Maine
Maine Compass: The struggle to just exist in the face of anti-trans rhetoric
Eight years ago, in defiance of Trump as president-elect, I publicly came out as transgender. It was my way of shouting to the world that I was here, that I existed, and I was not going anywhere. It was easy then to find the words to stand up in the face of uncertainty and be a force to be reckoned with by virtue of simply existing. Now, after Tuesday, it doesn’t feel as easy. And that feels like the wrong thing to say, especially after the majority decision in Bostock v. Clayton County in 2020 ruled that discrimination against transgender individuals in the workplace was a violation of Federal law. Also too were my own elections after coming out, first in 2019 to the Charter Commission, and then again in 2023 to the City Council.
I am only a person. Yet the weight of anti-trans rhetoric bears down on me. After Bostock, the attacks shifted to vulnerable children who wanted to, much like me, simply exist. They wanted to use the bathroom they were comfortable in, they wanted to play sports like their peers did, on a team that reflected who they were. Bans were discussed, both across the country and here at home, and opposition raised against inclusive policies at our schools.
A comfort to me throughout the years has been that I am protected by the Maine Human Rights Act, but am I? Are we? Will it stand or will federal changes necessitate it falling? What does it mean if it did, not just for myself, but those more vulnerable than I? Is my considering that it might fall an overreaction or a pragmatic look at an upended future? If I am this worried, how worried must trans children be? They don’t have the benefit I did, of watching a slow, steady, and at times one-step-forward-two-steps-back progression of acceptance. They, like all of us, are looking at a Supreme Court that will likely have even more Trump appointees added to it, a document called Project 25 that is harrowing in depth and breadth.
How can I, as one person, hope to be a light in the coming years? Do I have a responsibility as a leader in the community, to do more? Do I have a responsibility to myself to do more? Why now, this election, am I plagued by questions when last time was so easy? I know I am not the only marginalized person who is feeling this way, asking these hard questions. To all allies, I implore you to ask these same questions with us, because at least then we are not feeling like we are facing this alone. Hands are always nice to hold.
I’ve never been the sort of person to be visibly queer — I’m not a public advocate or on the board of any LGBTQ+ organizations, I’m not a guaranteed attendee at Pride, I don’t advocate for trans-protective legislation locally, state, or federally. I don’t bring it up in conversation and there are several friends and acquaintances I’ve met over these last eight years who have told me they didn’t know I was trans until someone else told them, which I’ve always taken as a compliment. The most I’ve done is fly a flag from my porch that says “let me be perfectly queer” which I find delightful and irreverent, much like myself.
Eight years ago I felt I needed to assert my existence to the world as an act of defiance. Since then, one could argue my non-visibility makes me a particularly “bad queer” and even setting a “negative” example for queer youth, who look for representation in their lives and a hope for the future. It’s something I’ve pondered a lot: Is existence enough, or must I don the rainbow to be representative enough? What does it mean to be a leader and must I wrap my existence into that leadership? Must I spend time and energy being “visibly queer” when it’s not where my passion has ever been? Bless the advocates, they are doing the work of angels and don’t get nearly enough credit, but there are so many other things I would rather talk about. There is so much I would rather do.
Except this is unsettling and uncertain. I don’t know what to say, or do, only that I am still here, still existing. And let that be enough, for you, for me, for all of us. Just existing is defiance. Just existing is enough.