A significant milestone has been creeping up on me almost unnoticed. It may sound incredible to younger folk, who have grown up in a world in which self-expression is unfettered, but it took me until my forties to finally step out into the world dressed as a woman. I remember in Autumn 2011 visiting a shop that specialised in supporting the TG community to purchase a wig. The very nice lady who helped me explained that they had a customer who came in dressed. I remember expressing my astonishment; the thought had never seriously crossed my mind. Being TG was an itch that I needed to scratch in private.

There followed in December that year an unsuccessful photo session in Manchester, to provide photos for an online profile I was developing. While I felt good at the photo session, the results were dreadful (the lighting was all wrong) and the disk of photos went into my dustbin. Undeterred, however, I purchased a digital camera and began experimenting, posting photos to Flickr, where I discovered a wonderful group of like-minded t-girls. This was a monumental step for me – it was the first time that Karen had been presented to the outside world, albeit in a virtual sense. Below is one of the photos from my first session with a digital camera – still there in my Flickr profile. The butterfly was starting to emerge from its chrysalis; these digital photos were the first steps on the road to my emergence fully into the world.

As 2011 turned into 2012, the urge to get “out” began to present itself to my conscious mind. The urge grew, and in May 2012 I stepped out onto the streets of Leeds to attend Leeds First Friday. In some senses, this didn’t feel entirely like getting “out” because I stayed in a hotel full of t-girls and spent the evening with other t-girls. Perhaps the most significant milestone in my development was when I travelled to Manchester later that year to attend Sparkle. On the Friday evening I wandered off into gentle drizzle, on my own, and had my first experience of mingling with society as Karen. I have written about that experience elsewhere in these pages, and won’t repeat myself here. Suffice to say, my life changed from that point on.

The first few excursions were accompanied by a pounding heart and a sense of doing something profoundly new and rather risky. Would my disguise slip, how would people react to me, what if they read me? Would they think I was some sort of pervert? As years passed I gradually became more relaxed about getting out. I no longer experience a pounding heart, although I know that I’m more vulnerable en femme and people do occasionally react strangely. However, scrapes have been few and far between and on the whole, I have found people to be incredibly warm and accepting; sometimes curious, and intrigued, but usually very happy to treat me as one of the girls. Being out has passed from momentous to everyday, but it is not for one moment something that I take for granted. It is the means by which I hold together the complex parts of my once fractured self. I plan carefully for excursions, setting time aside in my diary. Even during lockdown, I took trips out, if only to visit the supermarket, because I know that in a complex and mysterious way, it is necessary to be Karen from time to time. Perhaps in other circumstances Karen would become the only expression of the person who I am, and perhaps not; I do not know – there is simply who I am now, in the circumstances in which I find myself, with the commitments that I have. But for the freedom that I have – particularly as somebody who grew up in much less tolerant and understanding times – I am profoundly grateful. Where I will be in ten years’ time, I cannot say. But if the next ten years bring half the contentment that the last ten have, I will count myself very fortunate.

I Too can Read

In these strange days where so much of life occurs online, people give TV interviews from home, more often than not with a bookshelf as the backdrop. Is it really the case that in most people’s homes the best place to set up a webcam is just in front of a bookshelf? Or are people trying to tell us something about their intellects? Private Eye used to run a column called Pseuds Corner, and I detect the scent of psuedery here! I wish that interviewers would ask politicians about the titles on their shelves – in Nietzsche’s words, “to pose questions with a hammer and perhaps to receive for answer that famous hollow sound that speaks of inflated bowels”. Having conducted much of my professional life during the last year sitting on a sofa adorned only by a few tastefully coordinating cushions, I began to feel that perhaps I too ought to demonstrate my literacy to the world by appearing in front of a bookshelf. In the interests of full disclosure, I must declare that I have not read the Habermas, and fear that I never will. However, I particularly enjoyed the Victor Book for Boys. As for the Heidegger, all I can say is “das Nichts selbst nichtet”.

For Everything there is a Season

It’s April, but the sun has shone, and today I’ve been able to go out barelegged, wearing sandals. It’s always lovely to feel warm air on bare legs for the first time each spring; it feels as though the dark days of winter are behind and the summer lies ahead. I enjoy these natural cycles; I rejoice in the newness of the seasons as they arrive. As summer ends, the days grow cooler but there are apples to pick in my garden. Nature’s cycles remind us of our mortality, and of the unchanging character of the natural world (at least on any timescale relevant to human beings), and they help me to reflect on my life, its purpose, and how I can use such time as is available to me. Today it simply feels good to be alive, and to enjoy the warm sun and the blossom on the trees.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die…a time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” (Ecclesiastes 3: 1,4)

Tell me your truth

Jesus answered “…for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth”
…Pilate said to him, “What is truth?” (John 18:37,38)

Philosophers have argued long and hard about Truth. Is there such a thing as a true statement? What do we mean if we say that something is true? In everyday life, “true” is contrasted with “false”. If I say that my new car is red, then we can check – is it red or is it, in fact, orange? (Philosophers will, of course, ask what we mean by “red”…)

In science, notions of truth and falsity tend to be uncomplicated. When I formulate a hypothesis, and design an experiment, I’m aware that Nature will dispense its verdict: the results will either be consistent with the predictions of my hypothesis, or they will not, in which case it will be falsified.

Karl Popper provided the most influential model for describing scientific progress. According to Popper, science is a process of conjecture and refutation: we formulate hypotheses (make conjectures) and we test their predictions. If a hypothesis fails the test, it is falsified; if it passes the test it is corroborated.

For Popper, it was a characteristic of scientific hypotheses that they were always subject to possible falsification: a hypothesis should always specify the conditions under which it would be considered to be falsified. Thus, corroboration does not mean “true”, still less “proven”. Even such well-established hypotheses as the laws of thermodynamics, which have been subject to millions of tests without any known failures, are not “proved” according to Popper.

Importantly, however, corroboration increases the degree of confidence that we have in a hypothesis. Newton’s laws are very highly corroborated and we happily board aircraft despite the fact that the principles used in their design are fallible.

But if theories are not true, where does all this confidence spring from? Popper argues that science is fundamentally grounded in realism – the idea that there is an external reality that exists independently of our perception or understanding of it. As scientific knowledge advances, hypotheses are replaced by better hypotheses that explain more and that provide more accurate predictions; thus knowledge evolves.

Popper was a proponent of the correspondence theory of truth: truth in a theory consists in correspondence between the objects in the theory and objects in the natural world. Thus, scientific progress through the process of conjecture and refutation leads to theories that correspond ever more closely to the structures of the real, external world: they become more truth-like, even though we can never say that they are true.

Popper went further: he argued that while science, with its experimental method, allows us to test hypotheses in a particularly efficient way, the essential methodology can be extended to other areas of human discourse. He propounded a philosophy that he called “critical rationalism”, based on the idea of “mutual control through rational criticism”. Once we accept the tenet that there is an external reality, and that our hypotheses can approach greater verisimilitude through an evolutionary process of conjecture and refutation, then it no longer remains acceptable to merely believe whatever you want.

In my career as a scientist I have encountered very few scientists who did not, consciously or unconsciously, adhere to some form of the correspondence theory of truth. Realism is an unavoidable consequence of doing experimental science: to persist in adhering to a falsified hypothesis is not seen as heroic, but as ridiculous.

Thus, we arrive at one of the great culture clashes of modern times: in stark contrast, post-modern theory regards the idea of truth as correspondence to an objective reality as a totalitarian hangover from enlightenment rationalism. Our perceptions of the world are contingent on our perspective as observers; to offer external criticism of another’s understanding is to deny the validity of their perspective and experience.

Although there has been widespread academic criticism of post-modern thinking, it has played a dominant role in shaping public discourse and it has seeped deep into popular culture. When Oprah Winfrey invited Meghan and Harry to “share your truth” she was accepting implicitly that truth is not an objective reality, but something particular to each individual. Did somebody in the Royal Family behave in a racist way? Richard Dimbleby, the respected journalist, pointed out that there might be another perspective on the conversation that was alluded to by Meghan but certainly not examined critically by Oprah. Dimbleby said he was astonished that former colleagues at the BBC appeared not even to want to enquire what actually took place; there was no attempt to establish the truth of such explosive allegations.

In the post-modern world, personal truth is granted an unassailable status even if it appears to clash with reality, thus the concept of reality is undermined by the post-modern view of truth. Apparently without trace of irony, Kellyanne Conway offered “alternative facts” as evidence that what was false was true. Mutual control through rational criticism becomes impossible when evidence can be created ex nihilo to justify the hypothesis.

The explosion of social media has provided the perfect expression for this post-modern approach to truth. Soundbites articulating reactions and emotions, propounding personal truths free of any accountability, supported by powerful algorithms that create echo chambers which offer affirmation, not criticism, have provided the Petri dish in which falsehoods can appear, be nurtured and eventually impact the real world.

Since Joe Biden became president, the US Covid-19 vaccination programme has proceeded at great pace. But now it is slowing. States are asking for fewer doses, not more, because the United States has incubated some of the most egregious falsehoods of the pandemic and, in their transition from virtual echo chambers to the public imagination they have persuaded millions of Americans to take actions that harm themselves and their fellow citizens. Myths about Covid abound. Even as mass graves were being dug in New York, many were saying “its just like the seasonal flu”. Jair Bolsonaro, perhaps the most malignant and amoral of all the populist demagogues, still maintains this ludicrous falsehood despite a terrifying death rate among his fellow citizens.

The UK’s Office for National Statistics provides clear data on the spread of Covid-19. In the UK, 1 person in 500 died because of Covid in the first year of the pandemic; by January 2021, 1 person in 5 had been infected. (Since the UK Government relaxed Covid regulations in March, there has been an explosion of transmission). The number of deaths in the UK since March 2020 due to Covid approaches the total number of deaths from cancer in the same period. Would we say that cancer was just “a little flu”? The figures are similar in the US, and in much of the developed world. And now we witness the horrors unfolding in India.

Some people resist vaccination because of twisted political principles: it is an expression of their freedom to endanger themselves and their fellow citizens. One might argue that fascism can be rational even if it appears to be morally bankrupt. But most vaccine hesitancy comes from an acceptance of falsehoods that appear to be able to survive untroubled by serious criticism.

This postmodern approach to truth – based on alternative facts and personal truths – has led us into a dangerous twilight zone. And yet the greatest of liars perhaps fear – deep down – that there is in fact a reality. Trump’s election rallies spread Covid with gay abandon, and he humiliated and undermined his scientific advisors, but quietly, under the radar, everybody who attended events that brought them in close contact with the President was tested for Covid. The hidden machinery was not so devil-may-care as it was projected to be – another falsehood. The President’s close social interactions were stage-managed, and his protection was integral. When, eventually, he succumbed to Covid, no expense was spared as the very best medical resources were directed to his care. One would imagine that humility would follow, a recognition that the virus is real, but no such thing: instead, hubris and lies. And demonstrating the power of the lie, millions of Americans, despite the deaths, their former president’s fallibility and the evidence for all to see, refuse the vaccine.

Covid-19 is a small challenge compared to climate change. The evidence that climate change is happening is abundant: glaciers are melting, submarines can travel under the North Pole in Summer time, and there are floods and droughts. If the machinery of social media and vested interests can wreak such havoc with the truth about a pandemic, what hope have we of dealing with this much bigger and more pressing challenge? How do we get past “your truth” towards a notion of “the truth”? We must never say that we have “the truth” but we can say with confidence that examination of evidence and rational criticism are the only sure ways to approach it.