Photo by Ehimetalor Akhere Unuabona
This Monday morning passed as usual. I argued the merits of consistent dental hygiene with a kindergartner, and reminded a teenager that the 32° weather does not care that her coat doesn't complete her outfit, all while wrestling a diaper onto an unruly toddler. My wife was in the kitchen assembling lunches as we tag-teamed getting five kids ready for school. After everyone got out the door, I had to go down to the commissary kitchen we use for our food truck to get everything ready for the coming week and plan out specials.
I got home, then assisted my wife in finishing folding laundry while the toddler was napping. We talked about the Romantasy book we've both been working on and placed a bet (dishes) on which of the kids would absolutely throw a tantrum over what we decided to make for dinner.
When the kids got home, I was making dinner in the kitchen, where I listened to my kindergartner tell me all about his new bestest friend on the playground, and my twelve year old complain about how her middle school coursework is too easy compared to her gifted classes last year. Then we all gathered around the table and sat down for dinner.
“Hey guys,” I said. “For right now… it might be best not to mention to people that you have a trans parent. And for everyone's safety, it might not be a good idea for me to come to your school events.”
Have you ever had to do that? Have you ever watched your rights be signed away? Watched as you went from a peculiar family navigating a unique situation to being erased from the language of the country you've always been a citizen of?
…
I've genuinely started so many documents to make this article. Written a paragraph or two then completely lost the plot. My editor suggested tackling some of the common myths about trans folk to dispel the rumors; but let's be honest, if people cared about facts, and science, and biology, and mental health, we wouldn't be here, would we?
I don't have the time to go and give literal Nazis links to studies showing transwomen at a disadvantage against their cis peers in sports. I'm too busy trying to comfort my biggest champion, my five year old son, while I explain to him that it's still absolutely okay to be proud of me, but maybe it’s best if he doesn't wear his PRIDE shirt to school. How do I argue with the red hats about non-basic biology when I'm having to make plans with my wife to decide what the exact line is that the government has to cross before I just flee? Before the risk of winding up in a camp of like-minded people for an indefinite period of time becomes too great?
I'm going to be honest. I thought my time of being thrust into leadership roles was going to come to an end when I was no longer a cis-hetero white man; but alas, my visibility has put me in a position where over the past couple of weeks a large number of very scared trans folks have come to me at the truck to ask me what we need to do. To ask what I am going to do.
…What am I going to do??
I don't know. I've been jumping between near catatonic — when I hear stories of trans folks getting their passport and all of their original identifying documents confiscated — to absolutely enraged over stories of our people being removed from queer rights monuments like Stonewall in New York — all the while, being told I should turn the other cheek as emboldened bigots spout the most vile transphobic shit at me.
Well, FUCK that.
I am an American!
I grew up being told I could be anything as long as I worked for it. I've worked my ass off to have a family, have a home, and build a fucking business. And yes, I have worked hard to become the woman I was always supposed to be, too. I have fought my whole life for any part of the pie, and now I'm being told that I don't deserve any of it.
I receive a daily updated map of my country blacking out the states that are no longer safe for me to travel to. I have to keep a list of places that have a bathroom that I won't be shamed for trying to use when I leave my house. I've had to remind friends that no, we can't hang out there, because it is not safe for someone like me.
But I AM an American.
I said the pledge every morning in school growing up. I waved those stars and stripes at Fourth of July BBQs while the fireworks went off. I was told we were the greatest country in the world. Is this not the land of liberty and justice for ALL? The land where all are created equal?
Well I guess some animals ARE more equal than others.
…
So ask me again: What am I going to do?
I have no other option. I'm going to continue to be the loudest, most visible, most queer person I can be. I'm going to write, and shout, and fight like a bitch backed into a corner, because I have no other option. I don't get to hide. There's no closet I can go back into, no attic I can stay in while it blows over. Hell, I can probably make a pretty sizable bet as to who exactly would make the phone call when they open the hotlines to turn in trans-folk to Musk’s interns.
I'm going to love my family, dance with my kids, and teach them to be kind and caring. I'm going to be who I am proudly to the end because I’ve fought like hell to become her, and I still have plenty of fight left in me.
It's hard in good conscience to encourage others to stand up with a giant target on their backs, and continue to be loud and proud; but right now, that's all we can do. We can keep reminding them that we still exist. We still matter.
Because no matter what they say, we are Americans.
But this doesn't fucking feel like America anymore.
Cara Nokes is a local business owner, a parent of five, and a trans woman.
