A sensitive exploration of what being queer means

Layla is the feature debut from non-binary British-Iraqi drag artist and film maker Amrou Al-Kadhi, and uses a deceptively traditional romantic story to explore the difficulties of navigating a life caught between queer and religious/ethic identities.

Layla (deadname Latif) is a non-binary drag queen from a Muslim family, who is living in London with three queer friends and has already become a star within their community.

 

However, they’re also trying to balance this with not being out to their family and, when they go back to visit, perform a conventional straight cis role. They are convinced that they cannot possibly be who they really are with their own family.

 

When they meet Max after a performance at a corporate London Pride do that goes spectacularly – and very funnily – wrong, the pair quickly start developing a romantic bond. But they’re also streets apart in terms of their lives. Max is from a well-to-do, white, middle-class family who are accepting of his rather beige gayness, but when Layla meets them, it’s clear that there are underlying issues around racism, Islamophobia and class.

 

And to add, Layla’s newly-married sister is moving to London with her husband.

 

This is a very sensitive film, while also being very frank. It is very unjudgmental and also helps to really explain what, for many LGBT+ people, ‘queer’ means.

 

Al-Kadhi’s direction and screenplay are excellent. Bilal Hasna as Layla is simply superb, while Louis Greatorex as Max is also very good. Indeed, It’s a very fine cast all around.

 

This was screened earlier this year at the BFI’s Flare festival and is now on more general release. It’s a very good addition to LGBTQI film.

Orlando – throughly entertaining queerness

It was time for another spot of film catch-up this evening – and back to an effort at being thematic for LGBT+ History Month – with a first viewing of Sally Potter’s 1992 adaptation of Orlando, Virginia Woolf’s 1928 novel of the same name.

The film opens in 1600, with aristocratic youth Orlando pondering over his loneliness and his desire to write poetry. When his family is visited by Elizabeth I, the aged monarch takes to him, making him her “mascot” and granting him property and money. There’s one condition: “Do not fade. Do not wither. Do not grow old”, she orders.

In the novel, there is no explanation of how Orlando becomes immortal, but Potter added this to the film to suggest how this occurs, feeling that a cinema audience would need at least a hint.\

As part of the wider court of James I, he becomes utterly besotted with Sasha, a beautiful Cossack, who is visiting with her father. But when she dumps him, he’s left to muse on the “treachery” of women.

Time passes and, in the 18^th century, the eternally unchanging Orlando – nobody ever comments on this, ‘because it’s England’ – is appointed ambassador to the Ottoman Empire. There he enjoys a brotherly friendship with the Khan, before participating in a battle.

Shocked at seeing his first violent death, he flees and falls into a deep sleep for seven days. On waking, he discovers that he has become a she. Heading back to England, Orlando is stripped of her home on the basis of being a woman – and thus effectively “legally dead”.

Somehow, she continues living there until the time of Victoria, where she has an accidental meeting with Shelmerdine, an American revolutionary, with whom she enjoys a passionate fling, before he departs for home. She refuses to join him – and muses on the “treachery” of men – before her life takes her into the 20^th century, through the mud of Flanders and beyond, to 1990s London, where she has a young daughter.

It's not a devastating script, but there is wit – not least in the wonderful to-camera shots of Tilda Swinton as Orlando, where Potter has her break the fourth wall.

It is beautifully shot – cinematography was by Alexsei Rodionov – and beyond Swinton’s fabulous performance, which really grounds the film, it has a wonderful ensemble cast.

Billy Zane posts a nice turn as Shelmerdine, but one of the real joys here is Quentin Crisp as Elizabeth I – “the Queen of Queens”, according to Potter – which also adds to the queerness of the whole thing.

Then there’s Jimmy Sommerville, Kathryn Hunter, Simon Russell Beale and Toby Jones among many other familiar faces, while John Wood provides a delightful cameo as a bumptious, elderly archduke who falls for Orlando.

Potter’s direction moves things at a nice pace – easy to expect an epic, given the century-spanning scale of the story – but it’s just 93 minutes. She also wrote the screenplay and the music (the latter, along with David Motion and, for one song, Sommerville).

It’s thoroughly entertaining – and with the added spice of the gender politics, not least in terms of the differing attitudes toward men and women throughout history.

And as Vogue put it in 2020: “Nearly three decades later, Sally Potter's Orlando is more topical than ever”.

Drag as protest in award-winning doc Queendom

“I just hope people get it and don’t think I’m some sort of propaganda freak,” says Gena Marvin, as they prepare to take their performance art onto the streets of their home town Magadan, an old Soviet gulag.

“I think drag’s always been political,” responds their friend, who is filming the performance for social media. “Totally!” says Gena.

Queendom is an award-winning documentary film from Agniia Galdanova that should be seen by as wide an audience as possible.

Gena is a 22-year-old queer artist who was already using their art to make statements against the homophobic, nationalistic Russian regime.

Seeing the film, just days after a ruling by the Supreme Court of Russia stating that the “international public LGBT movement” – whatever that is – is “extremist,” and effectively outlawing any public LGBT-related activity, adds further context.

As Gena discusses the “exaggerated” nature of drag, they observe how that obviously means it draws attention to itself, and how “all important issues deserve attention” – in this case, the Russian war on Ukraine.

Brought up by their grandparents after their parents died, Gena is abused, physically and verbally, by residents in Magadan – and verbally by their grandfather – before leaving to study in Moscow. There, they joins protests against the war.

A scene where they watch through a car window while travelling through the Russian capital, with scores of police in riot gear heading in the same direction, on foot, is just a single example of many powerful ones.

They create their own costumes, largely from junk and tape, often with a resulting otherworldliness. Indeed, early on, they express how, even as the film was being made, they were still exploring where they fitted in any kind of the boxes/labels that ‘normal’ society tries to impose on everyone.

In today’s Russia, Putin uses the ‘traditional family’ as a distraction from other issues and to maintain the support of ultra-orthodox Christian leaders in the country. It’s no coincidence either that the Supreme Court statement came on the cusp of a presidential election year.

Gena is thrown off their course for “using” the colours of the Russian flag in a protest costume, on the grounds that that “violated federal law”.

The film offers a great appreciation of what performance art can do. Gena disappearing below a raft of bodies clad in plastic tape colours of the Russian flag is incredibly powerful.

In the course of all the harassment and brutality that faces them, Gena maintains dignity.

The film also illustrates the bravery of anti-war protestors in general, facing baton assaults as police claim that arrests are to “stop the spread of COVID-19”.

Galdanova’s film is, at all times, calm – surprisingly so, given what the camera records. It’s no surprise that it’s been seen at a number of film festivals and has already won a number of awards.

With a limited cinema release, it can be streamed via watch.dogwoof.com.

Updated: Queendom will be screening tonight (12 November 2024) on BBC4 at 10pm.

A much-needed examination of gender identity

Given how much trans people have been weaponised for the sake of the culture wars, it feels like an extraordinarily brave thing for award-winning Basque director Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren to make her feature film debut with a story about a young trans girl exploring her gender identity.

Brave – and necessary. Solaguren – who also wrote the script for 20,000 Species of Bees – was inspired by the suicide of a 16-year-old trans boy Ekai Lersundi in 2018.

Here, we find a family that lives in the French Basque Country. The parents are on the cusp of splitting up and of the children (teenage Nerea, 10-year-old Eneko and eight-year-old Aitor) the boys seem to constantly fight, while Aitor – also known as the less gender specific Cocó – is clearly unhappy and constantly acting up.

Their mother Ane takes the children with her for an extended summer holiday in the Basque Country south of the Pyrenees, where they will stay with her mother, Lita. Gorka, their father, stays at home.

Ane has allowed Cocó to wear their hair long and use blue nail polish, and they are quietly pleased when the local old ladies congratulate Lita on having a lovely granddaughter, but the conservatively religious grandmother nags her daughter to go to a hairdresser and get Cocó a “boy cut”.

 

Wary of local children, Cocó increasingly spends their days with Aunt Lourdes – a local ‘wise’ women, who lives alone, keeps bees and uses them to cure neighbours of a variety of ailments. There, they start to open up, often describing themselves (unprompted) as behaving like a girl.

 

They question what went “wrong” with them in their mother’s womb and why they are “like this”.

 

But Lita is becoming more strident in her approach, trotting out tired clichés about Ane having over-indulged the child, and the great patriarchal one that the problem is that Cocó is surrounded by women (which doesn’t seem to have changed Eneko’s gender identity).

 

Ane is confused about the issue – but also hits back at her mother, who had done nothing to tackle a dirty little family secret about her late husband, a sculptor.

 

Cocó prays to become Lucía – and even asks her aunt if she can’t die and come back as a girl.

 

Essentially an all-female ensemble piece – it won an award for the best female ensemble cast at the Guadalajara International Film Festival – it’s moving, yet never mawkish or sentimental, and is tackled with great sensitivity and humanity.

 

To help ensure accuracy, Naizen, a regional association for the families of transgender children, worked with Solaguren and provided guidance for Sofía Otero, who plays Lucía.

 

Otero carries the film on her eight-year-old shoulders – a simply outstanding performance that saw her become the youngest ever winner of the Silver Bear for best leading performance at the 73^rd Berlin International Film Festival in February, just one of many awards that the piece has already garnered. In September, it was put forward for nomination for next year’s Academy Awards.

 

Patricia López Arnaiz as Ane and Ane Gabarain as Lourdes also turn in superb performances, while Gina Ferrer García’s cinematography is top notch.

 

If you can, do see it. It’s also on Curzon Home Cinema now. It is a film that will stay with you a very long time.

As Solaguren put it in an interview: "The girl does not transform. Throughout the film, she acquires the tools to express who she is. What is transformed is the family."

A superb history of trans and non-binary lives

Before We Were Trans by Kit Heyam is a remarkable achievement. First published last year and now out in paperback, it is an attempt to map out a history of trans and non-binary people – not just within the white West, but taking in cultures around the world.

Heyam works scrupulously to avoid imposing contemporary, white Western values and ideas about gender onto people from different cultures and living in very different societies (and times), reminding readers that to do so is dangerous in terms of a meaningful understanding of history, but that it also risks colonising – or re-colonising – those lives.

 

It is full of revelatory information. For instance, I had no idea that in Swahili, “all pronouns are gender neutral”. Or that “The Daughters of Bilitis, an American lesbian activist group founded in 1955, described butch lesbians as ‘the worst publicity we can get’.”

 

Records from WWI internment camps on the Isle of Man provide a wealth of information from the German civilians imprisoned there for years with no ‘biological females’.

 

The author explains in detail how, in some cultures, from First Nation to South Asian ones, gender non-conformity is often intrinsically linked to spirituality. No matter how difficult some in the West might find it to understand this, we should not pretend it is not the reality for people who experience gender in such a way.

 

Heyam is also determined that we should not simply assume that in every – and there are plenty – historic example of gender non-conformity, we should assume that the person involved was trans or non-binary.

 

They point out that there could have been motives for being gender non-confirmative that could have involved coercion, the need to make a living and more. But as they point out, it’s also a major likelihood that at least *some* were what we would now describe as trans or non-binary.  

 

Initially, I found it a bit annoying to be reminded of these things quite frequently, but I came to understand the value of such reminders. I read history books on a reasonably regular basis, but have never read one like this, and ultimately it benefits from it. It has helped me think quite seriously about number of things I have not thought through before.

 

But Heyem also hits the proverbial nail right on the head in an understanding of why Western, non-binary people might be easily tempted to appropriate the experiences of non-Western, non-gender conforming people, given the assaults on trans and non-binary people currently being experienced – not least in the US and UK.

 

We need to construct a more nuanced dialogue in order not to appropriate, while still celebrating the range of non-gender conforming lives and understanding that in terms of our own relationship to the wider LGBT+ community.   

 

Heyam Is to be applauded for taking a complex subject and approaching it in such a way as to make it informative, challenging and, as they suggest at the end, ‘kind’, to those in the past as well as those living now and, indeed, those in the future.

 

A very different and valuable history – and one to be heartily recommended.

The Minions take on the culture war warriors

Most people who know me know that I love the Minions. Okay, I was late to the game – finally catching up via shorts, social media and mash-up fan art before watching the first two Despicable Me films on TV and then making 2015’s eponymous prequel my first trip to an actual cinema in 16 years. But these days, I even have the t-shirts.

Now I’m not, in general, a big fan of slapstick comedy – my father forced me and my sister to sit through short reels of Laurel & Hardy when we were children and it rather put me off. Later, I grew to appreciate Buser Keaton – though very different – I loved Steve Coogan and John C Reilley in 2018’s Stan and Ollie.

 

But once I’d seen stuff online, I got hooked on the Minions. As I said, the 2015 film tempted me back to a cinema where nothing else had, until that time, worked for a decade and a half, for various reasons.

 

We didn’t see much else that year – what we did see included Star Wars: The Force Awakens at an IMAX – but our cinema going did increase. In 2018, we made 21 cinema visits. In 2019, it was 18. In 2020 – year one of the pandemic, it was five. Last year – the second of the pandemic – 13. This year, the third of COVID, we have already managed five trips to the cinema.

 

In terms of COVID, we’ve been fortunate that our local cinema chain is within walking distance and, with 10 screens and an online booking system, it’s easy to pick times for films when it will be no difficulty to be socially distanced. In that way, it’s the one entertainment medium we currently feel comfortable using.

 

But setting all that aside, Minions: The Rise of Gru was originally slated for a 2020 release and, in my pre-release excitement, I’d had an idea for a blog to explore what I think may be an underestimated element of the Illumination studio’s Gruniverse success. Having just seen the new film, I remembered what I wanted to explore.

 

And the point is that is has an essentially transgressive nature.

 

Co-creator Pierre Coffin has noted that there are no female Minions. In 2015, indeed, he told TheWrap: “Seeing how dumb and stupid they often are, I just couldn’t imagine Minions being girls”.

 

In general, I have a problem with this – it rather reminds me of people who have commented that they struggled to believe that Margaret Thatcher was really a woman, as though women are, by their very nature, intrinsically Good and only go Bad, when influenced by men … The Patriarchy. It ain’t so.

 

But back to the Minions. And a lack of Minion females is not what you see on the screen in any of the five films to feature the little yella fellas. There are cancan dancers and maids, for instance. In the latest film, Bob becomes a female trolley dolly on a plane – who actually offers an infant a peanut. And Bob is far from being alone.

 

Within the wider iconography that includes collectibles, Stuart has appeared as a version of the Bride of Frankenstein to Bob’s Frankenstein’s monster.

 

In the era in which we live, we still have puritans (I have family links to the Plymouth Brethren, so I do know what this means) – in the US particularly, but not exclusively, and some of these are currently going full ‘snowflake’ about things like ‘drag storytime’ where … and take your time here, drag queens sit and tell children stories.

 

Heaven forfend that these far-right, reactionary twerps ever hear that British children have been being subjected to men dressed up as women and women dressed up as men for over a century in pantomimes – as essential Christmas family entertainment!

 

And let’s not even begin to engage with the broader history of cross-dressing and how it was and is used, and what it has allowed artists from Shakespeare to the present to do.

 

There is so much around at present about ‘men pretending to be women’. But there is a very long history of ‘women pretending to be men’ – hence the phrase ‘drag kings’. Those included people who successfully hid within general society to the likes of Marlene Dietrich donning male evening wear, including a bow tie and top hat.

 

And as with things like the Asterix books and much more, British pantomime would have content that children could innocently enjoy, but that also had deeper levels that their parents could find a different reason to giggle at.

 

For example, take Asterix with the Swiss. This includes a little Roman citizen in Switzerland repeatedly losing his bread in the fondue, even though the punishment if you do so is being whipped. He loses his bread deliberately.

 

The joke is quite clear – and perfect proof that Asterix is not only for children.

 

I will be 60 later this year. My attire at present (as for several summers since) is big, baggy, military-style ‘male’ shorts with loads of pockets (dear Odin how I spent decades hating ‘female’ clothing with no feckin’ pockets!), a t-shirt and a pair of Birkies.

 

Yesterday, while on Broadway Market to get a few basic fresh additions to our regular online deliveries from supermarkets, I was called “madam”. Later in the day, in the park, someone called at me: “Hello sweetheart!”. Today, I was addressed by someone as “Lady”.

 

It doesn’t matter how I dress, my fucking tits betray me every time – just as when, after I got the running bug in Lancaster in the 1980s, I’d get calls from drivers telling me: ‘Watch you don’t give yourself a black eye, love!’

 

How do you be yourself, authentically, really?

 

And can you now see, against such a background, why the Minions are, in effect, non-binary wonderful?

Oh ... and while there is nothing really new about the latest film, it’s huge fun, with enough gags and nods to other films to ensure it'll be watched more than once.

 

Taming the Shrew offers laughs and pause for thought

In the critical analysis of Shakespeare that emerged in the late Victorian era, it was decided that the canon included three ‘problem plays’: All’s Well That Ends Well, Measure for Measure and Troilus and Cressida.

These were so called because they are complex and ambiguous, and shift rapidly between comedy and a darker tone.

It’s a vague enough definition – and Shakespeare’s work so wide ranging – that other works have been included in that description over the years.

The Winter’s Tale, Timon of Athens, Merchant of Venice and even Hamlet have all found themselves with the ‘problem’ label added.

Rather more recently, author Professor Neil Rhodes has described the defining element of a problem play as possessing a controversial plot.

On this basis, even if The Taming of the Shrew (1590-1592) is not classed as a problem play, then it’s a play with a big problem.

Here we have the tale of Petruchio, who marries and then ‘tames’ the shrewish Katherine – i there an equivalent male adjective for ‘shrewish’? To do so, he employs psychological torture (denial of sleep and food) as he ‘educates’ his new wife to understand that, if he says the sun is in fact the moon – or visa versa – then it is.

Subservience is the order of the day and makes, we are told, for a peaceful, loving marriage.

As such attitudes have been seen as increasingly unacceptable, directors have sought to find ways of dealing with it in more modern terms.

For instance, in 1978, in Peter Bogdanov’s iconic modern-dress production at Stratford – the first time I had seen the RSC – Jonathan Pryce and Paola Dionisotti played the leads, (with David Suchet as Gremio). Here, Dionisotti made Kate’s final speech one of defeat, not of a victorious sense of having delight at having been ‘tamed’.

The Royal Shakespeare Company’s current production by Justin Audibert is not the first to flip the genders in the piece, but it is particularly successful.

By presenting Italy as a matriarchal society, the comments and actions about and against those who do not hold power become more obviously jarring: in which case, how have societies regarded them (and still do, to varying degrees) as acceptable when said and done by men against women?

It also helps to bring out the centrality of money to the society represented – not least in terms of its links with marriage through dowries and land, with women having an intrinsic link to property.

And when, in the play’s closing monologue, our gender-flipped, male Kate tells us: “I am ashamed that men are so simple, To offer war where they should kneel for peace …” we have the play concluding with a comment on toxic masculinity that gives it all an added edge, and has the audience laughing sharply as Kate faces them from the front of the stage.

However, Taming of the Shrew was neither a po-faced nor puritanical play – it’s a bawdy comedy with plenty of references to sex that the first audiences would have found hilarious.

Rather, this is Carry On Taming the Shrew for the #MeToo era.

The company’s Merry Wives of Windsor that I saw at the end of 2018 had me laughing out loud more than at any previous production of anything by the Bard and, while this doesn’t manage quite that level of hilarity, there are are no shortage of laughs from an exceptionally strong cast – all of which also helps to avoid any whines about it being ‘PC’.

My pick of a terrific ensemble has to be Sophie Stanton as Gremia – one of three scheming suitors for Kate’s younger brother, Bianco, who cannot be married until his sibling has been paired off. Somehow she manages to glide around the stage, her Elizabethan skirts presumably hiding wheels, with the audience constantly laughing at the movement. Together with her struggles with words, swords and more, it’s a glorious comic performance.

Joseph Arkley is very good as Kate, while Claire Price has a ball as Petruchia. Hortensia, another suitor for the hand of Bianco, is served excellently by Amelia Donkor and Amy Trigg makes a wonderful Biondella, servant to Lucentia.

Oh, and what a delightful nod to Broadway to have Petruchia absently sing a line from Cole Porter’s Kiss Me, Kate at one point – an acknowledgement that, for all its problems, The Taming of the Shrew remains a very popular entertainment. All of which serves to remind us, were it needed, that Shakespeare remains the Bard for all seasons and all times.

• The Taming of the Shrew is in repertoire at London’s Barbican with As You Like It and Measure for Measure until 18 January – www.barbican.org.uk/whats-on/2019/series/royal-shakespeare-company-2019-20-season. After that, it will visit Canterbury, Plymouth, Nottingham, Newcastle and Blackpool – www.rsc.org.uk/the-taming-of-the-shrew/on-tour, before heading to the US, South Korea and Japan –www.rsc.org.uk/the-taming-of-the-shrew/international-tour/.

A tale of vaginas and how some expect us to behave

Just don't

It’s been a wonderful couple of days for vaginas.

Only yesterday, news emerged that, addressing the Cambridge Union Society earlier this week, good old Germaine Greer observed that trans women weren’t real women because they don’t know what it’s like “to have a big, hairy, smelly vagina”.

In the meantime, news – and admittedly I use the word lightly – reached these shores that Gwyneth Paltrow is promoting the steaming with herbs of said vaginas to keep them nice and fresh and the owner ‘energised’.

Then today, the hashtag #NoHymenNoDiamond appeared on my Twitter timeline.

Although this appears to have actually started at least as early as last autumn, it’s today picked up a lovely head of steam (though there’s no evidence that steaming breaks or heals a hymen).

There’s also no evidence that those who tweeted it actually thought about how they’d check such a thing before the wedding day.

But then again, we’re not talking about people with big brains.

And as if all that wasn’t enough, it’s pretty much a racing certainty that life at the Daily Mail this past week has seen editor and champion of women everywhere, Paul Dacre, illustrating his notorious talent for ‘double cunting’: there’s a reason his editorial meetings are known as ‘the vagina monologue’.

So, is there a common theme here – beyond, y’know, stuff about cunts?

Well there’s certainly a steaming pile of irony.

Greer’s views on trans women are not themselves news, but although she slammed the views of some other feminists in the same speech, she shares with many radical feminists essentially the same attitude toward trans women (I don’t know if they have any opinion on trans men).

More than one rad fem has suggested that not having a womb discounts trans women from ... well, being a woman.

In other words, these feminists do precisely what they supposedly object to – and create an idea of womanhood that comes down to biology and sexual organs.

It’s no coincidence that rad fems in the US in particular have made unholy alliances with reactionary, Christian fundamentalist political groups and individuals. They are a form of reactionary fundamentalism.

I can’t answer for anyone else, but I know that I don’t want to be defined by whether I have a womb or whether my cunt is smelly.

Who would?

And who would imagine that those doing precisely that would, at the same time, equally want to say that women should not be defined in such a dreadfully limiting way by others?

I have no more right to define anyone else’s experience of their sex/gender than anyone does of mine.

As someone who has been described, by a long-time friend, as a “gay man in a woman’s body,” I’m well aware that there are many ways in which I do not personally conform to any conventional idea of womanhood.

But surely it’s precisely those ‘conventional’ ideas – and expectations and, with them, limits – that feminism seeks to combat?

If you want women to be able to escape lives based on restrictions imposed because of bodily functions, then it hardly seems sensible to use these same things to define women.

Many have found the obituary of best-selling author, and acclaimed scientist, Colleen McCullough, in Rupert Murdoch’s The Australian, to illustrate precisely what still faces many women.

It opens thus:

“COLLEEN McCullough, Australia’s best selling author, was a charmer. Plain of feature, and certainly overweight, she was, nevertheless, a woman of wit and warmth. In one interview, she said: ‘I’ve never been into clothes or figure and the interesting thing is I never had any trouble attracting men’.”

There’s so much wrong with this that it’s would be difficult to know where to start. Thankfully, Twitter users came up with #MyOzObituary to illustrate the insanity.

But choosing to remember a successful and talented woman in such a fashion is no different in its limiting terms to claiming that her sexual organs are what defines a woman.

And this, perversely, has something in common with the idea of the vagina – via the hymen – of that previous hashtag.

That’s about ownership. It’s about defining a ‘good’ woman on the basis of sex and an idea about what identifies a woman who has had sex. Commenting on her looks is about defining her by them.

The #NoHymenNoDiamond hashtag is particularly dumb, of course, not least since many things can break the hymen, from tampon use to riding a bike.

But that’s the point: none of this is sensible. None of it employs common sense. None of it employs the matter between the ears.

According to the biological definition of a woman, anyone born with Mayer Rokitansky Küster Hauser syndrome (ie without a womb) would not qualify.

So it serves – once again – to illustrate a number of things.

One, that rad fems are not, for the main, really interested in women as a whole and in overcoming the limits that our society does place on them.

Two, that said radical feminists push an agenda that is yet another form of intolerant, bigoted and limiting reaction against progress, and we should not be suckered in to treated it as an intellectually-sound matter.

Three, that radical feminism is a form of secular fundamentalism that has nothing whatsoever to do with what the majority of women think and experience.

And four, that whatever some claim, the main issue that faces us today – that is, ALL of us – is still a class-based one, with a ruling class/supra-national corporatocracy etc using all its weight to gain yet more wealth, and damn everyone else, whether male or female, straight or not, trans or cis, black or white etc etc.

Just look at TTIP – and the ISDS clause in particular – to see this.

Dividing human beings along lines of sex and/or gender, into whether or not they have a cunt that smells or not is idiocy and ignores all the really important questions that face us ALL.

But hey: what a vagina of a few days it’s been!

A sensible decision – and an outbreak of stupidity

Caster Semenya: living proof of gender/sex complexity

In one of today’s rather more positive items of news, it appears that Germany is to allow babies to be registered as of ‘indeterminate sex’ where it is not possible to immediately see whether the infant is male or female.

It’s a move that will, hopefully, help to avoid situations where parents are forced to make a decision on gender, with the result that doctors may then perform drastic and irreversible surgery that may not actually tally with what the individual feels as they grow up.

You could be forgiven for thinking that it would be difficult to view this as anything other than a sensible and sensitive decision.

The very recent case of South African athlete Caster Semenya should illustrate how the matter of sex is not always a matter of absolutes – and Semenya is far from unique.

And the life and early death of David Reimer (and his brother) is another example of the tragic consequences of an obsessive need to categorise gender/sex too early (and of male circumcision).

So what could possibly be controversial about the news of this decision in Germany?

Well, when the BBC allowed comments after publishing the story earlier today, it unleashed a remarkable mount of ignorance and downright bile.

“This says everything you need to know about Europe and its God despising politicians. We need to get out of the EU IMMEDIATELY,” screamed one poster.

“This will just confuse the children even more. Look to the Lord God our Savior and let Him decide.
Man should not be making these sorts of decisions, the rapture will come soon to punish those acting in the name of the Lord God Our Father,” said another.

“Next we'll have legal marriage between three people under the banner ‘we deserve it it’s our right’ – what a joke. Are we going to have have to fit everywhere with 3 sets of toilets: ‘Male’, ‘Female’, ‘Not quite sure’ – life is tough, get on with it,” read another.

Then there was this little classic: “God created WOMEN from the rib of MAN. God did NOT create another gender. THIS IS BLASPHEMY.”

And this simplistic summing up: “Ridiculous – they either have a Y chromosome or not – end of story. The sooner people stop thinking that gender is a matter of choice the better.”

Then this fantastic piece of expert medical advice: “A boy is medically different from a girl, just ask the doctors to put their glasses on! It’s only in extraordinary circumstances that we should meddle.”

And this piece of paranoid lunacy: “And so depravity rules eh.....Haarp anyone? Something in the water. SIck society, the end is nigh.”

This one starts with a good old laugh at those Jerries: “Well their language works like that so masculine, feminine and neuter probably seems more natural to them,” before going into loony terrain: “Meanwhile back in the real world outside of the halls of the BBC and Westminster, a third gender is creepy and unnatural. why do we have to keep putting up with this nonsense in Western society?”

I have quite deliberately not edited a single one of these: they are exactly as published.

To be clear, there were also many, many comments that reflect compassion and, if not a scientific understanding, then a readiness to accept that the issue exists and that this is a sensible and sensitive way to deal with it.

But boy, oh boy, there are also a remarkably large number of these negative comments. Well, not simply “negative”, but stark staring bonkers.

Even within their apparent own belief systems, some fail to exert internal logic.

For instance, if you believe in a god that is – as the Christian god is traditionally believed to be – omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent, then it was that god that created those babies whose sex/gender is not clear at birth.

Are some people really trying to pretend that no babies are ever born with, say, genitalia that is not limited to one sex, and are thus saying that this story is based on a lie to start with?

The EU comment is simply the sort of raving bonkersness that probably comes of care in the community.

Not that such people limited themselves to simply posting such crap.

For instance, you have to wonder at the mentality of whoever it was who, within seconds of this calm and sensible comment being posted, marked it down:

“Generally speaking, unless there is impaired functionality (as with cleft palate or “hare lip”,congenital cardiac defects &c.) “correcting” inter-sex features immediately upon birth might be -- in some cases -- more traumatic than beneficial.It will require a lifetime of medication with hormones.May be better to provide effective counselling to parents & focus on psychoemotional &social aspects1st.”

What? In marking it down you suggest that you think (I use the word loosely) that instant surgery is absolutely the best option, regardless of any later problems that it creates if it turns out the physical characteristics that you’ve chosen for the child do not meet the emotional ones that they subsequently possess?

I mean – come on: really?

This isn’t about ‘creating’ a third sex – it’s about a country finding a way to help ensure that children who are born with indeterminate sex are not rushed into situations that could be negative for them in later life.

These children exist – the condition exists.

What’s to get so hot and bothered about?

A century ago, Magnus Hirschfeld – the world’s first sexologist – was campaigning to increase understanding, decriminalisation and greater tolerance of homosexuality and homosexuals.

We’ve come a long, long way in the time since – at least in some parts of the world. As Stephen Fry’s recent look at homophobia showed very clearly, there’s still a very long way to go in some places in particular, but you do look at these sort of comments – and there are plenty of them – and you wonder at the continuing intolerance, deliberate misunderstanding and just downright stupidity that seems to exist among sizable amounts of the population.

Is it really too optimistic to hope that, at some time, we could actually have entire populations that are educated to a point where they don’t come out with such drivel?

Or will we need to develop a fourth way of categorising people for those who are simply stupid beyond help?