Like most little girls growing up in the 1990s, I first knew Aiza Seguerra as a child star on local TV. There was a time that I liked to think of myself as her biggest fan, whether she was guilelessly making people laugh on Little Miss Philippines or serving as a tiny comic foil to Vic Sotto in “Okay ka, Fairy Ko!” Time passed and she seemed to drift away from show business; she appeared to have moved on. So did I. Even when she reemerged as a young adult actor, taking occasional roles and looking nothing like her old party-dressed, pigtailed self, I barely took notice. That was until I started reading news bits about her on online portals, which was when I started to realize that reporters were no longer referring to Aiza Seguerra as “she.”
This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to me until I made the mistake of glancing at the comments sections of the news pages in these online portals. For instance, in a Rappler article published in mid-September that referred to the actor very distinctly as “he,” a commenter replied: “Can’t you guys distinguish a male from a female?” Another said, “Why hide behind a male pronoun?” Never mind that the actor himself has come out as a transgender male and expressed his preferred pronouns as he/him/his; never mind that the news portals were only respecting this desire. The comments sections have become a place for users with varying degrees of anonymity to reject his life choices—starting with their rejection of his preferred pronouns.
This piece isn’t about how terrifying it must be to admit to family and friends, not to mention an entire country who watched you on TV when you were barely out of diapers, that you are a trans person. This also isn’t a piece about the beauty and fluidity of the gender spectrum—a rich topic in its own right. Instead, this is a piece about preferred gender pronouns (or PGPs), and why this is a discussion we should be having.
Pronouns are defined as words that take the place of nouns or noun phrases. One of its dimensions, particularly in the English language, is gender specificity. While no gender distinctions are made through our Filipino pronoun “siya,” from childhood we are taught that “she” is a substitute for Jill and “he” is a substitute for John. However, times are a-changing, and as the lines between the strict male-female dichotomy blur, so do the pronouns we use to define them. It is no longer as simple as he, she, it, or they (if indeed it ever was); “she” could refer to someone born biologically male who identifies as female, and “they” could be used to refer to a single person who identifies as gender-neutral (neither male nor female, or anything in the spectrum in between). I am not the first person who has had to squint hard at sentences like “Sam took their dog out for a walk” and I will hardly be the last.
Many individuals, young people especially, have now taken to specifying their PGPs, whether publicly through their social media profiles or discreetly to their trusted friends and family. I once had the interesting experience of being schooled gently by a friend when I referred to a favorite cosplayer as “she” when he identified as “he.” It’s an adjustment for everyone, and for the family and friends of trans individuals, the adjustment to new grammatical rules parallels their adjustment to their loved ones’ transitions.
It may well be a grammarian’s worst nightmare. Doubtless it is difficult not only for the people who have PGPs and who ask others to use them; it is also difficult for those who recognize the need to respect the pronouns but can slip awkwardly along the way (for instance, referring to a single person as “they” is something I might never get used to). But are comfortable linguistic constructs in any way as important as the feelings, safety and sense of identity of trans persons?
As the international community is finding and creating the vocabulary that helps people to explore and redefine their gender, respect for PGPs has become a surrogate marker for
respect for people of different genders. The careful use of “he” or “she” or “they” or “ze” (another gender-neutral pronoun) has become a surrogate for “I respect your life choices.” Or “While I don’t know what it is to be in your shoes, I respect the fact that you identify as another gender, or maybe no gender at all.” Even from people who may still believe strictly in the gender binary or who may not have the first clue about gender sensitivity, the ready acknowledgement of another person’s preferred pronouns can mean something as simple as: I respect you.
On the other extreme, what does it say when someone refuses to use someone’s PGPs? Whatever their motivations, those who are aware of, and yet reject, someone’s PGPs are sending an interesting message. They might say “he” or “she” but through these syllables, a trans person might hear: “I reject your transition and your understanding of your identity.” It could also be “I think I know you better than you know yourself.” There is also the unspoken refrain of “Being born with a certain set of chromosomes and sexual characteristics precludes your right to express yourself.”
Should we respect preferred pronouns out of political correctness? Maybe. Should we do it because we recognize that it’s the decent, humane thing to do? Definitely. There’s just no way to outright reject someone’s pronouns without sounding like we’re rejecting the person who chooses to use them.
Sometimes it’s difficult for me to believe that the person I idolized as a little girl is now a tux-wearing, tattoo-sporting actor. People, child stars in particular, hardly ever turn out the way we expect them to (nor should they). But was it difficult, even for a moment, to start using the pronoun “he” to refer to someone who was once an idol? Not in the least. It doesn’t have to take years of Tumblr education in gender sensitivity or a degree in linguistics. If it comes down to a question of choosing between respecting someone’s self-expression and policing it, then maybe there shouldn’t be much of a question at all.
* * *
kaychuarivera@yahoo.com