I have been trying to write this essay for months. Every time, a knot of sick would settle in my gut and I would freeze. Tonight, I was reading Let This Radicalize You by Kelly Hayes and Mariame Kaba and stopped at something Kelly says in her introduction. “The world is much bigger than we imagine when we are afraid.” I have been so afraid.
And how could I not be? Anti-queer and, especially, anti-trans legislation is at an all-time high across the country. By May, 2023 was already the fourth consecutive record-breaking year for anti-trans legislation in the US, and, as I write this, there have been 560 anti-lgbtq+ bills introduced by 49 states this year alone. Every single one of these is about erasing us. Erasing queer people. Erasing trans people.
In November, a beloved had to cancel our tea date because of a shooting at a queer club in Colorado Springs. Just a few days ago, another friend shared an article about an anti-trans stabbing in Waterloo, with the gut-wrenching silver lining that at least stabbings aren’t as deadly, so everyone survived. A month ago a different friend shared a press release about Human Rights Campaign declaring a state of emergency for LGBTQ+ people in the United States. This is the first time that has ever happened. A week ago, at midnight on June 30, Florida’s criminal bathroom ban, which carries a jail sentence for trans folks, went into effect. Hundreds of thousands of trans people and our loved ones have fled their homes for other states where they hope to be safer.
How could I not be afraid?
And yet, “the world is much bigger than we imagine when we are afraid.”
This spring, I was frozen with rage and terror when Representative Zooey Zephyr was unconstitutionally expelled from the Montana legislature because she spoke out against anti-trans legislation, demanding that trans people receive health care. I have friends who call Montana, or places nearby, home and they kept me aware of the situation. But when they talked about it, they didn’t just talk about the horrors of it, or the ways that it’s expected and how that guts you if you think about it too long. What they talked about was the overwhelming response from the queer and trans community in Missoula and the absolute queer magic that they pulled off in the span of just 48 hours. In the words of those organizers, “For over 24 hours, Missoula was transformed into a space of unfettered trans and queer joy, a striking contrast to the immense cruelty and harm currently being perpetuated by Montana legislature…” (Missoula Queers4Queers).
A friend shared a photo of a banner from the rally that reads “TRANS PEOPLE WILL LIVE FOREVER.” It has been the background on my computer ever since and it catches my breath every time I see it.
Every new attack on queer and trans lives is terrifying and heartbreaking. And trans people will live forever. We are dreaming another world into being. A world made of existence. Where we are free to be our queerest selves. Where we make love and name ourselves and fuck and care for each other and grow our bodies to fit our selves. Where we always have housing and food and healthcare. Where nobody gives a fuck where we go to the bathroom. Where our youngest know who they are and they are believed and held. Where our histories and our legacies are held close and shared wide. In this world that we are dreaming into being, our queerness is sacred, everywhere.
I know that we are dreaming this world into being because I have felt it. Even in the mountain west, a place where I did not feel safe being openly trans, I felt it. It was the place where I met and loved other trans people. The place where my wife came out as trans and found a community that held her. The place where we met our friends, C and I, two people who I admire and adore, and when the four of us were together, it was my first taste of how unabashedly joyful queer community can be. The place where I met my dear A, whose soul fits right alongside mine, whose understanding of her own queer shape keeps pace alongside my own. The place where I first tried on they/them pronouns and felt the unadulterated joy of being correctly gendered, for the first time in my life. The place where I finally got my first masculine haircut at a small, queer hair salon and barber shop on Colfax.
This world we are dreaming into being already exists in each of these pockets of reality and countless others. Trans people will live forever. And in the meantime, I will be grieving the world we are in, and hopeful for the world we are creating.
For excellent coverage and analysis of the ongoing coordinated legislative attacks against the LGBTQ+ community, follow
at Erin in the Morning.
i am deep in these same feelings, so i don't know what to say other than thanks for articulating this so beautifully. 💜
When I read essays like this it gives me a better understanding of what trans people go through. All of us no matter who we are should be able to live our lives as we wish to.