What Next?

After marching on Washington on Saturday, I asked myself two questions: 1) “What did I learn?” and 2) “What am I going to do next?”

I learned this: It is scary and hard to stand up for the things I believe in. I carried a sign that read “Fight Transmisogyny,” and I will tell you that I was scared. I was scared when a man in a “Make America Great Again” hat asked me what that word meant before the march started. I was scared when I had to explain my sign (and my identity) to people I was marching next to. I was scared when in a crowd of 500,000 people, I only saw one other sign with the word ‘trans’ on it.

But honestly, this is not a moment for me to be scared. I am white, able-bodied, and masculine-presenting – all sources of extreme privilege. For one, I was able to march with people who, in many accounts, looked like me. Additionally, I was able to march without a physical disability that could make walking or standing for long periods of time a challenge. And finally, I was able to march as someone who is seen as a man by most. Which means, even at a women’s march, people listened to me.

I cannot be scared. There have been too many transpeople before me who have done this hard work, and I must continue to fight on their behalf. There was Marsha P. Johnson, a black drag queen and transgender woman, who led the protests at Stonewall. There was Sylvia Rivera, a trans woman of color who, with the help of Marsha P. Johnson, founded STAR: Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries, which fought for the inclusion of transpeople. There was Leslie Feinburg, writer and transgender activist, who organized a march against racism in Boston after white supremacists had attacked blacks there.

Additionally, there are many transwomen still fighting for our right to exist, including Lourdes Ashley Hunter, co-founder of the Trans Women of Color Collective (TWOCC), who said, “Every breath a black trans woman takes is an act of revolution.” And there is Janet Mock, multi-racial writer and trans activist who commented at the Women’s March that “our approach to freedom need not be identical, but it must intersectional and inclusive.”

Like these revolutionaries, I plan to fight for the rights of transpeople across the country, especially trans women of color. I refuse to be complacent when I know that 50% of black transpeople have attempted suicide. I refuse to be complacent when I know that over 45 anti-trans bills were introduced in state legislatures in 2016. I refuse to be complacent when Trump erased all mention of LGBT people from the White House website.

So what am I going to do?

First, I am going to educate myself. I was not taught transgender history in school or by my parents or even from my friends. I learned the little I know at conferences, trans support groups, and through memoirs like Janet Mock’s Redefining Realness and Jamison Green’s Becoming a Visible Man. But I know there are so many more books to read. I am going to start with Toni Newman’s memoir I Rise and work my way through this list, starting with books by transpeople of color.

Second, I am going to step back and listen. Because I have privilege as I explained above, sometimes my voice is heard louder than others. I will not let this happen anymore. When I am in a space with a transwoman or a trans person of color, I will listen. When I plan events for trans people, I will reach out to organizations that are intersectional and inclusive.

And third, I am going to educate others, especially white cisgender people who are silent when transpeople are harassed or attacked. In the past two weeks alone, I have been harassed three times. As if the verbal abuse is not enough, no one around me said anything to quell the violence. For white cisgender people reading this, here are a few things you can do when you see or hear abuse towards me:

1) Say something to the aggressor or to me. Anything. One example is, “Let’s go.”

2) Step up. If you are not in physical danger yourself, move yourself into my place so that I am able to make an exit.

3) Tell someone. Whether it is an authority or a friend, please tell someone what you witnessed and how you helped.

4) Use my pronouns, even if it makes you uncomfortable. (I use he or they pronouns, by the way).

5) And finally, please do not out me. You can do all of these things without saying, “My friend is trans and you are hurting them.” If I choose to out myself, that is my decision.

According to Lourdes Ashley Hunter, “Actively engaging in erasure is an act of violence.” I’m not going to engage in this. I will educate myself, listen, and educate others.

I hope you consider joining me.

-Am (he or they pronouns)