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Fighting a fight not of my making
There was a point around 2020 where I was content to be oblivious about the state of trans rights in the world. I had actively tuned out of the conversation, with only a passing eye on various subReddits to see brief snippets. In this wilful ignorance I was content with my lot as a trans woman in the UK, where at the time all my rights were squared away. Then all hell broke loose. Or rather, the slog beneath the surface broke loose and the world saw the transphobia become part of the mainstream discourse. It was not something I could turn away from, because the level of privilege I have in my life demands that I return to the fray.
It is hard to articulate to my non-trans friends and colleagues just how much the last two years have changed my view of the world and drained me of a certain casual joy. In Britain the national conversation makes women like me pariahs, our rights still legally sound yet culturally we are demonised as the worst of the worst. When I first came out in 1999 things were in a weird spot, and as I affirmed my identity in 2000 and 2001 I was at least treated with dignity and respect. Now, in person I am treated as the woman I am, online it is a pack of wolves always nipping at my heals.
When I talk to my friends about this they say to disengage from Twitter and social media in general, for the sake of my mental health if anything. Yes…
