The paradox of trans visibility.
Mixed signals on Trans Day of Visibility.
Back in the 90s, the dominant theory of the case was that acceptance of LGBT people would result from increased visibility. We’re here, we’re queer, and we really thought everyone would get used to us if they could see us. We encouraged each other to leave the shadows of the closets and wave our flags in the light of the sun.
Not only am I a child of the 90s, I grew up inside and along with the LGBT movement. My Dad came out when I was nine, I was on the board of Children of Lesbians and Gays Everywhere (COLAGE) at 16. Every fiber of my being is wired to believe disclosure will engender empathy. And yet, to my utter disbelief, the increased visibility of trans people has done the exact opposite.
I can’t stop thinking about a recent conversation with another queer Gen X parent, also a veteran of 90s movement activism, heartbroken at the idea of teaching her trans child how to hide. We, the kids of queer liberation, are reconsidering the closet for our families.
On this Trans Day of Visibility, I’m far less righteous about the power of visibility. Less certain for my safety and those who love me.
And yet, for those of us who have the many privileges that facilitate passing—assimilating—at what cost to our mental health and to a kinder, more just collective future? It might be an Insta-friendly slogan, but it’s true: trans people have always existed. We always will. We just don’t always show ourselves.
The frustrating by-product of using invisibility as a survival tactic is that we leave little trace of ourselves for other people to find, which adds to the mistaken belief that we’re a relatively new and rare phenomenon. —
, Adult Human Male
xx Kyle
Everyone is aware, now what?
Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance—a global day of observance born from grief: one trans woman holding vigil to honor the loss of another, too many others to name. Attempts to shift the spotlight towards more positive stories beget Transgender Awareness Week/Month. The timebox seems to depend on the organization doing the organizing.
I fear saying anything that could minimize what you are feeling, or rambling aimlessly. so first and foremost I want to say, Kyle, that I hear you and I see you and love you, and I am frightened too. because things feel horribly retrograde now, and there’s no telling what empowered, scared bigots will do. but I do know that love always wins out over hate and fear. they think they picked an easy target but they don’t know that they can’t undo what’s been done. trans people exist and are our friends, families, communities. and we are not going to turn our backs on those we love. I have to think there are more people like me now than there were in the ‘90s, when I was naive and dumb, and couldn’t understand so much of what i now take to be common knowledge. we (allies) just need to summon a fraction of the courage you have.
This is so sad. And real.