Although the gay community has increasingly been assimilated into the mainstream, those identified as transgender seem to remain on the fringes of society

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. -- He has meaty forearms, facial hair and speaks in the animated tones of a pubescent boy.

When he dresses in his favorite sweats, he is barrel-bellied and unquestionably masculine. No trace of breasts can be seen under his T-shirt.

But it took most of James Anastos' 37 years to muster the courage to live as a man.

Born female and raised as Amy, every day was a challenge to behave like a girl -- a struggle compounded by learning disabilities and placement in a group home where women residents were instructed to wear bras, skirts and other trappings of femininity.





"I've always known something was different," Anastos said during a recent interview at the newly opened Tompkinsville LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender) Center -- one of a number of organizations he credits as touchstones in his exploration into gender that began, in earnest, at the age of 30.

"It was like a lightbulb went off in my head when I realized what was going on inside me. I was like, 'Oh yeah, this is it, transgender.'"

Then smiling behind his thick glasses in a way that showed his pride, he added: "This is who we are. If the world can't accept us, we're here, even if they don't like us."

As the gay community has in recent years become increasingly assimilated into the mainstream -- something evidenced by the tens of thousands expected today at Manhattan's Gay Pride Parade -- Anastos and others who are identified as the "T" in the LGBT are at a frontier of civil rights.

For Anastos, since taking steps to live as a man -- measures which include giving himself twice weekly testosterone shots in the leg and submitting an application for an official name change -- he says he has met wall after wall looking for placements in programs to help him with his disabilities.

New York City passed a law in 2002 barring discrimination based on gender expression. But it is still the exception. In other parts of the state and in the majority of the country, landlords, employers and social service agencies can deny opportunities and equal treatment to transgender individuals with impunity.

"For all the discrimination that gay and lesbian people face, transgender people face a lot more discrimination and violence," said Diane Arneth, executive director of Community Health Action, which runs a transgender support group once a week at its LGBT Center. "This is one of the last bastions where people feel comfortable being openly discriminatory toward people."

Last month, a group of Staten Islanders was among thousands who went to Albany to push lawmakers to pass legislation that would make gender discrimination illegal statewide.

The law has yet to pass, and Ms. Arneth said she recognizes the transgender community faces a steep climb toward acceptance and accommodation in a world of boxes checked "M" for male and "F" for female.

"The word transgender is an umbrella term that would describe the entire group of people that don't fit neatly into gender categories the way most people understand them -- that binary male-female system where you have male anatomy you are a female and female anatomy, you are a male," said Gal Meyer, director of the Callen-Lorde health center in Manhattan, who explains the phenomenon to medical students by asking if they went to sleep and had surgery to change their anatomy, would they feel any different on the inside when they woke up.

"Gender identity is a really subjective experience," Meyer said. "Science doesn't understand why most of us are born with gender identities that correspond to our physical bodies and we also don't understand why people don't always have gender identities that conform."

A subset of those who identify as transgender are, like Anastos, transsexual -- wishing to eschew the gender assigned at birth, often taking medical steps to do so.

"When he brought this up to me, so many things made sense to me from early childhood, said Anastos' mother, Eileen Klein, recalling her resolutely tomboyish daughter, who attended PS 37 and Hungerford School and lived in a group home with On Your Mark after graduation -- a child she learned recently to refer to as "he" instead of "she."

"He used to fight like crazy in the group home when they tried to put a bra on him, and we always thought it was because of the neurologic deficits."

Anastos left the group home around the time he traded Amy for James and lighted out briefly on his own. He landed briefly in a homeless shelter then returned to live with his mother in their small apartment in Rossville.

Now, unable to work because of difficulties with reading, telling time and other basic tasks, Anastos said he wants to get into a day program.

But he said he has been placed on a waiting list and that he overheard talk it was because his presence as James would make others uncomfortable.

"I have friends there from before who know me as Amy," he said. "I wouldn't want to upset them. I would want them to get to know me again and I hope they would accept me."

Agency officials declined under privacy laws to discuss the particulars of Anastos' case, saying only there needs to be first a determination whether he is eligible for services, and that his gender expression would absolutely be accommodated.

But they admitted the question of how best to serve disabled, transgender clients has rarely come up in the past.

"We do not have a deep history of dealing with people who are transgender," said Dr. David Booth, director of the Staten Island Developmental Disabilities Service Office.

"Developmentally disabled people are everything you and I can be, including transgender. This is new territory for us and we're going to have to figure it out."

Deborah Young is a news reporter for the Advance. She may be reached at young@siadvance.com.