écrasez l'infâme

Transpeople lose a number of things when we transition. We can lose family, friends, jobs, children, lovers, and money. But the most difficult thing for me to lose has been veracity. I was already used to not being real, but now I don’t even seem to be trustworthy. I’m not a reliable reporter about my sex or my gender or even my own name; I cannot be trusted to be my own expert. In each of those querying moments, what I am being asked for are details so someone else can make the final decision - am I real yet? So they can decide what they want to call me or how they want to refer to me or if I deserve the pronouns I have requested (and therefore asserting to deserve). I’m only truthful if they decide, after assessing the facts, that my actions mean I deserve the identity that I am claiming. I only get to be real if they say so.

History unravels gently, like an old sweater. It has been patched and darned many times, reknitted to suit different people, shoved in a box under the sink of censorship to be cut up for the dusters of propaganda, yet it always - eventually - manages to spring back into its old familiar shape. history has a habit of changing people who think they are changing it. History always has a few tricks up its frayed sleeve. It’s been around a long time.