We hardly knew ye, Jawja.
A Biological Male for ‘Miss Georgia’?
It’s bad enough that biological men want to compete in women’s sports, but now it looks like they’re aiming for women’s pageants, too. In 2023, men from Portugal and the Netherlands were contestants in the Miss Universe pageant, and in June of last year, a biological male became Miss Maryland and later competed in the Miss USA pageant. And now, it’s happening in my home state of Georgia.Bella Bautista from Cartersville, Ga., is a biological man who is now, apparently, “Miss Buckhead” (Buckhead is a popular residential and commercial district in Atlanta) and plans to compete in the Miss Georgia pageant. When I saw this headline, my obvious issue was, of course, that here we go again with men attempting to take something away from women.
But then I visited Bautista’s Instagram page and noted that this person has a big agenda. The bio reads, “Civil Rights Activist. Collegiate Athlete. Econ. Major Using Archives To Restore Trans History.” Dig a little deeper, and you’ll find that this person’s life is largely dedicated to disrupting the lives of others in favor of “trans rights.”
Gee, how very unusual of him/her/it, wouldn’t have expected it.
A bit of backstory: when I lived in ATL, Buckhead was universally known as “Fuckhead” amongst us lesser beings—a snooty rich-people nabe you could barely even drive through without getting jeered at and heckled by the locals as you passed. After dark, fuhgeddaboudit: the streets and sidewalks were asshole to elbow with inebriated, besuited yuppie-puppies staggering about, twelve-dollar beers in hand, making the nightly pub-crawl through the many exorbitantly priced watering holes dotting the area.
The one and only reason I know even that much about the place is that the photography school/college/whatevs my then-gf Kat attended was on Peachtree just beyond Fuckhead, so we had to run the gauntlet through the miserable dump twice daily on the way to school and back. At that time, we only had the one car between us: Kat’s beat-up but nonetheless valiant old Ford Fiesta, a less than ideal situation which persisted until I arranged to buy my uncle Larry’s battered old Burick for a piffling sum.
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I recall, just over fifty years ago, in college, having the opportunity to vote for some guy to be homecoming queen. He may even have won. Of course everyone knew it was a joke and treated it as such. No one seriously thought this guy was a gal but, apparently, no rule prevented him from running. Yes, this was a California school and, yes, the place is a total whack job today where you’d probably be required to vote for him to maintain your enrollment. Laughter not permitted.