Becoming a professional trans person
A couple of years ago the Daily Telegraph ran a transition diary by Diana Thomas, and regardless of your position on both the paper and her, one thing she talked about in the last few entries was that she did not want to be labelled a professional trans person. That is, she did not want to be only know for her gender identity and writing about trans issues. This is something that I have long grappled with, especially as a trans person doing research about trans issues, yet the more I do the work the more I am seeing that the very notion of professional trans needs more unpacking than simply either embracing or rejecting it.
The label of being a professional minority has been around pretty much as long as minorities have been subjected to oppression and abuse. Jewish writers and scholars have long fought for recognition and rights for their communities in the face of murder and displacement, much the same as black and colonial writers did the same for their communities. Trans folk have a rich history of engaging with the fight for rights and the fight just to be a part of society. Being labelled a black writer or a Jewish thinker freights meaning that is easy to be seen in the dog whistles used against them and their work. Trans academics writing about trans emancipation have barely been touched by the accusation they are trans when critics engage with them, yet to outed as trans invariably leaves an indelible mark on you, your work, and how you interact with society.
Elliot Page, Jan Moris, Laverne Cox, April Ashley, Chad Bono, Kim Petra, Paris Lees, Roberta Cowell all are remembered and critiques through the lens of their gender identity. None of them are men or women alone in their craft, what makes them interesting and newsworthy is that they are trans. All are extremely talented, all could/have thrived in the public eye regardless of their gender, yet Laverne Cox is not simply labelled a black actress, people always reference her transition. This marque of difference is something they will never escape, even in death. Jan Morris and April Ashley’s obituaries both made extensive reference to their transitions, with Ashley’s life in particular being shaped by the rejection of her gender identity by British society.
Being outwardly trans is complicated. On the one hand you are living your authentic truth, yet on the other you are immediately putting an invisible line between you and cis folk. It is something that cis folk simply cannot fathom, this distance that society places between normative gender and the gender hinterland beyond. It is not inherently a negative thing, but an artefact of centuries of rigid enforcement of gender rules and gender roles. In having a public face, trans people in the spotlight are always going to be on the other side of normative, treated different, seen as role models or villains, shaped by the media narrative and social discourse into beings other than what they actually are.
It is the trans folk existing on the margins that face this the harshest. Trans sex workers, trans people unable to get a job due to their gender, trans folk who simply want to live and thrive yet are held back because being trans is seen as a stigmata. Paris Lees worked tirelessly to make it as a writer, yet the moment her book is picked up for a TV series the right-wing press dog pile on her because her personal narrative is somehow too graphic and not suitable for consumption. She talks about the precarity of being a trans sex worker, the grooming, the degradation all because she is trans. Often the only news story about some trans folks lives is their murder or suicide, their immortal imprint online to the wider world is the nature of their death, not their life. Paris attempts to cut through this, yet the lingering imprint is the transness of it all.
This notion of professional transness is a significant reason why many trans folk simply assimilate as much as possible into the background of their societies. Few people transition to be labelled forever as trans, they want to be seen and treated as the gender they are affirming by those around them. The vicious truth is that the only reason the line between cis and trans exists is because it was invented to medicalised and “treat” trans bodies in a way that would normalise them to societal gender standards. One does not start off trans to oneself, you whisper I am a girl or I am a man, and once writ large this societally conception of transness creeps up and over. Imagine Elliot Page simply going by Elliot, rocking up in male roles, and just simply being himself without the trans labels. He becomes himself without overtly outing and being labelled a professional trans person.
This is part of the reason I use Rejserin as my handle online, and keep my identity close. Privacy is a valuable commodity, yet to be active in the world and make a difference I do need to out myself from time to time. I have been me for a long time, I feel completely at ease and at peace with myself, yet what I fear is the eternal stigmata, that all I write and do will forever fall into some trans category. Yes, I would be in exalted company, but being always and forever labelled transgender is reducing me down to a small fraction of myself. I cannot speak for other trans folk out there, each of us has their own perception of self and understanding of what being transgender means in the wider world. All I can do is read, write, think, and promote trans rights the best I can in the hope that at some point being trans is nothing more than a quick change of paperwork and a shrug of the shoulder.
