In March of 2020, I was able to testify at the capitol building in Jefferson City, Missouri against several pieces of legislation that would’ve seriously hurt the trans and genderqueer community in Missouri. One of the most impactful and exhausting hearings they had all year is one I’ve been struggling to write about for over a year since, but I feel it’s more important than ever to talk about the attacks my community is enduring in this state that not even COVID-19 has slowed down. Most of this is thoughts written that week, edited a little now, a year later. At the end I’ll bring it back to the present day and share some action items for those who want to be allies to the trans people in Missouri, or any other community.
Tuesday, March 3rd, 2020
People show up to testify against a bill that seeks to criminalize parents and medical professionals for making personal health care decisions about their teenagers. The writers attempt to make it sound like doctors are going around giving crazy hormones and surgeries to 15-year-olds, which is beyond untrue. Transgender patients who are minors are allowed to do one thing generally, which is go on puberty blockers. Puberty blockers don’t cause harm, delaying puberty to give the trans kids time to make decisions about their bodies and futures, and the effects are reversible. Experienced medical professionals work with families and therapists to make the best decisions for their trans and questioning children, decisions that very very often are life-saving for these vulnerable children.
And yet, here is a room full of so many people we can’t all fit, in the basement of our capital building, eating pizza and waiting in a tiny room for 6 hours for our legislators to run out of excuses before they finally have to show up and listen to our stories. And listen they do- over sixty trans people, allies, and families stand in front of the people trying to take away their rights like they’re nothing, and pack stories of loss and pain and fear and hope all into 30 seconds each.
I start crying early on, exhausted as I am considering our 4:00 hearing doesn’t actually start until 10:30pm, but I think when I start truly, uncontrollably weeping is when a tiny, purple-haired, beyond brave 14-year old gets up and begs our representatives to vote no, because he knows if this bill passes, “my friends will die”. And all I can think (and say) is, how can we say we’re looking out for these kids and protecting them, while also entertaining over 20 bills created to specifically target them and take away their futures? How could we possibly say that this is the world we want to create for them?
Wednesday, March 4th & Thursday, March 5th
Today I hardly leave my bed. I alternate between sleeping, eating comfort foods, and doing mind-numbing activities like watching Hulu or playing solitaire on my phone.
Physically, I feel like a zombie. Exhausted and worn down from all the walking, sitting, and being out so late. In pain all over my body. Head hurting in the background most of the day.
The thing about my activism as someone who is chronically ill/in pain is that it can be so much more of a physical experience for me because of my illness. Activism often requires walking, long hours, little time for rest, extended driving, etc. and all these things have their effects on my body.
But as other people with fibromyalgia will know, emotions can have a direct affect on our health as well. Stress may translate to tense and sore muscles, anger may turn into a headache, and sadness can leave me exhausted and drained. At points during the hearing my emotions were so strong that I felt physically sick- dizzy, hot, fatigued. Throughout the hours of carrying on and hearing other bills before ours, I had to fight just to stay awake. During the hearing, I cried so hard that I could feel it in a visceral way.
The trans community is made up of so many different intersecting identities- trans people of color, trans disabled people, trans women, trans children, etc. But since activism as we typically think of it (lobbying, going to hearings, protests, etc.) is so often inaccessible, I have found myself as one of the only visibly disabled people at things like this hearing or lobby days.
When your oppression is rooted in more than one aspect of your identity (i.e. trans + queer + disabled for me), being one of the only people in the room representing that community can carry its own weight that just adds to the burden you’re carrying. I have found that even in groups of progressive, diverse people, often the disabled community gets left out of the discussion. Because of this I make it my mission to talk about my experiences as an intersectional disabled person, and to uplift the voices and experiences of the other amazing disabled people and activists I know. People might think I talk about it too much, but somebody has to.
For me, being trans and being chronically ill are not two separate experiences. They are tied together inextricably and they affect how I exist in the world every day. In my experience, both with trans bodies and disabled bodies, there is this huge focus on how they are somehow wrong or deviant just for existing in a way that defies the “normal”.
We are made out to be somehow dangerous or inappropriate, and the media often represents us as things and not people, or as twisted, scarier versions of what we actually are, used to warn or incite fear in people.
This double experience that I can’t separate is why I write about these things in tandem. My painful, visceral experience following this hearing is just a physical example of the traumatic effects that transphobia and hate can have on us, but there are so many more things this hate does to tear down communities and people.
Friday, March 6th
I feel a dull heaviness looming over me all day, and skip a call to talk about our demands for Missouri’s legislators, because I don’t have the energy to rehash my anger today.
I keep thinking about that tiny kid who begged for his friends' lives, and something broke somewhere inside me that I don’t know how to put back together.
I hadn’t expected to be so emotionally affected by this hearing- sure, I was angry and frustrated and tired of the bullshit laws that we keep having to show up and fight against. But I had no idea how much of a toll Tuesday would have on me, physically and emotionally.
I didn’t expect to be there late into the night, to ugly cry in my seat for over half of the hearing. I didn’t expect those kids to go up there and remind me how vulnerable and scared they are, and how powerless I feel to protect them. I didn’t expect to be thinking about how I’m so, so terrified of leaving behind a world where they have to grow up the same way my generation did.
But looking back, it’s not really a surprise that this harrowing night full of so much injustice had the effect it did on me.
Being part of an oppressed group such as the Trans Community means a lot of trauma- whether it be firsthand, shared, secondhand, etc. Especially in a state where many of the people here are still stuck in old-fashioned systems of oppression. I mean, with 21 anti-LGBT bills filed this session, Missouri officially has the most this year, which is not exactly a record I want to be breaking.
We, as trans people, are forced to go out time and time again to fight and beg our oppressors and the people who are supposed to be representing us to realize that our lives matter. We are forced to relive the grief and trauma of our entire community so often- and they don’t care whether we’re kids, teenagers, retired, disabled, mentally ill, dealing with other forms of oppression, because they don’t see us as people.
It’s exhausting and I would be screaming with rage if I weren’t so goddamn tired. So writing it is, although it’s taken me over a week to even be able to muster up the energy to write this.
A year later (March, 2021)
Back when I started writing this, I never could’ve predicted the year ahead of us. Our legislators went home early, not long after the hearing I reminisce on in this piece. Now, over a year later, they’re back at it again. Even, or especially, in the midst of a horrific pandemic, trans lives have been at more risk than ever. We need, now even more than ever, to look out for the most vulnerable and oppressed amongst us, which right now means trans people, especially trans people of color & Indigenous trans people, trans disabled people, trans women, etc.
It’s been a year full of the same exhaustion I describe in my writing from a year ago, and it never really goes away. Being a part of this community means constantly fighting for your life, and we need others to help us in that fight.
I’d encourage you to research trans health care, what it really is and why it’s so life-saving and essential. I’d also encourage every one of you to learn about the anti-trans/LGBT+ legislation being introduced in your state this year (and every year)- because over 30 states have introduced some form of it in 2021, including bans on children participating in team sports because of their gender, and more healthcare bans (some which have passed in at least one chamber, such as in Arkansas). Whatever state you’re in, learn about these bills and why they’re dangerous, and then call your legislators or write testimony and tell them that is not the kind of state you want to live in. Urge them to think about the harmful effects these have on the lives of the people they represent.
Check out hashtags #MOLeg and #ProtectTransKids, and go to any ACLU of Missouri social media or website to learn about the current legislation being considered, including a version of this healthcare ban.
And always, find the little, everyday ways you can support and uplift and celebrate the trans people in your life and your community.