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What “Equal” Opportunity Means

By Meghan Serceki 

November 19th is the anniversary of the Gettysburg Address and has since been established as Equal Opportunity Day: a day described in 1959 by the New York Times as “an annual national observance dedicated to a basic democratic belief in the equality of opportunity for all our citizens.” Everyone has the ability to make a meaningful impact on society, but the vast majority of Americans face obstacles and barriers to even have the opportunity to do so. 

Although the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibited discrimination “on the basis of race, color, religion, sex or national origin,” it wasn’t until the 2020 Supreme Court Case Bostock v Clayton County that sexual orientation and gender identity was added to this list of federally-protected characteristics. This doesn’t mean, though, that this discrimination has disappeared. Trans* individuals in particular face a very unique set of challenges in the workplace which need an equally-unique set of solutions (see “Cultivating a Trans-Inclusive Work Environment”).

For trans* individuals, too, this occupational discrimination greatly affects other aspects of their lives.  It may impact their decision to come out or to transition. While companies cannot fire or deny employment to people explicitly because of their gender identity, they sometimes still do so, covering up the discrimination by giving other explanations which are not tue. This makes trans* people especially vulnerable to layoffs and disadvantages them in the hiring process.

Beyond this, there are those who may feel uncomfortable at work, fearing their coworkers will judge them. The average person spends 13 years of their life at work, and most people see the same colleagues every day. If these people express hatred or otherwise make a trans* individual feel uncomfortable, it can have far-reaching effects on their mental health, their drive to advance within the company, and their overall well-being. In this event, the individual may choose to find new means of employment. While it is in no way their responsibility to leave a company because their coworkers are intolerant, work can be extremely uncomfortable for trans* people, even bordering on unsafe. Leaving might remove them from a bad situation, but there is then the same gamble at a new company. 

In addition to this, a main factor in advancing within a company is the amount of time someone has been with said company. Leaving essentially restarts the clock, often moving them back in their careers, making them prove themselves once again, putting them at a disadvantage when up for promotions, and leading to an economic disparity. Benefits may be lesser, too, as some companies require a person to work there for a set number of years before being eligible for retirement aid.

Even if someone makes the decision to transition anyways, they may choose to keep it a secret from the people at their work. This idea of “going stealth” may work fine for a time, but keeping transness a secret gives it a certain sense of taboo, and plays into the idea that it is a deviant identity. My friend Magdalene recalls a long while where she was taking hormones and developing breasts, but was “boymoding” to work — what she describes as her “transmasculine era.” She wore baggy clothes, practiced chest-binding, worrying that someone there would notice differences in her body.

Having equal opportunities is not only a factor in one’s career, but it has innumerable implications on the rest of many trans* people’s lives. The way an individual identifies should be no one’s choice but their own. Coming out is already such a difficult and complex process; fear of it hurting one’s career should not be yet another obstacle. Legal protections are so important, but creating a world in which everyone is granted the same opportunities requires us all to take part and hold ourselves, and others, accountable.

If you believe an employer has discriminated against you, seek outside help and consider filing a complaint here with the Office of Federal Contract Compliance Programs. 

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Rainbow Reflections: 7 LGBTQIA+ People Share Their Experiences with Labels

By Olivia Williams

When my friend Hannah was about ten years old, she found herself unable to look away from the sight of Christina Ricci on her television. “I panicked that I was a lesbian,” she reveals, before mentally rationalizing away that identity by focusing on the attraction she felt for men. In fact, it took her until freshman year of college to “finally admit I love women and feel comfortable in that,” an identity she said she hid from herself  “probably from age 13 to 18.” Hannah is now happy in her bisexuality. She says, “I’m comfortable being like, ‘Oh, she’s hot’ when watching TV with friends and not feeling like I have to hide that part of myself.”

Hannah is not alone in her struggle to correctly identify her sexuality. According to Gallup, 5.6% of the population in the United States of America today identify as part of the LGB community: either Lesbian, Gay, or Bisexual. The Williams Institute found 0.6% of the population is transgender. Within these scientific labels, however, there are other identities, ranging in terminology and definition. Each person who makes up these statistics has a story, just like Hannah, and just like The Cloud Dancers Foundation founder, Robina Asti. Their stories differ just as much as their subjects do, and exploring them helps us to connect to each other. In fact, that same little ten-year-old on her couch says today that finding a community helped her claim her sexuality. 

Curious as to the differences and similarities in stories like these, Cloud Dancers sat down with seven members of the LGBTQIA+ community from around the world. We spoke about how they have found the identities that they inhabit now, their personal experiences with internalized homophobia, their coming out journeys, and the advice they’d give to the next generation. Compiled into our Rainbow Reflection series, these stories give voice to some of the myriad of experiences held by members of the LGBQTIA+ community.  

For most of the interview participants, distilling their identity down to a few words was nearly impossible, and many of them use multiple identities. In fact, even the process of finding accurate labels for oneself and deciding what labels to use is a deeply personal process, according to MK, who asked to be identified only by their initials. “The limited information I had growing up gave me only so many labels I could use for myself,” MK said, so they had the “impression that I needed labels [in order] to be valid.” 

Even now, some of MK’s description of their identity is marked by their audience. “In terms of sexuality specifically, I use bisexual as well as queer to say I’m attracted to any gender and that gender doesn’t really influence how I feel about people. [Bisexual is] a more known and recognized term and so outwardly, with other people, I use it, but I don’t always feel it internally,” MK said. 

When not editing for a social audience, however, MK tends to focus on three terms: queer, non-binary, and gay: “I basically use these terms because they seem to be the more vague and broad versions of labels and terminology within queer circles.” Using general labels such as queer helps MK to “distance myself from gender and be aware in my otherness.” 

In fact, the universality of the term “queer” seemed to resonate with several participants, including Miriam. “[Q]ueer is the word that overall resonates with me the most because it can encapsulate more than sexuality,” she says. “Destroying the notions of binaries and sex as [just] a reproductive act appeals to me on philosophical and everyday life levels. For now, I’m trying to change the narrative and be more playful around my identity and presentation.”

Emerson also welcomes the freedom of the queer label, and, like Miriam, turns away from the bigender binary by identifying specifically as genderqueer, an identity that is associated with the rejection of the traditional gender binary. As for sexuality, he identifies as quoiromantic. “For me, being quoiromantic is being unable to tell the difference between platonic and romantic attraction. For most people, there’s a clear line between ‘I want to be friends with this person’ and ‘I want to date this person.’ But for me, that line has always had to be explained.” According to LGBTA Wiki, people who identify as quoiromantic, also known as Whatromantic or even WTFromantic, do not want to or cannot define their romantic orientation. It is a “disidentification with the romantic/nonromantic binary.” 

Although the “queer” moniker specifically was not used by the other four participants, three of them had a similar experience while trying to define themselves. “I went with heteroflexible at one point because it feels the most comfortable and accurate,” says Edward, adding that he has also used the “bisexual” label, as well as “pansexual.” “Most of the time I’ll just say straight if asked,” Edward said. “I don’t want to get into the queerness, which I think might be something of a privilege.” 

Similar to Edward, both Kat and Hannah have experimented with calling themselves bisexual. Hannah has kept the definition, saying, “To me, this just means that I’m sexually and romantically attracted to more than one gender.”  “For a long time I identified as bi,” Kat said. “I had inadvertently excluded non-binary people from the narrative I was telling myself.” She now likes the label “pansexual,” which means “I love and am attracted to people without gender or genitalia being a deciding influence. The gender of a potential partner isn’t a factor in entering into relationships for me.”  

Kathryn, who identifies as “graysexual, demisexual, pansexual” acknowledges that her identity might be quite a mouthful to those who aren’t used to it. Going in order of her labels, she explains, “For me, these three labels explain that I rarely experience sexual attraction, that I require an emotional connection to a person before my brain even considers sexual attraction to be an option, and that I have experienced attraction to both men and a genderfluid lesbian (my fiancée).” 

Several interviewees also struggled with reconciling their identities with the world around them, which operated on a baseline of heterosexuality. Kat details how her mom “wanted grandbabies, wanted us to settle down with nice men. My whole family’s default with heteronormative, so I grew up with the idea that straight relationships were the only relationships in my family.” This was only compounded by Kat being “a child of the 80s” and thus experiencing “a lot of deeply concerning conversations around the AIDS crisis,” which made it “hard not to walk away with the idea that straight relationships were safer and more normal/appropriate.” 

Emerson describes being raised in a rural Catholic town. “In school, I was singled out as ‘the queer kid’ [and] bullied often.” Edward remembers “off-handed comments” made by family members which “definitely altered my perception of queerness to some extent, by making it seem out-of-bounds.” He credits the acceptance and tolerance of his friends in his late adolescence for challenging these beliefs.  

For Hannah, who admits to being raised “in a very liberal and left household” with parents who “had friends that were gay” and ensured that she “always grew up knowing it was an okay thing to be,” the world outside of her house was not as accepting. “Outside of my parents, however, I lived in a really small, rural town in Illinois, and homophobia was pretty common,” she says. Stacked against the accepting ideals of her parents, this made for “a weird dichotomy, because I had really supportive parents and lots of my friends were gay, and I consumed a lot of queer media, but kids at my school and adults in the community were pretty homophobic.” 

There is even bias among the LGBTQIA+ community. Speaking for the asexual community, Kathryn says, “[T]he ace narrative is [not] a big enough part of the LGBTQIA+ community or conversation yet,” she says. “It is so common that we are left out, and when you already feel broken or like something is wrong with you, being excluded from conversations or campaigns or charities or communities adds to that feeling. It’s so lonely.” 

It is this kind of loneliness that the Rainbow Reflections series aims to combat.  Visit CloudDancers.org to sign up for email updates and be first to know when the next article in this series is available. The next topic: addressing internalized homophobia. 

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The People Down The Street

By Meghan Serceki

A recent study from the Pew Research Center found that today 42% of adults in the United States report knowing someone who is trans*, up 5% since 2017. While this increased visibility is a step in the right direction, the same research concluded that comfort levels around and opinions of trans* people have largely remained stagnant. 

Using gender-neutral pronouns and admitting that sex does not define gender are both learned behaviors. It is instilled as an implicit bias early on as the society we live in favors the cisgender heteronormative status quo. Exposure and interaction are the best ways to fight against this prejudice.

My early childhood was almost a case study in this. I was born in Northern California — surrounded by the liberal flair one would expect from the Bay Area. For four years I lived down the street from a lesbian couple. I’m not going to pretend like I remember them. That’s just it. I don’t. Apparently my 101 Dalmatians spoon was important enough to live in my memories, but there wasn’t anything different to me about them. To my four-year-old mind, they weren’t my “lesbian neighbors.” There was nothing that struck me as strange about their relationship. They were just people who lived down the street from me and my family.

What I do remember, though, is my confusion when my family moved to Wisconsin and I began hearing kids in my class make derogatory comments about gay people. They didn’t know what they were saying. I don’t think any of them had even knowingly met a queer person, and we were so young that I’m sure they were just repeating what they heard someplace else. But it didn’t make sense to me. Were they saying my neighbors were sinners just because they were in love?

Nine years passed, and I was still the “weird” one. But their implicit bias was ingrained in me by that point. When I began to have feelings for other girls, I brushed it off because I was “normal.” I felt a lot of guilt and shame over my attraction to women. I told myself that being gay was fine, but that it wasn’t me. So, it took me another seven years after moving away from that environment to grow comfortable enough with myself and with the idea of being queer to finally come to terms with my own identity.

I often wonder how different my journey would have been if I had stayed in Northern California, or if I had known more openly queer people while I was in Wisconsin. It took a lot to get myself comfortable with queerness after living without any representation of it during such formative years. I keep in touch with very few people from my childhood, so although I’m out almost no one from that era of my life knows that they went to elementary school with a lesbian. Could I have been that representation to someone else if I had embraced myself sooner?

The burden to change society’s implicit biases does not lie on those impacted by them. But in order to reject these instinctive responses to differences in gender or sexuality, people must have true experiences to replace them with. Having more people report knowing someone who is trans* is a great sign — it means that these interactions are happening, that we are building these connections and challenging the prejudices that we have been taught. Statistically, though, the number of people who actually know a trans* individual should be closer to 100%, they likely just don’t realize. So the burden lies on all of us to continue this fight. The fight to see and be seen, the fight to be accepted, the fight to be “normal,” until one day we too are just “the people down the street.”

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“What Should I Tell the Family?”

By Meghan Serceki

By now we are all familiar with the depiction of gender and sexuality as a spectrum, and recently new terms and labels have been coined to lend visibility to those along it. However, spectrums are planes made up of infinite points, and people are changing with each second. For each point we define there are infinitely more waiting to be discovered, to be acknowledged. With every second that passes, our points move, however large that shift may be.

My own experience as part of the LGBTQ+ experience has been one of trying to place my sexuality along this spectrum. I first came out as bisexual. It made sense to me. In middle school I went through a phase that might have been defined as “boy-crazy.” That is, until the “boy” in question came out years later as a transgender woman. Throughout high school and my freshman year of college, I went on a few dates with cishet men I had convinced myself I was attracted to and brushed off the discomfort I felt as nerves. But when I downloaded a dating app I found myself only really being interested in the women on it. 

Settling into my first relationship, it was easy to call myself a lesbian. Safe. My mom insisted still that I must be bisexual since I had gone out with men in the past, and my sister labeled me pansexual once my seventh-grade “boyfriend” came out as Magdalene. But as long as I was in the security of a lesbian relationship I didn’t question it. A part of me thought, too, that if all went well I might not ever have to truly grapple with my identity beyond that.

Of course, though, like most people’s first relationships, ours fell apart, and my continued search for someone caused me to confront the uncertainty I felt in presenting myself and my sexual orientation to the world.

I maintained the label of “lesbian,” but I carefully caveated it with the fact that I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea of ever dating a man. Only that it would be unlikely. I felt like not having this disclaimer would somehow prevent me from ever pursuing something with a man if I felt a connection with them. I was satisfied with this answer.

My mom, however, questioned this ambiguity. One night before our extended family came for my sister’s wedding, she asked me, “Do you identify as a lesbian or are you bisexual? What should I tell the family?” I was upset, and I told her I was comfortable not having an exact answer to that question, so she could be, too. She explained, though, that she simply wanted to represent me how I want to be represented. And for her this meant having a finite point on the spectrum and a label for it. I still haven’t been able to give it to her.

This question, and a million others like it, were racing through my mind the other night when I matched with a transgender man on Hinge. If things were to move forward, how would I explain it to my mom? Would it be unfair to him that my friends all consider me a lesbian and I find him, a man, attractive? What would I label myself instead?

Obviously, this was all getting a bit ahead of myself as matching with someone on a dating app is far from committing to any kind of relationship. Still, I was already shutting myself off to the possibility because of my concerns over what other people would think. Whether or not it would be confusing to them. Confusing to people who wouldn’t even be involved in the relationship, who didn’t need answers. Who could be comfortable without them.

When I brought it up with my friends, none of them were fazed by the idea of me dating a transgender man. They just said “I fully support,” “trans guys are hot,” and “we’re here for it.” They understood my concerns, though, and Magdalene even said that part of the reason she didn’t talk to her family about her girlfriend was because she didn’t want to have to explain herself. She knew her family would  want answers that she can’t yet provide.

Having a label can be freeing, it can make people feel seen, it can give them the sense that there is a community of people like them, it can give them a more concrete answer to give the people in their lives. But it’s not always possible, and it’s not necessary. 

People will always have questions for us, and unfortunately I can’t give a catch-all solution to navigating them. I have learned, though, that the only person you have to answer to is yourself. Don’t let anyone make you feel less whole if you don’t have a succinct explanation for where you lie within a plane of infinite possibilities. Labels are ours to define. They should be a positive way of identifying ourselves, not another source of anxiety in our lives.

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The History of Transgender Military Access

By Jeremiah Ancheta

The United States has a long history of changes concerning transgender people being allowed to serve in the military. Transgender people were banned from serving in the military for over 50 years. It was only in the last five years when this ban was lifted, only to be revoked again the following year, with another reversal earlier this year. This article explores the history of policies concerning transgender people in the United States military.

In 1960, former U.S. President Eisenhower put into effect Executive Order 10450. The order stated that “the interests of the national security require that all persons privileged to be employed in the departments and agencies of the Government, shall be reliable, trustworthy, of good conduct and character.” As such, it was permissible for people to be terminated or denied from being in the military insofar as they were not deemed “reliable, trustworthy, or of good conduct and character.” The order explicitly states what qualities don’t count, citing “sexual perversion” as one of those qualities. 

According to Outserve-SLDN, “scholars today note that this [sexual pervesion] was applied, at least as early as 1960, to ban transgender individuals from serving as well. In other words, the U.S. Government deemed transgender people as not being reliable and trustworthy or as people with good conduct and character, just for being being transgender. This policy remained in place for over 50 years.

In June of 2016, the Obama Administration made a revolutionary decision when they “officially ended the US military’s ban on openly serving transgender troops.” In support of this decision, Defense Secretary Ash Carter stated that “only soldiers’ qualifications for service should be relevant to the military, not their gender identity.”

In a series of now deleted tweets from July 2017, former U.S. President Donald Trump stated on Twitter, “After consultation with my Generals and military experts, please be advised that the United States Government will not accept or allow Transgender individuals to serve in any capacity in the U.S. Military. Our military must be focused on decisive and overwhelming victory and cannot be burdened with the tremendous medical costs and disruption that transgender in the military would entail.” After nearly two years of dealing with lawsuits, the transgender military ban would officially go into place in April of 2019.

In support of this stated reason that transgender personnel would burden the military with “tremendous medical costs,” Missouri Representative Vicky Hartzler said that “this policy hurts our military’s readiness and will take over a billion dollars from the Department of Defense’s budget. However, a 2016 study by the Rand Corporation debunked this claim, finding that “related health care coverage to transgender personnel indicated that active-component health care costs would increase by between $2.4 million and $8.4 million annually, representing a 0.04 to 0.13 percent increase in active-component health care expenditures.” In other words, transgender related health care would cost millions rather than billions as stated by Hartzler. Furthermore, the study states that “even upper-bound estimates indicate that less than 0.1 percent of the total force would seek transition-related care that could disrupt their ability to deploy.” Finally, the 2014 fiscal year showed that the Department of Defense spent $49.3 billion on all health care costs for military personnel, which was 586,804% greater than transition related care in the military.

These findings show that the 2017 transgender military ban was unjustified, and transgender folk were denied a right that other Americans had due to false premises. Despite these findings, the transgender military ban would still be in place for a couple of years.

Fortunately, this ban was revoked earlier this year. On January 5, 2021, just five days after being inaugurated as the President of the U.S., “Joe Biden signed an executive order to repeal a Trump-era ban on most transgender Americans joining the military.”

With Biden’s recent decision in reallowing transgender personnel in the U.S. military, transgender people are one step closer towards achieving equal rights when it comes to serving our country. Cloud Dancers wholly supports this decision and we hope that this policy remains in effect indefinitely. 

According to the NCTE, “It’s estimated that over 134,000 American veterans are transgender, and over 15,000 trans people are serving in military today.” Today on Veterans Day 2021, we salute all our current and former military members, including our late founder, Robina Asti, who served in World War II. Robina was a pioneer of the LGBTQ+ community, who fought against transgender discrimination after her time serving in the military. Here is a video by ABC News highlighting Robina’s story. 

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Discrimination Against Hopeful Parents

By Meghan Serceki 

November is National Adoption Month in the United States, a time for us to grow an understanding and appreciation of the adoption process and for those who have been impacted by adoption. Adoption is an important practice for the LGBTQ+ community, as it allows couples who may not be able to conceive traditionally to start a family and provide a good and fulfilling life to their child. Unfortunately, these individuals face many barriers to accessing this resource.

Adoption comes in many forms, be it through the child welfare system, second-parent adoption, private adoption, international adoption, or the like. Each of these comes with its own set of challenges and obstacles for LGBTQ+ couples. This article focuses ondomestic adoption through agencies — that is, the adoption of infants or children within the United States through state-licensed adoption agencies. These agencies receive public funds and are therefore subject to state and federal laws. In a sense, they are representations of what parental rights the government sees fit to protect.

LGBTQ+ individuals throughout the country were rejected from adoption applications solely because of their homosexuality until 1978, when New York was the first state to stop this discrimination. However, the last state to do so, Florida,  only put it into law in 2010, demonstrating this great battle that was only the beginning of the fight for the parental rights of same-sex couples. 

Still, loopholes to these protections existed, and there was very little focus on the rights of trans* individuals, a term which encompasses all gender identities. Family Equality states that adoption agencies still could require prospective parents be married, effectively excluding same-sex couples in certain states from consideration up until the federal legalization of gay marriage in 2015. It was not until 2017 that both same-sex parents earned the right to be legally recognized as parents. According to Family Equality’s guest writer, Dana Rudolph, the impacts of this “goes doubly for transgender parents, about whom much less has been written.”

Still, with all these laws and protections, and all the progress that has been made, adoption agencies in many states can claim religious freedom as a reason to reject hopeful parents simply for being LGBTQ+. In the argument for religious freedom, it is important to note that the agencies in question are state-licensed, that they are funded by the state and receive special benefits because of this status. They are not private religious companies but essentially extensions of public programs.

The Movement Advancement Project tracks protections against discrimination in the adoption process state-by-state. Their most recent data finds that the majority of states do not provide full protections, some with no explicit state statutes against discrimination, others allowing agencies to make decisions based on their religious affiliations, and more providing protections for same-sex couples but not limiting discrimination based on gender identity. 

Adopting a child is not a decision one makes lightly. It is done out of a deep desire to care for a child, to start a family, and to provide for that family emotionally, physically, and financially. LGBTQ+ individuals have fought for the right to even be considered as parents and to take on this responsibility. The discrimination did not end in 1978 when New York passed the first statute. It did not end in 2017 when same-sex couples were both able to be recognized as parents. And in the 43 years since this legal battle began, trans* individuals have not been made a priority in this important discussion. We must continue this fight not only for those in same-sex relationships but for all those with identities which challenge the heteronormative system.

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Isolation, COVID-19, and Transgender Seniors

By Jeremiah Ancheta

Nearly two years have passed since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. Although the world has seen some progress towards returning to the way things once were, various issues remain that have been exacerbated by the pandemic. Particularly, the harmful effects of loneliness and isolation within the transgender community, especially transgender seniors (65 and older), in the U.S. and abroad. This issue, which has always existed, has been made worse by the pandemic. Here is a look at what has been done to address the issue and further measures to consider in the future.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, there are 54 million senior citizens living in the United States; this accounts for 16.5% of the nation’s population. A report by the Williams Institute at UCLA notes that about 0.5% of seniors in the U.S. identify as transgender. However, this statistic only captures the seniors who openly identify as transgender, and it is probable that there are many more transgender seniors who have simply not been open about their identity. The number of seniors is expected to grow, with a projected 85.7 million seniors in the U.S. by 2050. 

A report from the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine found that one fourth of seniors are considered socially isolated. Although loneliness and isolation in itself is troubling, there are also problematic health issues that arise from them.

Various studies have shown that senior folk who are isolated and suffer from loneliness are more at risk for debilitating health conditions. This includes issues such as dementia, heart disease, high blood pressure, depression, and even death. 

This issue was aggravated in recent times due to the COVID-19 pandemic which led to restrictions on family members seeing senior relatives in medical care settings. Even now in 2021, some restrictions are still in place that limit visits in some capacity.

The pandemic has also affected transgender seniors in a two-fold manner. As seniors, they face the same debilitating health conditions as the rest of the population. However, the pandemic has also affected access to resources that are vital to transgender health.

A 2020 article by the Columbia University Department of Psychiatry notes that “The COVID-19 pandemic has diminished [Transgender and Gender Non-Binary (TGNB)] individuals’ access to the critical emotional and instrumental social support networks that are vital to their well-being… With school and university closures, TGNB youth may be living at home with family members who are struggling to accept and understand, or who do not accept their identities. TGNB adults also have diminished access to supportive communities given the limited number of online and virtual resources for TGNB people.”

Unfortunately, an article by the Suicide Prevention Resource Center points out how “loneliness and social isolation are rarely considered or addressed in health and mental health care settings.” However, the article also points out that such risk factors are the most addressable. So what exactly can be done to address the problem?

Studies point out that loneliness and social isolation issues vary on a case-by-case basis. As a result, different individuals will require different forms of intervention. One such intervention involves cognitive components, by helping seniors change their mindset about their social situation. This method may involve cognitive behavioral theory or mindfulness meditation to modify their mindset. Another intervention involves increasing social support or social interactions through community programs.

Ultimately, an article by the BMC Public Health concludes that “future research should be aimed at discerning what intervention works for whom, in what particular context and how.” As such, Cloud Dancers is interested in promoting more research on loneliness and social isolation among seniors, especially within the transgender community, as well as bringing more visibility for transgender seniors.

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Trans* Survivors and the System of Violence

By Meghan Serceki

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, a time to unite survivors of domestic violence, to highlight the organizations offering support, and to raise awareness of this pervasive and critical issue. Domestic violence can also be referred to as domestic abuse or intimate partner violence. This can take on many forms as abuse can be perpetrated physically, sexually, emotionally, economically, verbally, and more. The United Nations defines it broadly as “a pattern of behavior in any relationship that is used to gain or maintain power and control over an intimate partner.”

A study published in the American Journal of Public Health found that compared to cisgender individuals, trans* individuals are twice as likely to experience intimate partner violence. Trans* is a term meant to be inclusive of all identities along the gender spectrum, and even though anyone can experience domestic abuse, those who identify as trans* are especially at risk. Besides this added vulnerability, though, these same individuals face exponentially more obstacles to getting help. Not only are there added complexities to the violence committed against them, but systemic inequities deny them certain protections when they speak out.

Abuse against trans* individuals is more prevalent than among cisgender people, and it also contains layers of transphobia, homophobia, heterosexism, transmisogyny, and threats of outing the partner’s identity. In a report by the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, a transgender woman recounts her ex-boyfriend threatening her life and telling her, “no one else would ever want a freak like me, that I’m not a real woman, and that I’m worthless.” In a world that perpetuates these negative views, abusers play on internalized stigma and insecurities in order to further control their partner.

Similarly, perpetrators may threaten to “out” their victim to friends, coworkers, or family members. Everyone deserves the right to share such intimate aspects of their identity with people of their choosing, under their own terms. People may feel like being out will devastate certain aspects of their lives, so such threats can be terrifying and real, making them feel trapped in the relationship.

Beyond this, the stigma around being trans* acts as yet another barrier to getting help. These people therefore not only have to deal with the stigma around being a victim of abuse, but they also have to face prejudice against their own gender identity. Even if their abuser is not threatening to out them or if they are already out, some individuals who are “passing” may fear that seeking help through organizations will require them to disclose their history.

All this converges into systemic inequities which deprive trans* individuals of the protections which do exist for survivors. Unfortunately, many of the organizations and programs that are readily available for abuse victims are not equipped to serve the trans* community. Some shelters do not recognize gender identities unless they have fully transitioned. A transgender woman recounts seeking help but being denied shelter because they still considered her male. Reaching out is a huge and difficult step in escaping an abusive environment, and having these negative experiences can prevent them from continuing their fight.

Another recourse available to survivors are protection orders. These may help create physical distance between partners, halt communication, and create a safe home environment among other things. However, the American Bar Association states that protection orders are often denied to LGBTQ individuals, and especially to trans* people. Different states have varying policies on this issue and hold different standards for what they consider a “domestic partnership,” especially in regards to LGBTQ relationships. In this way, the system is further stacked against the trans* community, and those in perilous situations may feel even more attacked, hopeless, and alone.

With the legalization of gay marriage, and increased understanding of what it means to be trans*, there is some improvement being made. But these are just the first steps in correcting a system of oppression and violence which has already damaged the lives of so many. We have to keep demanding change, to advocate for the people that need it, to support those who are seeking help, and to be the change we wish to see in the world.

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The Stigma of Seeking Help

By Meghan Serceki

Mental Health and Its Impacts

Conversations about depression, anxiety, and broader mental health concerns are becoming increasingly prevalent, especially as the pandemic continues to take a toll on our emotional well-being. Psychological conditions take many forms and vary in intensity from case to case, yet they are issues that touch all our lives — whether we undergo them ourselves or experience our loved ones coping with them.

Everyone may battle with their mental health regardless of age, race, gender, sexuality, or socioeconomic standing. However, LGBTQ individuals, particularly those who are transgender or gender-noncomforming (GNC), encounter them at significantly higher rates. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), approximately 40% of transgender and GNC adults have attempted suicide, compared to the general average of 5%, making them a particularly important group to support and include in these discussions.

Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States, but we as a society cannot afford to only address people’s mental health once it has gotten to the point of contemplation. Providing treatment during the early stages of mental ailments can quite literally be a matter of life and death. The RAND Corporation contends that the majority of people who have died by suicide have not received care from mental health professionals, and those without a history of substance abuse or previous attempts on their lives were less likely to have their symptoms addressed. So, what prevents people from seeking this help? And how can we, as a general population, help encourage the use of these resources?

Stigma Around Mental Health

Unfortunately, mental illness is extremely stigmatized in the United States, making people feel shame in asking for help. Canadian-born sociologist, social psychologist, and writer Erving Goffman described stigma as a “spoiled identity,” whether this identity is internally perceived or externally imposed on others. Many people share the false notion that individuals with a history of mental illness are inherently more dangerous when the vast majority of people struggling are nonviolent. Even in searching for synonyms for the term “mental illness,” words like “insanity,” “derangement,” and “lunacy” come up, all carrying negative connotations.

Because of these assumptions, many feel pressure to “pass” under stigmatization  — to hide their experiences or characteristics from others. “Passing” is a term common among the LGBTQ+ community as many feel stuck in the closet, so to speak. Hiding symptoms of depression, anxiety, or other mental disorders only adds to this stress, perceived loneliness, and feeling of hopelessness and worsens the condition from which it stems.

A scholar and professor of psychology, Dr. Patrick W. Corrigan explains that in trying to escape being associated with these negative misconceptions, people are likely to avoid treatment, to drop out of treatment, or to not adhere to treatment guidelines. All such impacts reduce the effectiveness and accessibility of these potentially life-saving interventions.

Combating this Challenge

One of the most efficient ways to counteract stigma is simply increasing contact between people openly dealing with psychological disorders and those not. If people are willing to share their stories and speak up about their internal battles, others might realize that mental illness is much more common than they may have thought, and that most people diagnosed with these conditions are perfectly normal and not at all dangerous. Obviously, this process requires some to make themselves vulnerable and to break from the mold of society’s expectations, but with more time and exposure doing so will become easier.

At the same time, education plays a vital role in moving this process forward. Awareness of the issue is necessary to understanding its impact, yet people must also know how to interact with and support those contending with mental health issues. Education of public officials and the relaying of factual information to combat stereotypes is necessary in doing so. This also takes some of the burden off the people sharing their stories; they may be open about their experiences without having to explain themselves to people or to guide them in their responses. Instead, professionals educated on mental health crises can help develop trainings and campaigns for the general public to better form their ideas of and reactions to those dealing with psychological issues. “Mental health” is very broad and complex, and there must be a solid and complete approach to portraying its forms and impacts.

Conclusion

There are major systemic issues which reduce the availability of mental healthcare and impede transgender access to the care that exists (see “Transgender Healthare in America”). Changing these requires comprehensive changes at the institutional and legislative levels and will not happen overnight. These may seem out of the control of individuals going about their day-to-day lives, but these are exactly the allies we need in this fight.

If more people recognize the reality of mental illness, its prevalence, its seriousness, and its effects on so many peaceful and kind human beings, we can raise our voices together to demand change and to fix these issues. 

If you or someone you know are in crisis, please refer to this website for a list of resources. You are not alone.

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The Importance of Claiming Identity

By Olivia Williams

Nestled in the arms of my long-term boyfriend, I felt a familiar feeling begin in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t just the fact that I was showing him a well-loved film for the first time. The movie, called Fried Green Tomatoes, follows the adventures of two female best friends and their adventures between the two World Wars, recounted by a woman in a nursing home. It was a familiar story to me and I was excited to let someone I love into a world that has welcomed me for so long. But as the story continued and the women got closer, I began to feel a longing for the kind of friendship that was portrayed on screen, just as I had every other time I had seen those characters. The understanding and love that was between the two girls in the movie was something that I desired deeply. 

At one point, about halfway through the movie, my boyfriend asked me to pause it and got up to use the bathroom, brushing a kiss against my cheek as he left the room. It was only in seeing this action mirrored on the screen in front of us several minutes later, feminine Ruth kissing rebellious Idgie on the cheek before diving into the lake before them, that I finally came to a realization. However much the 1991 film stresses the importance of friendship, the main female relationship shown is a romantic one. The longing this movie gave me for all these years was in fact a hidden seed that would sprout years later when I finally realized that I am bisexual. 

It was not that I was raised in a homophobic environment. My parents, both active liberals, instilled in me values of acceptance and open-mindedness from a young age. But for some reason, homosexuality seemed to be something that was for everyone else. I had always loved putting things in categories (which, ironically enough, would later lead to another realization: a diagnosis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and anything to do with the LGBTQ acronym was always a category that was separate from me. For me, the roles that I had in relation to the two main genders were clear. If they were male, I had three options: either being friends with them, being involved with them romantically, or not having them in my life. For the females, the options were narrowed to only two: friends or nothing. I spent years in high school and beyond wishing to emulate certain girls and lamenting the fact that I wasn’t closer friends with them, the same way I lusted after the friendship in Fried Green Tomatoes. 

Cameron, a non-binary friend of mine, had a similar experience in their own journey. For both of us, being queer was seen as a separate, almost less valid experience, for other, more brave, people. Being heterosexual “…is the engrained path,” explains Cameron, “and if you stray from it, it’s not the norm, it’s not the default.” In fact, experiences by people other than cisgendered heterosexuals were thought of as almost enthralling. “I barely knew what trans people was,” they explained to me, “but I had some sort of notion. I saw like a quick ad about it on TLC.” Much like my misguided categorization, Cameron felt that there were only two options: “I knew I wasn’t a guy, like I always knew that. So I was like, ‘Guess I’m a girl, like, that’s the other option.’” Just as I assumed my feelings towards girls were those of intense friendship, Cameron also misrepresented themselves in order to fit into the only two options that they believed they had. If they were a girl, the feelings that they were having towards girls must be homosexual ones, because they were presumably of the same gender. However, this, too, posed a problem. “I didn’t really know any gay people,” Cameron says. “I had no gay people in my life…I still didn’t really have a concept of it until I developed a crush on a girl in my class.” Ultimately, this led them to claiming the wrong identity for several years, coming out as lesbian to their private, all-girls Catholic high school. 

The main factor that changed Cameron’s worldview was graduating high school and participating in a theatre program, which ultimately exposed them to members of the LGBTQ community, including people who were non-binary. “I had non-binary friends before I came out [the second time]. That’s really how I came to the notion of it,” Cameron remarks. “I didn’t really know what that was before I had met them.” This resulted in the realization that not only are LGBTQ identities valid, but that they are unique, meaning that they span much farther than static categories that must be selected and stuck with. Perhaps, Cameron realized with time, queerness was even so flexible that it could include them, too. “And how I like really came to that realization was, you know, I’d be on-and-off thinking about it, and I was in bed with my girlfriend of a year at that point, and she’s half-asleep, and I just kind of said, like, ‘You know what? What if I’m non-binary?’” reflects Cameron. “…And saying it out loud for the first time just really solidified it and as soon as I said it I was like, ‘Yes. Absolutely. This fits.’” 

Even during our conversation, recounting our experiences to each other, we are doing exactly what Cameron did all those nights ago: affirming and accepting our identities, out loud, to the world. In a place where girls are assumed to be friends, where transgender people are a sight to gawk at on reality television, confidently saying who were are is the first step in accepting ourselves, which then invites acceptance from the world. Sharing in this way increases visibility to those who feel invisible, from high school kids who aren’t exactly sure what they’re feeling, all the way up to the Cloud Dancer Foundation’s founder, Robina Asti, who transitioned at the age of 50 and spent the rest of her life encouraging others to live their truths too. Claiming identity is the ultimate first step in any queer journey, and this is why I have created a series of articles speaking with several different queer subjects on their journeys, from fighting internalized homophobia to defending their identity against societal oppression, and ending with a focus on the positive queer future. Cameron says it best, summing up not only my goal but the goal of the Cloud Dancers’ Foundation as a whole: “[Being represented] just constantly affirms it. It just feels like, ‘This is real. I’m not making it up. I’m not being overdramatic.’” By sharing queer stories like I hope to do in this series, I will make the invisible visible, which was, ultimately, Robina Asti’s biggest goal.