The Emperor’s New Gender Identity

An Entertainment

I’ve been teaching quite a lot in recent weeks so haven’t had time to complete the piece I was writing about the legal situation respecting gender identity. As it turns out there are a number of cases in progress and soon to be heard that might well change the legal landscape and hopefully provoke the government into making legislative changes that clarify the extent to which it is reasonable to accommodate those who somehow feel that their “identities” are incompatible or in tension with the binary nature of sex. Of particular importance, then, is the ongoing case of “Peggie v NHS Fife” (can an employer force women to share facilities with men who have chosen to “identity as” women), the Supreme Court’s ruling in “For Women Scotland Ltd v The Scottish Ministers” (has someone with a Gender Recognition Certificate changed “sex” as that is understood in the Equalities Act?), and the Court of Appeal’s decision to hear Bailey v Stonewall Equality Limited (Stonewall policies induce people in companies that pay to be known as “diversity champions” to discriminate against those who do not subscribe (for whatever reason) to Stonewall’s views on “trans rights”). I’ll get back to my writing next week. In the meantime, here’s a little light(er) relief (with apologies to Hans Christian Anderson (and perhaps FK).

So please don’t be annoyed if I tell you that the goal of my life is to be looked at by other people

—Kafka, “Conversation with the Worshiper”

Not that many years ago; indeed, really rather recently; there was an Emperor who was very fond of dressing up in women’s clothes. He did not trouble himself with the defense of the realm, nor with the privations of his subjects. He concerned himself little with the health and education of his children. And, alas, his only interest in the Empress was a covetous regard for her wardrobe. Instead of attending to the affairs of family or state, then, the Emperor spent hours admiring himself in front of the mirror in an ever-shifting scene of bodices and corsets, frills and ruffles, in tulle and billowy chiffon with hemlines low and high, sleeves capped or puffy, prints floral and polka dot. But since the marvelous thrill he got was from imagining himself being seen as a woman, the preening and flouncing—sometimes in pointed-toe heels, sometimes in ballet flats, always topped with a satin headband or a floral crown atop a luxurious wig—was rarely if ever in private. Said the Emperor to himself, “what is the point being a beautiful woman if there’s no-one there to acknowledge and to celebrate one’s beauty?!” And so the Emperor would require that his staff were in constant attendance on him, in the boudoir and of course in the bathroom, when dining and when simply swooning from room to room, calling him “your highness” and proclaiming in stage whispers how beautiful… how elegant… how very desirable “she” was. This went on for many years, and as the kingdom and its people grew poorer from neglect the Emperor’s performances grew more and more extravagant, and his courtiers unconstrained in their praise for “her” womanliness. And yet… and yet, in the Emperor’s heart a doubt gnawed away. “Everyone acclaims me as the woman I am,” he thought, “but am I… really a woman? I didn’t give birth to my children, and however much I disguise them I still have those bits that I was born with and that, in truth, are possessed by no other woman I have ever seen. Am I deceiving myself, acting a part, confusing role with reality?”. But the Emperor was unaccustomed to having to think about himself in this way; it overheated his brain to try to see himself as others saw him; and so he would silence such doubts by calling the whole Court to bear witness once more to his marvellous femininity.

One day two travelling scholars arrived in the capital city. They had journeyed from the distant Kingdom of Cahuenga, and were learned in the most fashionable academic ideas of the time. They also knew that flattery could move even the most powerful ruler. Rumours of the scholars’ teachings soon reached the ears of the Emperor and he summoned them before him to explain their views. Bowing deeply before him, they declared “your Majesty, we bring you the most profound discovery of our age: womanhood is not a matter of flesh, but of self-identification! If you say you are a woman, then you are a woman—more so, even, than those who were merely born as one!” The emperor’s heavily mascaraed and shadowed eyes widened. “So it is not my body, but my belief that makes me a woman!?” “Your magnificence, you have grasped in a second what it has taken us years of study at the feet of the Saintly Butler to understand! Yes indeed! To doubt it is ignorance and to deny it is hatred that must not go unpunished. And who would dare oppose the wisdom of the all-powerful Empress!?” At this, the Emperor beamed with pleasure. Finally, he had the proof that would silence the doubts within and justify crushing any doubts without! The greatest (surely!) scholars of the age had affirmed what he had long held to be true: he was indeed the most womanly of women in the Kingdom! “Kneel before your Empress!”, he declared. And while his advisors, generals, and ministers immediately fell to their knees the two great scholars pocketed the silver they’d been rewarded with and made slowly for the exit, and then on to the next Kingdom on their list.

A grand parade was announced so that all in the Kingdom might bear witness to the Emperor’s true self. He donned his finest gown, his cheeks rouged and lips painted. And as he stepped into the streets banners were raised and trumpets sounded, and the people erupted into applause. “How stunning!” some shouted. “Oh what a supremely elegant woman!” announced others. “Surely there has never before been such an exemplification of the feminine ideal” said the local academicians, already well-schooled in the new ways of thinking. But beneath their celebrations and forced smiles was fear—for each and every one knew the Emperor’s power, and that to disagree, even slightly, was to invite disaster. But then, from the crowd, a single child’s voice rang out. “Mum, why is that man wearing a dress!?”A hush fell over the crowd. The emperor stopped mid-step. The people glanced nervously at one another, each anxious to see what would happen next. The Emperor’s face flushed with fury. His hands trembled. For the briefest of moments that gnawing doubt returned. But then he recalled the words of those most sage of scholars who’d brought him the truth from that distant land: Esse est percipi, “to be is to be perceived”. I see a woman and they, my loyal subjects, see a woman. I am a woman! He straightened his back, smoothed his gown, and lifted his chin. “This child is too young to understand. A period in the Stonewall Academy will fix their ignorance once and for all!”

And so the people exhaled in relief, happy for the nonce that the Emperor’s wrath had not turned upon them. So they shouted and applauded and danced in celebration once more. Not of course because they believed what that the Emperor was indeed a woman, but because they knew it was safer to pretend. And from that day forward, no one ever dared to speak the truth again…