Open Letter to Julie Burchill

(In response to the article Transsexuals should cut it out)

I am a twenty-nine year old university student, writer and editor, and I am transgendered. There are a number of situations that fall under that category, but in my case it means that I am male, but happened to be born physically female. There was never a moment when it “occurred” to me that I was male; I always knew it. I was confused for a long time about why I wasn’t treated like the other boys as a child, and around sixteen there was the realisation that I wasn’t the only person to experience this, but that’s probably the closest I’ve come to any sort of “revelation”. For the past eleven years, I’ve undergone HRT, surgery, and jumped through every single hoop that’s been placed in front of me with an acceptance, strength and grace that most people never have to discover they possess. You, Ms Burchill, I’m sure have never had to discover the depths of those traits in yourself, because if you had, you would know how to present yourself better.

The language in your article is beyond inappropriate, and displays a level of ignorance, bigotry and unprofessionalism that anyone speaking in a public forum should be ashamed to exhibit.

The term “tranny” is not just “wrong”; it is a derogatory term at the same level as calling someone a “fag”, “nigger”, or any other slur meant to demean and degrade a particular group. The term “cis” is an abbreviation for “cisgendered”, which means a person’s self-perceived gender identity matches their sex. “Cis” itself comes from Latin and means “on the same side”.

Transwomen are not “imagined” women. They aren’t less than any other woman (or man), and the problems they face are certainly not any less trivial. The sheer amount of strength and bravery it takes a transwoman to walk out her door every day and live her life knowing full well that every day she does that may be the day someone ridicules her, assaults her, or even kills her is something that should be commended and respected. Could you be that brave? Every. Single. Day. For the rest of your life. Quite possibly without your family or a strong support network to stand behind you. Knowing that if something does happen, and you report it, there’s a good chance the authorities won’t even take you seriously. Could you do that?

I come from a working class background, raised by a single mother in an area of the United States where the career prospects were Wal-Mart, telemarketing or working at the sawmill. I have been discriminated against for being female, for being male, for being transgendered and my sexuality by men, women, gay, straight, employers, healthcare providers, police, bartenders – the list goes on. I had one family member ask me to pretend I had a twin sister so she wouldn’t have to explain what transgendered means to her children. I had two police officers laugh in my face the night my ex almost killed me because, while they could just barely hold a straight face for a domestic between two “fags” (and yes, they used that word), there was no way they could take a fag and a tranny seriously. I had one employer who tried to refuse to hire me on the basis that he perceived I was gay; I had the Human Resources manager at another employer refuse to recognise the name and gender of another transgendered employee, even though legally it’s required. The first person I spoke to about being transgendered called me a demon. One of my ex’s parents referred to me simply as “it” and “that thing”. I have lost friends because they couldn’t accept it. I have been belittled, discriminated against, rejected, harassed and abused solely because of something I was born with. I have had to fight tooth and nail every step of the way just so I can walk out my door every day and have a “normal” life. In the United States, insurance companies can – and do – deny me health coverage because I have a “pre-existing condition”; here in the UK, I’ve been on a waiting list for three years to treat a hormonal imbalance that should be simple to solve with access to an endocrinologist because gender clinics don’t have enough funding and GPs don’t have enough experience. I’ve experienced a lifetime of PMT and sexual harassment to boot, so look me in the eye and tell me I don’t know what it is to struggle.

I’ll tell you – all of that – I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve had it easy, by comparison. I’m androgynous enough that most people have no idea that I’m transgendered. I haven’t been disowned by (most) of my family. I haven’t been raped. I haven’t been beaten beyond recognition. I haven’t been killed. I haven’t killed myself. I walk out my door every day knowing exactly the risks I face – that day might be the day the wrong person finally cops on, and anything could happen. But I do it, and I don’t ask for anything more than any other person in the world – to be treated with respect. I don’t resort to name-calling when confronted with people I don’t agree with, or people I just don’t understand. I treat other people the way I expect to be treated. Maybe you should try it.

Next time you want to speak about a group of people, educate yourself first, and then try to act like an adult.