor and wholesomeness.
Given the power of physical facts, the transformation of material circumstances is then key to defining Sara’s life as defined by a lack of resources and sexual wholeness and positioning Ricardo’s post-op life on the side of social fulfillment. This is done in part through the insertion of flashbacks to choice interviews with Sara from the Salt Mines. “I couldn’t wait to come [to the US],” says Sara in one talking head, “but now I am sorry I came. Because here if you have no money you are nothing.” The nothingness that Sara references is the absence of power and presence that money provides. Thus despite the promise of “the land of the free,” because she is denied material resources, she is not free to live as she will. As Sara says these haunting words, the screen freezes and the distinct voice of “Ricardo” from another scene speaks over the image. In a frozen moment before the change, we see the woman who is supposed to be “nothing” in this place linger as if to affirm that she remains an absent presence throughout the film.
Indeed, a persistent irony of the eunuch transformation narrative is that its post-op “power” (Ricardo) is dependent on repeatedly invoking the “presence” of a supposedly erased and empty part of the pre-op past (Sara). In this, nothingness reveals itself not to be a state of non-being but rather the result of continual emptying to divide undesirable parts from the desired whole. Because nothing and being, part and whole, past and present are all operations in the same shape machine, the difference is not ontological but functional. While remaining intermeshed, the prior is made to be the unseen background to the latter’s foreground. This exchange is evident in when the film catches up the voice of Ricardo in the post-transformation time and space, where the still of Sara is replaced by the actively swaying Ricardo and the subtitle “Ricardo” appears on the bottom of the screen. “Dallas, Texas” appears on the screen as it pans over a dark room with dark furniture, where a Terry’s church thanks God for bringing Ricardo (into being) there.
Through the ritualized operations of Chritus Medicus, Sara is made “nothing,” the missing something, to serve as a background for Ricardo’s thingness. Despite the dark enclosure that remains around them during the prayer, Terry calls the place where he brought Ricardo out from “a deep and dark hole.” This is where Sara worked the streets at night as a prostitute, injected drugs and hormones. Then, as later, she becomes a (penetrated) hole for the sake of her survival, but here she does so for pleasure as well. Sara’s location is indeed deep, as blood, semen, make-up, salt and semi-tangibles like love and community saturate each other, leaving traces of them in her blood. It is a dark space, relegated to the margins, taken off the street until the night work.[ii] It is this place, in the form of HIV/Aids that Sara carries deep in her body even as she migrates to Texas, remaining as the haunting material cause for Ricardo coming (into being) there.
Given the power of physical facts, the transformation of material circumstances is then key to defining Sara’s life as defined by a lack of resources and sexual wholeness and positioning Ricardo’s post-op life on the side of social fulfillment. This is done in part through the insertion of flashbacks to choice interviews with Sara from the Salt Mines. “I couldn’t wait to come [to the US],” says Sara in one talking head, “but now I am sorry I came. Because here if you have no money you are nothing.” The nothingness that Sara references is the absence of power and presence that money provides. Thus despite the promise of “the land of the free,” because she is denied material resources, she is not free to live as she will. As Sara says these haunting words, the screen freezes and the distinct voice of “Ricardo” from another scene speaks over the image. In a frozen moment before the change, we see the woman who is supposed to be “nothing” in this place linger as if to affirm that she remains an absent presence throughout the film.
Indeed, a persistent irony of the eunuch transformation narrative is that its post-op “power” (Ricardo) is dependent on repeatedly invoking the “presence” of a supposedly erased and empty part of the pre-op past (Sara). In this, nothingness reveals itself not to be a state of non-being but rather the result of continual emptying to divide undesirable parts from the desired whole. Because nothing and being, part and whole, past and present are all operations in the same shape machine, the difference is not ontological but functional. While remaining intermeshed, the prior is made to be the unseen background to the latter’s foreground. This exchange is evident in when the film catches up the voice of Ricardo in the post-transformation time and space, where the still of Sara is replaced by the actively swaying Ricardo and the subtitle “Ricardo” appears on the bottom of the screen. “Dallas, Texas” appears on the screen as it pans over a dark room with dark furniture, where a Terry’s church thanks God for bringing Ricardo (into being) there.
Through the ritualized operations of Chritus Medicus, Sara is made “nothing,” the missing something, to serve as a background for Ricardo’s thingness. Despite the dark enclosure that remains around them during the prayer, Terry calls the place where he brought Ricardo out from “a deep and dark hole.” This is where Sara worked the streets at night as a prostitute, injected drugs and hormones. Then, as later, she becomes a (penetrated) hole for the sake of her survival, but here she does so for pleasure as well. Sara’s location is indeed deep, as blood, semen, make-up, salt and semi-tangibles like love and community saturate each other, leaving traces of them in her blood. It is a dark space, relegated to the margins, taken off the street until the night work.[ii] It is this place, in the form of HIV/Aids that Sara carries deep in her body even as she migrates to Texas, remaining as the haunting material cause for Ricardo coming (into being) there.
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Spiritualizing Authority
While Christus Medicus’s authority depends on asserting the essential naturalness of the post-operative trans body, the exemplum needs to continually show the scars of the operations in order to evidence its power. There is a kind of double-meaning when Terry stands beside his church with Ricardo, thanking God for his transformation, praising, “You have stuck him in the devil’s face and you have said, ‘look what I can do’” The words are telling. The material facts of Ricardo’s new body and circumstances are perpetually being shoved in the face of Christians so that Terry can effectively tell them “look what I can do.” Rather than merely disturbing established gender discourses, the materiality of the trans body grounds scriptural rhetoric in a sense of physical realness. Rather than hiding the fault lines of reconstructed gender, the scars of trans bodies were showed off as a tool of social control, even as they offered their own forms of resistance.
Sometimes the scar that is erased and shown as part of the operation of sharp machines are not enough, the exemplum occasionally needs to open wounds as a reminder of the dangerous facts of living without the security of its framing dictates. “HIV affected [Sara/Ricardo’s] mind,” recounts one of his trans friends in an interview. “He grew afraid of dying alone on the streets. The Church was the only way out.”[iii] It is perhaps too easy to paint Sara's life on the streets as free and uninhibited. Yet it was physical and social operations already acting on Sara that drove her into the hands of Terry's Church. Sara had long been trained to trade her body for what she needed. She traded her skin as a prostitute in order to gain the currency to exercise limited claims over her body: paying for food, clothing, hormones and heroin; each operating between violence and pleasure, necessity and choice. At HIV’s arrival into the network, however, this machine became unlivable and Sara came to desire the closed system of the Church.
The gated community of Terry’s Born Again Church allows admittance only at a high price, yet promises to give life and future as it takes away another. “I thank God that I have AIDs,” says Ricardo in an interview, sitting comfortably in a plush chair and warm sweater, “I wouldn’t have come off the street, and I wouldn’t have devoted myself to God. I’m not a fanatic, I just love the way God loves me.”[iv] Nowhere in the documentary does Ricardo claim that he is fully gave himself to the church, although he participates in it. He says that God participates in him through the care he is given. He does not say he loves God (or His Church), but how God loves him. Across in the exemplum of the eunuch, sharp machines reveal the contingency of parts and wholes, dicta and facta working together with the promise of mutual benefit. In this way, even as it makes its trans operatives to be docile, it teaches them a critical tool for exploiting systems. This practice of cooperating in ways that at once erase and sustain, subjugate and empower, builds into the trans operatives a powerful capacity for contingency.
Along these scars and contingencies lie fault lines where the cooperative trans body always keeps one foot out of the door, never fully deployed in any form or machine in which it participates. Those eunuch machines, those transgender operations, freed from the yoke of pre- and post-op demarcations become trans operatives (like double agents) who may use the feature which is most used to subjugate them, their mutability, to effect changes on both sides of supposedly strict divides of gender and faith. Such operatives may effect wider change that offers a greater variety of livable lives and in a new sense of Christus Medicus, to “love the way God loves.” Yet even as exemplum position its exemplary bodies to potentially open up the meaning of dicta, it is not an easy slash and burn. Changing machines, especially those working towards love, require cooperation.
Sometimes the scar that is erased and shown as part of the operation of sharp machines are not enough, the exemplum occasionally needs to open wounds as a reminder of the dangerous facts of living without the security of its framing dictates. “HIV affected [Sara/Ricardo’s] mind,” recounts one of his trans friends in an interview. “He grew afraid of dying alone on the streets. The Church was the only way out.”[iii] It is perhaps too easy to paint Sara's life on the streets as free and uninhibited. Yet it was physical and social operations already acting on Sara that drove her into the hands of Terry's Church. Sara had long been trained to trade her body for what she needed. She traded her skin as a prostitute in order to gain the currency to exercise limited claims over her body: paying for food, clothing, hormones and heroin; each operating between violence and pleasure, necessity and choice. At HIV’s arrival into the network, however, this machine became unlivable and Sara came to desire the closed system of the Church.
The gated community of Terry’s Born Again Church allows admittance only at a high price, yet promises to give life and future as it takes away another. “I thank God that I have AIDs,” says Ricardo in an interview, sitting comfortably in a plush chair and warm sweater, “I wouldn’t have come off the street, and I wouldn’t have devoted myself to God. I’m not a fanatic, I just love the way God loves me.”[iv] Nowhere in the documentary does Ricardo claim that he is fully gave himself to the church, although he participates in it. He says that God participates in him through the care he is given. He does not say he loves God (or His Church), but how God loves him. Across in the exemplum of the eunuch, sharp machines reveal the contingency of parts and wholes, dicta and facta working together with the promise of mutual benefit. In this way, even as it makes its trans operatives to be docile, it teaches them a critical tool for exploiting systems. This practice of cooperating in ways that at once erase and sustain, subjugate and empower, builds into the trans operatives a powerful capacity for contingency.
Along these scars and contingencies lie fault lines where the cooperative trans body always keeps one foot out of the door, never fully deployed in any form or machine in which it participates. Those eunuch machines, those transgender operations, freed from the yoke of pre- and post-op demarcations become trans operatives (like double agents) who may use the feature which is most used to subjugate them, their mutability, to effect changes on both sides of supposedly strict divides of gender and faith. Such operatives may effect wider change that offers a greater variety of livable lives and in a new sense of Christus Medicus, to “love the way God loves.” Yet even as exemplum position its exemplary bodies to potentially open up the meaning of dicta, it is not an easy slash and burn. Changing machines, especially those working towards love, require cooperation.
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[i] (Aikin & Aparicio).
[ii] Despite this failure to establish closure, once and for all, enclosure appears to be a pivotal desire for both Terry and Ricardo. McRuer notes that Ricardo’s environment is particularly closed-off and he is almost exclusively shown indoors, in houses, in Church or in a hospital (McRuer 116-119). Becoming sick from Aids, Ricardo appears anxious to exist in the supposed closed systems of church, house, and care.
[iii] ”(Aikin & Aparicio).
[iv] (Aikin & Aparicio).
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