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Trans erasure in our midst

The impulse to suppress difference threatens us all

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(Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

The acronym TERF stands for trans-exclusionary radical feminist. I mention it here before mentioning the Trump administration or conservative state legislatures, which have been up to a great deal of transphobic mischief, because anti-trans feminists have been around for decades.

Given how easily discussions on controversial topics can deteriorate into vituperative exchanges, I want to be clear that if my criticisms do not apply to you, then I am not talking about you. For example, there are some radical lesbians who are viciously hostile toward trans women, deny their legitimate existence, use their ā€œdead namesā€ (pre-transition names), and deliberately use the wrong pronouns for them. If this does not apply to you, then please understand that I am not talking about you.

The sad fact is that anti-transgender intolerance makes for some strange political bedfellows. Many TERFs have aligned themselves with right-wing evangelical figures and organizations to advance their anti-trans agenda.

Transphobes are moving beyond ā€œbathroom billsā€ and bans on military service. As Dr. Jack Turban writes in The New York Times, ā€œIn South Dakota, the House recently passed a bill that would fine or even imprison pediatricians who provide gender-affirmative care to patients under 16.ā€

It is easy to sensationalize little-known subjects. This is compounded by a president and administration that reject science and make a virtue of know-nothingism. As Dr. Turban writes, ā€œThe bills are about medical care, but the state representatives sponsoring them seem unfazed by the fact that all relevant major medical organizations disagree with them…. The public deserves accurate medical information about how doctors care for transgender youth, instead of alarmist commentary from pundits and politicians.ā€

Treatments vary by age. ā€œPuberty blockersā€ have been shown to be safe and to prevent mental health problems caused by development of physical traits conflicting with a youthā€™s gender identity.

Sound-bite policymaking by people who never bother to learn about what they are criminalizing must be resisted.

Much of human misery results from attempting to control one another. We are now in an election season that will determine whether Americaā€™s fitful journey toward egalitarianism will be derailed in an ethno-nationalist fury of racism, sexism, xenophobia, and religious intolerance.

We are divided and defeated if we lack the grace and courage to reject tribalist fears based on racial, cultural, religious, and gender differences. We cannot even see one another if we overgeneralize based on our own trauma. As Ben Franklin said, ā€œWe must hang together, for surely we will hang separately.ā€

The key insight is that everything is not about you.

Sen. Mitt Romney, anticipating the mountain of grief he would receive for voting to convict Trump of abusing his office, asked rhetorically why he would do it except out of faithfulness to his conscience. Similarly, the abuse heaped on trans people just for going about their lives is so widespread that it is hardly plausible that they would endure it except out of personal integrity.

Our ability to cohere as a society erodes if we retreat into bubbles of suspicion and resentment. Your right to feel discomfort over othersā€™ differences ends somewhere before the passage of laws to erase them. We have a right to many things, but not to our neighborsā€™ disappearance.

Trans women are not ā€œmen in dresses.ā€ That affront is not supported by the science, which was advanced enough to find its way into Obama-era DOJ court filings.

Inherent in the role of an ally, as someone supporting justice for sexual minorities, is to defend our transgender sisters and brothers. They are at the bleeding edge of the Trump Administrationā€™s attacks on gender variance. They face greater risk of employment and housing discrimination and hate crimes.

A basic social truth is that if trans people have no right to exist, then neither do you or I. Whatever your sexual orientation or gender identity, you are capable of looking around and recognizing that you live in a diverse society. Everyone is not the same, and is not going to be. If you seek to impose your concepts of gender on others, you have no right to complain when someone does it to you.

Richard J. Rosendall is a writer and activist at [email protected].

Copyright Ā© 2020 by Richard J. Rosendall. All rights reserved.

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Sexting with younger guy has me asking: How queer am I?

Reflections on LGBTQ life in 2024

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Jake Stewart is a recovering Hill staffer based in D.C. In addition to writing, he barbacks at the Little Gay Pub."

Once upon a time, not all that long ago, a man sexted another man. 

There were words. There were pictures. There were filthy questions and even filthier responses. You know, the way a good sexting convo ought to be, for those who dabble. 

One man was 33. The other, 24. And while it comes as no shock that I was the 33-year-old, it may be more surprising to learn it was the 24-year-old who grabbed the reins. 

What kinks you into? he asked. 

Shit ā€“ I didnā€™t know. I barely even bottomed before the pandemic, and now I had to know my kinks? 

Iā€™m open, I replied, evasively. You? 

His response left me coughing: ā€œLove musk sweat ws public group rough bb verbal bate edge roleplay and very open-minded.ā€ 

Now Iā€™m no prude (in fact, many would call me a downright whore) but this young man articulating his kinks and fetishes in such detail blew my mind. When did he learn what he liked? At 24, all I wanted was to top a guy and leave with as little communication or attachment as possible. At 33, I wasnā€™t sure what a few of the items he listed even meant.  

Perhaps I shouldnā€™t be surprised when young men ā€” and the younger generation across the LGBTQ spectrum in general ā€” have already figured out their sexual interests. I arrived in D.C. from Idaho in 2008 as a fresh-faced 18-year-old; I came out three years later in 2011. Attitudes toward queerness have shifted substantially since then, and these days it is undeniably easier for younger people to explore their sexual and gender identities (which, by the way, is fantastic). 

But this conversation left me wondering: What do I like? I havenā€™t sought out that many new sexual experiences, and while fetishes, kinks, and sexual desires can seem trivial, theyā€™re inextricably intertwined with gender and relationships. If I canā€™t articulate what I like in the sack (or in public, if I dare), then how do I know what Iā€™m seeking from a long-term partner, or if thatā€™s even what I want? 

As soon as I came out, I thought my job was done. All I needed after that was to snatch up a cutie and settle down. Instead, my identity centered on building my career in politics, where sexual openness isnā€™t as appreciated. I, like many D.C. queers around me, moved here bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to change the world for good. 

Then came a tough lesson: Just because I wanted to improve the world didnā€™t mean people wanted me to. I was inexplicably fired from not one job but two, and suddenly the do-gooder in me grew jaded. The career I dedicated years to was suddenly ripped from my hands, and I became so disillusioned I didnā€™t even want it back. Oh, and the cherry on top: My boyfriend dumped me two days later. 

Once everything unraveled, I wondered: Was the me of the past the me I truly wanted? Or was I reflecting back what I thought everyone wanted me to be? 

Well, a few major meltdowns and an extended slut phase later, my life couldnā€™t be more different. I now work at a new gay bar in town to support myself, and Iā€™ve given myself space to pursue the arts. This former straight-laced, type-A, tightly wound gay abandoned the safe track and he couldnā€™t be more terrified. He also couldnā€™t be more excited. 

But losing my old career also left an existential-sized hole in my identity. So, as I sexted this 24-year-old with newfound awareness of my limitations, I decided this must change. 

How? As I said, I work at a gay bar in one of the queerest cities in America. Now more than ever Iā€™m surrounded by those who are LGBTQ and every shade in between. Why not learn from those around me, whether younger, older, or around the same age, but whose experiences are no less queer? Why not carve out time to have in-depth discussions and discover what the possibilities are? 

If being queer means to go against the established norms of gender and sexuality, then thereā€™s still plenty of territory for me to explore. No longer can ā€˜bottomā€™ or ā€˜topā€™ be my only options. 

So, the purpose of this column ā€“ aptly titled Queer Quest ā€“ is to capture my exploration of queer identity. Itā€™s not to teach you as much as it is to teach myself, and you can either learn alongside me or simply be entertained. At the very least, Iā€™ll have a series of portraits on what itā€™s like to be queer in the mid 2020s. At most, Iā€™ll have a better understanding of who I am as a queer person. 

Then maybe, just maybe, Iā€™ll become a better sexter. 

Jake Stewart is a D.C.-based writer.

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What will you do to make Pride safe this year?

Anxiety reigns among American Jews after Oct. 7

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(Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

Each year, hundreds of thousands of Jews and supporters of Israel attend Pride marches. With a few exceptions, these spaces have always been safe and welcoming for the broader Pride community. 

But this year is different. 

For American Jews, anxiety reigns as we head into this Pride season. The appalling rise of antisemitism since Oct. 7 forces us to ask difficult questions. As many Jews increasingly feel alienated and excluded from progressive spaces, weā€™re left to wonder: If I wear a Jewish symbol, march with a Jewish group, or wave a rainbow flag adorned with the Star of David, will I be safe at Pride?

Even before Oct. 7, LGBTQ Jews had plenty of reason to feel trepidation about their safety at Pride. From blanket bans on Stars of David at past Pride gatherings to antisemitism on display at the recent Sydney Pride, too often Jews feel forced to choose between their LGBTQ and Jewish identities and hide their connection to Israel.

Since Oct. 7, terms like “apartheid,” “genocide” and “Zionism equals racism” are increasingly thrown around casually, often without a nuanced understanding of their impact or the realities they oversimplify. This rhetoric not only alienates but also endangers Jewish queer people. It makes us feel emotionally unsafe. It increases the chances that we will be physically unsafe as well. 

We must not allow the Israel-Palestine conflict to be imported into Pride.

I will always remember the euphoria of the first Pride rally I attended. I was barely 18 years old, in a crowd of people of all ages, races, genders and gender orientations ā€” and they were like me. Queer. It felt safe. It was the first time I experienced that feeling of safety, and it will always stay with me. 

Like Pride events everywhere, it was a vibrant, colorful space for LGBTQ people to celebrate our true authentic selves, without fear or reservation.

But that feeling of safety wasnā€™t shared by everyone in my small New England town. I soon noticed a few people scattered throughout the crowd wearing paper bags over their heads, with eye holes so they could see but not be seen. I later learned that those faceless people were teachers who, in those days before civil rights protections, needed to protect their identities and their careers. 

They did not feel safe. Will Jews and those who are connected to Israel feel safe this year?

The history of Pride is a testament to courage in the face of adversity. It wasn’t long ago when attending Pride events was a defiant act against societal norms, where participants like those teachers faced tangible threats of discrimination, ridicule and even violence. Even today in some places, our queer community still navigates a gauntlet of hatred as we try to celebrate who we are.

It’s crucial to recognize that within the Jewish community, there is a wide spectrum of views on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, including many who are deeply committed to advocating for Palestinian rights. In fact, many of the 1,200 innocent Israelis murdered on Oct. 7 were Zionists who devoted their lives to reconciliation and peace with their Arab neighbors.

We are at a pivotal moment, one that demands action: What can we do to ensure Pride remains a safe space for everyone, including Jewish participants?

It’s imperative that Pride committees around the country proactively address these concerns. They must implement training programs focused on de-escalation and fostering an environment of understanding and respect.

As individuals who stand in solidarity with the values of Pride, each of us must consider our role in this effort. Will you march alongside those of us who feel vulnerable, offering your presence as a shield against intolerance? Will you engage in dialogues that challenge the importation of external conflicts into Pride, advocating instead for a celebration that unites rather than divides?

The true test of inclusivity at Pride lies not merely in welcoming a diverse crowd, but in ensuring that every participant feels safe and valued. If we remain indifferent to the vulnerabilities faced by Jewish queer people this Pride season, we will fall short of the very ideals of inclusivity and solidarity that Pride stands for.

Just as we expect schools to protect trans and nonbinary students like Nex Benedict, we have a responsibility in the LGBTQ community to ensure that people can carry an Israeli flag or a Palestinian flag, wear a yarmulke or a hijab and be safe.

As we look forward to this year’s Pride, let us commit to making it a space where safety is not a privilege afforded to some but a right enjoyed by all. Let’s engage with our local Pride committees, advocate for comprehensive safety measures and stand in solidarity with those who feel at risk.Ā 

Only then can we celebrate the true spirit of Pride, rooted in love, acceptance and the unwavering belief in equality for all.

Ethan Felson is the executive director of A Wider Bridge.

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How to protect your sobriety on St. Patrickā€™s Day

Celebrate with a supportive friend and carry a mocktail

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Sobriety can be challenging, whether you overcame alcohol or drug addiction or chose to abstain from alcohol for a healthier life. Holidays like St. Patrickā€™s Day can serve as a reminder of the past or could be looked at as another day. 

Many celebrate St. Patrickā€™s Day sober, as there are generally family-friendly gatherings, community events, or even sober celebrations. If you have concerns about your sobriety, there are practical tips you can use to protect it on St. Patrickā€™s Day. 

For instance, remind yourself why you are sober, and donā€™t do it alone. You can still have fun and celebrate but do it with other sober people. Everyone has their reasons for stopping drinking; remind yourself of those reasons and hold yourself accountable.  

Know your triggers; it doesnā€™t matter if you are a recovering addict or have removed alcohol from your life. Be cautious around possible triggers that pose a challenge. Most people in this situation choose to skip the bar and find something fun to do or go to a sober St. Patrickā€™s Day celebration. 

Keep a non-alcoholic drink or mocktail in your hand. People will not bother you to ask if you want a drink if you already have something to sip on, like a mocktail. This also leads to planning how to say no. You will encounter social pressure if you go to a bar on St. Patrickā€™s Day. Itā€™s unavoidable. Itā€™s wise to practice ways to refuse alcohol. 

Finally, if all else fails, take a walk outside if you feel overwhelmed. The most straightforward solutions are usually the best. Remove yourself from any situation you know will lead to relapse. This is also why itā€™s essential to be with a sober friend or loved one; there is accountability and someone to lean on.

The benefits of being sober are plentiful, along with the numerous health perks, such as better quality sleep, more mental alertness, and lessened anxiety or depression. Yet, there is one benefit that is not necessarily always spoken about. 

Being sober on St. Patrickā€™s Day or any day removes all chances of impaired driving. Unfortunately, days that promote heavy alcohol use may increase the chances of drunk or drugged driving. For example, in Washington State, impaired driving has been involved in roughly half of fatal crashes for decades. In 2022, 52% of traffic fatalities involved an impaired driver, according to the Traffic Safety Commission. 

Moreover, drivers ages 21 to 30 make up one-third of impaired drivers in fatal crashes, and another 20% are ages 31 to 40. If you are celebrating St. Patrickā€™s Day sober, take the necessary precautions and look out for one another. If you choose to consume alcohol, drink responsibly, know your limits, and do not drink and drive.

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