Trans Day of Visibility 2023 #TDOV
This year, on Trans Day of Visibility, I carry with me a grief that seems compounded more and more every day. This day is about trans joy, but I don’t believe joy is antithetical to grief, or even to anger. Joy is so much more than we give it credit for, and as one of my favorite [QTPOC] authors says, joy is a politicized form of pleasure that goes beyond gratification to challenge the norms and social structures that incite violence against us. Trans day of visibility brings mixed feelings for me, knowing that increased visibility often leads to increased violence towards our community. But knowing, also, that trans existence is power. Trans joy is power. Trans people are worthy of love and protection. This day means so much more to me than just uplifting a handful of trans voices. This day, and every day, is a celebration and investment in trans joy. To me, that includes recognizing how reproductive justice (RJ) has always been queer and entangled with trans liberation, and that I carry my transness and and my investment in trans joy with me in the work I do. Even if the movement has not always explicitly worked to protect the rights of trans people (and I am glad it is finally moving in the direction of doing so), the basis of reproductive justice is rooted in anti-racism and queer and trans liberation.
RJ argues that it is not an accident that women of color are disproportionately impacted by acts of reproductive oppression; reproductive oppression is a deliberate tool in preserving and expanding white supremacy. The (re)production of white social, political, and economic capital relies on an exploitable population. For example, the state created pro-natalist policies for Black, enslaved women because their having children resulted in an increase in white wealth (property, labor, status), and it created anti-natalist policies for Indigenous women because their having children were a threat to white wealth (land, claims over resources, western cultural ideals). In order to justify their exploitation, people are dehumanized through a racialization process that includes their sexual and reproductive oppression. Part of this was by asserting that gender is a human characteristic, so only white men and women had access to gender. Black and Indigenous people were classified as not human in species—as animals, “male” and “female.” Thus, the construction of gender, and the way it functions in our society and in our laws, is intricately tied to how reproductive oppression is leveraged. Having or not having access to gender is reflective of our proximity to power, and trans people are undoubtedly a large part of who we fight for when we work to dismantle reproductive oppression.
Even when racialized or gendered implications are not always explicit in the language of these laws, their interpretation (and thus, their implementation) disproportionately hurt Black, Indigenous, and other nonwhite women, queer, and trans people. Systems rooted in whiteness decided which mothers were "unfit" and which people were "socially inadequate."
This legacy continued through the use of privacy-based protections for reproductive rights, where privacy is culturally defined, and undoubtedly influenced by the legacy of these dehumanizing methods. Not only is privacy not enough to include access to people’s rights, but it also begs the question of whose privacy should be protected. In 1965, The Supreme Court argued that a violation of someone's right to privacy is an "indefeasible" right afforded to everyone as long as they do not commit a “public offense.” The problem in this premise arises when someone's identity is a matter of public offense. In practice, women of color, queer and trans people, immigrants, those with disabilities, etc, are not included here. That is why RJ is grounded in human rights, moving beyond privacy. We know how important this is now more than ever, since the Dobbs decision.
Now we see laws targeting abortion care and laws targeting trans people surge so quickly, so violently, so brazenly, and they mirror each other. Bounty hunter laws, for example, like the ones in Texas, allow any private citizen (see where I’m going with this) to sue anybody they thought could have been involved with any part of an abortion after six weeks of pregnancy. Using the same bill language, another legislator introduced a similar bill that would allow people to sue anybody who hosts or performs in drag where any child is in attendance; in a society where existing as a trans person could be interpreted as drag. In both cases, a winning plaintiff can expect to be paid actual damages, attorney’s fees, and statutory damages. There are bills that criminalize “aiding and abetting” abortion and gender affirming care. Including even emotionally supporting trans children, helping with travel for either care, the reimbursement of the costs of an abortion through insurance or other means.
So what do we do? Part of what we’re doing is working to pass a bill that would provide civil and criminal protections for abortion and gender-affirming care providers, patients and those who support them. We know this is needed because of how this care is targeted across the country, and how it threatens not only trans people, but the people who love trans people, too. And even in sitting through the weight, and the grief, and the tears, and the anger of it all, in the hours of egregious testimony against our very existence, there is joy there too. I was surrounded by trans people and people who love trans people. I held the memory and the inextinguishable fire that radiates from all the trans people in my life. My mentors and my friends, my heroes and my ancestors. They were there, too.
Trans joy is everywhere. Trans joy is so radiant, that it lingers even when we exit the room. Trans joy is the kindle in the fire of every social movement I can think of. Trans joy is proof that magic exists. Trans joy is alchemy. It is the warm feeling in our bellies when we decide to make something out of nothing; the is the in-between-ness that allows us to sew meaning from torn and stolen fabric, ...the re-stitched and recycled fabric of space and time we’re left with when we have no choice but to make new worlds; to be able to exist outside and within the one that is given to us.
And as someone who is still pre-transition, I tend to not take up as much space, as I know I walk through life with the privileges of a cis person. And my decision to wait, as painful as it is, is my own. It is a decision I make every day. Everyday I wake up not feeling fully alive in my own body. Everyday I wake up with an overwhelming love for trans people. Everyday I wake up seeing more and more violence on my trans kin. Everyday I decide to have joy, deliberately and brazenly. Everyday I wake up wondering if I wait any longer, I might never get to transition at all. I also see the immense power trans people have in their capacity to honor their grief, joy, anger, love, and contradictions. To persist, and resist, and insist that we are right here, everyday, and we will always be. So I write this, on TDOV, knowing nothing I could write could be truly lighthearted, as a love letter to my trans kin, and a message to the people who love us. I see you and I love you. And we are here to stay, today and everyday.
And in honor of highlighting the radical trans joy [and its visibility], I do want to highlight a handful of trans people/orgs you might consider following the work of and supporting, or use as a resource:
King Vaughnz (he/they), one of my very favorite Denver-based Latinx drag kings. Email for booking: [email protected]
Bri Hill (they/them), also known as ArtsyQ, one of my very favorite Denver-based Black trans mix-media poet and educator, who leads Sacred Voices Denver, an organization that offers culturally-responsive based poetry, education, and events.
Erin Reed (she/her), a “trans queer news and history content creator, lgbtq+ and repro legislation tracker, and activist trying to change the world to be a better place,” who not only testified on behalf of Senate Bill 188, but keeps track of track anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, updates an informed consent hormone therapy map so people know where to access care, and has a very comprehensive newsletter you can subscribe to, to stay up to date on all of the most important pieces of trans and queer news and legislation for the week.
The Black Trans Femmes in the Arts Collective, that “create spaces for the production and preservation of Black trans art and culture by building community with Black trans femme artists and providing them with the resources and support necessary to thrive.”
The National Queer & Trans Therapists of Color Network, a healing justice organization actively working to transform mental health for queer, trans, Black, Indigenous, and People of Color.
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Blog post written by Mar Galvez (they/them), COLOR's Policy Associate













