Call’em Out. The Haters, I Mean.

Y’all. I think it goes without saying that we’re all thrilled for Caitlyn Jenner. And by “we” I mean my friends and family and everyone in my life who matters.

The haters, however, can suck it.

It never takes long for willfully ignorant trash to voice their opinions, concerns, and general lack of social awareness and tout it all as sound, reasonable feedback. Alright, I’ll go ahead and admit it: I let Facebook fools get to me. There you have it. I’m one of the ones who bites when people say dumb shit, and I let my blood boil at their insidiously inflammatory commentary after the fact.

But you know what? I never regret biting. And you know why? Because those idiots need to hear an opposing view. They’re the kind of people who take silence to be passive affirmation – they’re of the ilk to think everyone’s on their side. When, in fact, most of us are laughing at their ignorance, or being the bigger person and letting it roll off us – using it as an example of “not stooping to their level.”

Well, it’s hard for me to let some things go. Especially when I know first-hand the social isolation, fear, anger, and debilitating sadness that can rack a person who’s questioning their identity. And I can only imagine that such feelings are multiplied exponentially for trans individuals, especially youth.

As I’ve said before, the “T” of LGBTQIA often gets lost in the shuffle – trans lives are so often talked about relative to the periphery, rather than in relation to the whole. But I hope that with more education, as more prominent figureheads (like Laverne Cox and Caitlyn) and local leaders speak up and legislation is passed, that being and identifying as trans will no longer have the added social stigma within and outside the LGBTQIA community.

I hope that people will think before they say completely debased, idiotic things that they think are funny or witty or cute, and really register what those callous remarks translate to, and how much damage they can do. It’s no wonder that so many kids are committing suicide – no matter how closely knit their supportive web, it only takes one horrific, monstrous comment to undo so much. Especially when one’s internal dialogue is already so exhaustively ongoing, stress-inducing, and debilitating.

When I was in high school, identifying as gay – much less trans – wasn’t an option. Liking art, or being overly involved in drama, or just being quiet and reserved had a way of casting you in a less than acceptable light. Anything outside the mainstream was never talked about, and if it was, only in hushed tones. There was only one kid in my grade who came out, and his senior year was made a living hell for it. He was even on the front page of the local newspaper.

Years ago, I reached out to him and told him how much his bravery meant to me – and that I was sorry for not being myself back then. By the time I reached out to him, I’d already put myself through my own trials and tribulations, had already pulled myself back from the suicidal brink, and vowed never to let myself sink back into that darkness. So when I see or read or hear people gleefully, playfully pushing anyone around or making intensely insensitive remarks – even virtually, even about celebrities who will always be in a realm all their own – I open my big mouth, or rap away on the keyboard to let them know that they’re not in high school anymore. They can’t bully and not expect resistance.

Haters will always hate – because, really, that’s all they have. That’s the only way they feel relevant. But decent people can always be decent. You can always speak up, you can always push back; you have a voice, so use it – and use it for the right reasons.

Speak up for those who could use a friend. Speak up for those who don’t have the glitz of Hollywood on their side. Do something to help them find their voice, and help them hear it over the ignorant prattle.

And always tell the haters where they can stick it. And remind them that they’re a little fish in a rapidly drying pond.

T is for…

Every year around this time, everyone starts cramming in gym sessions in the hopes that those extra crunches and lunges will somehow offset the caloric intake of Thanksgiving dinner.

They think about the long commutes to their destinations, what dishes to prepare, and try to figure out how in the hell they’re going to distract their crazy grandmother long enough to snatch away her hoarded painkillers and substitute them with multivitamins.

***

But rarely do we stop and consider that (1) Thanksgiving is a celebration of the upheaval of Native American life-ways, courtesy of colonists and their smallpox blankets; and (2) Clichéd attempts to be “good people” shouldn’t be reserved for the holidays.

You shouldn’t wait to donate to a food pantry. You shouldn’t carelessly throw your money into a shiny red bucket and feel the weight of your good deed lift off your shoulders (because you just funded bigots). And you shouldn’t forget that plenty of people don’t have homes or friends or any support to lean on during these socially-reinforced, absurdly ritualized holidays.

Now, I’m the first to admit my guilt for doing all of these things. (And that I’m a Scrooge.) But after realizing that The Salvation Army is severely anti-LGBT, I began ignoring their ringing bells.

And when I’ve celebrated difficult times in my life with friends by my side, especially when I’d isolated myself to such a degree that I didn’t return home for the holidays, I realized how important each of them is for keeping me going 24/7—even if I don’t touch base with them for weeks or months. 

Just knowing they’re there means the world.

Knowing there’re people out there who’ll do the right thing has a profoundly comforting effect. And it’s even more comforting to know that that effect is like a stone cast into a pond—the subsequent waves ripple through your life, informing your decisions.

***

Had I not had parents who were determined to show my sister and I how life isn’t fair, that it isn’t balanced, it would’ve taken me much longer to learn how to pay it forward.

Until I saw unexpected joy flash across the faces of kids who didn’t think they’d get anything for Christmas; until I understood the value of sitting and talking to a blind woman, and letting her dog feel the grass outside instead of the scattered, waste-stained newspapers it used; until I watched a curmudgeonly nursing home resident abandoned by her family crack a smile at a pack of Reese’s and a carton of Marlboro Lights—I didn’t truly comprehend the enormous responsibility we each have to extend a hand and do something good.

***

This time last year, I was prepping a turkey for the first Transgiving at the LGBT Center of Raleigh. Over that year, the Center had become a home base for me, and had been the primary reason I’d moved to Raleigh. Getting involved—giving back in some small way—brought together a family of good people. Up to that point, I’d never known anyone who identified as trans, and I quickly realized how uninformed I’d let myself become.

While I’d been obsessed with gay male subculture and understanding everything I’d let myself believe it to be to about—butch, fem, top, bottom, vers, bear, twink…—I’d let myself forget the very thing that united LGBT individuals during the Stonewall Riots, that bonded them in a way: community.

So often we jabber about the LGBT community, like it’s a cohesive whole. But let’s face it: the “T” in LGBT is always tossed to the back. The “T” is never at the front. Because being “T” isn’t as seemingly trendy or cool or understood as being “L” or “G” or “B.”

***

But this time of year, there’s a reason why TDOR begins with a “T.” Today, on the Transgender Day of Remembrance, we—the TBLGs, the allies—remember every trans or gender non-conforming person who’s been killed this year for being themselves.

For trying to live their lives to the fullest. For giving themselves a shot. For trying to educate others. For simply trying to be.

For searching for companionship and support in a sometimes cold, unforgiving world.

Every year, TDOR reminds us just how callous and hateful people can be, and how easily ignorance and fear can destroy us.

Can blind us.

Can lull us into complacency.

Can keep us from giving back.

TDOR 2011, We remember
But we also have reminders of just how wonderful we humans can be to one another.

***

So, last year, after the first Transgiving ended with smiles, laughter, and joyful tears, we surveyed the mountains of food and did what made sense. With our cars loaded down, we distributed as many plates as we could to those who didn’t have a home to go to, who didn’t have a friend to chat with or a shoulder to lean on.

And as we emerged empty-handed from one dark park, I realized that it didn’t matter that we were trans, gay, lesbian, bi, queer, straight.

What mattered was that we were human.

That we tried to share that humanity.

Even a little bit.