Trans Might Be Lethal
Being trans could be the death of me, y’all — for realz!
According to the urban legends I was raised on, me leaving my house, making it to my destination via public routes and arriving safely, is risky proposition. One would think life for a trans person were like a game of Frogger, where the non-conforming being must jump from safe base to shelter, dodging would-be assailants at every turn. Cis people: stop telling trans people how “worried” you are about them. Your chance to speak up on the matter was over the course of your life every time someone made a lgbtqiaplus-phobia comment that you let slide. It’s way too easy to worry about me while you quietly help to maintain the status quo.
The fact is, regardless of the danger I know I am in, the joy of living truthfully—fully—outweighs any potential threat. Living my life at the level alert some allies expect, would keep me shrouded in my house, curtains drawn and lights out. It’s as if I’d be warned to play down my Black cultural identity, my queerness, my height or any other aspect of myself that might make me a target. All that work is the work of society to change, not me. Certainly, I have to live in the world, but I can live in the world secure that the problem lies beyond my influence and not with me.
Of course I’m at risk. I stand out. Standing out is terrifying regardless the manner. I receive what might be categorized as unwanted attention. I get cat called. I get lewd remarks. These intrusions relate to my being this particular (tall) trans body. I got similar intrusions in the guise of a queer man. I got rudely propositioned regularly. Then it was done in whispers and under breath. The attention I get now happens out loud and in the open. At least now I’m in on it. Men and women talk about my body as a thing of consumption. At least now they are consuming (or seeking to) what I am packaging and marketing, as opposed to a product that I never was (a basketball player, an athlete, a stud, a threat).
Still, I get there are levels. My “performance” of female, though it flows as naturally for me as breathing, might be construed as reinforcing stereotypes of femininity that have oppressed women (and femmes). My power is my ability to wield myself as a means to fend for myself. I refuse to see it as a lessening, or a cheapening of who I am. I sure as sugar honey ice tea won’t de-claw myself or otherwise neutralize myself as a matter of security. That’s nonsense. Being a sexy out loud visible trans woman without the privilege of “passing” is mine to wield. If that’s a danger and/or a threat, so be it.
