Trans Women and Danger: More Tales From the Front Lines Trans women discuss the necessity of learning to avoid the violence that too often comes their way

Trans women discuss the necessity of learning to avoid the violence that too often comes their way Comment49 Miasha Forbes Sacha Lecca By SABRINA RUBIN ERDELY JULY 30, 2014 10:00 AM ET CeCe McDonald's encounters with violence are far from an isolated experience. Transgender women face daily lives fraught with peril. "You have to be ready for anything," says 35-year old Miasha Forbes of Brooklyn. Knowing how swiftly a benign situation can turn ugly, many trans women adopt strategies to help predict or preempt violence; like battlefield soldiers, they constantly gauge their environment, testing the threat level with a finely-tuned sensitivity to nuances largely lost on everyone else. That preparedness also means that in a Code Red emergency, they often respond with quick-thinking calm—as when once, Forbes found herself followed through a shopping mall by a pack of rowdy, flirtatious men. The Transgender Crucible: How CeCe McDonald Became a Folk Hero "I stayed clear of them," says Forbes. "But when I left the mall, they were waiting for me in the parking lot," catcalling her from inside two cars, until they suddenly realized Forbes was trans, and turned furious. "You made me look at you! I should kill you!" one man shouted amid the slurs, claiming to have a gun. Quickly surveying the scene, Forbes managed to escape by heading down a hill separating the mall parking lots, where her assailants' cars couldn't easily follow. She walked in a zigzag pattern in case they decided to shoot. "I walked slowly, 'cause if I'm gonna die, I'm not gonna give them the satisfaction of running," Forbes says, echoing an oft-repeated sentiment: That faced with extreme bigotry, preserving one's dignity can become as paramount as one's safety. For 30-year old Anya Stacy Neal, who for years worked in the sex trade to lift herself out of homelessness, screening for danger and living by her wits was the name of the game. So when one night a would-be john pulled out a knife instead of his cash, she says, "I blamed myself. I felt like I put myself in that situation, which isn't a good way to feel." Even as her assailant began to anally rape her with a knife pressed to her throat Neal managed to quell her panic, intent on exerting whatever control she could, keeping up a patter with her rapist in the hopes of preventing her own murder. "I was like, 'Damn, if you just wanted some [for free], you should have told me!' Whereas in my mind I was like, 'Word, this is really happening.'" The Science of Transgender Neal's traumatic assault meant that afterwards, she found herself quick to act at the first hint of danger.When once in a hotel room she rebuffed a client's offer to pay her a mere 20 dollars—far short of her $250 rate—and he responded, "You do know that I could kill you in this room, and no one would know," she was already calmly striding past him to fling open the door. "Rape! Rape!" she screamed down the hotel hallway, and the man fled, leaving her unharmed. Chasity Moore, 32, has had to learn to anticipate a slightly different kind of menace, as a trans woman who is not only "passing"—she doesn't look visibly trans—but also drop-dead gorgeous, and approached constantly by men. "I always say the girls who look like the stereotype have more fun, 'cause you don't have to explain," she says. "My troubles come from, nine times out of ten they don't know. At some point I have to tell them." That moment of disclosure can be a flashpoint for violence. So although Moore would like to be in a relationship, she gets anxious whenever a man sidles up with a warm smile. "How long does the conversation go on before I tell them 'I'm transgender?'" Moore asks. "I don't want to have them think I was trying to fool them, and then they try to hurt me. It's a scary situation." She evaluates potential boyfriends carefully, in an old-fashioned slow-moving courtship with lots of conversation and no touching, and refuses to consider men from her own neighborhood, lest her home territory turn dangerous. "The finding love situation is a difficult thing," Moore says. "You have to have a lot of boundaries for your safety."

Words of wisdom (thank you Hardy Haberman)

The Curious Case of the Covering 

It came in the mail, that quaint and anachronistic service that actually delivers bits of paper with messages written on them. It was encapsulated in a fine linen envelope and was printed with slightly raised letters, much like a wedding invitation. The message was curious. It seems my presence was requested at a “Ceremony of Covering a Master”, and there would be light refreshments and cocktails afterward.

Now I rarely turn down free food, and my curiosity was piqued by the formality and downright pompousness of the invitation, so I attended.

“Dress leather encouraged.”

Not being able to fit in my chaps and noting an embarrassing gap between buttons on my leather uniform shirt, I opted for black jeans and a black long-sleeve button down and club colors. I wore my leather tie in hope this would pass muster as dressy. On the way out the door I grabbed my cap and headed to the car.

The event was a very nice gathering. Everyone was in high-fetish or leather and the smell of cow pervaded the room. Just before the appointed time my host asked me if I would participate in the ceremony, and not wishing to appear uncooperative, I agreed. From that moment on, we moved swiftly into the mythical world of “Old Guard Traditions” and I found myself too baffled to fully understand what was happening.

The host asked all the “Covered Masters” to line up. I being one of the oldest in the group was put at the head of the line. Meanwhile, a friend was brought in and seated in a prominent chair before the rest of the group. The host welcomed everyone and explained that this ceremony was a very somber and honored “Old Guard Tradition”, and each person assembled was a vital part of it.

The honoree’s credentials were espoused at length and his worthiness was attested to in glowing terms, and then a woman, who I assume was his or someone’s “slave” appeared with a book. She moved down the row and had each of the “Covered Masters” sign their name to a document that I assume gave credence to the events that were to take place. Then the book, leather bound no less, was closed and a shiny new imitation Muir Cap was placed atop it. She then gave the book to the first “Covered Master” who was asked to speak about the worthiness of the soon to be recipient.

This task was approached with every bit as much ceremony and solemnity as could be mustered after a few drinks and half a tray of sushi. Each “Covered Master” waxed eloquently about the recipient and then passed the book and cap to the next.

When the cap was passed to me, I mumbled a few words including “integrity”, “honor” and “community” and then gave the book and cap to the host. Apparently I did OK and the ceremony proceeded.

The recipient was asked to kneel as the host reverently lowered the imitation Muir Cap onto his head. Then he asked all the “Covered Masters” to gather around and place their hands on the recipient’s shoulders. We were asked to give our support and assent to the ceremony and then the recipient rose. Like a newly baptized disciple he was presented to the group not by the name I knew, but by the moniker “Master _______”. The group rose to their collective feet and applauded and then it was over.

Afterward, during the congratulatory hand shaking and hugging, another leatherman about my age whispered in my ear, “Have you ever heard of this before?”

I turned to him with a blank stare and slowly shook my head. The whole thing mystified me.

Soon others were approaching and shaking our hands as though we had done something special and several thanked us for sharing this rare “Old Guard Tradition” with them. I just nodded politely and then drifted away.

Now, it was a lovely ceremony, and I appreciated the formality, though why everyone called me “Master Hardy” is beyond me. After all, I don’t have any slaves and am not really big on the M/s scene, though I think it’s just fine for those who enjoy it. Some knew my views and opted for “Sir Hardy” which, had I been at the Renaissance Festival, might have been appropriate.

Here is the thing.

The idea that leathermen of the “Old Guard” sent out engraved invitations to “covering ceremonies” is baffling to me. Not once in my history through the 1970’s and 1980’s did I ever hear of or attend such a gathering. Not until the late 1990’s had I even heard the term “Master’s Cover”. When asked how I got my “Cover”, I usually reply it was given to me by friends at the bar one night and afterward the all pissed on my boots. You see we did a lot of pissing back then. I guess it was to keep you from getting too high and mighty or just because it was raunchy. I know the old motorcycle tradition of pissing on a new bike was as close to a christening as the MC clubs got.

We did earn all our leather though, by working hard at our day jobs and keeping the local leather shop that was attached to the bar in business. And occasionally, old leathers were “gifted” to younger guys since they were expensive and usually part of an estate of a departed brother whose family didn’t understand of value his kinky stuff. It was give it away or see it shuffled off to Goodwill.

Recently I stumbled across a “Cover Rank Guide” and was surprised to find that my cap with silver brim, which used to mean you were a Top, now meant you were a “Full Certified Master” as opposed to the unadorned cap which was for “Masters in Training” only. I was further gratified to find that the chrome studs on my cap actually made me a “Grand Master” and had I kept the eagle that used to fly above the brim I would be elevated to “High Grand Master”. Damn, I should never have taken it off!

Now, if this seems like old ground I am treading, it is. I write this only to make these two points. In my experience and that of dozens of older leathermen I know the “Covering Ceremony” is a new thing. Bravo! It’s nice to create new rituals that serve to commemorate significant milestones in our lives.

Second, the idea that someone is “certified” as a “Master” is ludicrous. There is no body that certifies Masters or Sirs or whatever. The “Council of Elders” is a joke, people.

By nature we are sexual outlaws and to codify our behaviors and quirks is to rob us of our heritage. As sexual outlaws we defy the norm and do things that most folks would find horrifying. We find them fun and edgy and totally fitting our individual personalities and sexual tastes. The first person to slide his fist into another guy’s ass was not following a grand tradition. He and his partner were exploring the limits of sexual pleasure and what the human body could physically do. The guys who first took a single tail whip to another guy as a sexual kink, most likely hadn’t taken lessons or practiced 10,000 hours. Back “in the day” you would hug a post and the whip would wrap your back and crack against the wooden support. That way it wouldn’t cut the crap out of your back. The finesse of whip cracking came later and has rightly been elevated to an art, but it didn’t start that way.

So be happy to create your own ceremonies and to award your friends and community members with honors and titles galore. It’s a good thing to recognize when someone has been a mensch. (Yiddish, look it up.)

But, and it’s a big emphatic but, do not believe that the honorific title “Master” or “Sir” gives anyone any kind of vetted authority over anyone else. If they have slaves, then to their slaves they are “Master” but not to me. I will happily call anyone whatever name they prefer. That is common courtesy, but as a sexual outlaw, I call no man Master unless you want to get into my religious beliefs.

I love our community. I love how it has grown and changed. I sincerely want the new folk who find what we do something that makes their dick hard or their pussy wet to join us. We do a lot of education on how to not make the mistakes we made learning leather, and I encourage new folks to take advantage of that. We are pretty much a welcoming bunch and if you are sincere, you can usually find a place to fit in. However, respect our inherent sexual outlaw culture. Know that there are times when leatherdykes need to be with their own kind to let out the unique energy that bring. Know that gay leatherman sometimes need to play in their own spaces to fully realize the masculine sexual energy that leather holds for them. Know that pansexual parties are wonderful events to soak up many different kinds of energies. Know that each different faction in our community sees leather in a slightly different way and respect their journey.

Someday, there will be a whole generation of leatherfolk who will point to you and call you “Old Guard”. They might say it with reverence and respect, or they might say it with disdain seeing you as an artifact of another age.

My point is either of those results is really up to you. Live honestly, play vigorously and work to be authentic, not to some imagined mythology but to the leather that lives in your soul.

- See more at: http://www.leatherati.com/2014/07/the-curious-case-of-the-covering/#sthash.gYiKUf5V.0mOOZveH.dpuf