The Trans List

We are at an evolutionary moment.

One that pushes us to confront

how we define ourselves and know one another.

We've outgrown categories

and definitions that once held us.

Man, woman, boy, girl.

Masculine and feminine no longer reflect us all.

We've made way for something new:

cis and trans, non-binary and gender queer.

The singular "they."

We've seen an Olympian sprint away

from her heroic past to declare herself anew.

A black child from Mobile, Alabama, reach

unimaginable stardom on our screens.

An Army sergeant break rank

to defend his right to serve our country openly.

These stories of triumph do not outweigh the tragedy

facing many Trans-Americans

who struggle with limited access

to shelter, healthcare, education, and employment.

Susceptible to HIV,

criminalization, suicide, and violence.

Despite the vitriol, despite the backlash,

despite the discriminatory laws, we fight to be seen

as we see ourselves and live our truth without compromise.

We are a constellation

of experiences, expressions, and identities.

Ours is a mesmerizing constellation,

so vast, it can't be contained,

so plentiful, it can't be denied

so brilliant, it shines through the dark.

This is "The Trans List."

I grew up

in a very rural community,

which really still is close to my heart,

in the middle of Missouri, called Fayette, Missouri.

Population hee-haw.

One flashing red light in the middle of town.

We're called "the buckle of the Bible Belt."

I remember coming home every day after school

and having private time with myself praying.

I prayed for unity of my body, mind, and spirit.

Now obviously, I didn't have those exact words as a child,

but I knew that my body and--

and my mind didn't conform.

I wanted God to change me, to fix me,

because I knew something was wrong.

I was masculine. Always masculine.

Uber-macsuline.

I was never mistaken as a girl most times,

and if I dressed up as a girl,

it looked like I was in drag.

Well, I would try to pretend to be a girl,

and that would last for, like, two days at school,

and I just couldn't stand it.

I'm like, "This seems so... gay."

My parents were children of slaves.

They loved me unconditionally,

no matter who I was or am.

My father drove trucks.

I'd go on runs with him on my spring break,

when I could be with him all week.

People would always say, "Oh, you brought your son with you."

He just never blinked an eye and kept it moving.

Well, he was just always my cover guy.

He just innately got who I was.

A child that looked like me going to school had

a very hard time with the skin color.

I'd lived as a high yellow

and had taken a lot of hate from that as a child.

I got locked in the coat closet

by the teacher for doing nothing,

and luckily, my dad did truck deliveries

and happened to walk into the school one day

and saw what was happening.

He dropped a delivery

and walked to the principal's face,

and he said, "Don't you ever do that to my child again."

I think Mother had more designs

on who I should be and what I should be looking like.

I turned 18,

my mother put her hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye.

She's like, "You know you're a girl, right?"

I described myself as nothing, literally,

and would just, like, avoid the question.

Then finally, I began to use the "L" word.

It was like, "Uh, l-- l--"

Because my attraction was towards women,

I must be a lesbian.

But I was never at home in any of the spaces.

You listen to certain music, you read certain books.

I'm like, "Well, gee, this music isn't for me."

For a black person walking around

looking like a dude going, "Hey, man. What's going on?

How you doin', man?" Uh, they just didn't like that very much.

It wasn't until I found an article

about Billy Tipton, who was a musician.

He hadn't sought medical treatment

and he died of simply

a-- a bleeding ulcer

because he'd been hiding his identity for so long.

I'd hide that in our house every day to read after school,

and it let me know I wasn't crazy.

I would always play Perry Mason

on my little twin bed.

In my room was my desk

and I'd have everything laid out.

What I had decided was

that I would become a corporate lawyer.

It was horrifying.

Skirt suits, hose, and heels.

I couldn't wait to get to the parking lot

to get in my car.

I was like Superman.

As soon as I got in the car, I was ripping everything off.

And I started dressing like this.

It's just innately me.

I had had a vision

that one day I would do testimony before Congress,

and I remember thinking that as a kid

playing Perry Mason on my little bed.

And then that happened.

It was very emotional.

It took me back to the experiences

that I had had of being treated

as a non-human being just for being trans.

But I wanted to tell

everybody's story through my story.

We need clear, explicit protection

for trans people throughout this country

so there is no doubt that somebody can't kill me

just because I'm trans.

And if they do, then they suffer the consequence.

Today it's not such a big deal.

25, 30 years ago, it was a big deal.

Getting through the '60s and '70s transgender,

it wasn't-- wasn't fun.

Back then, you just blended in.

Is there a certain way that you're supposed to be or look?

We come in all shapes and sizes.

God blessed me with my looks

to be able to work as a model,

but it's also--

that's caused me the greatest deal of problems.

I think it would have gone to my grave.

I don't think I would have ever been

open enough to say, you know,

"This is me. So what?"

It was just forced upon me and then having to deal with it.

After I was outed by "News of the World,"

I felt desperate, suicidal.

It really wasn't anyone's business,

and it should have been left to me

if I wanted to talk about it.

I had all these tabloids

ringing and-- and saying, "You know, just--

"let-- let's see your birth certificate.

Let's see some documentation."

I was devastated.

I mean, it was very personal to me

and private.

I thank the Lord that I did have my family.

That just gave me strength to fight.

The rights and recognition and, um, to be accepted.

It wasn't until I had sexual awareness

that I realized, you know, "There's something wrong with me."

I just assumed I must be gay,

because I was attracted to boys and not girls.

I just needed to get away from home and find myself.

Grow my hair...

tid a bit and look sort of girly.

I moved to London and I wasn't accepted

in gay clubs, in the gay circles.

They said, "Oh, you know, we don't allow drag queens."

And it's like, "Drag queens?

I-- I'm not a drag queen."

I was totally lost.

I had an evening job in a West End show

selling programs, ice creams.

Quite a famous choreographer came up to me and said,

"Have you ever thought about being a showgirl?"

and I said, "Showgirl?"

And he said, "Well, you're beautiful. You're tall. You're slim."

I said, "Well, um, I'm a boy."

And he said, "Well, I know that, but in Paris,

"lots of the beautiful showgirls

are all transgender and what have you."

And he said, "I'm auditioning and I'd like you to come along."

And I was like, "Okay."

So, I went along for the audition

and got the job and it was like, "Oh, my gosh."

And it changed my life.

I was working in Paris.

This one particular person

kept sending champagne

and I met him after the show

and he was very handsome.

I confided and, uh, he--

he thought it was fascinating.

He said, "You're beautiful, you're unusual,