A couple of weeks ago, I came across an article about a laughable statement made by former U.S. ambassador and current Republican presidential candidate Nikki Haley. At a college event, Haley pinned Dylan Mulvaney, TikTok’s infamous theater kid and transfemme phenomenon, as being solely responsible for “why a third of our teenage girls seriously contemplated suicide last year.” Now that’s… not right. There’s a plethora of angles and lenses through which one can dissect the absurdity of this statement which I’m sure are painstakingly obvious, but suffice it to say Dylan Mulvaney has only been a hot-button topic for at most 2 years and the severe and the steady decline of adolescent mental health in girls has been documented for, at the very least, a decade. It doesn’t take a sociologist to put two and two together and realize that the potent mix of the inescapable presence of social media combined with ever-impossible “female” beauty standards is to blame for the brunt of this despair. However, that’s a very “woke” way of putting it. That doesn’t really rile up a reactionary base. That’s not a very politically electrifying reality.
As someone in a bit of a middle cohort of Generation Z, I grew up at a time that gave me, for better or for worse, a very intense appreciation for just how explosively and expeditiously this crusade has gained traction. Specifically, the year I first realized there was “something wrong” with the way my body was developing was 2016, a year that gave way to two very sharp and extreme developments which would become the bedrocks of what we now know as the modern alt-right. One of these was an online movement now known as “GamerGate” or the “Anti-SJW movement.” The only nonbinary representation I had during this era was “Big Red”, a perpetually outraged, easily offended, disheveled, inarticulate individual that quickly became the alt-right’s Social Justice Warrior living, breathing caricature. During my most impressionable years, the online image of trans people was one which portrayed them, at worst, as “cringe worthy” people. They were embarrassing, delusional, and entitled people sure, but not so much groomers, predators, or any other flavor of sexual menace. I wouldn’t say, back then, that there was a bounty on us.
Other groups were being targeted with accusations of some form of predation at the time, however, particularly Hispanic and Muslim folks. As a Latine person, I can speak only from that experience. “They’re bringing drugs, they’re bringing crime. They’re rapists…”, were the scathing claims with which the now twice-indicted business magnate opened his presidential campaign. Those comments then informed how the news would cover Hispanic people (and which Hispanic people to cover), how people interacted with my immigrant parents, and the specific insults the bullies at my Christian conservative middle school threw my way. For the first time, my being Hispanic became significant, it became more than a biographical piece of information I filled out on standardized tests. “Hispanic” finally had a definition, that is, I was told I was hairier, dirtier, stupider, more animalistic, and that I should be ashamed of my parents and their thick accents. Much the same, though I can now recognize the bigotry of the current culture war, I cannot, in earnest, say that the present climate has not thoroughly irritated me and taken a toll on my self-esteem. Being trans is so inconvenient.
Any time the evening news reported on a crime by a Latine perpetrator, I winced. More fuel was added to the fire and more hostility would come my way at school. I react not much differently whenever a trans person makes headlines in the present day for some wrongdoing of theirs; I’m going to have to answer to that, or worse someone will take their frustrations out on me in public. Nonetheless, among the many parallels I’ve seen between 2016’s attacks on Hispanic folks and the 2020s’ fixation on trans people, I can at least predict, albeit with a hearty dose of cautious optimism, that these attacks too, will soon simmer down.
This is no excuse, of course, to stand there and take it. While I do see anti-transness as yet another attempt of the right to create a political boogeyman, I believe also, having lived through that aforementioned scapegoating campaign and living now in 2023, that this is a beast of a different, more furious, nature. Worth noting is the exponentiality with which anti-trans sentiment picked up even more steam following the overturning of Roe v. Wade. Once the “Think of the Children” campaign had worked, it was time to charge full speed ahead with the other one. It is also important to keep in mind that anti-trans sentiment has not manifested itself exclusively in the form of right-wing haranguing, but in the form of concrete legislation and once again, through the dehumanizing and draconian promises of a presidential candidate, who despite how much many write him off as “off his rocker”, may very well win it all. For so many trans people, waiting a few years for matters to simmer down will be a few years too late.
I have seen many parallels drawn between current queer fear-mongering and the anti-gay movement spearheaded by singer-turned-bigot Anita Bryant back in the 1970s. Certainly, there is a lot to be said about how both movements utilized “Save the Children” jargon, branded queer people as some sort of sexual menace, and successfully lobbied for hateful legislation. Those who draw these parallels point to the ultimate failure of Bryant’s campaign. True as that is, the 1970s are not the 2020s, and today’s Christian conservatism certainly does not flavor itself with that same “Oh, bless their hearts, let’s pray the gay away” consideration.
Rapidfire online discourse and fabricated content foster outraged responses that are not so easily quelled by calls to prayer. Wander into the wrong Facebook group, and you’ll find yourself believing that New York City has been conquered and bloodied by Trantifa. My boyfriend is a drag queen, and I am a trans person, and it seems like every few days we tell each other about bomb threats, either at Targets in the South or at drag shows. Legislation is also not limited to one state this time around. Unlike Bryant’s campaign, the anti-trans campaign is not one destined to fail, it is one which has already succeeded several times over. At least 20+ states have banned gender-affirming care for minors. Oklahoma, Texas, and South Carolina are considering banning care for anyone under 26, with Missouri having already severely restricted coverage for adults. That said, not all hope is lost. Within the past few weeks, bans in Arkansas, Alabama, Kentucky, and Florida have been blocked by federal judges.
But what is there to be done about all this? I’m afraid I don’t have an answer much better than the liberal wine-mom retort of “Go out and vote!” You may ask, how can I say that with a straight face just days after SCOTUS’s disturbing and notably vote-free 303 Creative LLC v. Elenis ruling? I say, good point, and I am not suggesting that anything is possible under the American electoral system. I would however like to direct you to the case of Arizona, a state which just recently held a gubernatorial election in which Democratic candidate Katie Hobbs won by a margin of about 0.6%. Hobbs has just recently passed an ordinance protecting queer youth from conversion therapy. On the other hand, her opponent, Kari Lake, a devout follower of former President Trump promised to deny any non-discrimination protections for the “alphabet mafia.”
While there is a net good in electing left-of-center individuals, there is only so much that can be done electorally in certain states and in certain cities within those states. Personally, the most I feel I can do is expedite my own medical transition as much as possible. I had felt for a while that this was a selfish and insufficient reaction, but as I look around me, the steps taken by the trans friends and acquaintances in my life are not much different: move out of red states, move out of conservative households, begin medical transition no matter how financially unsound a decision that may be. As trans people, we are constantly told that transition is a selfish act; it is fetishistic, it is done at the expense of our family, it is indicative of an obsession with our appearance, and no matter how many years of thought we put into it, it is always a hasty decision. I can say through personal anecdote, that transition, medical, social, or otherwise, is anything but selfish; it takes a village. I would not be in a position to finally be able to pursue top surgery had my friends not bought me my first binder a few years ago and had they not given me places to stay after being thrown out of the house by conservative parents. It took a community to keep me alive. Maybe, the most we can do, and the best we can do, is one by one, partake in whatever act of self-preservation we deem necessary. As trans people, keeping yourself alive no matter the cost is inherently an act larger than yourself. How would things ever get better with all of us gone?
Author Bio: Larissa Flores is a passionate biomedical engineering student at Columbia University, with a knack for digital art and game design as a creative outlet. Their journey in medicine and personal experiences as a trans individual, surrounded by a supportive network of trans friends, have fueled their unwavering commitment to LGBTQ+ health advocacy. Joining OutCare as an LGBTQ+ Health Advocacy Scholar, sponsored by the prestigious Jack Kent Cooke Foundation, Larissa is thrilled to translate their passion into meaningful action, working tirelessly to ensure the health and safety of their beloved community. With a unique blend of technical expertise and artistic flair, Larissa is dedicated to making a lasting impact on LGBTQ+ healthcare.
