How I Could Have Become One Of The Remembered

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.

Guilty Under The Lone Star?

From Biking Bis

 Back in April, cyclo-cross racer Molly Cameron denounced a new Arkansas law that would ban gender-affirming care for transgender minors.  She said that as long as such laws are in effect, “I won’t be spending my money in Arkansas” or any other state that enacts them.

In July, a Federal judge issued an injunction against the Arkansas law.  Other jurisdictions, however, have passed all sorts of laws targeting transgender people.  Such legislation includes North Carolina’s infamous “bathroom bill” and regulations that prohibit kids from playing on school sports according to the gender by which they identify themselves rather the one on their birth certificate.

Then there is Texas.  As you’ve probably heard by now, the Lone Star state has
banned nearly all abortions. But the law Governor Greg Abbot signed goes only George Orwell has gone before:  It criminalizes, not only those who “aid and abet” an abortion; it also makes it a crime to even intend such a thing.  Moreover, it deputizes everyday citizens to sue such people and potentially receive a $10,000 settlement.

In other words, the law defines a thought crime and turns Texas into what’s the old German Democratic Republic (a.k.a. East Germany) would have been if the STASI consisted of bounty hunters.  And by allowing people to sue anyone who “aids and abets”

So why am I writing about this in a cycling blog? Well, I had no intention of traveling to Texas this year for the same reasons I decided not to travel at all this year, but Texas will not be on any itinerary of mine as long as the law is in effect. Many cycling events attract participants as well as other tourists from other states and countries.  I would encourage people to avoid them, and other events in the state. I also will try not to use products or services provided by companies based in Texas.

As cyclists, we should recoil at anything that attempts to restrict or take away our agency over ourselves, whether in body or mind.  And—call me paranoid if you like—but if an Uber driver can be sued by someone who has a grudge against him or her for driving a pregnant woman to an abortion provider—or someone else can be sued for mentioning abortion (remember: “intention” is a crime)—who is safe?

Hey, if in the course of a ride I pass a snack or water to another rider who turns out to be a Planned Parenthood employee or volunteer, would I be guilty?

She’s A Champion. Sign Me Up!

 Molly Cameron has become one of my heroes.  Her decades as a cyclo-cross racer and in the bicycle industry has given her a platform—which she isn’t shy about using—to advocate for gender equality and LGBTQ+ rights.

In April, she announced that she won’t be going to a CX World Cup event in October or the 2022 World Championships if, as currently scheduled, they’re held in Arkansas. “I won’t be spending any money in Arkansas or any other state that is passing laws to discriminate against the LGBT community,” she said.

Now she’s going even further:  She’s opened a GoFundMe page to raise money for her advocacy work as she launches a national organization for LGBTQ+ representation in the bicycle industry and sport.

Sign me up!

Why She--And I--Aren't Going To Arkansas

A few US states have a problem with gender identity and variance.  Cycling, as a competitive sport and as an activity, shouldn't join them.

That is what Molly Cameron says in her Bicycling online article.  She is referring, specifically, to the bill in Arkansas that would ban trans girls and women  from competing on school and university sports teams consistent with their gender identity.  It would also ban young trans people from getting the health care they need.

About that second issue:  health care, for trans people of any age, is not just about hormones and surgery.  In fact, many trans and non-binary people choose to forego them (or, sometimes, just the surgery) for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is cost. In the following paragraph, I'll mention some of the things involved in transgender health care. In it, I'll mention a few intimate and painful details of my life.  If you are not comfortable about reading such things, you can skip the rest of this post.

If you embark on a gender-affirmation (what people used to call gender transition or gender change), or simply explore the possiblilty of one, you have to go through a few rigorous processes that involve various health care and social service providers.  (That is, of course, unless you buy hormones and get surgery on the "black market," which too many trans people, especially the young or nonwhite, still do.)  Your primary doctor and specialists such as endocrinologists examine your physical fitness for the process.  You also spend lots of time with mental health specialists--I saw a therapist and social worker every week--who, not only want to ascertain that you have a clear and accurate idea of what it will really mean to live in your "new" gender, but also to sort through the trauma as well as the positive effects of having performed a gender you were assigned at birth.  To some degree, your primary doctor, endocrinologists and other health-care professionals may deal with them, too.

The positive aspects include, for many of us, achievements.  I ran, wrestled, played soccer and cycled long distances, in part, in the hope that they would make me more masculine.  Whether or not they did that is debatable, but at least becoming an athlete, at least in some fashion, mostly stopped the bullying I'd experienced.  The bullies, I am sure, turned to gossip and rumor-mongering, or other low-level forms of aggression, but at least I wasn't getting beat up every day.  

Also, I was a fairly good student.  And, it may well be that my experience is, if not the reason, then a factor in my becoming a writer and teacher.  While I have met too many homeless or otherwise food- and housing-insecure trans people, I have also met, and know of, many who achieved much.  One such trans person is Dr. Marci Bowers, who performed my surgery.

On the other hand, almost all of us carry the often-toxic detritus of having to live as someone else.  Too many of us--including some of the high-achievers, and me--have struggled with substance abuse, failed relationships and other problems. More than a few of us have attempted suicide, and some, including two friends of mine, actually took their lives because they couldn't deal with the struggle anymore.  I can't help but to wonder whether, had they gotten help (which was unavailable to them, as it was to me, because of the times and places in which we lived) earlier in their lives, they might still be living and thriving as their true selves today.

From Cyclocross Magazine

That help, for some, includes participation in a sport--and, just as important, not having to pretend to be someone else in order to participate in that sport.  I can't help but to think that at least some of the politicians who proposed Arkansas' bill—and other related legislation, such as North Carolina's "bathroom bill"--have positive memories of participating in some sport, whether in school or in another organization like Little League or Pop Warner football.  I would assume that most, if not all, of them did not have to pretend to be someone else in order to play--or to use the bathroom once the competition is over.

Molly Cameron has drawn attention to the Arkansas bill for several reasons.  For one, she is a trans woman. For another, she has been involved in Cyclo-cross, as a racer and event promoter, for more than two decades.  Which leads to the final reason:  a Cyclocross World Cup event is scheduled for the state in October, and it will host the 2022 Cyclocross World Championships.  

She is not calling for a boycott at the moment, but she says that if the events are held in Arkansas, she won't be going.  She adds, "I won't be spending any money in Arkansas or any other state that is passing laws to discriminate against the LGBTQ community."  Finally, though, she offers her prescription:  "I am putting in the work and am hopeful that things will change."

Her optimism is not unfounded.  Change is indeed coming, however slowly, whether or not legislators in Arkansas or other states want to acknowledge it.