In this op-ed, Raquel Willis offers advice to trans kids on resisting discriminatory times and calls on the strength and resolve of trans trailblazers throughout history.
Dear trans and nonbinary youth,
With the inauguration of Donald Trump, our community has witnessed the culmination of a years-long attack on our truths and our lives. We are forced to reckon with the fact that millions of Americans elected a xenophobic leader with seemingly autocratic ambitions, one who seems hell-bent on making people on the margins disappear. There are many lessons to glean from this political moment, but one stands out. When hate is allowed to stand with inadequate resistance, it festers and grows.
I want to apologize to you for all of the ways that this country has failed you. Beyond Trump, there are bigoted politicians, billionaires, and public figures who have decided to sell your future away to accrue more capital and power. I also want to validate how you must be feeling. You may be mourning the life you thought you’d be living at this point. You may feel fearful about the uncertainty of your future. And you aren’t alone. Many of us adults have felt those things, too.
On election night, after it became clear that the Far Right would have control of nearly every level of our government, a few friends and I collapsed into each others’ arms. We soaked each other’s shirts in tears as we tried to brace for the American nightmare heading our way. The next morning, I wondered if I should relinquish so many dreams I had for myself. I still haven’t grasped them back. I worried about my aging mother and what the toll of another potential Trump pandemic in the style of COVID-19 might mean for the years I had with her. And what about my nibblings, ranging from ages 7 to 14? How much smaller would this restrictive era threaten to make them? And then, I started to think about the changes I’d need to make out of safety. After nearly 20 years of being some kind of openly queer, would I have to run back to the closet? What kind of new targets would be placed on my back as an activist and writer? Would I lose access to the hormones I’ve been on for nearly 15 years?
Then, a familiar sense of resolve took over me. I remembered that I am just a bridge between our transcestors and you. Regardless of how impossible the obstacles feel right now, I am committed to building that freer, brighter future that you deserve.
Long before social media, AI, and reality TV stars-turned-Presidents, our transcestors demanded dignity and respect with far fewer resources. Despite the erasure, many of the original Indigenous peoples of this land never allowed for two-spirit and third-gender folks to be discarded. When Right-wing politicians ousted government officials who were queer or suspected of being queer during the McCarthy era, our people didn’t disappear. When our people faced police brutality during the Stonewall Riots, we came together in solidarity. Meanwhile, figures like Crystal Labeija built the foundation for Ballroom houses and culture, and now its fruits can be witnessed in music, entertainment, movement, and even in the slang that so many use. Sir Lady Java picketed anti-crossdressing laws so that she could continue her thriving career as a showgirl. Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera created Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R.) and a safe haven to house street kids who’d been discarded.
