LGBTQ+ People Are Not Going Back
I'm serious. You will not get my vote if you abandon LGBTQ+ people.
I need people to know my son.
Because I need people to care about my son.
Not in the casual way they care about their favorite sports figure being out for the season with an injury or the celebrity crush going through their latest divorce or conscious uncoupling.
No, I need people to care about my son in the same ways they care about their own children, or their niblings, or their aging parents, or even themselves.
And I need elected officials to love my son not only for a season, like when they need his vote or my vote or the vote of anyone who truly cares about trans people and the LGBTQ+ community, but for lifetimes.
Because lifetimes are whatâs at stake.
My trans son is who helped me truly understand the full complexity of being human.
Being his parent and navigating his experience with gender alongside him blew open my understanding of everything in this world, requiring I cultivate the courage to take a critical look at all Iâd subconsciously absorbed, untangle the mess, and rebuild with an unflinching honesty.
What that meant for me is doing some of the most deep, personal, and vulnerable work Iâve ever done.
I questioned everything, my son, most oftenâat least at first. My need to know if my child was trans bordered on compulsive. I felt definitively knowing was the only way I would be able to parent him, to advocate for his needs.
Back then, some 15 years ago, the most common answer you got if you Googled whether your child was transgender or not was, somewhat ironically, fairly binary: If your kid was âconsistent, insistent and persistentâ in their desire to not be their assigned sex at birth, chances are your child was trans. If not, then your kid was ⌠probably not trans, but ⌠maybe?
That answer did not bring me any closer to understanding what my child needed from me.
Turns out, as with so many things in life, I was just asking the wrong question.
Instead, appropriately, necessarily, I turned my gaze inward, where my focus should have been all along.
Then, the questions I started asking werenât about whether or not my kid was trans but, rather, why I was so afraid the answer might be âYes.â
After the 2024 election, pundits, analysts and legislators were eager to dissect Harrisâ loss and, to the surprise of no-one, they found an answer quick: trans people.
From Tom Suozzi to Seth Moulton to Chris Murphy, Dems almost immediately pointed fingers at the demographic that not only needs and deserves the most protection but is also one of the most reliably Democratic voting blocs.
Instead, they told us, in a chorus as loud as it was redundant, we need to once again focus our embrace on the working class, slough off our insistence that trans people deserve humanity, and quit quibbling over inclusive language and equity because, as they noted in quieter and more veiled language, all of those things make the average person uncomfortable.
âWe need a bigger tent,â Murphy said over and over and over again.
No, I thought to myself, over and over and over again.
What we need, what all legislators who canât fathom why protection of LGBTQ+ people is not something you negotiate away after an election loss need, is bigger imaginations and a bigger commitment to community.
I recognize the language of discomfort. I recognize the posture of not understanding and then, instead of committing to understanding, letting defenses rise. I recognize the defensive stance meant to protect my peace and stabilize my worldview.
Because I came to my trans child via questions. I came to my trans child in discomfort, in knowing that I was going to have to take my understanding of reality down to the studs and remodel my relationship with and in this world in very fundamental ways.
Yes, that work is hard. Yes, that work can be uncomfortable and intimidating. Yes, that work is delicate and vulnerable.
But, itâs work every person who is elected to represent peopleâwhether locally or nationallyâshould be willing, even eager, to do.
I carved out new understanding by putting everything I knew under the microscope so I could think honestly about how I knew what I knew and the ways in which the world worked to uphold consensus around normal and good and worthwhile.
Doing this work made one thing clear: There is a certain confidence in the patriarchy and social norms around gender that tricks us into believing theyâre immutable.
But, once stripped of their illusionâeyes, heart and mind wiped clearâyou begin to really see that nothing and no one is ever easily categorized.
The more I dug, the deeper I sunk, the clearer I was able to see I didnât really know anything at all, and I could choose to let peopleâeverybody, not just my kidâtell me who they are for themselves. I could meet people where they are and, from there, let them unfold at their own pace.
I learned that agreeing, uncritically, to the social contracts Iâd been eased into since childhood was only serving a majority experience that too many people I love donât share. People in power (and, yes, if youâre having the majority cis, hetero experience, you have power) are careful about what and who might disrupt or topple their own understanding of the world and, more importantly, their place in this world.
They canât or donât often engage with this truth because itâs not charming or kind to admit that you want to keep your stake in this world stable and that, most often without thinking, youâll sacrifice people in really vulnerable positions to so.
But when you start to understand that posture is everyoneâs defaultâwe all, no matter who we are or how evolved or inclusive, unconsciously protect our own high groundâyou also start to realize that one of the tent poles of being engaged in the world, of building community that really matters and sustains, is to be forever vigilant and conscious about leveling that same high ground.
We need our elected officials to get back to doing the work that matters: Committing to making sure the legislative power voters trust them with is used to protect the most vulnerable among us.
I need the people I vote for to do the work themselvesâand help those around them do the workâof adjusting their own worldview to enfold within their majority the humanity of people, like my trans son, who have a different but no less valuable lived experience.
For every legislator who thinks that closing ranks and acting as if the LGBTQ+ community is dispensable is good strategy, please understand there will be a cost: My vote, and the vote of everyone who loves me and my child and every trans child and person out there who in their own beauty make this world better.
There will be no us without them, and I will not cast a vote for anyone who thinks, acts, legislates, strategizes, speaks as though thatâs possible, period.
And what Iâm inviting everyone reading this to do is commit to the LGBTQ+ community with this same force: Let your legislator know, now, today, tomorrow, for all the day going forward, that action, words, strategy that betray the LGBTQ+ community will cost them your vote.
Take action today:
Go to the Congress.gov Find Your Members website and enter your zip code. You will be provided the names and phone numbers for your congressperson and senators. If you additionally wish to contact your state legislators, you can find them via 5calls.org by entering your zip code.
Julia Serano provided this sample copy, and I love itâs directness and passion. But, please feel free to customize:
Hello _____, my name is _____ and Iâm a constituent from _____. As an LGBTQ person [or ally, or family member of, etc.], I am calling to express my dismay at the number of Democratic politicians who have proposed retreating from trans rights since the election, and the lack of Democratic pushback to speaker Johnsonâs and representative Maceâs congressional and proposed federal anti-trans bathroom bans. Itâs clear from states where Republicans hold a trifecta that they will not stop with restrooms, or sports, or with trans peopleâtheir goal is to roll back all LGBTQ+ rights, censor all LGBTQ+ content, and force all LGBTQ+ people out of the public sphere.We need our Democratic representatives (like you) to vocally speak out and push back against [and filibuster, if speaking to a senator] any and all anti-LGBTQ+ policies and legislation. Democrats also need us: LGBTQ+ people comprised 8% of voters in Novemberâs election, 86% of whom voted for Vice President Harris. So I urge you to work together with our community to fight back against this GOP anti-LGBTQ+ onslaught starting now!
I promise, I will remember what you did in this momentâwhether it be strongly standing up for us, or capitulating to Republicansâ anti-LGBTQ+ moral panicâwhen time comes for the next election cycle. Thank you for your consideration.
Start Your Own Learning Journey
Here are a few resources for you to start your own dismantling of internal biases that keep us all captive:
A digital resource my trans son and I created that talks through in plain language how gender-affirming care happens.
Other writing I do around parenting my trans kid to give you a personal perspective on this care.
Julia Seranoâs work is invaluable and who I turned to often when doing the work of understanding my trans child so I could show up for him the way I wanted and need to show up for him.
Erin Reed, an award-winning trans journalist who I depend on for the latest news that affects the LGBTQ+ community.
Thank you for sharing your own story and that of your son, and for giving your readers a view, a window into how your own position and understanding evolved, and thank you for participating in today's efforts!