Thoughts on Visibility

On the eve of Transgender Day of Visibility

Dear Baby Maybe,

I’m very visible. Not just like.. physically, though I do put myself out in public (or the internet) every day. You do it too, we’ve been on stages since the 4th grade. Audiences are second nature for us. But as you grow into the woman I am today, that visibility starts to mean something different. And as a trans woman, we literally have a day to acknowledge it.

This day, Transgender Day of Visibility, was started by Rachel Crandall, the head of an organization called Transgender Michigan. The first TDOV was our senior year of high school. (By the end of that year, you’ll tell your boyfriend you’re a girl for the first time.) This day was intended to be a distraction from the overwhelming majority of media stories about transgender people being focused on violence. It is a day to celebrate the lives of trans people, before they are taken from us.

Without visibility, I don’t exist in the ways that I do today. But I’m not talking about my own visibility, I’m talking about the people I’ve been able to see. If I didn’t have the mentors and mothers and role models to look up to, I don’t think I would have been able to transition. If I didn’t take a class on Philosophical Issues of Race and Gender in college that had me read Judith Butler and think about gender beyond a binary, I never would have had the understanding to embrace my fullest self. I am the result of so much visibility, so much love and community, so much education and diversity. I am the product of a community that taught me what it meant to listen to my gut and follow my heart.

There’s a quote from a trans man named Tiq Milan that I think about all the time. He said, “The more we are seen, the more we are violated.” And every year since I first heard that it becomes more and more clear. Rising conversations around trans and non-binary communities are wonderful. I wouldn’t be where I am without them. But the more people know how to talk about us, the more language and tools they have to attack us with. Alongside this gradual increase of representation, we also have this increase in public displays of attacks against us. We see that in legislation, we see that in schools, in sports, and entertainment. While we are seeing rising visibility and representation for trans and non-binary folks, we are also hearing story after story that directly harms our communities.

Visibility can be a gift. It has brought me many joys, and taught me incredible lessons. But visibility is also a responsibility. And visibility can be dangerous. It’s sometimes hard for me to find the joy and strength in visibility when there are constantly very visible attacks against people like me. Physical attacks, legislative attacks, life altering attacks, life ending attacks. Visibility can be life saving. I know that first-hand. But visibility in a community without accountability can be dangerous. And sometimes all I can think about is how much we have left. How years of growing visibility have led us to this point and how we have to face repercussions for that visibility.

But we can’t let the visibility go away. We can’t go away. Trans people aren’t hurting anyone. But a lot of people want to hurt us. Trans people, especially Black trans women, are responsible for some much of the good we have in this world. So much culture, so much art, so much innovation. This world would not be the same without trans people. Because trans people are everywhere. And we’re everything.

Your future,

Mae