Political Bodies: How Our Bodies Are Used Against Us in Politics
I’ve been asked “why do you have to make this political?” way more often than “how are you?”. Which probably tells a lot about how much time I spend online and as an activist, rather than with my friends.
In various media the idea of including diverse characters is often perceived as a political statement and what diversity means depends on the platform. It’s not limited to queer representation, but BIPOC, disabilities, women.
The roots of masculinity as the norm aren’t recent and they are deeply tied in politics. The subversion of gender roles has always been associated with political queerness, and femininity was deemed unfit for leadership and political presence.
In the 18th century, John Brown (in the pamphlet An Estimate of Manners and Principles of the times) wrote “Effeminate minds cannot contain public spirit or Love for our Country”. Manhood was perceived as militarised rigour, control over impulses and sexuality, clearness of mind that could allow space for growth, skill, power. But when people think about “political bodies”, they don’t think about masculine conformity. They think about subversion, and queerness and feminism both challenged and still challenge, that norm.
Nude activism is the most obvious example, and it shows the issues of using bodies as a political statement as well. It’s been consistently used as a protest tactic around the world for over a century for various causes. Specifically, for transgender rights, an episode in 2011 was particularly notable. A trans woman wasn’t allowed to update her gender marker, and then arrested for indecent exposure for being topless, despite being legal for “men” to do so. Her body was gendered as male by the government but not held to the same standards when the potential for objectification rose.
When reporting on the protests organised by Femen in Ukraine, the Guardian commented; “I always smelled a rat because they looked so great; true protest would be stripping naked when you look like a mattress stuffed with socks. But maybe that’s a really sexist thing to say. Am I part of the problem?”
While that statement was coming from a woman, the issue of impact versus intent is particularly relevant. While stripping down is an act of reclamation, of taking space, taking ownership of your own body, can the point land if it’s seen through male and heteronormative gaze? Should actions be dependent on interpretation?
Arguably there are various types of nudity, some more acceptable than others but I’ve seen enough husbands jealous of male gynaecologists to deem clinical nudity as perceived neutrally. And when it comes to art, it’s hard to draw the line. Schiele is studied in schools, but would they allow studying contemporary artists with similar subjects?
So once we determine the context doesn’t matter and that any intention can be objectified and sexualised, what makes bodies inherently political? And what kind of bodies, if any, are perceived as such?
If we consider nudity as what splits the intention into different angles, we need to consider bodies that are perceived as controversial even as clothed. Which ones again, leads to my experience.
For over 20 years, I was seen and perceived as a woman. I have experienced being objectified and sexualised since I was a child. Not being allowed to wear short skirts, having to wear “modest” tops around the men in my family and being forced to wear a bra (that I would take off on my way to school) despite my dysphoria.
However, reclaiming my body helped with that. Reading about feminism, engaging in activism. Fighting back. But I was still seen as a woman, and that didn’t change until the start of my medical transition.
Now that I’m seen as trans, things changed. People attracted to me are no longer a majority; instead they are people afraid to show their attraction in public. I remember reading a “joke” a while ago, asking “Are you privileged or is your identity a porn category?”.
So my body now sits in a weird position, and not just because I keep procrastinating purchasing an actual office chair. Socially, my body can be considered a fetish, attractive. Or it can be considered repulsive, unnatural. Or it can be seen as normal, positive. And how you perceive it, somehow, defines your political view.
Trans identities are so debated that the reactions my body provokes can be a political compass.
Historically and outside of pornographic content, trans bodies were never portrayed as desirable. If you’ve ever clocked a trans person you know that feeling. You look at them, or hear them talk, and suddenly something feels off. You feel something twisting your guts, a mix of surprise, embarrassment. But it’s mostly discomfort, the feeling something is off. Sometimes you haven’t even registered yet “what’s wrong”, but you feel that dissonance and that’s enough to put you off.
The same reaction can be applied to any other context; having to explain why I need birth control to my GP, having to write a disclaimer before any sexual interaction, having to keep my fingers crossed and praying people won’t notice I’m trans in spaces where I don’t feel safe.
Trying to do damage control and avoid that gut reaction is what transgender rights depend on.
Lots of countries, my home country included, won’t allow you to change your gender markers if you don’t “look the part”, erasing non-binary identities and making “passing” a legal requirement. Trans people are tolerated as long as their bodies are not seen as trans.
People who vote against us do it with that feeling in mind. That disgust, that discomfort. Even people who would have sex with us would be more comfortable keeping us as their dirty little secret rather than defend us in public.
So our rights become body politics. People decide on our bodies based on the reactions they have to our bodies.
And at that stage nudity becomes superfluous. We exist as political beings.
Reclaiming our bodies, not from the male gaze, not from bigotry, not from conformity, but from the values that have been embedded onto them. And we’re free to use them, weaponise them, follow them, use them, as they’ve been using us as fuel for our harm.
Written by Ramses Oliva
In addition to working 9-5, Ramses can't seem to stop writing, even if it means scribbling on a notebook overnight. He's a trans activist who loves talking about queer identities, diversity and art. He is co-host of the brand-new podcast "Punching the Wall" and you can find him posting overpriced selfies on Instagram at @queer.discart.