More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
May 19 - May 25, 2021
For all of us, the political is personal. And the truth is this: Sometimes vulnerability is the best, or only, path to justice.
DELAWARE TRANSGENDERS MAKE BID FOR EQUALITY read the front-page headline above the fold in the Sunday News Journal, Delaware’s main paper. The grammatical error aside—transgender is an adjective, not a noun—the headline announced that the time for our bill had arrived. I could almost hear the disbelief and skepticism that had been expressed to me across the state: “Good luck with that.”
“The Gender Identity Nondiscrimination Act of 2013 would allow me to come home to my family without fear. For every young person struggling and simply in dire need of hope, and for every parent just like many of you who simply want their child to come home to their family, please…please pass this bill.”
Delaware’s chapter of a national anti-LGBTQ group designated by watchdogs as a “hate group,” had released a dramatic online ad. The black-and-white commercial featured a bearded middle-aged man with sunglasses following a young girl into the bathroom at a park. The ad closed with the ominous text “Is this what you want for Delaware? Tell your Delaware legislators to vote NO on Senate Bill Ninety-seven today.” The ad would be laughable if it wasn’t so offensive and, sadly, effective.
When transgender people stand up, when our voices are heard, when we confront these myths about bathrooms head-on, we can make the politics of fear and division, of discrimination and misinformation, ineffective.
“Having received its constitutionally required majority vote, Senate Bill Ninety-seven has passed the Senate,” the lieutenant governor announced. As his gavel hit the dais, the gallery erupted in cheers.
Most of the women were middle-aged, some wearing T-shirts with trite antitrans slogans like “God made men and women” and “No men in women’s restrooms,” language the LGBTQ community would see in future nondiscrimination fights. In their speeches, one woman referred to us as “freaks.” Another as “sinners.” But “predators” was, once again, the word of the day. Standing behind these women, I could feel the disdain they held for transgender people, or at least who they thought we were. It was palpable.
But on other issues, legislators are elected to exercise their own judgment. That’s why we elect our representatives instead of making every decision by referendum. What’s right isn’t always what’s most popular. And when it came to what Andy called first principles—issues such as equal rights—there was just no excuse.
A request from the governor carries a different weight than an ask from anyone else. Even for these legislators, being called directly by the governor wasn’t a normal occurrence, and knowing that they would likely, eventually, need something from Jack made saying no all the more difficult.
The discomfort of others shouldn’t be grounds for differential treatment. And when you do that, when you single us out, it puts a bull’s-eye on our backs for harassment and bullying and reinforces the prejudice that we are not really the gender we are.
“I just have one question for you. Have you had the surgery yet?” “Um. I don’t think that is any of your business,” I replied, stunned. To this day, it always amazes me when people think they are entitled to information about my body. I would never ask a stranger about their genitals. But I quickly got the sense that this woman didn’t care if she was imposing, let alone offending me. “Oh, I think it is my business,” she insisted. “And if I ever see you in the women’s bathroom with me, I’ll chop it right off.”
We didn’t want to celebrate too early; we still had the floor debate and then had to go back to the Senate. But with the speaker’s confirmation, we could feel more than just cautiously optimistic. When all the members had returned to the chamber, the House officially convened and took up our bill.
Jaques had made clear that his faith called him to the side of compassion, but his granddaughter had provided him with the answer.
Throughout the fight for equality, young people have been on the front lines of change. When President Obama endorsed marriage equality in 2012, he cited something very simple for his change of heart: conversations with his daughters. Earl Jaques’s granddaughter had given him a glimpse into the future.
And our little state made history by taking one of the single largest leaps forward on equality of any state in one year. Trans folks from across the state crammed into the governor’s ceremonial office on the second floor of Legislative Hall with us to witness the official signing.
Five years after I stood behind him on the night he won the governor’s office, I was now standing behind him as he signed the Gender Identity Nondiscrimination Act into law.
And while no law will ever be a silver bullet, no bill can change every heart or open every mind, and no protection can stamp out every act of discrimination, these laws provide a foundation. That night, we were one step closer to justice.
majority of states still lacked the same basic yet critical protections from discrimination that we had just fought so hard for in Delaware. Arkansans and Texans and Virginians deserve these protections every bit as much as Delawareans and Californians and Minnesotans.
Laverne Cox burst into the mainstream consciousness with the premiere of Orange Is the New Black on Netflix. That year, 2013, was eventually dubbed the “transgender tipping point” by Time magazine. And D.C. felt like the center of it all.
Center for American Progress, the Washington-based think tank that has been called the “brain of the Democratic Party.” CAP worked on every policy issue, from the social safety net to national security to immigration to LGBTQ equality. The offices are located two blocks from the White House
Throughout the summer and early fall of 2013, as two young transgender people falling in love and fighting for the community we love, it seemed like we had a world of possibility and potential before us. I was twenty-three years old and I felt more fulfilled and happier than I’d ever imagined. But that all changed when Andy went in for a doctor’s appointment in September.
If the thought of serious illness had been nonexistent before, it all came rushing into my head at once. I immediately knew where this was headed. “No, no, what’s going on?” I pushed. He paused for a moment and cleared his throat. “I have cancer…” I have cancer. Three life-changing words you never want to hear.
So while stressing and worrying about all the typical things patients and their loved ones must deal with when facing such a serious diagnosis and invasive surgery, with each new doctor, and later with each new nurse, we wondered, What do they think of transgender people? Will they treat us differently if or when they find out?
Andy began to prepare for his extended absence from work. After surgery, he would be out of work for his recovery and then, again, for the six weeks of extensive daily radiation and weekly chemotherapy infusions. He didn’t like the idea of missing so much work. He didn’t want to be left focusing solely on his cancer. He wanted, needed, distractions.
And the image of an out trans woman and her openly gay brother onstage together provided the perfect metaphor for the larger movement for LGBTQ equality: gay and trans people standing as one family.
The extended stay meant a nearly constant rotation of nurses. And with each new nurse, the fears that surfaced during that first visit to Hopkins came back. Every time a new nurse would walk into his room, Andy would glance at me with a simple look that said: “Can you tell them?”
For practical reasons, it was helpful for them to know that he was transgender. In the split second after I told them, I’d study their facial expressions for even the subtlest sign of discomfort. Discomfort can, even subconsciously, lead to mistreatment. Fortunately, every nurse was a consummate professional, and while we were nervous each time, they all offered no suggestion that they had a problem with who we
Since hospitals do not share records, we explained every aspect of Andy’s recent medical history to the doctors to provide them with all potentially relevant information.
In his desire to be independent and in control, he had expressed a desire to not ask his parents or family to help take care of him. Initially, I hoped to honor that wish. Maybe I could have, but during this crisis, my fears and stress took over. “I need help, Andy. I can’t do this on my own,” I said still sobbing.
Even with the help, I shudder to think what would have happened had we worked for an employer that did not offer employees like Andy paid medical leave and had not been so flexible with my own schedule. Most Americans are not afforded similar benefits, and they may not have the network of friends able to step in, either. An illness should never mean the loss of an income, even temporarily, but in many cases it does.
Our eyes were always focused on the next step of recovery, and for someone as autonomous as Andy, each step toward independence felt like reaching the highest mountaintop. But we also made sure to marvel at the smallest victories.
“We win when we ask for what we need rather than what we think we can get,” I vented to him, feeling emboldened by the win but uninspired by just how limited it was. “People can tell when you aren’t advocating from a place of authenticity. We need to excite people, get them behind something big.” “And we need protections in all areas of life, not just employment,” Andy added, alluding to his work on nondiscrimination protections in health care.
I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone in this country could believe that someone, let alone a child, doesn’t inherently deserve treatment for a disease that would otherwise end his life. How could anyone think that children with cancer deserve to live only if their parents are financially secure?
One of the most common forms of discrimination faced by transgender people are blanket bans in health insurance plans that forbid the coverage of any treatment related to a gender transition.
Most people think that if a trans person transitions medically, whether through hormone treatment or surgeries, they are utilizing care that is only ever accessed by trans people. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Practically every single medical procedure someone might utilize to transition is also offered for other reasons. The hormone treatment transgender people may utilize is also offered to people with hormone imbalances or to women after menopause.
“Without health insurance, I would not have been able to afford treatment…without bankrupting myself and probably my parents,” he continued. “Without health insurance, I may not have even gone to the doctor who diagnosed my cancer, and I could be living in ignorance about the fast-spreading disease that was inside of me.” Andy went on to bring in the big picture. Despite the stereotype that the LGBTQ community is made up almost entirely of wealthy gay men, Andy explained that most LGBTQ people are not as fortunate as he is. One in three LGBTQ people making four times the poverty level or less
...more
“If it turns out to be terminal, would you marry me?” I don’t think it’s possible for a sentence to contain more tragedy and more love in it: eleven words that encompass the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
Time started to slow as the gravity of the situation began creeping up on me. It was like I was gradually getting the wind knocked out of me. With every passing second, the reality—that Andy was going to die—began to truly hit me. But it was still premature for me to tell her or Andy just how serious the situation was, that his cancer was almost definitely terminal.
How do you console someone who knows that they are going to die? I couldn’t tell him that it would get better. I couldn’t tell him that he’d beat it. But I also wanted to be careful not to remove his last bit of optimism that would inevitably give him the strength to put one foot in front of the other, pursue the treatment, and grapple with the stages of acceptance
try to always understand that someone has it far worse. I try to find the silver linings in any of the challenges I face. I try to remind myself that negative experiences build strength and character, but aren’t I already a good enough person?! Didn’t being trans do that? Wasn’t Andy’s cancer enough? What other life lessons do I need?! Why is this happening to me?! Why is this happening to him?! Why is this happening to us?!” I was trying to rationalize the irrational.
The simple moments of life that had felt like such triumphs in his initial recovery, and that we held so dear in the months following, now took on a morbid darkness as he struggled with the knowledge that every experience could be the last of its kind for him. That the world he knew would go on without him. That a normalcy would return for everyone but him.
on August 14, two weeks after the initial diagnosis and exactly two years to the day after Andy sent me that first Facebook message introducing himself, a doctor delivered news that threw ice-cold water on our plans. “You might not make it to treatment,” he said, referring to the chemotherapy that the doctors hoped would extend Andy’s life for as long as possible.
“Finally,” Andy said, his spirits lifted. He’d be discharged with a perpetual oxygen tank and he was still exceptionally weak, but he was coming home. He hated being in the hospital.
That night, Andy’s mom pulled me aside in the hospital waiting room. “Sarah, dear. Have you thought about moving the wedding up?” I could tell it was more of a recommendation than a question.
Bishop Gene, as we all called him at the Center for American Progress, had been thrust into the spotlight when he became the first openly LGBTQ person to become a bishop in any major Christian denomination. His election in 2003 to serve as head of the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire set off a frenzy, causing a worldwide schism within the Anglican Church. When he was installed as bishop, the threats on his life were so significant and credible that he had to wear a bulletproof vest under his religious robes.
Bishop Gene’s offer was just one example of the grace that was filling our lives in what increasingly appeared to be Andy’s waning days. With nothing more than a color preference, Bishop Gene and an army of family and friends began organizing our wedding.
