Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance. All over the world, people will read the names of trans people who have been murdered during the previous year. Such observances began on this date in 1999, one year after trans woman Rita Hester was found barely alive in her apartment. She had been stabbed 20 times and died upon arrival at the hospital.
As brutal as her murder was, it wasn't unusual for trans or non-binary people. It seems that haters have a particular penchant for spewing their bile on those of us who don't, in one way or another, conform to the norms of whichever sex we were assigned at birth. And living as the people we are seems to bring out the lawlessness of too many law enforcement officials.
I could have been one of their victims--and, possibly, one of the names read at the commemorations. One hot day early in my gender-affirmation process, I was riding my Dahon Vitesse home work. I didn't like the bike much but its flat-black finish garnered a lot of compliments. One of them came through the window of a van whose rear windows were blacked out. "Nice bike," the passenger commented. I nodded in thanks.
The driver slowed that van down. I rode past and thought nothing of it until it pulled up alongside me again and the same passenger yelled, "Nice legs, honey." I was wearing a skirt that day and my legs are often complimented, or at least noticed. So I thought nothing of it until the guy repeated himself, louder, "Nice legs!" I paid no mind. Then the guy bellowed, "Stop!"
Of course, I didn't. But, as it turned out, it was a situation of "damned if I do, damned if I don't." Again, the van slowed down, let me pull ahead, then caught up to me. The passenger side flung open. "When we say STOP, you STOP!"
"Why?"
"We're cops!"
"Show me your badges."
"Shut up!," the driver yelled. "Shut up and do what we tell you!"
"But if you're a cop, you have to have reason to stop me."
"What were you doing in the projects?"
"First of all, I wasn't there. I wasn't anywhere near there." That was true which, I think, pissed off those cops even more. "Just shut up and do what we tell you."
At that moment, I was picturing myself in the back of that van and ending up in the river that night. So, when the passenger demanded to see my ID, I opened my bag. Fortunately for me, the ID I carried had an old address: I had moved recently and was waiting for my updated state ID card.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Where's that?"
"The address on the card"--which was a few blocks away.
"OK," hissed the driver. "Just remember--when a cop tells you to do something, you do it," the passenger bellowed.
"You can go now," said the driver.
As it was early in my gender affirmation process, I couldn't help but to think those cops--if they were indeed cops--were "curious" about me. Or perhaps they were looking for a victim "nobody will miss."
That incident went down not long after I had gone through a process of wondering whether my cycling would survive my gender affirmation process. I had made up my mind to continue riding, but I have to admit that I wondered about my decision.
Fortunately, there are more transgender or gender non-conforming cyclists than there were back then, in 2005. Or, at least, more of us are "out." I've met a few and have made contact with others, including Molly Cameron and the wonderful Coline in Scotland. And, of course, there is another Scot: the incomparable Philippa York, nee Robert Millar, the first anglophone rider to win the polka dot jersey (for the best climber) in the Tour de France.
While cycling has become more inclusive--when I first started became a dedicated rider, nearly half a century ago, almost everyone who rode more than a few kilometers was male--we still need to work toward greater inclusion and safety, of, for and in our own selves. That is our real journey, however and wherever we ride.
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