We must not uphold gender norms at the expense of human dignity

Sexual intimacy, gender variance and criminal law.

Imagine the following scenario:

A white woman and a man of mixed race, who outwardly appears white, meet in a wine bar. They flirt with each other. The man returns with the woman to her apartment where mutually satisfying sexual intercourse takes place. Subsequently, the woman discovers the mixed-race background of the man and claims to feel violated. She reports the matter to the police and requests that he be charged with rape on the basis of his failure to disclose his racial background.

There are people who would consider a rape charge an appropriate, or at least legitimate, outcome on these facts, and certainly in circumstances where the man was aware in advance of the complainant's feelings. However, for the rest of us, such a suggestion seems not only counter-intuitive, but ludicrous. It is also true to say, as a matter of law, that on such facts a rape or other sexual offence prosecution is highly unlikely ever to be brought and if it were it would certainly fail to secure a conviction. The same is true in relation to non-disclosure of all kinds of other personal facts. Thus facts about a potential sexual partner that might be considered material, but to which no legal consequences attach in the event of non-disclosure, include (in the heterosexual context) prior homosexual or bi-sexual sexual experience, convictions for child abuse and heroin addiction. The list is potentially endless. Indeed, even in the context of HIV positive status, non-disclosure will not serve to vitiate consent in relation to a rape charge1.

Now consider a different scenario:

A woman and a transgender man meet in a wine bar. They flirt with each other. The man returns with the woman to her apartment where mutually satisfying sexual intercourse takes place. Subsequently, the woman discovers the man is transgender and claims to feel violated. She reports the matter to the police and requests that he be charged with rape on the basis of his failure to disclose his gender history.

While I imagine my comments concerning the mixed-race example proved uncontroversial to most, if not all readers, I know from experience that the second scenario is likely to lead to a more complicated and variegated set of emotional responses. The comparison is designed to tease out such differential responses and encourage reflection upon them. And what is at stake for transgender people is a great deal. Conviction on such facts not only leads to loss of liberty, it also serves to call into question the validity or authenticity of something as profoundly personal as gender identity. Nor are these issues hypothetical. In March 2013, two young transgender men, Scott McNally and Chris Wilson, were convicted, in London and Edinburgh respectively, of sexual offences on the basis that they had obtained consent by fraud through failure to disclose their gender history to female sexual partners, and in the case of Chris Wilson, two 15-year-old girls. McNally was sentenced to three years imprisonment while Wilson received three years probation and 240 hours of community service. Both were placed on the Sex Offender’s Register for life.

Yet neither of these young men committed fraud. They identified as men, and had done so from an early age, presented as men and were desired as men. There is nothing fabricated about their feelings or performance of masculinity, or at least none more so than in the case of cisgender men. Fraud, and encroachment on sexual autonomy in any meaningful sense, only becomes intelligible once we deny the gender identities of the male defendants. For those who feel (and it tends to be a matter of feeling) that they have a right to know about the backgrounds of transgender men prior to sexual encounters, they do so because they want to retain the right not to have sexual congress with someone they do not consider to be a man. This view of transgender men as “posing,” “pretending to be” (Mail Online, 21/3/12) or “masquerading as” men (Telegraph, 24/2/13) was extensively reproduced in the press. Yet we live in a society that recognises transgenderism, provides public funding for associated medical needs as well as legal recognition. Indeed, Scott McNally and Chris Wilson have both indicated a desire to undergo reassignment surgery. This state of affairs is undermined by criminal prosecution as it serves to call into question the reality of transgender people’s gender identities.

For those who still see wisdom in prosecuting these types of cases it is important to recognise that disclosure of gender history to a sexual partner would not serve to protect transgender people from prosecution. In practice, it would also be necessary to disclose to the friends and/or family of sexual partners. This is because a transgender person is always vulnerable to the accusation of non-disclosure even where disclosure has actually taken place, and we need to bear in mind the possibility that prosecution might be motivated in these circumstances by a desire to conceal from parents and the world "lesbian" feelings. In the event of false allegation, a cisgender person’s claim that she did not know will be hard to rebut. This is because the view, one reproduced by these legal judgments, that a cisgender person would not knowingly engage in sexual congress with a transgender person, enjoys considerable weight in normative terms. We might call this a kind of "hostage problem". In effect, what law requires is a more generalised form of institutionalised "outing". This is not consistent with promoting the safety of transgender people, especially young transgender people like the defendants in these cases. On the contrary, transgender visibility can, and frequently does, lead to violence, and sometimes deadly violence, as the tragic cases of Brandon Teena and Gwen Araujo testify.

Recognition of these dangers to the physical body needs to be supplemented by recognition of the psychic trauma potentially suffered by transgender people having to disclose their chromosomal status, earlier or present gonadal and/or genital condition as well as a history of coerced gender performance. It is acknowledged that sexual partners who remain unaware of gender history may, upon discovery, experience harm in the form of distress, disgust and/or revulsion. It is not my intention to trivilise these experiences. Nevertheless, these forms of harm ought not to be viewed as justification for state intervention against such a marginalised minority group through the criminal law. This is especially so given that these feelings of disgust only make sense when viewed through the lens of transphobia and/or homophobia, outlooks which are, in turn, legitimised through prosecution and conviction. In this sense, law proves to be implicated in a problem that, should it take any stance, ought to be one of remedial action. It seems unlikely on the facts of these cases that prosecutions would have been brought had the defendants been cisgender. This is true even in regard to those charges relating to minors because the Crown Prosecution Service does not normally prosecute, in the absence of aggravating factors, where consensual sexual activity takes place between young persons who are similar in age. These young men have been punished not, primarily, because of any concern over the sexual autonomy of the complainants, but in order to uphold gender norms, specifically ideas of masculinity and heterosexuality that, in legal hands, prove resistant to including transgender men and treating them with human dignity.

To return to the two scenarios with which we began, it would seem that the intolerance that we rightly bring to expressions of racism in our society deserts us when we are asked to accommodate the fact of gender variance. Of course, transgender men are different from cisgender men and this is so irrespective of whether reassignment surgery has taken place. But multiple differences exist within the group we denote men. In relation to cisgender men, and for that matter cisgender women, we do not require such total transparency of self in the face of negotiating the complexities of the sexual life world. Indeed, given that we all have gender histories but only some of us (transgender people) are required to disclose them, there appears to be a good basis for arguing that a legal requirement to disclose gender history constitutes discrimination contrary to Article 14 of the European Convention on Human Rights. The requirement might also be viewed as an encroachment on the right to privacy guaranteed by Article 8, especially once it is appreciated that disclosure to a sexual partner alone is unlikely, in practical terms, to bring transgender people within the protection of the law. Certainly, the Law Commission appear to think so.2

Alex Sharpe is a Professor of Law at Keele University

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1R v Dica (Mohammed) [2004] EWCA Crim 1103; R v Konzani [2005] EWCA Crim 706. 

2Law Commission, Consent in Sexual Offences: A Policy Paper: Appendix C of Setting the Boundaries (London: Home Office, 2000, para 5.31). 

Keir Starmer, Director of Public Prosecutions. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Sharpe is a Professor of Law at Keele University.

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With the BBC Food’s collection under threat, here's how to make the most of online recipes

Do a bit of digging, trust your instincts – and always read the comments.

I don’t think John Humphrys is much of a chef. Recently, as his Today co-presenter Mishal Husain was discussing the implications of the BBC’s decision to axe its Food website (since commuted to transportation to the Good Food platform, run by its commercial arm), sharp-eared listeners heard the Humph claim that fewer recipes on the web could only be a good thing. “It would make it easier!” he bellowed in the background. “We wouldn’t have to choose between so many!”

Husain also seemed puzzled as to why anyone would need more than one recipe for spaghetti bolognese – but, as any keen cook knows, you can never have too many different takes on a dish. Just as you wouldn’t want to get all your news from a single source, it would be a sad thing to eat the same bolognese for the rest of your life. Sometimes only a molto autentico version, as laid down by a fierce Italian donna, rich with tradition and chopped liver, will do – and sometimes, though you would never admit it in a national magazine, you crave the comfort of your mum’s spag bol with grated cheddar.

The world wouldn’t starve without BBC Food’s collection but, given that an online search for “spaghetti bolognese recipe” turns up about a million results, it would have been sad to have lost one of the internet’s more trustworthy sources of information. As someone who spends a large part of each week researching and testing recipes, I can assure you that genuinely reliable ones are rarer than decent chips after closing time. But although it is certainly the only place you’ll find the Most Haunted host Yvette Fielding’s kedgeree alongside Heston Blumenthal’s snail porridge, the BBC website is not the only one that is worth your time.

The good thing about newspaper, magazine and other commercial platforms is that most still have just enough budget to ensure that their recipes will have been made at least twice – once by the writer and once for the accompanying photographs – though sadly the days when everyone employed an independent recipe tester are long gone. Such sites also often have sufficient traffic to generate a useful volume of comments. I never make a recipe without scrolling down to see what other people have said about it. Get past the “Can’t wait to make this!” brigade; ignore the annoying people who swap baked beans for lentils and then complain, “This is nothing like dhal”; and there’s usually some sensible advice in there, too.

But what about when you leave the safety of the big boys and venture into the no man’s land of the personal blog? How do you separate the wheat from the chaff and find a recipe that actually works? You can often tell how much work a writer has put in by the level of detail they go into: if they have indicated how many people it serves, or where to find unusual ingredients, suggested possible tweaks and credited their original sources, they have probably made the dish more than once. The photography is another handy clue. You don’t have to be Annie Leibovitz to provide a good idea of what the finished dish ought to look like.

Do a bit of digging as part of your prep. If you like the look of the rest of the site, the author’s tastes will probably chime with your own. And always, always, wherever the recipe is from, read it all the way through, even before you order the shopping. There is nothing more annoying than getting halfway through and then realising that you need a hand blender to finish the dish, just as the first guest arrives.

Above all, trust your instincts. If the cooking time seems far too short, or the salt content ridiculously high, it probably is, so keep an eye on that oven, check that casserole, keep tasting that sauce. As someone who once published a magic mince pie recipe without any sugar, I’m living proof that, occasionally, even the very best of us make mistakes. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad