The View from the Top: On gender and liberation

“Yin” and “Yang.” You know the image—sharp white against harsh black. The contrast of dark and light. You might know that yin and yang are often used to describe the masculine and the feminine, so for me, the symbol has always sent a clear message: Here are two opposites, separated by an unflinchingly rigid line.

But recently, I was speaking with an acupuncturist-in-training and learned that “yin” and “yang” actually refer to the light side and the dark side of a mountain—and my mind exploded. With this new analogy came a new way of thinking about something that’s been marketed as binary for so long. If we saw gender not as two opposing forces, but rather as two sides of the same mountain, how might that change the journey of self we’re all on? 

For one, we might be able to recognize how incredibly similar the two sides are. For those of us who have traveled from one side of the mountain to the other, it’s not a secret: there is nothing inherently or innately feminine, nor is there anything inherently or innately masculine. And though many transgender people have traversed the mountain by crossing from one side to the other as directly as possible, many of us had to travel up and over the top of the mountain. We have sat on the summit—for months or years or decades— and will always have that memory lodged within our bones. What you learn when you sit at the peak, in the middle of either side of the mountain, is that the lines between man and woman are not just blurry... they are nonexistent. 

They are made up. 

This is why we say gender is a social construct: many trans people have lived in the places between light and dark. We’ve seen the twilights and the sunrises and the half-shadows. And too often, these in-betweens get forced onto one side or the other, not because they naturally belong there but because it has been convenient to do so. Because it has been easier to manage this way. 

Boys do this and girls do that. 

If this duality was natural, we wouldn’t need gender reveal parties. We wouldn’t need to tell people to “man up” or “act like a lady.” We wouldn’t need sexual harassment to keep women in their place. We wouldn’t need reparative therapy. If the gender binary was natural, we wouldn’t need to police gender at all. 

I have been to the summit. I have seen both sides of the mountain at once. And it’s taught me that nature does not need borders to thrive— nature need only be left alone to do well.

Of course, we’re not just putting up a border here. We’re trying to pretend like genders are two distinct hills instead of one massive mountain, all made up of the exact same earth. The light side of the mountain is made up of the same rock, soil, trees, and grass as the dark. 

Our bodies too are made of the same stuff-- each and every one.

We all have the same parts— they are simply arranged differently, and there are millions of exquisite variations on how they are arranged, all of which are natural and perfect. This is why we say that sex is a social construct as well. As a culture, we have literally made up the definitions of “male” and “female,” and have policed the in-betweens into submission (not out of existence, though— that part is important). Before these boundaries were created, there were peoples who knew that each body is inherently sacred and need not be changed by anyone outside that body. The idea that there are only two ways to have a body comes later, through colonization—through people who looked at this massive and terrifyingly intricate mountain and felt fear. Instead of exploring it or living in harmony with it as the people before them did, they tried to dig and hammer it into hills that would make them less powerful and complex. But innate in humankind is the memory of honoring the fact that our bodies are a spectrum, with some people purely on the dark side of the mountain and some people purely on the light side of the mountain but so many in the middle, in the early dawn.

I didn’t cross this mountain like jumping from one hill to another. I climbed it, and I’ve seen the view from the top. 

And it is beautiful. 

So come up there with me. That is what all of this is for, this writing and speaking and toiling. I want to be your guide and lead you in the trek to the top of the mountain so you too can see the in-between places. So you can see that black and white do not even exist — it is all lighter and darker grey, all the way down. See that we are all born free to live in the light and dark and in between. See that all that limits this freedom is unnatural — an antiquated constraint borne out of fear that should be cast aside, like we have cast aside bustles and corsets and powdered wigs and reading tests at ballot boxes and shackles and chains. 

This is what we mean when we say there are more than two genders. We mean there were always more than two genders, that the very creation of two genders is new and unnatural—the breaking of one massive and beautiful mountain into two hills— a product of rowdy, immature cultures that have existed for a mere century despite having wiped out the ancient cultures that came before them.

We mean we are born free, and intend to remain free. We mean we will break every chain that ensnares any other being on the planet. 

We do not simply want the ability to live on the other side of the mountain—to take the quickest and clearest path to the other side. We want to live in a world where everyone has been to the top.

I’m telling you: Do not be afraid of the mountain. Be afraid of never making it to the summit.

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