April 7, 2020

To: Gender Kids in Plague Time

I see you, young gender kids.

A French Trans Woman peeks between her fingers
NANA; Place Blanche Parigi 1961-Photo By Christer Strömholm © Christer Strömholm

Some of you are young at the age of 55. Some of you are living your real lives for the first time. Some of you live on the street. Some of you hide for your own safety.

I see you.

While a brutal virus scourges bodies in the Northern hemisphere on our continent, the only attention you get is from the Church of the Eternally Negative who fill statehouses, stadiums and megachurches with ignorance, greed, guns and gullibility.

But I see you.

You had breast reduction surgery scheduled for March 20th; canceled.
You had gender confirmation surgery scheduled for April 6th; canceled
You were flying to Thailand on March 30th for gender confirmation on April 1st; both canceled.
You were going to the clinic in the big city away from the small town you live in to see the doctor who understands who you are and to make some plans on March 25th; you can’t go now.

I see you.

The larger culture doesn’t see you, but I do. I’m a unique gender snowflake like you. I grew up in a house filled with fear, negativity, invisible mental illness and foursquare faith in the almighty dollar.

You are attacked relentlessly. Your bodies. Your spirit. Your livelihood. You are attacked by a crowd who drink fear for breakfast in their energy drinks in cupholders of rusty pickups driving in abandoned towns; addicted to typing insults into little boxes to ease their emptiness.

You get up each day in the fight. You are more man, more woman, more all of the above and none of the above than they will ever be, and they know it, goddammit, they know it. You served your country in a squad, in a tank, in a cockpit until their god, their greasy back-combed golem, keeper of the shibboleth typed into a little box and loosed the dogs of ignorance against you.

I fucking see you.

A month, a week is a forever. I waited forty-six years to even dare explore the idea that maybe, just maybe I am not crazy, that these are more than feelings, they are affirmations from a deeper truth that will bring me joy and peace. I poured alcohol, cocaine, Benzedrine on mine to make it shut up, but it won’t shut up.

You won’t be stopped. You won’t shut up.

This virus is the latest plague. Queer people rose up to defeat another plague and they were not stopped. We are bigger. Their god is fake. Your god, or no-god, is real, true, human and healthy.

Fuck Idaho. Fuck Hungary. Fuck The Federalist. Fuck the TERFs. Fuck Franklin Graham.

I see you. This will not stop you. Love will win. If your blood family won’t love you, we will.

I see all of you, in my heart.

Love, an Elder Queer.