Tuesday, 18 אייר 5780
(Tuesday, 12 May 2020)
Glasgow, Scotland
content note: sexual violence, mental health, trans stuff, homophobia, antisemitism
In the Jewish calendar the days begin at sundown, so I’m including my activities from last night through sundown today.
A brief timeline of the day:
21:16 Sunset
~21:30–00:00 Bonfire
~02:00 Went to bed
10:00 Wake up
11:00–11:30 Dog walk
12:00–13:00 Write in diary
13:00–14:00 Therapy
14:15–16:00 Yiddish reading lesson
16:00–17:00 Lunch, dog drama
17:15–17:30 Cab to vet
17:30–18:10 Waiting at the vet
18:15–19:00 J’s not-pub quiz
19:00–21:00 Write in diary, edit diary
21:18 Sunset
We’re some 8 weeks into lockdown for the corona virus. Last night the PM announced an easing of restrictions in England with a focus on people going back to work: absolutely despicable. It’s clear that the government values short-term profit over public health, if there was ever any doubt.
About me: I’m 31 years old, American, a Jewish heretic/atheist, trans, non-binary, bisexual/queer, unemployed, autistic, white Ashkenazi, vegan, and an anarchist. My pronouns are he/him; I’m an aging twink and most people assume I’m a man because I have a baritone voice and that masculine-ish demeanor of a feminine queer boy—the kind of boy who you wouldn’t mistake for a girl or a straight person, and who’d get called a fag. I grew up in America, middle class, and have a MSc in International Relations Theory from a “prestigious” university in London. I have tattoos but you already knew that. I have c-PTSD which is getting better, chronic back pain which remains the same, and intermittent depression and anxiety, which are getting worse in the pandemic.
As a Jew I’m unfortunately obliged to note my stance on Israel: I’m an antizionist and a supporter of BDS [boycott divest sanction] and Palestinian liberation. I’m a leftist and an activist with particular focus on queer issues, anticapitalism, healthcare, and survivors of sexual violence. I also believe strongly in prison abolition, the abolition of private property, climate justice, and unconditional freedom of movement for everyone, though I’m not working directly on any of these issues. Politics are very important to me.
I’ve been living in the UK since I was 18, but have only gotten residency and the right to work in the last 2 years after marrying my EU-citizen spouse who lives in a coastal town in the south (we’re estranged). Before then, I was a student and worked cash-in-hand as a researcher and a full-service sex worker. Once in 2017, I was served deportation papers in while in jail, under arrest for “non-violent harassment” of my abusive ex because I’d tweeted that he raped me. My 20s were difficult: I was an undocumented trans person and survivor of domestic violence; and I was extremely precarious, living in poverty and often in overcrowded housing. I didn’t have any recourse to public funds and had few tenants’ rights because I was never on a lease. In the 10 years I lived in London, I moved about 25 times. I was homeless sometimes but never needed to sleep rough.
I moved to Glasgow in January 2018, after finally realizing I was priced out of London and always had been. My grandfather died in 2017 and shortly after I got to Glasgow I received an inheritance of about $100,000 which changed my life. Before the pandemic hit, I bought my 3 bed flat (£151,000; January 2020) and got top surgery via private healthcare (~£7,000; February 2020); I also quit my job as a healthcare advocate with a large LGBT charity (earning £28,000 p.a.) with the intention of starting a pay-what-you-can queer space, but that’s been delayed. I tell myself that successfully implementing 2 out of 3 major life changes before the ‘rona isn’t bad.
I’ll detail domestic things because, in the pandemic, the domestic has easily eclipsed the workplace or public space as the most important sphere in life; and because I personally find it extremely interesting. My flat is 3 bedrooms like I said, with a big living and a small kitchen and small bathroom. I paid more than I should have; comparable properties sold for £10k less, but I’d been outbid 3 times before. J and I are partners but we each have our own rooms; L is J’s best friend from school and they have the third room. The flat is the 1st floor in a tenement block on a quiet street, but very close to a rail station; we can hear the trains go by. The ceilings are high. The close is dirty and poorly maintained, and the factors are useless bastards. I reckon about half of the people in the building own, and half rent; I’m thinking of coordinating a rent strike among the renters, but we’ll see. I decorate in the Aesthetics and Art Nouveau styles when I can afford to; I’m good at finding affordable things second-hand online and in antique shops. I have over 60 houseplants of varying sizes and species, mostly grown from friends’ cuttings or inherited, left behind by old housemates. I used to be a terrible gardener but since about 2014 I’ve gotten really into it, and only killed about 60% of the plants in my care. We have one domestic robot, a robot vacuum: I absolutely love it. Domestic robots are the future of the home—or they would be, if we had a better economic system which actually incentivized enriching human life and releasing us from the drudgery of basic domestic labor.
Today is לג ב'עמור (Lag B’omer). To celebrate, last night we had a small bonfire in the nearby park. “We” is me, my boyfriend J (early 20s, Northern), and our flatmate L (early 20s, also Northern). We brought our greyhound Mordecai (or Motke for short), some lighter fluid, tinfoil, apples, and brown sugar. We should have also brought some water for drinking and for the fire, but we were fine. L constructed a tee-pee style framework while I gathered sticks and J played with the dog. L and I were very comfortable with the fire, but J was a bit nervous. We all worried a bit about a police patrol finding us but still we baked the apples and sang Hine Ma Tov. L accidentally stepped on J’s apple when we were stamping out the fire, but J baked one in the oven when we got home. After we ate and chatted I got ready for bed: washed my face, brushed my teeth, put on my T [testosterone]. I had trouble sleeping which is not unusual in these times.
Today, if I’m not too depressed, I’ll give myself a haircut and manicure my nails to mark the day.
J and I are partners, and we’re polyamorous, though neither of us is dating or fucking anyone else right now. We’re barely fucking each other either because of my depression, which is mostly fine by me. The being fine about it makes me a little sad.
We woke up at 10:00 with an alarm, earlier than usual since the pandemic because we had a dog-walking date with our friend. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized, and had a breakfast of granola with kiwi and vegan yogurt, and rooibos tea (writing this diary, it somehow feels worth noting that I always leave the teabag in).
J took a shower while I sat in the living room on the chaise and scrolled through twitter on my phone. He tends to run a bit late and today was no different. We put our shoes on, put the Mordecai’s harness on, grabbed the “dog bag” (full of poop bags, the muzzle, and treats) and headed out. It was especially sunny and I realized that I forgot to put on sunscreen—I’m vain and like to protect my face, neck, and hands—so I went back upstairs and he and the dog walked to the park. We’re only about 2 blocks away from a large green space for which I am constantly grateful. I met them there and we went to “the field”—our name for a golf course in the park with a fence around the perimeter in which I’ve never seen a golfer but have seen many dogs—to meet our friend F and her dog Molly. They were late too.
The dogs have never gotten along but we were determined to make it work. We let them both off-lead and they scrapped a bit: Mordecai was wearing a muzzle, but Molly wasn’t and nicked them on the neck, nothing serious but a pretty broad surface wound. We put the dogs back on lead and took Motke home. J gave hir a bath and I got some bandages and antiseptic cream ready. F texted us apologizing and asking again if Motke was ok, and I told her Motke was more bothered by the bath than the cut.
I’ve been typing for about an hour—now I have therapy via videocall, and I’m noticing that I’m anxious.
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Therapy was useful—I’m lucky I have a good therapist. I get it privately, another failure of the underfunded NHS. My greatest fear is that love is not enough, that people won’t take care of each other even though we have the resources to. I’m deeply affected by the lack of empathy and concern for public health that I’ve seen from the government, and by extension from the public. Yesterday I went to the shops and no one was wearing a mask but me, and the majority of people didn’t seem interested at all in social distancing; several people walked right next to me, brushing up against me. I know that lockdown is difficult and delusion is seductive, but it’s just not worth the death toll. I know most people don’t have the luxuries I do, of living with people they like, living near a park, having physical contact. I try, constantly, to be as generous and empathetic as possible, but I’m struggling with that right now.
I’m also struggling to forgive myself for my own lack of action. The pandemic is terrible, but it is an opportunity to radically shift social power away from the state and toward the people through mutual aid efforts, and I’m simply not doing enough because I’m too depressed. I’m very hard on myself but it (usually) motivates me to do more, to be better, to help more people.
As I’m writing now, I’m eating some oven-ready hashbrowns that J made me with ketchup, mustard, and nutritional yeast; a few black olives; and drinking another rooibos tea.
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J made some test baygls for a mutual aid effort we’re doing where we bring food to our local community on a pay-what-you-can basis, so people can pay nothing if they need. This will hopefully not only alleviate the burden people are feeling, but my guilt for not doing enough. He’s a great cook and they were delicious.
My Yiddish reading lesson was nice, as usual. My teacher, D, is an atheist Jew in his 50s from Europe. He’s fluent in French, German, English, and is proficient in Yiddish. I, on the other hand, only speak English, a smattering of French, and enough Yiddish to encourage antisemites. He’s a former Marxist-Leninist, I think now he’d call himself a social democrat. We’re classmates in a larger weekly reading group based out of Edinburgh (currently meeting on zoom) and last year when I realized we both took the train there from Glasgow, and that he’s much better than me, I asked him to tutor me one-on-one; he agreed, and since he’s a retired professor (not linguistics; STEM), he doesn’t need and didn’t ask for any money for it. He lives a short bike ride away, with his partner. Anyway in our lesson today we went over a sentence which was giving me trouble in a translation I’m working on: an early-20th century union newspaper in Yiddish. This was before Yiddish was standardized, and German words were often used to make writing seem more high class. Once we got that sentence done, we went back to our usual weekly reading: The Warsaw Ghetto, by Bernard Goldstein, 1947, in the original Yiddish. (I tried to type that out in Yiddish but I’ve yet to meet a word processor which can handle LtR and RtL text in the same document for more than word or two; the formatting is wrong and it is very frustrating). Warsaw is a long and emotionally difficult read but as a Jew (and an anarchist) I feel it is my obligation and privilege to know Jewish and antifascist history. Having the weekly lessons with D is a nice constant in difficult times; it was the first thing I moved online once it wasn’t safe to be going outside.
Yiddish is my special interest right now and I find it extremely rewarding to learn: I’m also teaching J and L, every week on שבת (shabos). My goal is to be fluent enough to have a Yiddish-speaking household by the time I have a kid (J and I are intending to adopt in the next 2–5 years). It’s not only a meaningful way for me to engage with my culture and history, but an act of antifascist resistance: Nazis tried (try) to wipe out my ancestral language through genocide, but מיר וועלן זיי איבערלעבן (we will outlive them).
A note on being trans and Jewish: it is an absolute shit time in the UK to be either. The press are positively ghoulish when it comes to reporting (“reporting”) on trans people, echoing the smears during the AIDS crisis and civil rights fights for LGB people in the 80s and 90s. There’s a trans healthcare crisis within the greater crisis of the NHS, and every single national newspaper publishes transphobic opinion pieces masquerading as feminism. For some reason, this is a uniquely British phenomenon: my friends in Ireland, Canada, and the US look to us with pity.
As for being Jewish, it’s calmed down now since Jeremy Corbyn isn’t the opposition leader anymore, but for his entire tenure Jews were used as tokens to attack him and Labour, as if the Tories are less anti-Semitic (they aren’t). I’m far too left to be a Labour member but I’m extremely disappointed in the most recent election. I have lots of friends on benefits and know people who have been detained and deported; I’ve seen austerity tear the heart out of my communities. Just thinking about the Tory win depresses me. It’s no exaggeration to say it’s made me want to die.
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We looked at Motke’s wound again to dress it, and L thinks it needs stitches so we called the emergency vet, took Motke there in a cab—I’m surprised and sad that it was so easy to get a cab; I wish workers were able to stay home—left them there for surgery, and came home. I’m very stressed and sad for them, and worried about the cost: over £500. I feel stupid for not having pet insurance, and irresponsible for letting the dogs play/fight without Molly wearing a muzzle. I’ve just applied for Universal Credit and am due to get my first payment in a few days, but it will only be about £400. My mortgage payments are deferred because of the pandemic and I’m not paying any of our bills except gas (because it’s on a pay-as-you-go meter); I have no income, but we had enough money in the bank for one emergency. I guess this is it. We’ll talk to F about helping with the cost but her and her partner are self-employed doing absolutely vital community work—the kind which is so under-resourced that if I were more specific, you’d easily be able to identify them—so I don’t want to put them in a (more) precarious financial position. We need to pick Motke up at about 23:15.
When we got home I gave J a big hug, more for my benefit than his. Then L and I took J’s not-pub quiz which he wrote for his weekly extended family zoom call from last Sunday, which had categories like “J’s cool bug facts” and “Read One Book”. We just sat and did it in the living room. That lightened the mood; L is very funny and way L and J bounce off each other is entertaining. We’ve all been living here since February and I’m glad that we get along so well. But L and J and I have been living together for nearly 2.5 years, in my old 1 bed flat before this one. The move to a 3 bed flat felt absolutely opulent.
As I type now, I’m drinking more tea and eating leftover חלה (khale or “challah”) with flakes of salt. Leonard Cohen is playing on my laptop. J’s in his empty bedroom sanding the floor, and when he’s vacuumed and mopped it, I’ll stain it. DIY stuff grounds me, and restoring the original floors in the flat has been satisfying. I feel guilty about this too: spending time and money on something so indulgent.
My back hurts, and my nipple still have phantom pain from surgery. I stubbed my toe while rushing to get Motke’s dressing sorted and it still hurts. My friend Lo is messaging me on Signal (encrypted messaging) arguing with me about Star Trek. Some other friends have expressed concern for Motke and us, which is nice.
There must be mundane things which I’ve done today but not mentioned. I’ve pissed and shit. I picked up Motke’s shit; actually J did that today. At some point I did do some dishes, but I can’t remember when. I’ve wiped my glasses clean. I’ve made cups of tea, and tidied. I’m very tidy. I haven’t watered the plants yet but I need to. I’m sure I’ve compulsively picked at my skin without realizing it. I’ve stared out the window to see if it’s raining or if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
If I was in a better mental state, I would play guitar or cello; I’d sing, and cook, and read more. I’d write more, and do more political organizing. Last year my book was published, but I usually forget that; the gratification of writing a book is too delayed. But I could work on my translation or otherwise practice Yiddish. At least today I haven’t been on twitter much, and haven’t watched any tv (we don’t pay for it, we downsteal it). Lately we’ve been watching Mad Men and Limmy’s Show. I didn’t get to do my nails today because of the dog drama, but maybe after sundown.
I’m quite happy to be alone for long periods of time; the only time I can remember feeling lonely was after the first time I was raped, in university, when all my friends and the administration failed me. But that was extreme: usually I like being alone. Or being in groups. I guess I’m not picky. So the pandemic hasn’t really affected my mood in that way, though I am shorter with J than I would otherwise be. I know two people who’ve been sick with COVID; they’re both nearly-fully recovered now. But it sounds awful. A lot of my friends live alone and are lonely, and I feel guilty for not calling them more. I’m worried about my mom getting sick; she’s in America.
The last 10 years have been hard. My 20s were spent in school, and in an abusive relationship, and navigating being trans. For my 30th birthday I held a funeral, the funeral I was sure I would have before I ever got this old. It was sad and joyful and cathartic.
The next 10 years—my 30s will no doubt be better than my 20s. But as my personal circumstances have changed for the better, the state of the world has gotten worse. I’m worried about people. I’m worried about prisoners and people in detention centers, held indefinitely; I’m worried about queer kids in abusive households; I’m worried about all of my brown and black friends when they walk down the street, especially with increased police presence during COVID. I’m worried about climate change and climate refugees and all my friends who still do sex work, who are still criminalized by this shit government. I’m angry and worried about growing income inequality, homelessness, and xenophobia. I’m realizing that human progress isn’t linear—it goes in waves, and is rolled back, and comes again decades later. We’re in a regressive period and I’m worried. I don’t feel safe and my friends aren’t safe, and people who I’ve never met and will never meet are unsafe. I have work to do.
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