Transpective: Let trans kids play sports

^{Photo by RDNE Stock project}

^{Narrated by Rae Witte}

“My name is Cara Nokes. I am a chef, local business owner, former student of the Kennewick School District, parent to four children in this district, and — most importantly to tonight's conversation — I am a trans woman!”

This was my opening statement as I stood in front of the Kennewick School Board meeting on June 26. I was the lone trans voice in a room full of people waiting their turn to explain why ‘boys’ should not be allowed to play sports with peers of their true gender. In a two-minute speech, I had to convince a school board intent on discriminating against some of our most vulnerable students that they were making a mistake. 

This was my first time speaking as my true self: a six-foot, 230lb trans woman wearing burger leggings and a bright green chef jacket with the sleeves removed. (My growing breasts no longer fit flatteringly in a men’s chef jacket, and my broad shoulders don’t fit comfortably in my new jackets. I've had to customize my wardrobe for optimum movement at work.) In other words, I fucking stick out. You see, I've spent the previous thirty-five years of my life masquerading as a cisgender, heterosexual male.

I won't lie. I had grown quite used to the white male privilege that usually meant I would receive thunderous applause when I spoke, whatever my point was. I was a drama kid, so performative speeches are something I've always been comfortable with. Lately, I've reserved this skill for describing dishes in winemaker dinners or talking to future chefs about the hardships of their intended careers. This meeting was a perfect opportunity to dust my skills off and try to do some good.

I had never felt more alone. My wife was stuck on our food truck, and my best friends were all running their businesses, unable to drop everything to come to a school board meeting with me. This meeting was standing room only — except for the seats to my left and right. I sat there and listened to one speaker after another cut myself — and every other transfemme person — down to baseless talking points off of conservative ‘news’ programs. I spent that time trying not to cry — which has been much harder since I’ve flooded my system with estrogen.

Don't get me wrong; I'm proud of myself for speaking up. I'm proud of the golf claps I received for speaking. I'm proud of myself for holding it together until I left the meeting and walked home. (Yes, this meeting — the one breaking down my notion of trans safety in a blue state — was happening three blocks from my house!) I am even proud for allowing myself to feel hurt and crying myself to sleep that night. All being said, my two minutes of air time compared to the other speakers’ combined forty seemed unfair at best. It felt even worse when I realized that conservative newsgroups had picked up the story. I found my picture plastered all over the internet, and I made the terrible decision to see what the commenters had to say about me.

I have, however, learned a few things from this experience.

First, I realized that most people — in comments and in person — arguing that trans women should not be allowed to play sports aren’t talking about transgender people. 

The claim that high school boys are going to start ‘identifying’ as girls to erase their daughters from the sports and claim all of the state titles for themselves is an absolute absurdity. Have you met high school boys? I was one! (Albeit, one who desperately wanted to be a girl.) Still, high school culture is not conducive to being your authentic self. I was far too worried about the names I would be called by the other high school boys; I would never have tried to find my true identity on the women's bowling team. The imagined fear is a cop-out — a way to punish girls brave enough to stand up for their identities by refusing them a normal school experience. It alienates them in a world where they are already four times more likely to be victims of assault and bullying than their cis peers.

Second, let's talk biology. Often, safety concerns prevent most trans girls from speaking up about the physical effects of transitioning. Whenever there is a debate on trans women, the only biological questions that are brought up tend to be centered around what we have beneath our skirts — a highly invasive and inappropriate thing to ask! I, however, have spent my adult life in kitchens and have no shame in discussing all the physical changes happening with my transition. Honestly, it's fascinating!

Ten months ago, I was able to lift an entire slushy machine up the steps of my food truck. I could stay on my feet for fifteen hours a day, smashing burgers in a 115-degree truck, sleep for four hours, and do it again the next day. Now, without the constant flow of testosterone convincing my body it needs to add more muscle, I need a cart to carry around fifteen-gallon buckets of sauces, and actual rest. (WTF!?) This is the most difficult reality of my transition. As the childhood victim of assaults, I had been very secure in the fact that I was a strong man who could — at the very least — put up a fight if anyone tried to hurt me. Though my new body brings me endless joy and affirmation, the vulnerability of not being as physically resilient as I once was has been a hell of an adjustment.

Along with that comes the fear of the locker room. The argument is that a ‘man in a dress’ is going to ‘identify as a woman’ to go into the locker room and sexually assault their wives and daughters. This is a valid fear; I have met many a man predatory enough to attempt something so heinous; in fact, men assault women all the time. 

But this conversation isn’t about men; it’s about trans women. Once again, our population is far more likely to be the victim in these spaces than the perpetrator. Those determined to keep us out have proven their willingness to use violence, fear, and the threat of public shame.

I'll be quite blunt in my argument against this narrative. (If you don’t want to read about the physical stuff, skip this paragraph). Since the estrogen has taken over, my penis... well, she doesn't work anymore. Not to mention, the beautiful hormone that makes life worth living has nuked my sex drive. Sure, certain blue pills could bring her back to life, but it's also a fairly common trans experience that girls with the secret menu item aren't exactly in favor of people trying to order it.

When you are determined to deny trans girls a place in high school sports out of fear that they will perform well, you are missing the real point of high school athletics. You are taking away their opportunity to learn to participate with their peers. You forget that most people who play sports in high school don't have aspirations of Olympic competitions or professional careers. They want to enjoy a high school experience, connect with similarly interested people, and develop friendships that can last forever.

Let kids play! Let them learn. Let them be kids without scrutinizing their physicality.

The best friends I still have I met in my high school drama program. These are friends who've supported me through every challenge life has thrown at me, especially my transition. I know the queer drama kid is a cliche, but the artistic programs in schools have been gutted. Finding the other weirdos in the drama program isn't an option if their school can’t — or won’t — afford one.

Let kids play. Let kids be kids. Don't turn their lives into a political hill for you to die on.

Cara Nokes is a local business owner, a parent of five, and trans woman.