October 8, 2022 is National Depression Screening Day, a day that encourages individuals to screen for mental health issues and be aware of conditions that may be affecting them.
This is important for everyone to participate in, especially for members of the LGBTQ+ community and trans* individuals who face these challenges at higher rates than the general population (See: “The Stigma of Seeking Help”).
It’s important to address these issues as soon as possible once they arise. On a personal note, I began suffering from depression early in my childhood, but I went undiagnosed until I was 16. I felt it becoming harder and harder to control, and by the time I got treatment, it was more difficult to correct my unhealthy way of thinking as I was combating years of unhelpful habits that had built up.
Studies have shown that the chance of full remission from depression decreases the longer the illness goes untreated. There is always hope for remission, and you can take control of that hope today by getting screened.
Because of the stigma surrounding mental health issues, it’s difficult to admit you need help, and you can’t always rely on other people to notice the signs for you. That’s why it’s important to seek treatment and get screened to monitor your health.
We have yearly physical exams, so please consider this your yearly mental exam. Take a screening here or consult a healthcare professional to take care of yourself sooner rather than later. You have so much value and there are people equipped to help you. This is the first step in accessing this support.
I came out in 2020. And by that, I mean I came out for the first time in 2020. I say “for the first time” because coming out is a process, an ongoing conversation, not a finite moment in time.
Every time I meet a new person or begin forming a relationship with someone, I come out. This looks different with certain people, and sometimes it’s as simple as someone noticing that my necklace has a carabiner on it. Other times I have to be more explicit about it. Sometimes I’m explicit about it while wearing my carabiner necklace, Doc Martens, cuffed Levi’s, and a thrifted men’s shirt, but it still doesn’t seem to register.
It’s not that I go up to every stranger and announce that I’m gay; I just don’t hide that part of my identity in conversation and would rather people know that about me sooner before it turns into a big coming out discussion. Because the thing is, no matter how many carabiners and crystals I accessorize with, most people are going to assume I’m straight until I say otherwise. I feel a closet being built around me. Mentioning going to Pride or joking about the straight guys who show up on lesbian Hinge lets me break that closet down before the walls get reinforced.
There have been times, though, (especially at the beginning of my journey) where I considered allowing this closet to be built up again. When restaurants reopened, my first girlfriend and I walked hand-in-hand downtown for a night out. It’s not that we got bad looks that I noticed, but there were definitely lingering gazes or second glances as we walked past. I remember worrying that we might pass the wrong person in the wrong headspace.
The solution to this particular problem could have been just not holding hands in public, but if I was straight, this thought never would have crossed my mind. I’m an affectionate person who just wanted to hold my girlfriend’s hand on our first big night out, and I didn’t want to take away something so simple but that meant so much to me simply out of fear for how others would react.
Recent anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and social patterns have stirred up these questions for me once again. I love who I’ve allowed myself to be since first coming out, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider a future where I would have to give up some of these freedoms.
I want to make this clear: I’m privileged. I’m a white, femme lesbian from an upper-middle class family. I could ditch the carabiners, Docs, and sense of humor, be miserable in a relationship with a man, and Gilead would be none-the-wiser. I wouldn’t suffer with gender dysphoria because of this or feel like I need to suppress huge parts of who I am. Walking down the street, I’m not risking as much as a trans* person would be – especially a BIPOC trans* person. But I feel at risk nonetheless.
I also feel, however, the lingering pain that came with suppressing this part of me for 20 years. I was raised in a conservative area and was brought up in the Catholic Church. Unlike my other queer friends from elementary school, I did know that queer people existed but I didn’t feel that I could be queer. So I kept my feelings bottled up, I convinced myself I wanted to have straight hair and wear muted colors like everyone else, and I felt confused and broken every time I realized something about me was different.
I refuse to go back in the closet, and I refuse to stand by while a closet is built around me. I could live my life differently and perhaps be accepted more readily by society, but that would mean never fully accepting myself. There’s no shame in staying in the closet until you feel ready and comfortable, but when you do just know there’s a community of people here for you who will accept the parts of you that you had to accept about yourself. Don’t let yourself feel pressured or bullied into giving that up.
In 2011, Kim Malek and her cousin, Tyler Malek, founded the ice cream company Salt & Straw to create a community gathering place where people can treat themselves and experience “moments of wonder” together.
As such, the company embraces people from every walk of life. Each store window displays a sign that states, “We Welcome All,” and they take steps to make each person who walks through the door feel comfortable being their authentic self.
Cofounder and CEO Kim Malek spoke with Cloud Dancers about her views on the role of business in the pursuit of social responsibility and the steps she has taken to make her workplace better for all, especially those who identify as trans*.
Malek’s kind nature and excitement over having these meaningful conversations are immediately apparent even in the age of video conference interviews. “Yay! We did it!” she exclaimed when we entered the meeting. Immediately I was put at ease, glad to know she was as eager to do this interview as I was.
Collaborating with other organizations or foundations like ours is nothing new to Malek, as she believes in working together to bring about social change. Malek grew up wanting to go into politics, but instead went into business when she realized the advocacy that was possible in the private sector.
She observes, “Business has to be at the table and part of those conversations. The government can’t do it all on its own. Nonprofits and governmental agencies can’t do it all on their own. All three have to come together to make change.” She continues, “It’s good business to be investing in the right ways. Not only is it the right thing to do for society, but it’s actually just good for your business.”
“It’s good business to be investing in the right ways. Not only is it the right thing to do for society, but it’s actually just good for your business.”
When reflecting on this idea of social responsibility, Malek says it goes beyond writing a check. “To me, it’s looking into the core of your business and how you do business, breaking apart each of those components to figure out how you can use your business to make a difference in the world.”
She gives examples (and there are a lot) of Salt & Straw’s business practices that work toward this goal. “For instance, we buy a lot of ingredients,” she says. “The cost of entry today is that you would buy organic ingredients that don’t harm the environment. You would expect us to do that.”
Social responsibility, though, goes beyond meeting basic expectations. “Let’s go to a deeper level and ask, ‘can we buy from mostly minority or women-owned businesses so we can use our purchasing power to help a first-generation farmer in the Bay Area where we’re her largest customer? And then can we use our marketing power to promote her and make her known?’” The question, Malek continues is, “‘How can you take what you’re doing every day and use that to invest in the community in a unique way?’”
Kim and Tyler Malek work together to dream up unique flavors which benefit the community.
With over one thousand employees, Malek says hiring is a huge opportunity to make business more equitable and safe for all. “We ask ourselves, can we use that to offer first jobs to people and train them in unique ways? Can we use our hiring to offer jobs to people who are reentering the workforce? How can we format our training program so that we’re known as a company that, if you used to work there you have these incredible skills? And maybe we even hold job fairs with different industries at the end of the summer to say, ‘We have this incredible talent pool that we’ve just trained – hire them!’ It’s radical that you would do that because you want to hold onto your people (and we do, by the way), but at the same time, could we be a launching pad for employment in other places?”
“And while you’re here, look at our benefits!” she exclaims. “Since Day One, we’ve offered benefits for people who are transitioning and just making sure that, if we get complaints, we hold everyone accountable and we have a culture where that’s not swept under the rug. We investigate and take care of issues. We’re not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re on a journey to take the right next step each time.”
“Since Day One, we’ve offered benefits for people who are transitioning”
Supporting trans* individuals has been a “no brainer” since founding the company. Salt & Straw set up its benefits program in 2011, and Malek states, “Maybe it was a little newer to offer that benefit back then, but it was available, so it was like ‘of course we’re going to do that!’”
Beyond this financial assistance, she notes, “I think the challenge we’ve had over the years is making sure that we as a company are prepared and educated to support people who are transitioning. It’s one thing to give that benefit, but how does the company provide the right support? There’s a lot going on in your life when that’s happening, so what accommodations can we make more broadly so that you can be successful as you transition?”
The transgender community cites safety as its number one concern in the workplace (McKinsey), and these best practices along with Salt & Straw’s zero tolerance policy for any sort of safety concerns seek to mitigate this fear. Malek states, “We educate people about that on day one. Whether it’s from customers or coworkers or members of the community.”
Again, looking into the core of her business, Malek reflects, “We’ve done that successfully and I think sometimes we haven’t. Probably our biggest area of opportunity is to continue to make sure that it feels like a safe, supportive place as someone’s going through that.”
Malek’s response to this is training, focusing on the management, and ensuring that each level of the business reflects these values. She raises the question, “If you’re a manager at a Salt & Straw and you have a team member who’s transitioning, how do you talk to them or the rest of the team and explain what’s going on in a way that’s supportive? And even how do you handle customer conversations? Because that can be hard too!”
Malek continues to work directly with guests, even in her role as CEO.
She stresses the importance of having training around this and communicating a plan for employees should these situations take place. “You need to have a plan of what to do because otherwise, you don’t know what to do in the moment. You need to talk about it with your coworkers, with your manager, and then when it hits you, you’re like ‘oh yeah, I know what to do!’ Otherwise, in the moment it’s too hard to navigate.”
“I honestly believe that there are a good number of organizations out there that would advocate for their team members,” she continues, “I just honestly don’t know if they’re thinking about it. So we need to talk about it and get best practices out there. Because there’s no environment where someone working in the hospitality industry should be made to feel like they have to endure that kind of thing. And it’s serious. And it happens.”
“There’s no environment where someone working in the hospitality industry should be made to feel like they have to endure that”
Society as a whole might be slow to catch up, but Malek cites this as a reason to take swift action where necessary. “If there’s any whisper of a concern, then the management team will be willing to face that, get involved, and take action,” Malek says.
She adds, “This is really hard to do, and you hear companies all the time saying they don’t want to go through that. But you have to. Every single time. Every time.”
Malek says advocacy doesn’t stop at her business. Rather, her business is a form of advocacy. Salt & Straw has a number of exciting new programs and partnerships in the works, so stay posted and treat yourself to some ice cream – we all deserve to have moments of wonder.
On March 3rd, 2022, HBO Max released Our Flag Means Death, a romantic “swashbuckler” action-comedy written by David Jenkins. The series is based on real-life pirates — with some pretty major alterations — and revolves around the sometimes comedic, sometimes dramatic, and all the time queer relationship between Stede Bonnet (played by Rhys Darby), a wealthy noble turned pirate-wannabe, and Edward Teach (played by Taika Waititi), also known as Blackbeard. The series overtook Book of Boba Fett as the United States Most In-Demand Show after Book’s three-month spot at #1, and then continued to defeat Moon Knight for weeks after Our Flag’s final episode was released. It also received a 90% critic rating and a 95% audience rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Most importantly, it has been declared by thousands of fans to be one of the best LGBT shows to date.
Our Flag Means Death is a breath of fresh air in the romantic comedy genre. Most memorably, fans have noted that, unlike other shows, Our Flag prevents itself from falling prey to queerbaiting: it is obvious from the beginning which romantic relationships will be set up (specifically between Stede and Edward), and, by the end of the season, watchers are left knowing that the queerness they had picked up on is confirmed after a kiss between the two characters. In fact, the final point of the show is a confirmation of anti-queerbaiting itself: we see Stede Bonnet, after talking to his ex-wife about his feelings for Edward, board a small dinghy in search of his lover.
The choice of closing out the season with an event so obviously queer is not only revolutionary for popular television but also highly dangerous. Our Flag was recently renewed for a second season — after months of silence from HBO Max while also renewing much smaller, less popular shows, a choice that many claim to be intentional. The silence from HBO Max in regards to advertising during and prior to the show’s release also has been noted as possibly intentional. It is not unlikely that HBO Max purposefully remained silent on the renewal until Pride Month, during which an announcement of renewal would bring forth increased funds to HBO Max. The phenomenon of queer media (and general products) being promoted and funded during Pride Month more than any other time of year has been entitled “rainbow capitalism.” An article on the queer site LGBTQ and All describes the phenomenon quite well:
Rainbow capitalism, aka pink capitalism, is the action of companies claiming to support LGBTQ+ causes and communities, but are actually making merchandise for-profit and capitalize on the trend. In other words, it centers on corporate interests and profit. (“What is Rainbow Capitalism and why is it Harmful?”)
If you’re interested in reading more about this phenomenon, check out our article “Rainbow Capitalism and Pride Month,” posted on May 24th by Megan Serceki.
The show’s premise, as it were, goes much further than simply being queer.
As previously mentioned, Our Flag takes inspiration from the histories of real-life people and changes it to include characters of color, such as Taika Waititi’s Blackbeard, a Maori man, or Samson Kayo’s Oluwande, a black man. It also adds queer characters, with openly gay relationships such as that between Nathan Foad’s Lucius and Matthew Maher’s Black Pete and the growing relationship between Blackbeard and Stede, the main couple of the show. Even transgender characters, such as Vico Ortiz’s non-binary Jim Jimenez, take a starring role in the series.
Vico Ortiz is a non-binary Latine actor. Jim has been their first major role in television, and, to many fans, Jim has also served as the first major non-binary representation in television or film — especially as one of the main characters.
Not only that, but Ortiz’s role plays even more importance as Jim’s relationship with Oluwande progresses through the series. It is few and far between that shows adapt queer, trans relationships; much rarer is it for these relationships to be between people of color and for them to ignore all typical gender stereotypes. In one episode of the show, Jim is seen as the ‘big spoon’ in bed with Oluwande, holding him rather than him holding them — a reversal of what would be expected if Jim were to have their non-binary identity ignored or tossed aside for the gender roles of “man” and “woman.”
Ortiz embraces the effect the role has had on them and the show’s fans. In fact, Ortiz revealed in an interview with Out that one of the many influences the show has had on their journey with their transgender identity, top surgery,* saying: “I’ll thank you internet for giving me this beautiful gift… I can get that surgery and show my scars,” referring to showing their scars from top surgery on the character of Jim.
* the medical procedure to flatten the chest often done on AFAB transgender people to relieve dysphoria or provide a closer connection to their gender identity.
Despite popular belief, however, gender exploration throughout the past was not unheard of — especially during the time of Our Flag’s setting.
It would be foolish to apply 21st-century labels to people who lived in the 17th and 18th centuries, the golden age of piracy. Labels and their meanings change; we never see Jim in Our Flag call themself “non-binary” or any of our modern labels — their gender simply is. Much the same, pirates of the 1600s and 1700s often simply “were.” One well-known example, pirate Mary Read, lived as Mark Read repeatedly throughout their life (I use ‘their’ here as a way to respect what their identity may have been, not to say that they specifically used they/them pronouns themself). This journey did not begin in piracy; Mary, or Mark, actually began presenting as a man during two terms in the British military.
Although few pirates were noted as being non-male or “females presenting as male,” it is highly possible that many more followed both before and after Read; much history of the period has been lost. Still, Read’s experience is not singular.
In the late 1700s, Romaine-la-Prophétesse, a freed Black person, led a small role in the Haitian Revolution. Raised a male, Romaine grew, and, later in life, began to identify as a Prophétesse. Romaine is said to have claimed the “female spirit” and began to wear women’s clothes; however, he continued to use male pronouns in writing and would consider himself the “Godson of the Virgin Mary.” Much the same, Romaine had indicated in letters that he purposefully took the title of “Prophetess” for himself — it is unlikely that this was in error, as Romaine was literate and understood his own writings.
Throughout the mid to late 1800s, a man named Joseph Lobdell, born in New York, fled from state to state in an attempt to keep his identity as a man respected. He took on a wife, Marie Louise Perry, who helped him escape arrest on account of “impersonating a man.” In October of 1880, Joseph was admitted to a psychiatric hospital where he was considered a “case of sexual perversion.” Still, he maintained his identity as a man up through his death in an asylum in 1912. Joseph’s life, a dark reminder of how transgender people were treated throughout the 19th century, has been documented by his descendant Bambi Lobdell.
Lobdell was not alone. Roughly four-hundred people assigned female at birth are documented to have identified as men in order to fight in the Civil War, many maintaining that identity through death. Albert Cashier, one such example, joined the Union Army in 1862 and, after the war, continued to live as Albert. Much like Lobdell, Cashier was put into an asylum in 1913 due to an onset of dementia, where he was forced to wear a dress and be titled his birth name. Nevertheless, Cashier held many supporters in former soldiers and friends, and, upon his death in 1915, was buried with a tombstone engraved with Albert Cashier and his military service.
Much of this history goes unspoken. Our Flag Means Death does more than most to push for the representation that we as a community deserve — and it does so respectfully, encouraging watchers to engage with the history that it makes a comedy of.
Legislative measures across the United States have sought to limit LGBTQ+ visibility, and now states like Florida, Texas, and Arizona are considering banning kids from being present at drag shows.
Drag, above all else, is an art form. It calls into question society’s preconceived notions about gender and sexual orientation, highlighting the fluidity of it and showing its socially-constructed nature. Anyone can participate in drag regardless of their sex assigned at birth, their sexual orientation, the way they identify. It’s simply about challenging heteronormativity and breaking the boundaries of what society might consider “normal.”
While yes, you might not want to take your child to a Trixie Mattel show after she’s talked about her dislike for kids her entire career, many drag queens use their art to uplift LGBTQ+ youth and to encourage kids to be their authentic selves no matter who others tell them they should be. Banning children from these outlets would prevent them from conveying this important message.
The bans proposed, too, are very vague and wouldn’t just restrict them from spaces intended mostly for queer adults. Rather, it would likely include things like Drag Queen Story Hour which “captures the imagination and play of the gender fluidity of childhood and gives kids glamorous, positive, and unabashedly queer role models.”
Threatening to remove these safe spaces and experiences for children simply accentuates the fear, misunderstanding, and prejudice these legislatures hold towards the LGBTQ+ community. Some people just can’t comprehend or empathize with the feeling that you don’t quite fit into the box society stuffed you in, and we as humans tend to act out of fear when confronted with something we don’t understand.
While the LGBTQ+ community has made great strides in the past years and more individuals have felt comfortable being out and proud, resistance to these freedoms has also increased. The attention now largely falls on the upcoming generation – some striving to create a more accepting future and others trying to maintain the status quo and squash a kind of independence that scares them.
Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” Bill and other states’ legislative limits to trans* childrens’ access to care demonstrates this growing pushback and the attempts to hide the possibility of a more inclusive future which we have been fighting so hard for. This ban on childrens’ exposure to drag is yet another attempt to do so. While proponents of this legislation claim they are meant to “protect” children, they do little more than create an atmosphere of shame and isolation for the kids who might have found peers, environments, and forms of expression which allow them to be their authentic selves.
Gender is socially constructed. Heterosexuality is not the only orientation. Many of today’s children will grow up and find themselves not fitting into these boxes. They will grapple with being queer, with not abiding by heteronormativity. Preventing them from going to drag shows won’t change this. It will simply remove a space and an art form that might help them come to terms with their unique identity earlier.
While we stayed home in 2020, Disney Channel producer Dana Terrace premiered her series, “The Owl House.” Now in its second season, it has been lauded for its representation of LGBTQ+ characters.
The show follows main character Luz Noceda as she stumbles upon a portal that transports her to the “Boiling Isles.” It’s a land of magic and imagination where Luz feels she can fit in by being a “weirdo.” Fellow weirdo Eda The Owl Lady takes her on as a witch’s apprentice, and Luz spends the summer going on adventures, forming friendships, and growing comfortable with who she is.
The Boiling Isles appears grotesque at first and is described as “the demon realm,” but it soon becomes clear that despite its issues it has some real advantages over the human world — namely, the absence of homophobia.
Because of this, queer characters in “The Owl House” have rare, real, and groundbreaking opportunities for visibility.
When Luz Noceda meets witch Amity Blight, the two get off to a rocky start. Soon, though, they bond over their favorite book series, “The Good Witch Azura,” and they begin to fall for each other.
Disney Channel having its first bisexual lead is noteworthy in itself, but what’s more is how natural they make the situation. When the two begin crushing on each other, that’s exactly what it is: a crush. They’re young. Unsure. It’s awkward. But there’s no added layer of shame over the gender of their crush.
If they were in the human realm, this crush might have turned into its own plot entirely. In other shows, directors could have felt that having a queer love interest (especially between two young characters who likely haven’t experienced it before) would necessitate some kind of explanation.
There might have been an added layer of discomfort over it being a lesbian relationship. There might have been an episode where Luz comes out and navigates the fallout. Instead, the two admit they have a crush on each other, begin publicly dating, and no one asks questions or shames them for it.
They might feel like “weirdos,” but their sexuality isn’t something that has to contribute to that. And being a weirdo isn’t a bad thing, either!
If this queer romance wasn’t enough to win over viewers, Season Two also introduces Raine Whistler, a nonbinary bard witch who uses they/them pronouns. Even the term “witch” is ungendered in the Boiling Isles, and people seem to openly and naturally accept Raine’s gender identity.
In fact, the show deals with it so easily and tactfully that some viewers may not notice that Raine isn’t cisgender right away if at all. There isn’t a scene where someone misgenders Raine and is corrected, or where Raine has to explain what it means to be nonbinary. The only indications are Raine’s androgynous appearance and others’ consistent use of they/them pronouns.
In the human world today, it’s not likely that two girls could publicly date without having to come out to someone, or that a nonbinary individual could go about their life without being misgendered. But it’s something to work towards.
There’s been an increase of queer visibility in the media, but most of these deal with specifically queer issues, with finding comfort in one’s queerness. “The Owl House” allows characters to be unapologetically queer and to focus instead on finding themselves as a whole human (or witch) being.
“The Owl House” will be discontinued after its third season, and while it may be too late to reverse Disney’s decision, we can continue to support the show and demand more positive representation in the future.
Florida’s Senate Education Committee has passed a bill nicknamed the “Don’t Say Gay Bill” which would ban discussion of LGBTQ+ topics in primary grades and would even have teachers notify parents if their child is questioning their gender identity or sexuality.
To be clear, similar laws have been around for years. There are major systemic issues in the United States educational system that take away queer students’ access to a safe learning environment. Many LGBTQ+ students face discrimination, bullying, a lack of resources, and representation in the curricula. A number of states actually have laws barring educators from teaching LGBTQ+ topics.
The Human Rights Watch asserts that these problems undermine “a number of fundamental human rights, including LGBT students’ rights to education, personal security, freedom from discrimination, access to information, free expression, association and privacy.”
The “Don’t Say Gay Bill” is yet another step in the wrong direction and puts LGBTQ+ children further at risk not only at school but also in their homes.
The bill is purported to protect the “fundamental right of parents to make decisions regarding the upbringing and control of their children in a specified manner” all while ignoring the freedom and safety of the children.
First, like other states, it forbids teachers from teaching LGBTQ+ topics in their classrooms. Representation and discussion of these topics are key to reducing prejudice and hostility towards queer individuals, so even this restriction has devastating effects. But beyond this, the bill also forbids all staff from having these discussions, including the counselors.
Children who are questioning their sexual orientation or gender identity sometimes have few safe spaces to talk through the confusing things they’re working through, and school counseling should be a resource for them to be able to do this.
This bill would not only take this resource away, but it may also be used to notify parents if a student openly begins questioning their sexual orientation or gender identity.
The clause about this is somewhat ambiguous, simply claiming the necessity of “parental notification and involvement in critical decisions affecting a student’s mental, emotional, or physical well-being.” But, given the surrounding context and the clause that comes soon after specifically regarding discussions of gender identity and sexual orientation, human rights advocates are worried at the implications this has.
Arguably, with schools being required to disclose all information with parents, some children may be outed before they are ready or while living in an environment that will not be accepting of them. This puts them at great risk of retaliation and abuse.
This bill poses a great threat to the progress we have made in LGBTQ+ rights, and those who would be affected by its being signed into law need our help.Organizations like Equality Florida made a petition to oppose the bill, and you can contact the representatives even if you don’t live in the state. Your voice is important, and this bill sets a precedent not only for Florida but for the future of education in the United States.
In some of Cloud Dancers’ previous articles, we’ve used the term trans* to be inclusive of all identities along the gender spectrum. But what does it mean exactly? And why is it important?
The Oxford English Dictionary added the term in 2018, defining it as “originally used to include explicitly both transsexual and transgender, or (now usually) to indicate the inclusion of gender identities such as gender-fluid, agender, etc., alongside transsexual and transgender.”
Queer scholar Jack Halberstam expands on this, explaining that it is derived from the use of an asterisk in internet searches to account for all other terms associated with the word before it.
He says, “Rather than falling into the trap of replacing one system of classification with disciplinary effects with another vernacular but just as normalizing system, I prefer to use the term trans* and to leave the variability open as a question for any and all bodies.”
Helping people feel seen, represented, and comfortable can be as easy as using an asterisk.
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.
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 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.
