They know who they are STORY & PHOTO: MELALIN MAHAVONGTRAKUL
Ivan Coyote’s moving stories help broaden the LGBTI narrative
In the dim light inside Bangkok Screening Room, Ivan Coyote transfixed the crowd with stories of their childhood, of grandmas and uncles, and of the conversations our dinner group had at the Isan restaurant around the corner from the venue.
At times we laughed out loud, other times tears brimmed in our eyes as Coyote recounted tales of the life of a tomboy growing up in Yukon, Canada, not fitting the binary gender landscape the world subscribed to.
Coyote is an established author, storyteller, musician and filmmaker. Identifying as a non-binary transgender person, Coyote uses singular they pronoun. They were in Bangkok earlier this month as a guest of the Embassy of Canada to perform a reading of their writings. Coming from a large family, Coyote, who soon turns 50, aspired to write from a young age.
“In a big family, everything was shared with multiple people. The only thing I really got to keep to myself was my journals,” they said. Coyote studied jazz, worked as an electrician and performed at open mics and cabaret nights before establishing themself as a writer. They are now the author of 11 books, including Tomboy Survival Guide, which won the 2017 Stonewall Book Award for exceptional works related to the LGBTI experience. Coyote’s work includes both fiction and nonfiction. Much of it is inspired by their personal experiences of struggle, joy, empowerment and more.
“[The stories] just come,” Coyote said. “I don’t know how much of it is a choice. And I’m not the only artist who describes that experience. Those are the stories that come and knock on the inside of my eyelid until I breathe some life into them or put them down on a page or translate them somehow.”
A lot of it deals with issues of gender that deeply resonate with LGBTI audiences. But Coyote says that the stories have the potential to cross the boundaries people draw between each other. And there are other dimensions in the work that people can identify with, from family to life in a small town.
“My job is to put the work out there and not think too much about expectations of who’s going to read it or what they’re going to take away from it,” they said. “Because it’s always going to be filtered through their own lenses, experiences, biases and stories. I think part of being a storyteller is to reach inside the listeners and readers and rattle their own ghosts a little bit.”
As a performer and public figure, Coyote travels the world giving talks in schools, universities and elsewhere about anti-bullying and LGBTI. Making school a safer and more welcoming place is something they are passionate about, something that stems from their “not so great” school experience in the 70s and 80s. Coyote didn’t come out until the first year of college.
Regarding liberal and progressive Canada, Coyote explained that the country still has problems that need to be tackled, from marginalisation to discrimination. The suicide rate among queer and transgender youth remains alarmingly high.
But despite all their work helping to raise awareness regarding gender issues, Coyote is reluctant to be called an activist.
“I just don’t know if I’ve earned it,” they said. “To me, an activist is someone who’s actively lobbying the government and fighting to change the law. I’m a writer and an artist.”
“I’m not a spokesperson,” Coyote continued. “I’m not an elected leader. I’m just figuring things out myself some days. I can’t, shouldn’t and don’t want to be any voice besides my own. My job as a more senior, established artist is to support and lift up, where I can, the voices of younger, more marginalised artists. That’s an important part of my responsibility.”
It’s more important to get everyone to speak up, rather than to speak for them, Coyote insisted.
“For years, we’ve struggled under very few narratives of trans and non-binary people. Sometimes I look around at the people who’ve been lifted up by mainstream society as trans spokespeople. Caitlyn Jenner doesn’t speak for me. Chaz Bono doesn’t speak for me. I’m a feminist. I believe in dismantling the gender binary for everybody.
“As a masculine-looking non-binary transgender, part of the responsibility of that is, if I’m going to be mistaken for a man, I better make sure I’m being the right kind of man,” said Coyote, adding: “I don’t identify as a man, but sometimes the world identifies me that way. So that puts a responsibility on me to check my male privilege where I can and to actively fight and speak up against misogyny and be an ally to women and girls where I can.”
In all of their experience travelling the world and sharing their stories, Coyote said one of the most important things they cherish is the people — the diverse group of LGBTI and non-binary people that they have met around the globe.
“The bravery and strength,” marvelled Coyote with a smile. “I’m so proud of us.”
Towards the end of our conversation, we finally discussed their gender-neutral pronoun. They said that many people “act like it’s mental gymnastics”. But to Coyote, the singular they feels like a beautiful, perfectly fitting leather jacket.
“I feel very good in it,” they said. “We use singular they all the time when a person’s gender is not disclosed, like, ‘Someone left their laptop behind, can they please return and get it?’. Nobody cries grammar crime until a trans person uses it.”
Coyote added that they understand people who struggle with the unfamiliar use of the word, but shows no compassion for those who don’t make an effort because, put simply, addressing a person by their preferred pronoun is just a show of respect towards another human being.
We’ve struggled under very few narratives of trans and non-binary people. I believe in dismantling the gender binary for everybody