Nonbinary, But Not Transgender?
By: Kravitz M.
Tags: Queer, Transgender, Identity, LGBTQ, Kravitz M

Nonbinary, But Not Transgender?

A brief look at these identities and how we apply them

Source: Needpix

While “nonbinary” (defined as not identifying fully and exclusively with one’s assigned gender) is understood to fall under the general transgender umbrella, some nonbinary people don’t identify as transgender. There seem to be two views on how to deal with nonbinary identity concerning transness. Some people believe nonbinary people must identify as transgender and those who don’t are suffering from internalized transphobia. Others argue that nonbinary people are not transgender whatsoever and cannot use transgender terminology to describe themselves.

Most people in this debate aren’t nonbinary.

I identify as both transgender and nonbinary, and in terms of my identity, they’re different. (“Transgender” describes my manhood, and “nonbinary” is its modifier and an indirect reflection of my bisexuality. I prefer the former as it describes more of my experiences with gender, but I like the relative privacy of the latter.)

“Nonbinary” is technically a subset of “transgender,” and being included in the transgender population benefits us when it comes to resources and politics. But we’re also under no obligation to adopt or avoid the word “transgender.” (On that note, someone with a nonbinary identity doesn’t even need to say they’re “nonbinary.” They can just say their identity, i.e., “agender,” and call it a day.) Regardless, there’s something to be said about how both sides of this argument reveal the limitations of transness when we define it through a Western understanding of gender and the body.

The gender binary and medical birth assignments are colonial and oppressive social constructions. Literally speaking, “transgender” means “across gender.” From its etymology to its history to its connotations to its definition, transness inherently ties to gender assignment. Even when not examining prefixes, “transgender” still often implies “crossing” from one gender to another, as seen by terms like “female-to-male.” Contrast this with “cisgender” (the prefix cis- meaning “on the same side as”), denoting a gender that the individual hasn’t changed from their birth assignment.

The transgender community today organizes not solely on gender or one’s experience with it, but on the fact that one’s gender is not the one they were assigned. It’s impossible to use “transgender” as an identity or community without indirectly referring to gender assignment.

Assignment terminology has potential use in navigating transness since we can’t escape the influence of gender assignment, and our oppression stems precisely from opposing it. That said, deeming assigned gender a defining part of everyone’s identity and existence may legitimize binary notions of gender and sex. Not even assigned gender is clear cut.

Being allocated a particular gender in day-to-day life means different things depending on one’s location, culture, race, whether or not they’re intersex or transgender, whether or not they choose to transition, and so on. Experiences surrounding assigned gender vary drastically, which is why I oppose discussions where people use assigned gender to assume experiences.

As an example: using “AFAB” — “assigned female at birth” — as a catch-all to describe experiences or physical characteristics associated with white¹, cisgender, perisex (i.e., not intersex) women. People not fitting this description may not relate to it. Not only that, but some AMAB — “assigned male at birth” — people can.

Trying to define “AFAB” and “AMAB” experiences as if they’re clear, concise categories does nothing but reinforce a sex binary. It too often devolves into a more politically correct way of simply saying “female” and “male,” which, for obvious reasons, feels like misgendering for many people. When discussing transgender issues, specifically, I highly favor “TME” (transmisogyny-exempt; i.e., anyone who isn’t a transgender woman or otherwise transfeminine²) and “TMA” (transmisogyny-affected; i.e., transgender women/transfeminine people) terminology because it puts much less emphasis on assigned gender.

But let’s get back to the main labels.

For some nonbinary people and even “binary”³ transgender people, basing one’s existence or identity on the concept of “I’m not my assigned gender,” instead of “I’m this gender” — essentially defining oneself via negatives and oppressive ideas — is uncomfortable and counterintuitive. Some disagree with the notion that their gender is merely a transitional state. (I see my gender as such since I went through various changes in my identity, but I don’t find it too important in the grand scheme. I’m male now regardless.)

It’s possible for nonbinary people to encompass our entire gender status with “nonbinary.” We don’t need to explicitly say we aren’t our assigned genders because one can gather that from having an identity that doctors can’t assign us. On the other hand, binary transgender folks can’t fully encompass their gender experiences by only saying, “I’m a (wo)man,” and never mentioning their transness. But of course, no one needs to specify their transness if they don’t want to.

The “born in the wrong body” narrative that gets passed around as the basic “understanding” of transness doesn’t translate well for many nonbinary people (or even “binary” trans people, for that matter — especially those who don’t experience gender dysphoria). Even if there was a fixed set of physical traits that defined a “male” or “female” body, how could one achieve a physically “nonbinary” body? Would it be physical androgyny? In what ways? The dysphoria experienced by nonbinary people can be incompatible with any existing medical transition route.

People sometimes make our dysphoria out to be fetishistic or inherently sexual because the only “appropriate” type of dysphoria is wanting a “fully male” or “fully female” body, whatever that means. Some nonbinary people themselves may feel fetishistic for wanting bigger breasts or bottom surgery without hormone replacement, or wishing they had both sets of genitalia. Others may not even realize they’re dysphoric or nonbinary for a while because they’ve been trained to see their desires primarily as sexual fantasies.

There’s an element of social voyeurism leveled at transitioning transgender people. Cisgender people constantly try figuring out our genitals, our deadnames, how we transitioned, if we underwent or plan to undergo surgery, and so on. They have a morbid fascination with our past, as well as the mere concept of transition. They frequently obsess over how we’ve “changed” genders even though some transgender folks don’t feel they’ve necessarily changed at all. Rather, they just realized later on who we were the whole time. We shouldn’t judge those who wish to identify completely outside of their past, refusing to let people draw their personhood back to, “what were you before?” Why, exactly, does it matter? It can be liberating to only give knowledge of what we are now.

On the other hand, those who insist nonbinary people can’t call themselves transgender often hold stigmatizing rhetoric and ignorance of nonbinary realities. There are nonbinary people whose lived experiences are wholly unrelated to those of binary transgender people, and some comfortably live the way a cisgender person would (i.e., they don’t transition or mind people seeing and referring to them as their assigned gender). Still, other nonbinary experiences are almost identical to many “binary” transgender people.

If we have two people living essentially the same way, but one identifies as nonbinary and the other as a transgender woman, where can we draw the line and decide that one of them isn’t a “real” transgender person? It seems to come down to just stigma against nonbinary folks.

It’s important to not force labels on nonbinary people, but it’s also common for us to not identify as transgender because we don’t think we’re “transgender enough” to do so, which is another issue.⁴ This feeling of inadequacy — often marked by not perfectly fitting the stereotypical narrative of transness — is usually the reason, compared to those who know they could but merely don’t want to. It may be more pressing to make sure that nonbinary people know they can, in fact, define their experiences with the word “transgender,” instead of insisting they don’t have to in a transparent way to convince them to just stop.

When it comes to community and demographics, we can consider nonbinary people members of the overall “transgender” population. But from person to person, whether or not one calls themselves transgender is a personal choice. There’s no need to shove it onto people or deny it to others. No identity term will catch every single person who fits the criteria for being that identity.