Super Trans: Transgender in Comic Books with M.W. Bychowski

"You can't prove who you are...
and if we ask other people to tell us we're real, 
we've lost everything"

Kate "Coagula" Godwin
The Doom Patrol

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Super-Trans

It was Saturday, March 5th in Exeter, New Hampshire when I walked down a narrowly flight that likely inspired (along with the famous song) the naming of the Stairway to Heaven Comic Book Store (SWtH). I had a good relationship with the shops owner, a retired English teacher. At our first meeting, when he found out about my research on trans literature, he had insisted that I share some of my work with him. Upon getting to know each other more, the topic of my Transform Talks and workshops came up. He invited me to speak some evening in one of his shops. We planned the event to happen before my family and I moved to Connecticut. If the event went well, such Transform Talks would be a good excuse to get me to travel back to Maine/New Hampshire for visits. In any case, it was a parting gift to one another, an event that could share the conversations we have had in the store with a wider audience as well as a way to say bon voyage to that community. A poster was drawn up to advertise the event, along with a few “variants” to be available to subscribers of our different social media. This mimicked the practice in comics where variant and exclusive covers are released along with special issues in order to drum up the interest of collectors. Word got around the store as well as among local activists and a comic book reading group. For a while, both of our expectations were fairly conservative. The owner promised that if nothing else he would be there and we could have a nice informal discussion on the topic. Yet as I arrived at the store to find the room set up for the Transform Talk, the room was already filling with some twenty or so attendants. This would be a good discussion.

The subject of the talk, “Super Trans: Transgender in Comic Books,” had struck a cord with many so that attendants roped in family and friends to come. We began by going around the room and introducing ourselves, named our preferred pronouns, and explaining what had brought us here today. Most but not all present claimed that they had only encountered transgender rarely in comics and others admitted that the only instances they could remember are from video games. Nonetheless, by the end of the circuit, I had added several titles to my list that I would explore later. The crowd began to flip through books when I passed around a stack of comics that would be featured in today’s talk. I also affirmed that a special attendant would win a free comic at the close of the evening, as promised on the poster. (The winner of the comic ended up choosing "Angela: Queen of Hel #1" on my recommendation). Beginning to write on the board, I explained that the focus of today’s talk was to explore how transgender functions narratively in comic books. For the time being, this would push beyond or aside the work of merely listing transgender characters in comics, debating who could or could not be considered trans, or answering the very interesting question of the presence of transgender readers and writers in the industry. The key topics of the talk would be how comic books use: (1) transgender as metaphor, (2) transgender as narrative, and (3) transgender as perspective.

Before I began, I gave a preliminary history and set of definitions. Surprising some not familiar with my typical area of study, I drew the history of transgender in comic books back to the medieval period. The erotic narratives, battle scenes, and many iterations of characters familiar to comics are present in chivalric romance. Yet furthermore, so is the practice of sequential art. Many who approach medieval manuscript images for the first time may be confused when they see the same character appearing many times in a single page, assuming that the duplication is the mistake of the artist or the viewer. To understand how the illustrations work, one must think like a comic book reader. Multiple scenes often appear played out on a single page but without the bars to separate them. Gawain can be scene conversing in one corner, fighting in another, and fleeing in a third. Beyond the form and narratives, trans characters such as Sir Silence from Roman de Silence serve as forerunners to later trans warriors in comics as would be evident when we got to the next section. Jumping ahead to modern comics, we see trans figures presented as farcical and usually evil or amoral characters such as the duplicitous He-She whose left side and right side were split male and female. Then we reached an era in the late 1980s and 1990s were transgender characters were being presented among other queer persons. Then comes (as in other genres) about 20 years where transgender characters nearly vanished from comics in order to allow more normative and integrated versions of gay and lesbians to take the focus. Recently, in the past few years comics have begun using the word transgender and even offering a few characters. Yet even when transgender discourses weren't being mentioned by name or dignified, the power of trans lives were still being utilized as metaphors, narratives, and perspectives.

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Transgender as Metaphor

The order of the topics was explained as I began discussing “transgender as metaphor,” noting that this form of integration is in many respects the least reflective of trans experiences or political concerns. In fact, at this level, transgender does not need to be embodied or identified by any specific character. Rather, the name or cultural meanings of transgender hover at the level of association in order to do what metaphors do best: explain one thing by means of another. Something or someone is meant to be understood as “transgender like.” Even when a trans person is present, they are not presented for their own sake but in order to help aid in understanding another character or organization. A relatively benign example of this exists in the current Batgirl Comic where her former roommate, Alysia Yeoh, revealed herself as transgender on the same night that Batgirl reveals that she was formerly a woman with disabilities, living for many years in a wheelchair. The mirroring, coming out trans as Batgirl came out crip, demonstrates just one way that transgender is used to help shed light on the telling of super hero secret identities and origin stories. The movement from a place of secure secrecy to revelation is one super heroes have played out to exhaustion but by introducing a transgender counter-point the tired old trope takes on new life. Suddenly in the light of transgender, the super revelation is revived with signals of long feared social prejudice and internal struggles. Importantly, the long held yet often denied association between transgender and disability is affirmed. The act of passing as a cisgender woman mirrors the experience of passing as able-bodied; even super-abled; positioning the pre-transition past as a source of shame and secrecy. Yeoh’s story is not greatly elaborated, as in the case of black side-kicks or gay best friends, her story is not there primarily for her own sake but to further the story of the cisgender hero.

Transgender as Narrative

Beyond merely existing as a metaphorical way of understanding conventional cisgender issues, comics at times positions characters (especially non-trans characters) in recognizably transgender narratives. The effect of adapting stories in such ways is to position "transgender as narrative." The classic example of transgender being mimicked in narrative is the gender-swap story where a normatively cisgender character finds themselves temporarily transposed into another gender. Typically the goal of such narratives is the overcoming of the gender-swap. Such conclusions are framed as a cure and a return to normalcy. I call this structure the "Super Trans" narrative because it positions certain people as heroic because they were able to overcome the transgender situation. By structuring narratives in such a way, transgender is itself treated as the problem to be fixed, resolved, or overcome in a Super Trans narrative. The goal should be an experience as close to cisgender norms as possible. Even when the story uses a trans identified character, the person can still be caught in a Super-Trans narrative. Transition towards the identified gender coincides with the plot moving forward. The unreal gender is replaced by the real gender. Gender dysphoria is muted. Surgery, hormones, or some other scientific or magical apparatus corrects the body. A problem with the Super Trans narrative is that it can be easily inverted by a turn of rhetoric. The claimed identity can be treated as the unreal identity and the character is to be corrected or converted to submit to their assigned identity. An example of this occurs both in the Ultimate Spider-Man with Jessica Drew and in Camelot 3000 with Sir Tristan. In both cases, a male identified character is cloned or reincarnated as a gender they don't claim, as women. The character's trans identification is treated as a problem and their stories cannot move forward until they accept the gender they were given. Drew and Tristan are left to live begrudgingly as women - as if in Marvel's super-hero universe and in the year 3000 there are no technologies or magics, social acceptance or liberty to transition as they will - so the trans identity is surrendered.

Transgender as Perspective

The key problems with using transgender as a metaphor or narrative is that the trans person is treated as a mechanism or an object, inciting the need for writers to embrace the subjectivity of trans experiences by presenting "transgender as perspective." In such a scenario, trans persons are not treated as an experience external to the narrator or reader. Either through active dialog with trans characters who express a full range of their experiences or else to position the trans character as narrator or protagonist the readers are called on the identify with trans subjectivities. Trans people must do this metaphoric work all the time when they translate the experiences of cisgender people into their own understanding of the world. Literature has the power to allow us to see through the minds and senses of others, so why do we limit our perspectives to those who closely match the majority? This isn't simply oppressive in a justice sense but oppressive in the sense that it is boring. By shifting from the view of transgender as an object to perceiving through trans subjectivities the objects of concern shift to other matters. The physical environment, the social pressures, the metaphors and narratives that aren't noticeable to those on the outside arise. What if we offer trans and cis readers alike narrations they don't often get to read: looking through the eyes of dysphoria, feeling the touch of sexual play through genitals that have undergone surgery, smelling the scent of perfume perhaps transgressive purchased or chaffing in clothes dictated by parents or school. These experiences are widespread but different among trans populations. Yet they don't often appear in print. As a result, many don't have words, metaphors, narratives, to describe their lives. By throwing down the innovative gift to write and read as a trans person, the possibilities grow into uncharted areas. Such opportunities arise in comics such as Angela Asgard's Assassin, Witch Hunter, and Queen of Hel where the title character's beloved Sera (an angelic trans woman) functions often as the viewpoint into the story by acting as narrator, primary speaker (Angela fights more than speaks), or musical bard. Angela is the main object but she is perceived for the reader by Sera. In this way, writers and readers come to need Sera as much as Angela does.

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Variant Covers Advertising "Super-Trans"

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#TransformTalks

After my prepared thoughts were presented, the conversation opened up to the wider group. It was a diverse group with many perspectives to share. Those collected ranged across the colorful landscape of gender, including numerous trans and other gender non-binary people.  The owner of Stairway to Heaven has proudly spoken publicly about the many many genders of people who frequent his store. I had first encountered the store when I was browsing Exeter one day, better getting to know my neighboring town. Yet what kept me coming back was the extraordinarily friendly owner and staff. I felt welcome in this place. I could come without having to put myself on display or explain myself. This feeling of exhibition accompanied by alienation  and a degree of public shaming comes in the vast majority of places I go in the form of stares, voyeuristic photographs, as well as degrading or invasive gestures and comments. I resist or ignore the misbehavior of the public on a regular basis but I crave safe places where I can step out of the sea of glares. Most days when I am too tired or hurt to deal with this slow casual violence I usually just stay home. A place like Stairway To Heaven Comics gave me somewhere I could go outside of the house and family to live out my time without having to wear my armor. Not all comic book stores are like this but most have more than usual reason to be. Comic books as well as associated recreations like Magic the Gathering Card Games, Pokemon tournaments, or Dungeons and Dragons sessions have long marked populations that are frequently marginalized, at least until very recently. People who have been historically alienated should learn as many ways as possible to recognize and ally with other alienated groups. The crowd collected for this Transform Talk at SWtH Comics were evidence that this store lived towards that potential of coalition building.

"What If?" is a traditional question in comic books. This question has sparked many characters, places, and plot lines. The question has been featured in the title of many stories that are intended to describe alternative universes or timelines where life is different than we know it. Big events such as Crisis on Infinite Earths, Spider-Verse, and Secret Wars are just a few of the cross-over events that have taken advantage of the infinite possibilities for difference to cross-pollinate, intersect, implode, and resurrect. Without the question "What If" Ultimate Drew and Sir Tristan would not exist in Marvel and DC. Many transgender, queer, feminist, crip people or people of color would not get stories without the ability to ask the question and pose alternative realities. In a way, this night came out of a "What If?" Whatever we discussed, perhaps our greatest statement was in being together, reading, and discussing comics. Why make comics by, for, and about transgender people? Because we are the inspiration, makers, and consumers of comics. Because we come to these stores with our fiances, partners, friends, coworkers, allies, and children. Because of all the people who weren't there. Because of anyone who weren't given comics to read or had their comics taken. Because of those who are told in explicit and implicit ways that comics are not for them. Because the world is changing and different. Because the world can change and be different. Trans-formation is propelled by talks such as this. This is how Super Trans turns from a form of metaphor or narrative into a political act begun when we come together to ask the question in many voices: what if?

"Super heroes are a boy thing," our youngest daughter once said shortly after starting kindergarten. She did not get this sentiment from home. For a long time before, she would brag about how much she looked up to Iron Man. She asked us to buy her clothes and candy themed on the Avengers. But once she started in kindergarten, she started bringing home a lot of sexist, homophobic, and transphobic sentiments being parroted around by the other kids at school. Having already gone through similar moments with her sister, we were sad but ready to work with her on points where her family's and her community's politics clashed. It is for this reason that it was so important that the smallest and most active of those twenty-some people at the comic talk was my daughters. The owner of the store later complimented how well they sat and listened, then when they got a bit distracted, picked comics of their own and read in the corner. This comic store was a place where I felt welcome and invited, it was important to me that so did my daughters. They got to read and shop on their own but also to look around at the diverse people who came together to discuss comic literature: men and women, non-binary, trans, cis, and queer people of color. Indeed, the straight cisgender men for whom presumably "super heroes were a thing," were in the minority. This was a women's space and a trans queer space. This was a space that welcomed me and welcome my daughters. And in the past several weeks, my youngest has reclaimed Iron Man and intends on being him for Halloween. And that is the greatest gift that comics has given me: they help me affirm for my daughters that they are the super heroes of my life in language they understand and enjoy. They are Super Trans-formative.

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More on Transgender in Pop Culture

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Be Me When I'm Gone: Gravestones & the Game of You

"You can be me when I'm gone"

Sandman: the Kindly Ones
Neil Gaiman

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A Game of You by Neil Gaiman tells the story of Barbie, a single twenty something living in a house of queer women: two lesbians, a witch, and a transwoman. Lately Barbie's dreams have become weird and creep into her waking life. Suddenly Barbie is dragged into the Dreaming and three of her friends follow in pursuit - with the notable exception of Barbie's best friend Wanda, who is refused passage into the Dreaming on the Moon's Road when her womanhood is not recognized by the Goddess (i.e. Diana/Hecate). 

A result of the Moon's intervention, a storm consumes New York, killing Wanda in the process. Upon Barbie's return to the Waking World, she discovers her friend's death and the epilogue follows Wanda's funeral, an event that erases all signs of her trans life. The final scenes show Barbie writing "Wanda" on her friend's gravestone, muttering "It's the least I could do." On the bus ride home, Barbie dreams of Wanda with Dream's sister, Death, now a "perfect" princess "nothing camp about her, nothing artificial."

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Standing in line for a book signing is not something I usually budget into my time at an academic conference, but for a chance to have a brief conversation with Neil Gaiman about his work I will gladly take a break from the day's panels. The International Conference on the Fantastic in the Arts is a bit off the beaten path, offering a low-key mix of scholars and fans discussing a range of speculative literature. In 2013, the whole conference felt a shift as security became tightened, the attendance sky-rocket, and schedules rearranged in reaction to Gaiman's presence. 

Looking down the line of people, I saw many people juggling leather-bound sets of Sandman, copies of DVDs, hard-covers of Neverwhere and American Gods, deciding how many and which objects would be be offered up to be signed. Personally, I just had one thing I wanted to pass between Gaiman and me that day: Sandman Vol. 5, A Game of You (1993).

As I came up to the table, I watched as Gaiman turned aside for a picture with the person in front of me. By this point I understood the rhythm of the exchange: I step up, say hello, he says hello, I hand over whatever I wanted signed, we talk for a minute as he writes a brief note (usually long enough to ask for a picture), and then I step aside - with the potential of an extra few seconds for a friend with a readied camera to document the moment. All in all, about a minute and a half to two minutes.

When my turn came, I followed the script, said hello and he took my copy of A Game of You. In place of a photo request, I used the minute to tell him that I really appreciated the way he ended the book. "Oh?" he asked, looking up at me. "Yes. Maybe it's funny to say, but I'm grateful that you concluded it with the death of Wanda (the trans character). Especially that, in the end, she was buried as a man and that it took the act of a friend to scribble over her tombstone - with red lipstick no less. It's a very real story and one that needed to be told." At this point Gaiman stopped signing my book, signaling me to continue. 

"After all," I added, "Sandman is about forgotten stories and dreams, right? And that includes nightmares. I have to say, personally, that the potential and even likelihood that my gender and life could be rewritten at my death is a part of the collective fears of being trans."

I believe that he could tell that I was serious in my thanks but I think talking to a trans woman about how he killed off a trans woman (the most likable character) in the book was a decision that still weighed on him. For a few minutes he shared with me the origin story of that narrative and how he had often been called out on it by queer readers. He was never sure if his care for the character had gotten across, especially given the other denials of her gender by various characters throughout the story, including a denouncement by the Moon/the Hecate herself. Having Wanda die and her history covered over was not something he wrote lightly. 

That caps off what I remember of the conversation. It went by so quickly and yet when Gaiman returned to himself and finished signing the book, and I took it and walked away it was clear that many minutes had passed. In the end I had gotten a longer turn with Gaiman than had been planned and while I don't want to put it all down in text here, he had said a lot of things to me about the story and his thoughts beyond it that I carry with me. Likewise, while I'm sure I was just one face among many, I hope he heard my thanks. It takes a special person to give life to our nightmares and to do it with generosity and compassion.

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This nightmare, pictured in A Game of You back in 1993 reflected a likely story for many trans folk. Even if in life you had successfully fought to transition and get recognized according to a certain gender, gathering around you a community of acceptance and advocacy, in death the chances were you could be sent back to a family that did not understand or approve. Granted you had your families support, their ability to get the name and gender you lived by translated onto your death certificate and gravestone was all the less likely. Walkng the gravestones at a cemetery, we may never know how many Wandas have been buried as Alvins and what other names and things they might have been called.

In 2014, over twenty years after Neil Gaiman wrote about the tragic death and erasure of Wanda, the story and nightmare remains a reality for many trans people. Legally, it is difficult and expensive to change your name, then difficult, expensive, and often impossible to change your official gender. Money, duplicity of State and Federal law, the haunting power of the birth certificate, and the ideological hip-check of judges still stand in the way of countless trans men and women from getting their gender legally changed. The possibility of any third gender category is right now outright unthinkable from a legal perspective. In the best circumstances, a funeral can still be over-written largely by the will of family members or funeral professionals. In life we fight to wrestle control over our own narrative, but in death, our name and story may last as long as red-lipstick on a gravestone.

Recently, California pushed forward a bill (AB 1577) called the Respect After Death Act. The bill, explains Speaker Elect Toni Atkins, offers "legal guidance" in helping to ensure that when a trans person dies "their death certificate accurately reflect who they are." The language of "guidance" reflects an official affirmation of trans gender identity from the state, but at best is a strong suggestion. Family, friends, and other professionals may still chose to commemorate the departed counter to the wishes of they might have had during life. A Last Will and Testament as well as a good Life Insurance Policy may help secure the wishes of the living at their death, but many trans folk continue to be left with the hope and fear of that their gender and stories will not be radically rewritten after they are gone. This is particularly the danger in States, including California, without specific legal direction or advocacy.

According to the Transgender Law Center, "Current law requires death certificates to list personal data such as name, sex, and race, and there is no legal guidance about how the official filling out the death certificate should determine a transgender person’s sex. The lack of guidance sometimes results in cases where the information on the death certificate is not consistent with the deceased’s lived gender. This can put funeral directors and coroners at risk of liability if the friends and family of the deceased believe that they listed the incorrect sex."

As much as the affirmation of friends and family can do during the life of a trans person, in death we become particularly vulnerable. State, social, and religious doctrines can be very self-enclosed systems which hardly budge to accommodate our gender transitions during our lifetime and after we pass away our fates may seem to them as good as fixed. Transitioning gender, including pronouns, names, prefixes, sex and gender designations, and public images require constant repetition to ingrain them in even the most nominally accepting community. 

Personally, I've had conferences print my birth-name on published material when I never provided them with anything other than my current name. I've had people who never knew me as anything other than a woman call me "he" or "Mr." by accident or impulse. These are usually easy fixes and usually committed with no ill-will, but they testify to the constant vigilance a trans person must have to continually press the work of transition. In life, we do a lot of labor to hold a gender change together. Even then, our exertions necessarily depend on the participation of our community to act on our behalf. In death, our corporate dependence becomes all but absolute.

All things considered, we can at best work with others to tell our stories while we are together, with the hope that they follow in our spirit in narrating our lives when we are departed. Control is impossible and so we must trust. Yet while our surrender over life authorship is compulsory, we may still work together as a community to listen and to speak, to tell our stories together so that when my voice becomes silent, "you can be me when I'm gone."

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