Trans Community

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Reject Trans Doom-Posting

This week I took the long train down to the south of England for my friend Robyn’s funeral. She died very suddenly three weeks ago, aged just 32.

Robyn gave so much love to the world, and was so loved in turn. Around a hundred and fifty people crammed into a small building for the service. There weren’t enough seats for everyone, so many stood at the back and sides of the room. I sat on the floor. More attended online.

We shared stories from Robyn’s life, learned from each other, cried together. Like many funerals, especially for young trans people, it was absolutely gutwrenching. It also helped move us towards closure. It was good to be in community together, to think and speak not just of Robyn’s past, but of our collective futures. Robyn lived life to the absolute maximum. Surely we could take inspiration from her example.

Photo of a punk crowd having a good time. In the centre of the image, a white butch woman exclaims and points with delight.
Robyn at Manchester Punk Festival 2024. Photo by Chris Bethell for The Guardian(!)


After the funeral, I stayed the night with queer friends in rural Surrey. We went for a curry, toasted Robyn, caught up about our lives. We talked about work and about books and about art and about holidays we wanted to take. That evening I felt tentatively more at peace with the world.

And then I looked at my phone. And I learned that another young friend, Jessica, had also just died.

***

It’s a shit time to be trans. Many people are saying this.

But then again, when has it not been a shit time?

Eight years of moral panic have taken an enormous toll. In the UK, as in many other countries, our civil rights and our access to public services, public spaces, and public life are all being rapidly rolled back. Politicians and influencers fall over themselves to promote anti-trans violence and praise one another’s incendiary takes. We are less safe at work, at home, in hospitals, in schools, and in the streets.

Trans people often die young, including too many of my friends. Sometimes (all too often) we die by suicide, driven to despair in a world full of hate and malice. Sometimes (mercifully less often in the UK) we are murdered, usually in incredibly violent ways. Other times, it’s more complicated. I think of Denise, who died a sudden death from melanoma. I think about Elli, who died of Covid-19. And now I also think about Robyn and Jessica, who each died suddenly of apparently natural or accidental causes.

These days, the high rate of untimely trans death can feel like a consequence of the trans panic. Certainly I believe it’s making things worse. However, this phenomenon pre-dates the current political situation. Trans people disproportionately died young in the 2010s, at the time of the so-called “tipping point“. Trans people disproportionately died young before this too. Sociological theory can tell us why.

A decade or so ago, I worked for a couple of years in Warwick Medical School. I was there to teach medical students about social determinants of health. The basic concept is that our general health is affected enormously by the context in which we live. This includes factors such as the resources and services we do and do not have access to, and barriers we might face in attempting to access healthcare services or otherwise look after ourselves

So, it’s not a coincidence that – for example – life expectancies are shorter in poorer neighbourhoods, or that Black women are more likely to die in childbirth. There is nothing inevitable or biological about any of this, something intrinsically different about poor people or Black people. The issue is that entire groups of people are more likely to experience particular kinds of illness, and more likely to die of things others might survive. This is because of the social disadvantages they face, and because of the discrimination they experience at the hands of bigoted doctors and nurses.

There is a massive scientific literature on social determinants of health. I’ve contributed to it myself, co-authoring a recent study showing an association between transphobic microaggressions and poor mental health among trans people. For this reason, I know it’s no coincidence that so many of my trans friends have died untimely deaths. Trans people are more likely to have worse health because of transphobia. They are less likely to receive timely and effective treatment because of transphobia. This means when trans people are seriously ill, we are on average less likely to survive. I see this when I look at the academic literature, and I see this every day in the lives trans people I know.

I see the impact of transphobia when I look at Robyn’s life and death. Her health deteriorated significantly in her final years. She was afraid to seek help from doctors though: and for good reason, given the discrimination she and many of her friends experienced in NHS services. I wrote my entire goddamn PhD thesis on this problem.

Things were even worse for Jessica. I witnessed so many organisations and institutions in her home city of Coventry failing her time and time again. I could fill whole books with accounts of the violence done against her. She was failed by her school, her church, a political party she gave so much energy to, the council, the local hospital, the psychiatric ward, the housing association. Just last year I sat helplessly on the other end of the phone while she attempted suicide, doing the best I could in this moment to ensure that she was not alone.

The institutional failings experienced by Robyn and Jessica and so many others are the result not just of ignorance, but of actively malicious transphobia and transmisogyny. I believe these factors contributed significantly to their untimely deaths.

How can any of us expect to find hope and purpose in the face of such violence?

***

In recent months I have noticed an uptick in trans doom-posting. By this I mean trans social media posts, blog posts, and videos which dwell entirely on negative feelings and convey a sense of hopelessness.

A prominent example is Shon Faye’s recent essay, well, it’s over, which she describes as “a brief eulogy for the ‘trans rights’ movement”. Shon observes that powerful transphobic movements in the USA and UK are succeeding in many of their aims. They have spread fear and disinformation far and wide, made allies of mainstream politicians and media platforms, and enacted bans on trans healthcare. Now they are attempting to criminalise our very existence, as part of a campaign to eliminate us altogether.

Shon’s conclusion appears to be: well, that’s it. We’re all fucked.

“Today I doubt I will see another progressive measure (either in legislation or healthcare policy) put in place for trans people in my lifetime. Who knows what may yet be taken away.”

I very much empathise with her account of trying to talk about this in any way with cis friends and family:

“their instinct is to try and generate hope or minimise despair [which] typically minimises the gravity of the situation and the depth of my grief and exhaustion and fear – increasing my resentment.”

Shon concludes that she doesn’t want to hear “fucking platitudes” – “there’s time for hope later”. For now, she wants time to grieve. I’ve seen similar sentiments shared by other authors on various social media platforms, including posts from extremely popular trans meme accounts.

I understand intimately where all of this is coming from. Just look at everything I said earlier about social determinants of health. I recognise the violence we are subject to, and its costs. This post too is written from a place of deep grief.

But there is also the question of where and how we grieve. We do need space to vent and to despair. But we also need space to process, and figure out what happens next. Ideally, we need places and times we can do this collectively, rather than just being isolated as individuals. Robyn’s funeral offered this.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk about what is happening to us. What I am concerned about is the individualising effect of public platforms, and the parasocial relations we hold with high-profile accounts. We tend to consume doom-posting on our own, on a phone. We often have no-one to process it with, and little context beyond the content in front of us. In this way, doom-posting offers only a partial account of reality, and no way out from despair.

And there is a way out. We find it in community.

***

Look, I have a great deal of respect for Shon Faye. I have a hard enough time navigating the consequences of my own very minor microcelebrity. Shon has to tackle a great deal more attention: from trans people looking for someone to idolise and/or tear down, from cis readers who project heroic expectations onto her, and from haters who see her as the antichrist or something. She’s great on camera, and a brilliant writer. I would recommend her book The Transgender Issue to literally any cis reader. I also recognise that her blog post comes from a place of incredible pain.

At the same time, I am concerned that many trans people and allies are putting way too much energy into engaging mainstream institutions and liberal systems on their own, individualistic terms, rather than looking to the alternative power and support we can build in our communities. Notably, a lot of Shon’s post talks about civil society, legislation, lobbying, and the role of organisations such as Stonewall. This is definitely a realm in which “trans rights” face a seemingly terminal decline. But it is also not the first place I would look for real, grounded hope.

You can find a similar energy in Jules Gill-Peterson’s dire essay Reject Trans Liberalism, which is referenced by Shon. Jules’ piece simultaneously criticises the trans liberation movement for being about more than transition, while also insisting that preparing ideologically sound documents for the US supreme court is a radical act. It posits a false and ahistorical dichotomy between transsexuals (good, pure, radical) and transgenders (bad, elitist, liberal). The essay does not consider how gender diverse people might work together or support one another across our differences. This contrasts with existing critiques of trans liberalism already advanced by activist-scholars such as Nat Raha and Mijke van der Drift. Again, don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of Jules’ previous work. But as trans people, and especially as trans women, we owe each other so much more than this.

Now, I’m hardly without fault. This very blog is replete with examples of myself and others putting untold hours into lobbying politicians, participating in public consultations, advising the National Health Service and so on and so forth. In her post Stepping Over The Line, Josie Giles, who once again I admire greatly (look, I just fucking love trans women) argues that:

“Theoretically, an army of well-resourced energetic activists could simultaneously engage in state-centred advocacy and also do grassroots politics. In practice, it doesn’t happen. In practice, state-centred pseudo-organising dominates the social media feeds and the limited energy reserves of an already depleted community, and absorbs what little money is available to pay for the salaried self-licking ice-cream cone of the lobbying profession.”

Sick burn!

Meme depicting two femme white women. One is labelled "trans NGOs", and is holding the other woman firmly by her hair. The second woman is labelled "broke trannies facing a highly funded segregation movement". The first woman is force-feeding the second woman a bottle of milk, labelled "email your MP".
Meme acquired via one of them social media platforms we’ve all heard so much about.


I do disagree with Josie a little. Unlike Shon and Jules and also Josie, I transitioned in the early 2000s. This was well before the tipping point, and before most trans civil rights even existed in law. I remember how we fought successfully for changes that genuinely improved many people’s lives. I feel it will always be worthwhile to use what levers we can to minimise the harm caused by those who have power over us. Lobbying is the most accessible form of activism for some people. I still have an auto-reply on which encourages every damn cis person who emails me at work to contact their MP.

But Josie is completely right that many if not most trans people can and should be putting a lot more of our energy into grassroots politics. This must necessarily involve re-imagining what our worlds could look like, using what we already have as a basis from which to build. I know from lived experience that we can not only survive in the absence of certain civil rights and recognition, but also see material improvements in our lives when we come together. I met Jessica because we built trans-led community services in Coventry from the ground up.

Similar points are made by Roz Kaveney, who first came out over 50 years ago. In her criminally underrated 2022 poetry collection, The Great Good Time, Roz does reflect on the violence faced by young trans women in her youth. However, she also details the vibrant lives they lived together, the joys they experienced, how they shared housing and clothes and had each others’ backs. In a short forward to the book, she notes:

“I observed a lot of bleakness creeping into trans social media and thought it my job as a community elder to remind young people that things have been, if not worse, then at least as bad in different ways”.

As Josie states in Stepping Over The Line, white, middle-class trans people in particular need to understand in this current moment that we are as disposable to the ruling classes as any other minoritised individual. Our strength lies in practical solidarity with others subject to the violence of corporations, fascist movements, and the state. To once again reiterate the point, we need to be in community with one another.

Both Robyn and Jessica’s lives offered perfect models for this.

***

Every single speaker at Robyn’s funeral talked about how much time and energy she put into punk and folk music, building and fixing things, and caring for others. She was a loud, proud butch who was incredibly committed to sustaining community wherever she went. When she saw a need, she sought to meet it. Many of us only wished that she was better at asking for or accepting help herself.

If a trans person needed somewhere to stay, Robyn would put them up. If a trans person needed to move house, or was being evicted or was fleeing a violent relationship, Robyn would turn up with a van. If a trans person was having trouble at work, Robyn would show up online or in person with sensible advice. This attitude inspired Robyn to volunteer with groups such as Reading Red Kitchen, a grassroots project which provides a social foodbank and free community meals for asylum seekers experiencing food poverty. For Robyn, radical politics could never simply be about slogans and demonstrations: it was about cooking, connecting with others, and washing the dishes.

None of this is to say that Robyn was never found at a protest: quite the opposite. When I lived in the south we co-founded Trans Liberation Surrey, a collective which worked to oppose transphobia in a county hardly known for its activist movements. My most treasured memory of Robyn is from this time, when we attended a small anti-fascist demonstration in Wokingham. A coalition of neo-nazis, anti-vaxxers, and climate conspiracists descended on the town to protest a drag queen storytime event for young children. Robyn and I joined other locals outside the library to wave rainbow flags and play upbeat music, enabling families to attend the event without disruption.

Photo of people with placards around a banner labelled Trans Lib Surrey.
Trans Liberation Surrey, at Surrey Pride 2021.


Jessica was also extremely motivated to help others, in spite of her own difficult circumstances. Like Robyn, she was a committed trade unionist. For many years she was also involved in a small political party, before eventually being ejected for challenging the leadership. Her motivation for this was a genuine belief in the possibility of positive political change, and in the potential for people to come together and make that change happen. Later in life she would rediscover her Christian faith as alternative vehicle for community action.  

After hearing of Jessica’s death, our mutual friend Charlotte reached out, and we asked one another how we knew her. It turned out Charlotte had also been a member of that political party, and reconnected with Jessica several years later as they both sought new ways to make a difference in the world. In turn, I explained how Jessica and I met while lived in Coventry, and was myself involved in organising trans community social events, meals, and punk nights. Charlotte and I also both knew Robyn. “Christ Ruth,” said Charlotte, “trans lives are so entangled and we often don’t even realise”.

So it is. Right now, Jessica’s Facebook wall is replete with people thanking her for being there as a friend, for providing them with advice, for helping them come out.

In a hostile world, we are everything to one another. In the face of the most horrific hate, our love is so powerful. Such love survives death.

Selfie photo taken by a white woman with shoulder-length brown hair. She is wearing colourful clothes and a cross around her neck, and smiling at the camera.
Selfie taken by Jessica.

***

This is where I find hope. At protests and demonstrations, sure, but more importantly in the contexts where we give each other’s lives meaning.

I find hope in community meals, mutual aid, queer bars and queer bookshops and queer gigs. I find hope in small parties, in big Pride events, in quiet meetings at work, in food pantries. I find hope in housing projects and healthcare projects, and in the Glasgow Electrolysis Project, which has created actual jobs for trans women and a vital new service for hundreds of us across the city. We know we are failed constantly by mainstream institutions: rather than seek incremental change, is it not time to re-imagine the clinic, re-think the workplace? Our problems will not be solved by refusing to engage with existing services, nor by creating trans charities that replicate existing hierarchies. We need to find ways to build something new entirely.

I find hope in the fact there are more of us out than ever, more connected than ever. These collective endeavors are all so much more important than anything I personally might write, any research I might do, and certainly any “progressive” policy I might influence.

Doom-posting and finger-pointing cannot deliver any of these things. We need to take the time to connect with one another, especially outside the internet. Yes we need to grieve, but we need so much more than this. We need to actively look after one another, and provide space for rest and recuperation. We need to have each others’ backs. We need to connect across difference, and not (re)create hierarchies of oppression or need.

These are no fucking platitudes. This is my life. This is the lifeblood of our shared communities. This is how we create better social determinants for our goddamn health.

Long may we live together.  

Photo of a butch white woman playing a banjo next to a Scottish loch.
Robyn in the Highlands. Photo by Elaine O’Neill.

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Respond to the EHRC consultation together! (10 June)

The Equality and Human Rights Commission’s segregation consultation is a horrible document to look at. But if you’re planning to fill it in, you needn’t do so alone.

Tomorrow evening (Tuesday 10th June) I’ll be joining Katy Montgomerie on her livestream from 8pm to talk about and work through the EHRC consultation. We’ll hopefully make the process that bit less grim together, and also highlight other important and perhaps even joyous things that are going on.

If you can’t make it, Katy will also hopefully be able to put a recording of the stream up on her channel at a later point.

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It’s a long hard revolution

Lesbian conspiracies in Lausanne

On the evening of Tuesday 15th April 2025, I was widely perceived to be a British lesbian, both legally and socially. By 11am the following day, that was no longer the case, following a ruling by the UK’s Supreme Court.

I was not actually in the UK for this momentous occasion. I was instead in the Swiss city of Lausanne, for a workshop on standards of evidence in sex and gender policy. I was there to consider the very questions the UK’s highest court, in their supreme ignorance, had effectively dismissed. Their ruling determined that the term “sex” in the Equality Act referred to “biological sex”, which in turn should be understood as “the sex of a person at birth”. But what do we actually need to know about when we make policy around sex and gender, and what is the role of evidence in this?

The Tuesday evening found me hanging out in a second-rate Thai restaurant with Professor Sarah Lamble, an esteemed criminologist and fellow dyke. Lamble and I spent some time talking about how conspiracy theories around “disappearing lesbians” highlighted the strange ironies inherent in British anti-trans discourse. The anti-trans movement has been extremely successful in raising “reasonable concerns” around supposed problems that are completely ungrounded in reality, to the point where that reality itself begins to warp.

Mainstream political discourse in the UK increasingly reflects anti-trans claims that lesbians are somehow threatened by trans people, or are even being transed en-masse in gender clinics and youth groups. The true biological attraction between two adult human females is disrupted. Young people are tempted away from lesbianism with promises of luxurious facial hair and male privilege; meanwhile, horrifically manly and/or confusingly attractive trans dykes are introduced to the dating pool.

If these claims were true, we might expect to see some kind of reduction in the number of homosexual females. Instead, the evidence we have indicates quite the opposite. Surveys such as the Annual Population Study show a rising number of lesbians over recent years, part of a wider increase of 1.2 million in the recorded lesbian, gay, and bisexual (LGB) population of the UK. This is driven especially by young people coming out, with over 10% of people aged 16-24 identifying as LGB as of 2023.

But what about the lived reality of queer womanhood? Well, there’s great news here too: we are living in a truly historic time for sapphic culture in the UK. Proudly out lesbian and bisexual women can be found across the pop charts, on TV, and across social media. Queer bookshops are on the rise. Pop-up butch bars and new queer cafes can be found in major cities and small towns.  And, excitingly, even the much-maligned lesbian bar is making a comeback, with three permanent venues and numerous occasional nights now running in London alone. It’s all got so out of hand that in 2024 the Queer Brewing company sold a juicy pale ale named Dyke Renaissance, which conveniently listed an educational series of cultural milestones on the can.

If trans people are trying to disappear lesbians, we’re doing a really bad job of it.

Photo of a beer can. Text on the can reads as follows. The great Dyke Renaissance of Spring 24. The lesbian tapas riot of Broadway Market. Rapid increase in lesbian parties. Carabiner sales increase. Finally more than one lesbian bar in London. Leatherdyke night. Top shortage worsens. Bestie to lover pipeline shortens. Queer Brewing, pale ale, 4.4%.


Meanwhile, queer cis women tend to be pretty supportive of trans people. In fact they’re one of the single most supportive demographics in the UK – which is presumably why the Equality and Human Rights Commission is, right now, attempting to ban trans dykes such as myself from associating with any more than 25 biological lesbians at any one time.

On evidence

As lesbian conspiracy theories show, the very concept of evidence has had a bit of a hard time over the past decade.

In the UK, this was perhaps best encapsulated in 2016 by the Conservative politician Michael Gove. While campaigning for Brexit, he declared that the British people “have had enough of experts”. Gove’s claim is echoed in a growing anti-intellectualism across the globe. From the mass purge of universities in Türkiye, to the post-truth bizarro world of Donald Trump, to Israel’s scholasticide in Gaza, this trend manifests in blunt and brutal ways. Anti-expert authoritarianism doesn’t care about your facts or your feelings.

However, attacks on evidence can also be more subtle. Gove’s comments are widely quoted, but it’s less well-known that he singled out a particular kind of expert for criticism: “people from organisations with acronyms saying that they know what is best and getting it consistently wrong”. While this was gloriously vague in a way that allowed the listener to project all kinds of things onto Gove’s words, in context it was nevertheless evocative of the kind of group that tends to advocate for social justice. LGBTQQIAAP groups, perhaps.

From academic thinktanks, to charities, to campaigning organisations, the implicit problem was any kind of challenge to conservative common sense. The UK’s political mainstream has since doubled-down on this approach. In the run up to the 2024 general election, Tory home secretary Suella Braverman criticised “experts and elites”, while the secretary of state for science, innovation and technology, Michelle Donelan, promised to “kick woke ideology out of science”.

One of Donelan’s targets was the “denial of biology” in research by feminists, social scientists… and biologists. The problem here is that supposedly common sense notions of sex and gender, which assume clean and tidy biological divisions between male and female, collide violently with the beautiful messy reality of the material world. At this point in history, it is well-established that sexual diversity exists throughout nature, that men are not biologically superior to women, that social advantage is not conferred or denied by chromosomes, and that queer, trans, and intersex people exist in the world. The evidence for this is gloriously multifaceted. We find it in laboratories, in systematic reviews, in surveys and questionnaires, in the way that men shout abuse at us in the streets, in how our sexed bodies shift and change under hormonal influence, in the way we feel when we finally have a language that describes our experiences.

Michelle Donelan decided to tackle the thorny problems of feminist science, intersex bodies, and trans existence by commissioning a research project by Alice Sullivan, a supposed sociologist who doesn’t care one jot for any of the evidence outlined above. Published in March 2025, the Sullivan Review insisted that data collection relating to sex and gender should rely on a very narrow definition of biological sex: one that ignores trans and intersex women’s real lives, bodies, and experiences of misogyny, while promoting a sexist model of essentialised womanhood. Her findings were echoed in those of the Supreme Court judges a month later, whose pronouncements on biological sex were made without any reference to relevant social, scientific, or philosophical research on how this might actually be understood or defined in practice. 

To position this as a wholly new trend would, of course, would be inaccurate. Western jurisdictions have long used and abused pseudoscience to oppress minoritised groups, especially in colonial contexts. This can be seen for example in the British state’s shameful embrace of “race science” and eugenics in the 19th and 20th centuries. What we are now witnessing is an example of the imperial boomerang, in which the logics of colonialism are turned inwards, resulting in increasingly fascist domestic politics.


But did you have a nice time in Switzerland, Ruth?

On that fateful week in April, I joined a group of feminist, trans, and lesbian researchers and activists for the workshop at the University of Lausanne. In the face of increasingly ill-informed policymaking across multiple contexts, it provided us a space to think together about the lessons we might learn collectively from our very different work on healthcare, sports, and prisons.

One overarching theme was the importance of evidence in understanding human experience, in terms of rigorous data collection, careful analysis – and accounting for the lived reality of actual people’s actual lives. A powerful account of the latter point was provided by Dinah Bons, a veteran campaigner for HIV prevention. She pointed out that if a sex worker repeatedly attends a community clinic for her STI tests, this provides evidence that the clinic feels safe enough for her to return regularly, which is far from a given. Such matters are often highly evident to service users and providers on the ground, without any need for a survey or interview.

Another key theme at the workshop was the extent to which various principles of evidence are increasingly abused by politicians, journalists, and institutions.

The concept of evidence has not been rejected wholescale by sexist, transphobic, and lesbophobic policymakers. Rather, “evidence” is increasingly a buzzword to justify particular approaches or points of view, rather than something grounded in a commitment to scholarly standards or an acknowledgement of lived experience. At the workshop, we explored how flawed notions of evidence have been used to support misleading statements or outright lies about human bodies or human experiences. We heard about the use and abuse of evidence in justifying invasive sex-testing for woman athletes, misrepresenting research on young people’s ability to engage in informed decision-making, and defending conversion practices. Notably, while most of these abuses arose from a specifically transphobic politics, they have far wider consequences: especially for women, intersex, and queer people, but also for scientific processes, community consultations, and informed advocacy more broadly.

You can see an example of this in the Cass Review. Through successfully performing the aesthetics of acceptable expertise and science to the satisfaction of the British public, the Review has become what one workshop participant described as a black box. By this they meant that it has become an abstracted justification for policy and practice, handily replacing any ongoing discussion of evidence regarding young trans people’s health and wellbeing. You don’t need to know what the Cass Review actually says or how rigorous it actually is, only that it exists. Well-documented criticisms of the review from healthcare practitioners, academic experts, trans community groups, and (most importantly) young trans people themselves are been rendered irrelevant. The Cass Review is the evidence, and no other systematic review, original research, or personal testimony can henceforth count against it. Not, at least, until 2031 at the earliest: the official end-date of a single £10 million study, based on the Cass recommendations and featuring precisely zero trans researchers.

The British establishment is now attempting to repeat this trick with the Sullivan Review – never mind that projects such as MESSAGE have conducted more extensive and nuanced work on the same topic with a far wider group of experts – and, of course, with the Supreme Court judgement.

Beyond doom

As with Cass, as with Sullivan, it is difficult to capture the sheer enormity of harm caused by the Supreme Court’s pronouncement on biological sex. The consequences are still playing out, and will no doubt continue to do so for many awful months and years.

At the time of writing, the Equality and Human Rights Commission have proposed a programme of mass segregation, designed to discriminate against trans people in the workplace, in public services, and in social groups. The guidance they have written is just that: guidance, not law. Nevertheless, major organisations such as the Football Association, the British Transport Police, and Barclays Bank, all of whom shamelessly paraded rainbows through their social media profiles last Pride season, are falling over themselves to comply. We are witnessing the attempted complete exclusion of trans people from public life, in the latest culmination of a transparent attempt to eliminate us altogether.

In such moments, it can be easy to despair. This is in part because it is easy to forget the strength, resources, power held within trans communities and by our allies. That includes the knowledge and evidence we have access to.

Don’t get me wrong. The people who want to eliminate us are better-funded, better-connected, and now have the Labour government on-side as well as the UK’s traditional right-wing parties. We are not going to win trans liberation overnight.

But then, again, we never were.

Everything I said about lesbian culture earlier is true of trans people too. There are more of us publicly creating art and culture, more of us creating events and running nightclubs and playing in bands and writing essays (hi). There are more community groups providing mutual aid and support when charities and state bodies fail us. And, importantly, we are not alone.

Trans women and non-binary people are a part of the dyke renaissance. We are at the butch bars, and bemoaning the top shortage. We are dancing to Le Tigre and to Chappelle Roan. We are reading Gideon the Ninth and watching We Are Lady Parts and having all the feelings. My partner of the last decade was probably the most surprised of all to learn from the Supreme Court that I am not, in fact, a lesbian, as every bit of evidence from our shared personal lives points to quite the contrary.

I will concede that some trans people are not in fact lesbians, or even queer. Nevertheless, there are so many other places to find us in community with others. Trans people are in trade unions. Trans people are in workplaces. Trans people are in schools and colleges and universities. Trans people are in the streets. Trans people are on the bus. Trans people are in families. Trans people are making families. Trans people are playing football (suck it, Football Association). Trans people are eating pizza. Trans people are restoring the countryside. Trans people are hanging out beside Lake Geneva in the glorious sunshine, enjoying a much-needed break.


There are more of us than ever, and it is too damn late to put us back in a box.

Resistance is fertile

I was honoured to present the keynote presentation at the Swiss workshop. I spoke about the findings of the Trans Pregnancy Project, a study that produced enormous amounts of evidence on the experiences, needs, and perspectives of men and non-binary people who conceive, carry, and give birth.

No matter how much our findings are slammed by the media and billionaire children’s authors and washed-up comedy writers, our peer-reviewed work has demonstrated the lived reality of male and non-binary pregnancy over and over again. Most importantly, it has helped people. We are part of a far wider movement of parent groups, midwives, and researchers who are collectively building knowledge. I am constantly hearing from people who describe how much this knowledge has resulted in better care for them and their child. This kind of story drives everything I do.

Towards the end of my talk, I discussed the anti-trans moral panic, and the Supreme Court judgement. I then showed the below table of findings from the National Maternity Survey. This annual survey involves those who have recently given birth every year in many (but not all!) English hospitals, over the course of a few weeks. Since 2021, they have started asking whether the person giving birth has a different gender to the sex they were assigned at birth – i.e. are they trans?

Table showing data in response to the question, is your gender different from the sex you were assigned at birth. It shows a statistically significant increase in the proportion of people answering "yes", which rises from 0.56% in 2021, to 0.65% in 2022, to 0.77% in 2023, to 1.58% in 2024.


Two things leap out from this table for me. Firstly, the 2021 data shows a very similar proportion of people indicating they are trans when compared to the 2021 censuses in Scotland, England, and Wales. This suggests that, contrary to assumptions around trans infertility or undesirability, trans men and non-binary people may well be just as likely to give birth as cis women are to become birth mothers.

Secondly, the number of trans people giving birth has risen dramatically over four years. Even as the anti-trans moral panic has deepened. Even as attacks on even recognising the existence of trans people in perinatal services have increased. As Del La Grace Volcano once it put it: “resistance is fertile!”

In the face of growing oppression, trans people are simply refusing to disappear. In fact, we are doing the opposite.

This, then, is the power that the anti-trans movement, the Labour party, and the Supreme Court cannot possibly take away from us. The more trans people are out and visible to one another, the more trans people come out and become visible to one another. Sure, we will unfortunately need to think more carefully about where and when we are out, and where and when we are visible, if this is something we even have any power over in our specific lives. I am sure that more trans people will be going stealth in future years, if they can. But regardless – there are more of us in community, more of us organising protests, and more of us than ever in the lives of our friends, families, colleagues, and allies, showing that it possible to have a good life while being trans.

In this context, it is important to know that people from many parts of the world gathered in Lausanne this April to pool our knowledge and skills and experiences. It is important to know that we have each returned to our home countries to share what we gained. It is important for people to know that similar meetings are happening across the world, in community centres and on university campuses, in board rooms and in bedrooms, involving trans people, and feminists, and yes, lesbians. We are constantly building a movement for positive change, and you do not have to be an academic or veteran activist to be a part of it. Trans power is for everyone.

There is much to say what needs doing in the current moment. We need allies to continue fighting alongside trans people for our collective liberation. We need to be demonstrating in the streets, funding mutual aid and legal action, actively resisting complicity in Labour’s eliminationist agenda, and encouraging every public body under the sun to do the same.

Evidence will be helpful for this. Evidence from academic research, sure, but also – as Dinah Bons pointed out – testimony from the everyday reality of trans people’s lives. And oh boy, do we have that evidence.

More of us than ever are producing evidence of trans existence, and trans persistence.

And this is how we win.

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Building our own power: the Glasgow Transfem Electrolysis Project

Last year I joined the Glasgow Transfem Electrolysis Project, a super cool initiative which is raising money to train and equip two community members as electrolysists. Building on the example of Electrolysis by Siobhan, who opened her service off the back of a similar project in Manchester, the project’s aim is to ensure affordable and safe hair removal for trans women and non-binary people.

In an era of continued NHS failings and civil rights rollbacks, it’s important to be reminded of the power that lies in coming together as a community and working towards a common goal in our collective interest. Hateful policymakers and journalists can never take that away from us.

You can donate to the fundraiser here. We are also running LOVE ELECTRIC, a gig at Mono in Glasgow on Thursday 13th February, with pop, folk, punk, and drag artists. If you’re local, please come by to learn more about the project, and see some incredible live performers! I’m really excited for what’s going to be an amazing night.

Gig tickets are available here.

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Puberty blocker consultation: my response

In early September I recieved an email from the Department for Health and Social Care, inviting me to participate in a closed consultation on the Labour government’s proposed extension of the Tory ban on puberty blockers. The deadline was 1st October 2024.

September was already extremely busy. I started the month at the International Trans Studies Conference in Chicago, and ended it at the WPATH Symposium in Lisbon. In the meantime I was faced with various writing deadlines, administrative tasks, and the start of a new teaching semester. The small number of other academic experts and voluntary organisations who were also invited to respond no doubt faced very similar challenges with the short notice and unforgiving deadline.

Nevertheless, I scrambled to respond. Like Cal Horton, I regard government consultations on trans healthcare to be inherently abusive at this stage; as I wrote to the Nuffield Council on Bioethics in 2018, “we respond not with hope or optimism, but in fear. This is the power you wield over us”. Given the turgid vibes found in recent political discourse, I also held little hope of a long-term ban being prevented. However, it seemed worth using what little prestige I have as an academic to at least try to encourage the government to listen to actual evidence.

Trans Writes are now reporting that an extension of the ban until 2027 is on the cards for Britain, following a unanimous vote on the same by the Northern Ireland Assembly. With this in mind, I am now publicly sharing the evidence I provided in the closed consultation, plus slides from an oral presentation to the Commission on Human Medicines, who advised the Government.

I don’t think for a moment that sharing these materials will change anything in the short term. However, I feel it is important to put them in the public realm now for the sake of transparency.

[PDF] Puberty blocker consultation – response from Ruth PearceDownload

[SLIDES] Commission on Human Medicines – Pearce presentationDownload

Going forward, I hope the work that many of us have done in building and sharing an ethical base for the ethical provision of trans healthcare will make a difference. In the meantime, there is an important lesson here about relying on existing, unequal systems of power and control. As Nat Raha and Mijke van der Drift argue in their new book Trans Femme Futures, making demands of institutions leaves the power in their hands. It is more important than ever for trans people to build power and knowledge within our own communities, in collaboration with others.

We have survived worse in the past by sharing information, ideas, and life-changing medication between us, and we will do so again.

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Regarding the Charity Commission and Cass Review

I was relieved to see today that the Charity Commission’s investigation into Mermaids has finally concluded. The Commission’s published decision found that Mermaids was mismanaged in several respects, but did not find evidence of misconduct, especially in terms of safeguarding young people or providing medical advice.

This is great news in that Mermaids can now continue to operate as a charity and seek funding from relevant agencies to do so. The organisation clearly faced an enormous squeeze during this time, that significantly affected service provision.

However, I am concerned by the language used around the Cass Review in the Commission’s report and accompanying press release. I feel much of this language is deeply misleading and demonstrates considerable ignorance regarding the Review. At the same time, I feel there are some good, practical recommendations in there for charities which face potential harassment from media reporting and on social media.

Logo for the Charity Commission for England and Wales




Binders

The most concerning statement can be found in the Charity Commission’s press release, concerning Mermaids’ former provision of binders to young people as a harm reduction measure:

The Commission has issued statutory advice to the charity requiring that, should it ever resume this service, its future policy and controls should reflect the recent Cass Review, or any future NHS guidelines on parental involvement.

The Cass Review does not, of course, actually make any formal recommendations for non-medical service providers – moreover, its commentary on social transition is not well-evidenced.

However, the Charity Commission decision quotes the final report of the Cass Review, which states that “parents should be actively involved in decision making unless there are strong grounds to believe that this may put the child or young person at risk“. This would appear to align with Mermaids’ actual policy, which was to work with parents, families, or carers unless a young person was not directly supported. The issue, of course, is that the Charity Commission (and, indeed, the Cass Review team) do not fully interrogate or understand the considerable risks posed to young trans people by unsupportive parents.

I am increasingly of the impression that policymakers are taking all kinds of decisions without having read the Cass Report in any detail, let alone with a critical eye. This would appear to be another example of this.


Having “regard” to the Cass Review

Similarly, in a sub-section of the decision report titled “Implementing the findings of the Cass Review”, the Charity Commission recommends that trustees working with “children and young people who are questioning their gender identity or experiencing gender dysphoria” need to “ensure that they have regard to the findings, conclusions and recommendations of the Cass Review and ensure that they have reviewed their charity’s literature, website and guidance in light of them“.

This statement is, I believe, being wilfully misinterpreted on social media and in media commentary. For example, the Standard’s report on the decision leads with the headline “Charities should follow Cass Review recommendations, say watchdog”. However, that is not what the decision actually says.

In the UK, “have regard” means that organisations should take account of guidance and carefully consider it. An example of this can be found in the Charity Commission’s rules for charities on public benefit:

As a charity trustee, ‘having regard’ to the commission’s public benefit guidance means being able to show that:

  • you are aware of the guidance
  • you have taken it into account when making a decision to which the guidance is relevant
  • if you have decided to depart from the guidance, you have a good reason for doing so

In the current political climate, this strikes me as an eminently sensible approach to the Cass Review. I would expect all service providers and researchers to be aware of the Review’s final report, to take it into account, and (for the purpose of defending against bad faith actors) be able to provide good evidence for acting otherwise.

Going by a statement from Mermaids Chair Kathryn Downs for Third Sector, this appears to the charity’s planned approach to having regard:

“The Cass Review final report is the highest-profile review of youth healthcare in the world and has influenced NHS England’s policies. However, it is not legislation or guidance.“

She then goes on to emphasise that Mermaids’ advocacy and policy work will continue to be “driven by and give a platform to the voices of young trans people“.


We deserve better from the Charity Commission

Overall, I feel this is good news for Mermaids, and for trans organisations more generally. However, the language used by the Charity Commission, especially in their press release, really muddies the water by providing considerable grounds for bad faith interpretation.

It’s also deeply frustrating to see the Cass Review continually upheld as a paragon of policy advice. Trans people know that the Review was conducted by non-experts and involved individuals hugely hostile to our very existence. As a researcher, when I open the final report I see a methodological and ethical nightmare. The Cass Review is an example of runaway bad science, treated as an article of faith by mainstream decision-makers, many of whom haven’t actually read it.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable to speculate that the Charity Commission’s final decision reflects the influence of transphobic actors. Two years is an extraordinarily long time for an investigation to take place, and surely does not serve the interests of the young people Mermaids work with. Earlier this year the Commission’s Twitter account “accidentally” shared a transphobic post claiming (without evidence) that the charity had caused “so much harm”, calling into question the independence of the investigation.

I’ve been critical of Mermaids myself in the past, especially given I did not feel appropriately supported by them when I came out as a teenager. I am sure I will continue to be critical in the future. However, I hope this criticism can always be both constructive and grounded in reality, recognising our shared interest and care in building a better future for young people.

I’ll end this post, then, by amplifying Mermaids’ demand for better:

…the time taken to publish this report has been frustrating, significantly affecting Mermaids’ fundraising and ability to deliver on our charitable objectives. We call on the Charity Commission to ensure that organisations serving groups facing rising hostility are supported and protected, whilst being held to account where this is necessary.

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International Trans Studies Conference Day 4: safety, synthesisers, and the future of the field

This is the fifth in a series of blog posts about the 2nd International Trans Studies Conference in Evanston (4-7 September 2024).

Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.
Read Part 3 here.
Read Part 4 here.

It’s difficult to put into words what an enormous experience the 2nd International Trans Studies Conference was: the power of being in community with other trans scholars, the benefits of sharing ideas across disciplines and borders, the frustrations that arose with technical difficulties and the academy’s complicity in so many forms of violence. I intended to reflect on some of these matters further in a final blog post, but for now suffice to say that I was by turns exhausted, joyous, and hopeful throughout the fourth and final day of the event.


On being a target: How trans studies scholars and practitioners can survive hate and harassment

Saturday morning featured a session I had put together, focusing on strategies for survival in trans studies at a time of increased negative attention on our work. I approached several colleagues who have encountered substantial challenges from anti-trans campaigns, three of whom kindly agreed to join me to talk about what we might do about this.

Asa Radix of Callen-Lorde Community Health Center (USA) and Samantha Martin of Birmingham City University (UK) were sadly not able to join us in person, but recorded brilliant videos describing practical and theoretical responses to their experiences of being targeted by hate movements, both externally and within the institutions in which they worked. Florence Ashley of the University of Alberta (Canada) brought their irrepressible physical presence to the room, exploring in a short talk how proposed police monitoring of their law classes threatened to undermine the academic freedom of their students.

I wrote my own short presentation based on my experiences, explaining the abuse and harassment that continues to disrupt my research, and ways in which I have sought to counter this in practice. Drawing on my 2020 article “A Methodology for the Marginalised”, I argued that it should not be our individual responsibility to look after ourselves. Rather, we need practical support from the employers who benefit from our work. We also gain from building communities and networks of mutual support among marginalised academics, both within and beyond trans studies. A copy of my slides can be found here.

For me the most important part of the session was not what the speakers said, however: it was the opportunity for attendees to discuss their own experiences and strategies for navigating institutional barriers and opportunities for support. Whereas most of the conference consisted of several academic presentations followed by a short Q&A, we intentionally structured this session to enable as much conversation as possible, with questions fielded by anyone and everyone in the room rather than just looking to the speakers as experts. As a lecturer in community development, I found myself almost surprised by the rigidity of the traditional conference format, and was glad that attendees felt they benefited from our more open-ended approach, and the opportunity to discuss and sit with ideas.

Sadly, our online attendees did not have the same experience as those in the room. Like many other sessions at the conference, ours was plagued with technical difficulties due to problems with the digital conference software Ex Ordo. Given this possibility, and the fact that our session featured two video presentations, I turned up early in the morning to strategise with our amazing technical assistant, Srishti Chatterjee. Unfortunately, the session before ours ended up overrunning due to their own technical issues, meaning that we no time to properly set things up. Under pressure, we managed to get the videos working, but weren’t able to monitor the online chat while this was happening, not realising until afterwards that they were not visible for those outside the room. It would have undoubtedly been worse if Srish was not present, highlighting the importance of having trained people with initiative on hand to respond to problems as they arise.

You can read a third party account of our session on Amy Ko’s blog (thanks Amy!)


Trans Synths and Synthetic Sounds

After our intense discussion of hate and safety, I sought refuge in a more joyous session. And so to synths, and synthetic sounds: to trans pop and hyperpop, music that brings me immense joy.

This session began with a talk titled Switched-On Reality: The Synthesizer and Trans Subjectivity, by Westley Montgomery of Stanford University (USA). Montgomery highlighted the enormous contributions to music made by two pioneering synthesiser artists: Wendy Carlos and Sylvester.

Carlos is famous for her arrangements of Bach for the Moog synthesiser, as well as her film scores for A Clockwork Orange, The Shining, and Tron.  Sylvester was a member of the drag theatre group The Cockettes, before becoming known as the “Queen of Disco” with hits such as “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)”. Both are therefore remembered for their major contributions to 20th Century popular music, but as Montgomery observed, can also be seen as “bad trans objects”.

Carlos transitioned in the 1960s and disclosed her trans history in the late 1970s, following her rise to prominence. In this way she became an extremely high profile trans musician. However, she also distanced herself actively from trans liberation movements, enabled by her relative privilege as a highly educated, white, middle-class woman. Montgomery wryly observed that people have asked ‘“where was Wendy Carlos [who lived in New York at the time] during Stonewall?’”, noting that, “the answer is most likely at home, playing Bach”. Sylvester, a Black middle-class person with an ambivalent public relationship to gender, famously proclaimed “If I want to be a woman, I can be a woman. If I want to be a man, I can be one”. However, Sylvester actively rejected transsexual identification, was uninvolved in the civil rights movement, and would later also reject disco music as it waned in popularity.

Both Wendy Carlos and Sylvester can therefore be understood as assimilationist figures who do not live up to liberatory ideals. But Montgomery argued that they must be understood within the context of the material conditions in which they lived. Moreover, their musical contributions are historically significant regardless, especially in terms of synthesiser use. Montgomery posited that the mainstream emergence of the synthesiser and of women and queer musicians happened in tandem, enabling a resignification of womanhood. Montgomery ended the talk by Hannah Baer, who argues moreover that the synthesiser is inherently not cisgender: “a synthesiser’s shape is not in any way where the sound comes from, and there’s something so free and trans in that. You have no idea what sound is going to come out of this thing. And maybe I don’t either!”

The next few talks shifted the focus to 21st Century synthetic sounds in the context of hyperpop. In Gender Knobs: Transgender Expression through Vocal Filtering Technology in Drag, Hyperpop Music and Beyond, Jordan Bargett of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale (USA) looked at the gendering of voice through pitch filtering. Her story began with the vocoder, originally invented to extend bandwidth in telefony, and later adapted for encryption in World War 2 before being adapted for popular music by artists including Wendy Carlos and Laurie Anderson. Anderson in particular used pitch filtering for gender drag in “O Superman”, using it to perform a masculine “voice of authority”. In the 2000s and 2010s pitch-shifting gained popularity with nightcore, setting the scene for trans-specific experimentation within hyperpop.

With hyperpop, Bargett explained that filtered vocals could be used for more nuanced gender expression as well as drag. They introduced the examples of trans women artists SOPHIE and Laura Les, who both used pitch filtering to create more “feminine” singing voices. In this context, authentic trans voices might be understood as both “synthesised and authentic”. At the same time, Bargett cautions that pitch alone does not, of course, gender a voice, and that hyperpop artists tend to be well aware of this. She presented the example of SOPHIE’s music video “It’s Okay to Cry”, in which the artist’s voice and body are “undressed”: an expression of trans vulnerability. The talk concluded with a screening of Bargett’s own short film “Transistor”, which explored how “technology can be an extension of the trans self and body”.

We heard more about SOPHIE from Gabriel Fianderio of the University of Wisconsin-Madison (USA), in Interpretation and articulation: Transphobia and Dysphoria Through SOPHIE’s “L.O.VE.”. Fianderio began by noting that “BIPP”, the opening track on SOPHIE’s debut EP PRODUCT, promises to make us “feel better”. But “L.O.V.E”, the closing track on the EP, is difficult to listen to due to the hostile noise of the dentist’s drill that recurs throughout the song. How to make sense of this disjuncture?

Fianderio posits that SOPHIE’s music provides a context in which we can move from “interpretation” (one truth) to “articulation” (space for multiplicity). Interpretation is often a problem with trans people. Citing Salamon, Fianderio  noted that “trans panic” defences for the murder of trans women often depend on the interpretation of gender expression as “an aggressive act, akin to a sexual advance or sexual assault”. Similarly, dysphoria can entail a range of complex feelings and sensations relating to ourselves and others. Forms of interpretation centring pain, disgust, and distress ignores the complexity of ambivalence, and the possibility for accompanying euphoria.

Fianderio’s argument was that “L.O.V.E.” problematises interpretation through its use of the drill sound. They drew on internet commentary to show how the sound is often described by listeners as a physical experience (e.g. “This unblocks my nose”). Complex textures underlie this painful sound of the drill, and complex articulations are subsequently appreciated by listeners who spend time with the song and come to enjoy it. In this context, “L.O.V.E.”’s rejection of singular interpretation enables listeners to read conflicting emotions into the same form, and hence articulate complex feelings around euphoria and dysphoria. This can take place with and through the drill sound itself, and/or the song structure itself, with its synthesised vocals and moments of relief and beauty.

The final talk in the session, by Lee Tyson of Ithaca College (USA), was titled Trans Hyperpop and the Synthetic Authenticity of the Digital Voice. Tyson asked how and why trans hyperpop artists are positioned as “authentic”. Their talk began again with SOPHIE, noting that she was widely celebrated for her “authenticity” following her accidental death in 2021, which appeared to potentially contract with the experimental approach and ironic sincerity she employed in much of her music. Tyson describes this as a form of “synthetic authenticity” that can be found among many trans hyperpop musicians.

Tyson returned to the topic of vocal manipulation, quoting Laura Les’ comments on her earlier work, in which she explained she altered her vocals because “it’s the only way I can record, I can’t listen to my regular voice, usually” [my note: interestingly, the most recent material from Les’ band 100 gecs features much less processing on her vocals]. By contrast, Dorian Electra artificially inflates the character of their voice: “My music is simultaneously artificial and authentic. It’s just as authentic to use the same sappy love song language that’s been used in a million ways. A person singing a love song is still putting on a character”.

Tyson contextualised these comments by noting that voice manipulation can be understood as part of a wider technological field, as with (for example) hormone therapy, surgeries, and voice training. Within this field, hyperpop can be understood as a form of simultaneous deconstruction/reconstruction [note: I have also written on this as a feature of trans music!] This is not always liberatory: Tyson outlined the examples of the commercialisation of hyperpop, and the white appropriation of tropes of Black soul music by artists such as SOPHIE. At the same time, by finding something “more real” in artificial sounds, hyperpop offers a productive challenge to contemporary trans advocacy strategies and neoliberal imperatives of self-actualisation which rely on norms of intelligibility.


Overall, this was one of my favourite sessions of the conference. Like much of the music under discussion, it was self-knowingly silly and playful – yet stuffed full of surprising depth and interesting ideas. I only wish that the presenters had spent less time critiquing the whiteness of hyperpop, and more time considering the work of groundbreaking artists of colour such as underscores. Meanwhile, I don’t think music in and of itself can change the world, but it can help change the way we think, and that’s powerful and important.


Caucuses

After lunch, I spent most of the afternoon in a range of caucus sessions. These actually ran throughout the conference, and offered more open discussion spaces for people to have conversations on the basis of shared personal/demographic experiences or disciplinary interests. For example, there was an Asian scholars’ caucus, and a caucus for people studying trans healthcare.

Unfortunately, the schedule for the event was so jam-packed that each of the caucuses took place alongside multiple parallel presentation sessions. As such, I didn’t get around to attending any of the ones relevant or open to me until the final afternoon, when I managed to go to three in succession.

The first of these was the Palestinian caucus. This was an informal but very well-attended event arranged by attendees who wanted to organise collectively against the ongoing genocide in Gaza. This felt particularly urgent at the conference given the absence of Palestinian speakers, the presence of corporations who invest financially in the Israeli regime, and the suspension of Northwestern University professor Steven Thrasher following his support for a student encampment.

The second was the trans women and transfeminine scholars’ caucus. I recommended this take place and volunteered to chair it after a callout for volunteers from the conference organisers. Like many trans professional and trans studies spaces, the conference was dominated by men and transmasculine people. One joke often repeated at the conference was that “trans studies is mostly trans men who talk about trans women to cis women”: it felt very different to consider the repercussions of this within a woman and transfeminine only space. I found it very meaningful and refreshing to connect with colleagues in this context, and there is at least one very cool idea which might come out of our conversations, so watch this space.

Finally, I attended a caucus on publicly engaged scholarship. This turned out to be a small number of us swapping career advice, which is perhaps not what I originally intended, but felt very productive nonetheless!


Closing plenary

The conference closed with a plenary titled Whither Trans Studies? Towards a Future for the Field.

First, organiser TJ Billard took to the stage to make some closing comments. They thanked their fellow organisers, plus the conference’s steering group and sponsors, reflecting on how important it is that various university departments (especially at Northwestern) and research institutions support trans studies. They then reflected on the conference’s ambitious approaches to accessibility and inclusion, which faced some significant hitches in practice.

Billard thanked conference attendees for being patient and forgiving when things went wrong, and encouraged future organisers to “learn from the things that we tried to do, learn that the things that we failed to do, shortcomings both technical and intellectual”. They noted, echoing the complaints of the Palestinian caucus, that this included the absence of Palestinian scholars at a time of ongoing scholaricide, and apologised for the organisers’ failings in this regard.

We then heard reports from a small number of the caucuses. The graduate student caucus asked, “where is trans studies going? There was lots of discussion, and no consensus”. The Asian scholars’ caucus noted how the needs of Asian scholars are not necessarily met in “standard” Anglophone trans studies classes or syllabi, and reflected on the importance of building a network and not being alone.

The most extensive report came from the disabled scholars’ caucus, and these reflected many of the major strengths and failings of the conference I and others have written about recently. For many disabled scholars, we heard, this was a first opportunity to know of one another’s existence. Nevertheless, “the absences at this conference [were] as significant as the presences”: a comment that reflected Kai Pyle’s statements on the absence of Indigenous scholars in the opening plenary. Disabled people were absent due to numerous barriers to participation: this included the extreme circumstances facing those experiencing disablement through genocidal actions note just in Gaza, but also in Sudan and Congo.

In this context, the disabled trans scholars who were present were broadly “grateful and somewhat okay with the access we have experienced this week”. However, we were left with a number of thoughts which will be vital for future organisers: “Access is about justice, and justice is about accountability […] Access is not simply a matter of getting into a building. It is about interrogating why a building is inaccessible in the first place”.

Then the conference closed with a barnstorming final speech from the legendary Susan Stryker. She began by thanking all the people who had approached her throughout the event to thank her for her significant body of work: “I appreciate that something that I did landed with you in some way”. She then turned to think through the purpose and importance of trans studies.

Stryker started by looking to the roots of her own oppression. She explained that this has informed her analysis of body politics that positions people within specific, given social roles. She argued that while this body politics is a lynchpin of the Eurocentric social order, it has not always been this way, and it does not have to by this way.

What does it mean to be trans in this oppressive social order? Stryker proclaimed that “transness is an affective experience, driven by suffering and drawn by desire […] it is a practice of freedom”. This presents the possibility of alliance across multiple liberation movements. As Black trans studies has shown, transness is not just about sex/gender, but also at least as much about race, and the ways that certain bodies are racialised through gendering and gendered through racialisation. It is also vital that trans people understand their commonality with feminism. Insofar as feminism defies biological determination, “feminism can be considered a trans practice of freedom”. What brings us together is our movement across the boundary of categories designed to restrict freedom: “it is wrong to believe that embodiment must be a trap”.

Consequently, trans studies is about the pursuit of freedom, and should be a liberatory practice. Stryker cautioned us that creating an institutionalised form of trans studies does not solve the actual problems we face. She wryly insisted that we learn from the student movements of the 1960s, which did not achieve revolution, but instead “achieved ethnic studies departments”. She encouraged us to consider how we might use what positions we have in the academy to create space for struggle: “If we are so damn radical, if we are so dangerous, why has the field not been oppressed more brutally?” Stryker explained that she wasn’t trying to deny the real oppression we face – but rather, to acknowledge that as we sat gathered in the state of Illinois, certain things were possible for us which are not necessarily possible elsewhere.

At this juncture, Stryker reminded us of Stephen Thrasher’s suspension for visiting a student camp that supported the Palestinian struggle against genocide. She invited us to consider what it is about a trans studies conference – sponsored by the very institution that suspended Thrasher – that makes us more acceptable than voicing support for people facing death in Gaza?

Stryker shared several concerns raised at the Palestinian caucus with the rest of the conference, asking: what might a post-disciplinary trans studies look like in light of an absence of meaningful, substantive engagement with the genocide in Gaza? Drawing on a statement put together by the caucus, she noted that the conference was not BDS compliant, that attendees were not made aware of Northwestern University’s complicity in genocide, that there was no explicit discussion of the scholarcide in Gaza in the official programming, and that there was no formal engagement with the large Palestinian diaspora community living near to the campus. She argued that a shared liberatory goal for trans studies should include solidarity with Palestine, and future organising should undertake a good faith effort to foreground Palestinian scholars and be BDS compliant. Stryker invited scholars to raise their hands if they were supportive of these statements of solidarity: a majority of the room immediately did so.

Finally, Stryker formally proposed the creation of a new International Trans Studies Association, as a context for trans studies scholars to organise for freedom. As the “largest, most diverse gathering of trans studies scholars to date”, she stated her belief that the conference had a mandate to make a decision on the creation of this new association. She proposed that this process begin by taking advantage of the international steering group assembled for the 2nd International Trans Studies Conference, with this group invited to create proposed bylaws for the new organisation, and all conference attendees invited to join as founding members and vote on the proposed bylaws. Stryker asked if the room was in favour of this process, and asked us to raise our hands if so: once again, there was an overwhelming expression of support.


And that was it!

I’m really grateful to everyone who has written to say how they have found this series of blog posts interesting or useful. I think it’s really important to share material from conferences with people who are unable to attend. I used to regularly livetweet, but this no longer feels like a productive form of engagement. Writing up my notes ended up taking a lot longer than anticipated, and the length of some of these posts has felt a bit unwieldy. It’s also a bit frustrating to be finishing off the series over a month after the conference ended! Still, it feels really important to have some kind of record.

I’m hoping to write a final post on the Trans Studies Conference, reflecting more broadly on my experiences and questions of accessibility and resourcing, possibly comparing and contrasting with the 2024 WPATH Symposium in Lisbon. Let’s see how I do!

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International Trans Studies Conference, Day 3: getting emotional with political economy

This is the third in a series of blog posts about the 2nd International Trans Studies Conference in Evanston (4-7 September 2024).


Read Part 1 here.
Read Part 2 here.

There is something about seeing your experiences accurately represented in research. This can be very emotional if you are used to seeing people like you ignored, erased, or otherwise grossly mispresented. Much like media representation, research representation can be powerful in putting a mirror to our experiences and suddenly making them a lot more real.

I dislike the vast overuse of the term “valid” in trans discourse, but there is something very important about being actively validated, about being seen, when the entirely of society feels like it’s set up to deny or gaslight you. It’s a consciousness-raising moment, in which you become capable of truly acknowledging or naming what is happening to you. It is meaningful and authentic and it enables action. But it is also very painful.

As a trans health researcher, I think I’ve developed a pretty thick skin. I see a huge amount of bad trans health research, built on cis ignorance and a fundamental inability to engage with the reality of our lives. I also see growing amounts of painfully real research from researchers who are engaging with care. For better and for worse, I feel I’ve learned to carefully manage my emotions and let all of this wash over me, in order to engage consistently and “professionally”.

But on Thursday morning, a series of presentations made me cry.


Global Struggles, Local Solutions: Transgender Perspectives on Economics and Welfare

The morning began with doughnuts, piled high in the reception area of the conference, a very extravagant seeming American breakfast. From there I headed to the first session of the day, which explored trans political economy. This might seem like the dryest topic imaginable, but for me it gets right to the core of how systemic transphobia and cisgenderism operate, how we feel about that, and what we might do about it.

The study of political economy is concerned with how economic systems interface with social and political systems, and vice-versa. The first paper in this session, by Yukari Ishii of Sophia University (Japan), looked at homeless trans people’s access to welfare systems. In Reasons Underlying Gender-diverse Individuals’ Need for Public Social Welfare Support in Japan, Ishii reported on findings from the 2009-2020 consultation records of Moyai, a non-profit voluntary sector welfare provider, plus interviews with service users.

Ishii’s paper mapped in detail how trans people find themselves accessing welfare systems after being failed by heteronormative and cisnormative systems throughout their lives. She described trans people being rejected by their parents, dropping out from school due to the hostility of the heavily gendered environment, which limited their formal educational attainment. Participants in her research struggled to find work, or were otherwise fired for being trans. More tolerant work environments either required skills or an education background that trans people were less likely to have, or were deeply insecure, as in the case of sex work. Trans people who struggled to hold down a job also struggled to find places to live, with many sleeping at friend’s houses, in Internet cafes, or in the streets.

Ishii’s research showed up vulnerability is created through structurally embedded cisgenderism, impacting people from families to schools to workplaces and even to apparent sites of last resort; for example, she described how Internet cafes did not allow trans women to stay overnight if they were sex workers. She further noted that the consultation records at Moyai were limited where consultants didn’t have a lot of knowledge about queer people, or didn’t know what questions to ask about (for example) family violence. She concluded by recommending that welfare professionals gain knowledge of gender and queer issues, to ensure they are best placed to provide advice and support to service users, and keep better records for improving long-term understanding of the problems faced.

The next paper similarly traced the deep context of economic disadvantage, this time looking to history for a deeper context. In Trans-cending Barriers to QTPOC Labor in the South, Anthony Belotti of Virginia Commonwealth University (USA) focused on the US South’s historical legal landscape, linking this to the region’s racism, homophobia, and transphobia.

Belotti argued that “the history of the South has created an environment where QTPOC (queer and trans people of colour) do not have equal access to labour opportunities and class mobility”. Various legislation effectively criminalised queer, trans, and Black existence, including the Jim Crow laws, “decency” laws which banned wearing clothes not associated with sex assigned at birth, and anti-union “right to work” laws. Belotti argued that while there is relatively little archival material on QTPOC experiences in the South, these laws provide an important insight into people’s experiences, especially given the existence of legislation such as the decency laws implies a perceived need for them from authorities. The concrete impact of all this was that QTPOC had difficulties finding and keeping legal employment.

By the time Dan Irving presented, I will admit I was already feeling pretty vulnerable. In Ishii and Belotti’s excellent papers, I heard about contexts both very different to the UK, and remarkably similar. Beyond the broad importance of their findings, I recognised in their accounts the experiences of so many of my friends and colleagues – a meaningful and painful experience that underpins so much of my engagement with good work in trans studies.

Irving, of Carleton University (Canada) presented a paper titled Sensational Disruptions: Affective Economic Justice at Work. Building on his previous work on trans political economy, this presentation reported on findings from two large qualitative research projects on unemployment and underemployment among trans and non-binary people in Canada, conducted in 2012-16 and 2020-24.

Irving’s paper focused on exploring one anticipated finding from these projects in depth: the “I can’t put my finger on it” feeling. This theme involved participants encountering difficulties in the workplace or in attempting to land work, but finding it hard to articulate why they couldn’t get the job, or had hours reduced, or were laid off, even when appropriately skilled – or overqualified. There was something about getting through the door and finding the vibe was off. These experiences were especially likely to be detailed by trans people from racialised minorities, and/or trans women.

I immediately recognised what Irving was describing. How could I not? He had just described years of my experiences in the workplace as a trans woman. And of course, this isn’t really a new insight: the problems he named have been discussed in feminist literature for decades (especially Black feminist and womanist literature), and indeed within the consciousness-raising group I joined shortly after moving to Glasgow. These findings also related to the phenomenon reported by people from many marginalised groups, whereby we always have to be the very best to succeed in a basic manner in the workplace.

What was most useful about Irving’s paper, however, was his theorising of the phenomenon. In a manner that resonated with Nat Raha’s comments on the second day of the conference, Irving turned to affect theory (explanations that centre feeling and emotion) to explore what is happening to us in the workplace.

Irving described how trans people (especially racialised minorities, and women) often find ourselves constantly doing the additional work of ensuring that managers, co-workers, and customers feel comfortable with us. This causes a “sensate disruption” in our lives, shaped by the “corrosive impact of fear, repulsion, anger on the part of cisnormative employers, co-workers and customers and the violent impacts of rage, depression, exhaustion on trans jobseekers and workers”. Even worse, there are few outlets for these emotions: neoliberal discourses of personal responsibility mean that feelings are expected to be quarantined within the body of the (marginalised) worker, for example through us taking responsibility for our transitions and bodies and carefully managing our relations with others.

It was at this point that I started to cry.

I feel so, so tired and alienated in my work, all the time. I have some amazing colleagues and students, but I am still working in a system where I can feel myself being discriminated against while also finding it hard to always articulate the exact ways in which it happens. I am tired of being advised to refocus my energies in the workplace even as an eliminationist movement works against trans existence. I am tired of my research being erased or dismissed, I am tired of being asked to meetings where I am ignored, I am tired of being asked how the institution can best protect me, I am tired of being told that my failed grant applications are the “most impressive unfunded bid” that people have ever seen. I am tired of having little language for these experiences, and of pushing my feelings down every day.

I am tired of seeing as much, and far far worse, happen all the time to my trans colleagues and friends.

Responding to these findings, Irving asked: “how do we begin to grapple with the ‘affective byproducts’ of post-industrial demands for affective labour?” How do we reckon with the unsayable in our felt experiences? And quoting Deborah Gould, “what kind of political context do we need to build that actually listens to what many people are feeling and that cares about people’s disappointment, despair and furies?”

Drawing on the work of Hil Malatino, Irving proposed “infrapolitics” (low-profile, informal, undeclared forms of resistance) and community care as a basis from which to build solutions. Drawing from participant narratives, he argued that this can include political acts of resistance that are “not on the oppressor’s radar”: examples included zines and phone lines distributing information among workers and applicants, building community connections, and forms of entertainment and commentary such as comic strips. Like Ishii, Irving also highlighted the ways in which trans people effectively provide welfare services for one another, for example by providing beds or housing for homeless community members. What this all amounts to are forms of anti-capitalist resistance that amount to a collective recognition and addressing of the problem.

Sticker with trans flag and text that says: read and submit your favourite texts for free. Visit www.transreads.org.
Sticker spotted at the conference. An example of infrapolitical resistance.

The session concluded with another extremely powerful and nuanced presentation, from Pato Laterra of the Interdisciplinary Centre for the Study of Public Policies, and Francisco Fernandez Romero of the University of Buenos Aires (both Argentina), titled A Trans Political Economy from Elsewhere: Reflections from Argentina. Like the other presenters, Laterra and Romero sought to use the concept of political economy to understand how trans lives are embedded in existing political structures, and propose alternatives for survival. They emphasised that in Latin American contexts, there is a strong tradition of research on travesti and trans people’s living conditions, with travesti-trans politics prioritising mutual support and resource distribution. It is within this context that they looked at implementation and impact the travesti-trans labour quota within Argentina’s public sector.

The travesti-trans labour quota is a form of reparative politics, in which 1% of federal jobs are reserved for trans people. This policy represents a response to the deep, systematic discrimination faced by travesti and trans people in Argentina, which reflects that reported from Japan, the USA, and Canada through the rest of the session. It was implemented in response to radical political demands from campaigners, with the presenters sharing a photo of a flag featuring a slogan they translated as “quota and reparation, we want redistribution”.

To understand how effective the travesti-trans labour quota is in practice, Lattera and Romero insisted on a rethinking of trans political economy, going beyond just thinking of trans people as workers or consumers. They wished to emphasise:

  • everyday reproductive and care relationships, in terms of that which sustains life beyond income or the market;
  • social policies that enable or do not enable certain lives, especially for people with an insecure relationship to the market;
  • situated perspectives, for example through acknowledging how labour (and theory!) from the Global South is extracted by the North.

Lattera and Romero argued that the labour quota partially subverts trend towards assimilation regarding trans people’s inclusion in labour markets. This is because the quota aims to achieve economic redistribution, and positions access to work as a human right. Moreover, it supports the employment of the “least employable”, i.e. trans people who are more likely to be without educational qualifications, or have a police record. In this way, it offers a response to many of the issues outlined by the previous presenters, and an alternative to typical liberal capitalist logics that involve capturing the economic benefits of trans labour.

However, as one intervention within a wider network of unequal systems, the labour quota has significant limitations. Lattera and Romero noted that the “right to work” reifies labour normativity: that is, it upholds the idea that our value as human beings is dependent on being able to have paid jobs, and that paid work is more important than unpaid care work, community work, or domestic labour. Moreover, in practice, the trans people actually hired under the labour quota are most often the most privileged, being predominantly young, white, and highly educated; and once in role, they face a significant pressure to assimilate.

Lattera and Romero urged against any simplistic reading of the labour quota’s benefits or drawbacks, in a manner that forced me to reflect on my aforementioned feelings that “other trans people have it worse”. The “more privileged” trans people hired under the labour quota still face significant disadvantage in their lives. For many, this is their first job, and it is not well-paid. Moreover, those who do tend to land these roles within the public sector tend to regard it as a job they are gaining not (just) for themselves, but for their wider community. The introduction of the quota has also resulted in increased trans labour organising and trade unionism, including increased collaboration between trans and cis colleagues in service of their shared interests. This has been especially important given the mass firings of public sector workers by President Javier Milei since his election in 2023.

The presenters concluded by arguing that trans people’s concerns should be understood within transnational political-economic processes. For example the recent firing of trans workers is a part of wider processes of extraction, in which the Argentinian government is “giving away our wealth to the Global North”. At the same time, there are always lessons to be learned from different parts of the world, so long as we properly acknowledge where these ideas come from and show care in doing so. The Argentinian labour movement invites us to imagine other ways of trans participation in the economy, beyond capitalist productivity.


Game studies, visual culture, and transnationalising trans studies

I’ve had a lot to say about trans political economy, and I have had a very specific story to tell about how my own experiences intersect with what I learned. At the same time, this was just the first session I attended on the third day of the Trans Studies Conference. I’ve therefore decided to split my notes on this day across more than one post. I have yet to write about playing games with Giggle, trans photography and archives, or resisting settler colonialism – and that’s before we get onto Day 4. Watch this space!

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International Trans Studies Conference, Day 2: TERF wars, parenting, detransition, and decolonial theory

This is the second in a series of blog posts about the 2nd International Trans Studies Conference in Evanston (4-7 September 2024).


Read Part 1 here.

Photo of conference banner.

I began my second day at the conference Chicago-style – breakfasting on an enormous slice of leftover deep dish pizza. Suitably fortified, I strolled the sunny streets of the Northwestern University campus to the Technological Institute, a massive building in which the various conference sessions are taking place.

I was keen to arrive early for the first full day of the conference, as I had been asked to chair an early session. As described in my first post, the huge scope of this event means there are normally eleven simultaneous sessions at once, so there is sadly no way any one person can keep up with everything that’s going on.

Fortunately, the conference organisers planned long lunch breaks and multiple evening receptions, meaning there was plenty of time to meet and catch up with other people even if you hadn’t been able to see them present their paper.

In this post and others I’m therefore going to focus on the sessions and papers I did get to see. Bear in mind that this is just a tiny proportion of the material presented at the conference, and it reflects my own interests and ad-hoc decisions rather than the full scope of the event. It is also my interpretation of the papers I heard, so I may have missed nuance or got some things wrong! I’ve organised this post by the title of the sessions I attended, so do scroll down to whatever interests you most.


TERF Wars: The Battle for Feminist Futures

The danger of writing a book titled TERF Wars is that for years afterwards, people invite you to speak, write, and host events on the topic of trans-exclusionary feminisms. I suppose it was therefore almost inevitable that as a member of the steering group for the conference, I would be asked to chair this session! Fortunately, we were graced with a series of extremely interesting papers which shed new light on how best to understand and work through conflicts over “TERF” politics and essentialist ideas of womanhood, especially given their increasing alignment with far-right politics.

The first paper in the session was titled The Metaphysics of the Natural in TERF Discourse, and was presented by the American-Mexican independent scholar Julianna Neuhouser, based on her collaborative work with Siobhan Guerro Mc Manus. Neuhouser began by acknowledging the significant rise in opposition to trans people’s civil rights over the last decade, with an impact in turn on how a large portions of society think and speak. She argued that trans-exclusionary radical feminism (or “TERF” politics) has played an important role in this, enabling racist, ecofascist and anti-choice positions historically associated with conservative or far-right thinking to be presented as “legitimate” or even feminist within mainstream contexts.

Neuhouser traced a brief history of this process, beginning with the role of ecofeminist approaches which present women as more “naturally” connected to nature than men. In this context, trans women are positioned as a dangerous technological phenomenon, not fully women and perhaps not even fully human. Neuhouser noted the influence of Mary Daly – who infamously compared to trans women to Frankenstein’s monster in her 1978 book Gyn/Ecology – on later writers including the antisemitic conspiracy theorist Jennifer Bilek, and the UK journalist Helen Joyce. Antisemitism and transphobia are also entwined within ecofascist thinking around population control. Neuhouser discussed the example of Derrick Jensen, who turned to conspiracy theories about Jewish influence on trans-inclusive feminism to explain the collapse of his own political project.

Similarly, Neuhouser noted how trans-exclusionary logics have enabled religious right perspectives to be positioned as feminist, outlining the example of INAARGIT (the Feminist International Network Against Artificial Reproduction, Gender Ideology and Transhumanism). INAARGIT promotes the protection of women’s “natural” sexed bodies against “artificial” reproductive and body modification technologies, with consequences for assisted reproduction as well as trans existence. Neuhouser argued that this approach is tacitly associated with fears regarding a supposed Jewish and/or Muslim “replacement” of the white race, much like ecofascist perspectives that embrace the devastating impact of the AIDS epidemic in African countries as a net positive for humanity.

The second talk in the session was by Heng Wang from the University of British Columbia (Canada), on Cyber Trans Panic: The Transnational Circulation of Transphobia and the Mobilization of Vulnerability Among Chinese Trans-exclusionary Feminists on Social Media. Wang began their talk by noting the significant rise in anti-trans feminist discourse on Chinese social media in the last two years. She argued that while many contemporary arguments mirror those of Western trans-exclusionary radical feminists active in the 1970s and 80s, social media has enabled greater circulation of misinformation and disinformation in the present.

Wang explained that when queer and feminist community groups and NGOs first emerged in China in the 1990s, these were broadly trans inclusive. However, online debate and educational programmes led by these groups were restricted in the mid-2010s. Young women are now therefore turning to social media influencers for feminist understandings of sex and gender.

Wang identified the politics of translation as a key issue for influencers’ impact on both trans people and feminism. “Gender” is frequently translated into “social sex” (shehui xingbie). In the Chinese linguistic context, definitions such as this effectively work to essentialise sexual difference as natural, in opposition to the social. It has led to growing numbers of Chinese feminists defining womanhood in essentialist biological terms, and potentially confusing translation of Western commentary on trans women and feminism. Meanwhile, only a minority of individuals have access to Western social media platforms, meaning that content by figures such as JK Rowling as well as responses from trans-inclusive feminists are mediated by the influencers capable of both accessing and translating it. These acts of translation can be shaped by misunderstandings and a projection of the influencers’ own ideological positions.

Consequently, transmisogyny in China is on the increase due to an entanglement of global far-right politics, disinformation on social media, and the specific Chinese national context. Wang therefore argues for the importance of a localised Chinese vision of trans feminism.

The final talk in the session was by Alex Colombo and Gonzalo Bustamante Moya of the University of Oregon (USA), titled The feminist empire: toward an anti-fascist trans politics. The presenters’ starting point was a question posted by Ana Seresin: how might contemporary antifascist organising be strengthened by acknowledging that some feminisms can be fascist? In speaking of fascism, they drew on Aimé Césaire’s portrayal of fascism not as an exceptional form of politics, but as the application of colonial projects and procedures against a white population instead of colonised peoples outside of Europe. In this sense, fascism can be understood potentially as a logical extension of liberalism, rather than external to it. The presenters explored these ideas through a deep engagement with Judith Butler’s book Who’s Afraid of Gender? and Jules Gill-Peterson’s A Short History of Transmisogyny.

Butler’s book positions gender as a phantasm: a psychosexual phenomenon, a site where anxieties and fears are mobilised to incite passions. This causes a blockage of critical thinking and imagination. Butler demonstrates that anti-gender movements have successfully positioned gender minorities as a “threat to the nation” in many parts of the world, and have used fascist strategies to contain this threat: stripping people of their civil rights, and expanding the power of state control and surveillance. Butler’s proposed solution is to develop a “counter-imaginary” that organises reality differently and creates alliances against anti-gender movements. However, the presenters argued that this approach retains some reliance on the “liberal institutions” of the state, which do not provide the necessary resources to truly confront fascism.

Drawing on Gill-Peterson, the presenters argued for a colonial origin of trans-exclusionary feminist fears and anxieties. Gill-Peterson positions transmisogyny as “a mode of colonial statecraft”, used for the creation and management of sexual minority populations. In identifying some people as transfeminine and labelling this as a problem, colonisers gain a new rationale for surveillance and control. Transmisogyny can therefore be understood not simply as a form of individual prejudice, but as a mechanism of the liberal/colonial cis state, intended to ensure a “fear of interdependence and “refusal of solidarity”.

Consequently, anti-trans feminism’s alignment with anti-gender movements is not simply a matter of hatred, and liberal institutions cannot be relied upon to oppose this process. In mobilising the phantasm of gender there is a clear rationale for transphobic feminists to ally with fascists within liberal contexts. Consequently, trans politics must be explicitly anti-fascist, and anti-fascist politics must address trans liberation.


Mother Knows Best: Families and Parents of Transgender Children

I next decided to attend two different sessions about trans children and their families. In the first session, I heard two papers on how parents might actively support their trans children.

In How do parents become sensitive to their Nonbinary child’s identity? Noah Sweder of Tufts University (USA) reported on the findings of a research project looking specifically at pathways to support within families. They identified four themes from their interviews with parents:

  1. Parents hear and support their child’s nonbinary identity. Sometimes they might find it hard to adjust, but making their best effort makes a real difference.
  2. Parents learn about the ways cisnormative society harms their child. This can involve observing children’s experiences of joy in their identity and expression, and experiencing frustration at societal stigma and barriers to social participation.
  3. Parents take significant and proactive steps to affirm their child. This can involve identifying who needs to know that the child is trans in order to better support them and make their lives easier, with key examples being schools and doctors. It can also involve taking strong action against transphobia, including being prepared to challenge family members.
  4. Parents recognise that gender is just one aspect of their child’s life. The child has not essentially changed, but instead wishes to be seen and understood.

The biggest takeaway from these findings is that parents do not necessarily need pre-existing knowledge and understanding to be supportive of their child. Instead, they need to be prepared to listen, learn, and take action.

The second paper I caught in this session was by j wallace skelton of the University of Regina (Canada), titled Strong Parental Support From Parent-Advocates. Drawing on a larger dataset looking at parents’ experiences across Canada, skelton focused nine interviews from the largely rural province of Saskatachewan. In 2023 the Saskatachewan government introduced a policy requiring parental permission for name and pronouns changes in schools. This was repealed following a legal challenge in 2024, only for the legislature to hold an emergency session to bring in new policy.

skelton explained that while the researchers didn’t ask about the Saskatachewan’s anti-trans legislation, parents inevitably brought it up. They highlighted the emotional difficulty and exhaustion of receiving constant news around transphobic legislation, and the heartbreak of their children feeling unwelcome in the province.

In spite of this difficult backdrop, I found the paper optimistic in its focus on parent advocacy, echoing [NAME]’s research. skelton observed that the participant cohort had mixed experiences of advocacy before knowing they had a trans child, and many were targeted for supporting their child, for example being called “groomers” or “paedophiles”. In spite of this, all parents forefronted child agency, naming their child’s experiences as valuable basis for learning. Parents saw their children as educators, balancing this with a “team effort” approach to advocacy within families, and centring their children’s consent in acting on their behalf. For example, skelton cited a parent who said, “I think that’s the biggest advice is that you need to check with your child too if it’s okay”.

Often parental advocacy changed people’s relationship with their communities, for example through leaving unsupportive churches, or no longer meeting with hateful family members. Notably, this was typically positioned as a loss for the transphobes rather than their targets; as skelton put it, “what a shame for Aunt Bertha”.

At this point, I ran over to another session to catch part of a paper by my colleague Cal Horton from Oxford Brookes University (UK): Trans children and state violence: Solidarity and resistance in the UK. As the title indicates, Horton highlighted the horrific injustices young trans people are increasingly facing in the UK (see e.g. my commentary on the Cass Review). At the same time, it was great to see them emphasise the power of resistance from young trans people and their allies, especially the dramatic protests undertaken by Trans Kids Deserve Better.

Exhausted but full of ideas, I headed to the courtyard for lunch, presented in convenient little paper bags labelled according to dietary need and preference. This was a great chance to do the most serious work of the conference, which can sadly never be truly captured in a post such as this: meeting new people and catching up with old friends. I then headed to a session all about detransition.


Cease and Desist: New Perspectives on Detransition

This session opened with a paper by Leor Baldus of the University of Marburg (Germany), titled Detransition: Decisions, Perspectives, and Life Paths of Detransitioned Individuals. Baldus noted that there is very minimal community-based research on detransition, with discourse around the topic dominated by medical and psychological studies. This research therefore focused on detransitioners speaking for themselves, through interviews with six detransitioned people assigned female at birth.

The most interesting part of the paper for me was Baldus’ discussion of what she called the “paradox dynamics of gatekeeping”. This reflected my own observations that gatekeeping practices in trans healthcare can often cause rather than prevent forms of regret.

Baldus observed that diagnosis and therapy within gender clinics always takes place in a context shaped by societal norms, including sexism, heteronormativity, and transnormativity. As noted by numerous trans studies scholars over the decades, gatekeeping entails a feedback loop of verification to diagnose transness, as the person seeking transition has to intelligible to the gatekeeper, which reinforces the gatekeeper’s pre-existing assumptions regarding trans existence. This process inevitably insists on certainty on the part of people seeking transition, which creates little space for ambivalence or exploration. Baldus quoted a participant who said, “the demand for certainty during and in the process […] created a pressure I felt I needed to meet”.

Baldus also described how participants internalised “maladaptive coping mechanisms” in response to misogyny and lesbophobia they experienced while growing up. Where expansive gender options did not seem possible, trans identities offered an explanation and way of making sense of participants’ experiences prior to detransition. In this context, being male was seen as an alternative to being a woman (as opposed to being different kind of woman – or, presumably, a non-binary person, although Baldus did not discuss this).

Kincaid Moberly from the University of Idaho (USA) offered an entirely different angle on the topic of detransition in his paper Trans and detrans representation in the Remothered series. This paper explored the unusual portrayal of a “trans man bad guy”, Richard Felton, in the survival horror video game series Remothered. Moberly noted that where transmasculine people appear in video games, they are typically portrayed as friends or allies, often in victim roles that motivate cis characters. By contrast Felton is a violent adversary, playing the role of a male psychosexual killer and (when wearing a dress) fulfilling the transmisogynistic trope of a “lethal gender bender”.  

Felton also, unusually, has a detrans narrative. According to the game series’ storyline, he/she was forcibly transitioned into a male role as a young person, and his/her experiences of manipulation and abuse led to their own violence towards others.  

Moberly describes the games’ portrayal of Felton as an example of detransphobia: a phenomenon in which detransitioned people are exploited for their actual or supposed pain. He argued that the demeaning of detransitioned people’s bodies and experiences, as in Remothered, takes place in the name of protecting white cis children, rather than actually finding ways to support detransitioned people. A possible response to this can be found in the rejection of cisnormative expectations regarding both the body and life trajectories. Moberly highlighted media by and for detransitioned people that emphasises empowerment, fluidity, and agency, in stark contrast to discourses of pain and disempowerment.

Media portrayals were also explored by Kat Fuller of the University of Nevada (USA), in Gendering, Detransition, and Abjection: News Media Coverages. Fuller’s study analysed 130 media articles on Chloe Cole, a detrans activist and “former trans child” who positions herself as inherently damaged by her former detransition, stating “I feel like a monster”.

The articles in Fuller’s sample which were identified as aligned with centre-right and far-right perspectives emphasised discourses on “gender ideology”, “silencing”, and “cancel culture”. Cole’s experience was used to support idea that LGBT experiences should be criticised, and any kind of pushback on homophobia and transphobia in the media represents an attack on free speech. Narratives around a person’s original transition tended to represent this in terms of trauma and loss, highlighting (for example) a supposed loss of infertility or attractiveness, and decisions being made by children who are too young to understand.

Echoing Moberly’s paper Kinnon MacKinnon’s research on detransition/retransition, Fuller reminded us that Cole’s experience is not representative of all detrans people, given the great range of detransition narratives and retransition experience.

The final paper in the session offered a more reflective space. bush bashing, an excavation of detransition, was presented by Tait Sanders of University of Queensland, Australia. There was a great deal of visual imagery of the Australian bush in this presentation, encouraging attendees to be present in the story. In this mediative account, Sanders explained how bush bashing is an approach to foliage clearance and cutting that provides space for choices around what is cut back and what is not; which plants are removed and which are left or given more space to grow.

Sanders contrasted notions of “add on detransition” – in which non-binary or genderfluid understandings of the body are added like sticking plasters – to an approach in which “gender [is[ imagined as emergent in the space created by the cut”. In this context, a meaningful approach to detransition might involve the creation of space: “gender is embodied […] and all we need do is follow it”.


(Re)imagining Transness with Decolonial Theory

It is inevitable that a conference based in a country will feature many contributions from that country, and Anglophone trans studies has always been US-dominated. However, as one person noted in the Q&A for this final session I attended on the Thursday, a problem with this is that many US scholars fail to localise their own work. In this way, US perspectives stands in for the universal, whereas contributions from other parts of the world become peripheral. White perspectives in trans studies perform a similar function; as observed once again in the Q&A, “if you’re going to work on white transness, you need to name it”.

I felt like the first paper in this session, by Nat Raha of Glasgow School of Art (UK), happened to offer some insights on how to address these problems, drawing on material from her forthcoming book with Mijke van der Drift, Trans Femme Futures. In Transfeminism and affective economies: collectives contra separability, Raha reflected on how researchers and activists in trans studies and beyond might “stay with the trouble” and pursue abolitionist approaches. She encouraged us to think through the complicity inherent in our work, especially given dominant logics get reproduced. A practical example of this would be how to engage with Palestinian liberation activism within and beyond institutions hostile to it, for instance through participation in the boycott, divestment, and sanctions (BDS) movement against Israeli apartheid. Raha outlined two key concepts for theorising the problem: separability, and affective economies.

Separability describes the reproduction of cultural difference through othering, as seen for instance in racist or xenophobic language or actions. Separability is enacted materially as well as in discourse, as seen for example in state borders, the arms trade, and deportations. Parallelling arguments made in the “TERF Wars” session at the start of the day, Raha explained that transphobia is part of the contemporary dynamics of separability, with gender norms folded into the enactment of white supremacy.

Affective economies describe how emotions and feelings provide motivation and structure for certain kinds of social order. Drawing on Franz Fanon, Raha provided the example of how emotional responses to the presence of Black, Indigenous and Brown people emerge in the context of specific histories and foundations of racialisation and inequality. In the context of these histories, mainstream conversations about racism tend to centre the feelings of white commentators. Similarly and relatedly, contemporary conversations about sex/gender are centring feelings of cis people. The structural impact of this is that the actual needs and perspectives of marginalised peoples are directly excluded.

Raha posited that a solution to these problems can be found in practices of abolitionist care. She encouraged us to think about our care practices in relation to separability, and invited us to consider how separability is reproduced in our personal and social lives. For example, who are we excluding in our work, and (to draw on the insights of the prison abolition movement) how might we stop treating people as disposable? How do we work through our affective investments in a way that manifests possibilities and togetherness?

In Conceptualizing Cuy(r)ness: Knowledge Production Regarding Gender & Sexuality in Ecuador, Nathan Campozano of SUNY Purchase College (USA) noted the oversaturated presence of the Global North in international conversations surrounding gender and sexuality. Relatedly, Andean perspectives are somewhat sidelined within Latin American studies. Campozano sought to counter this by exploring how people have challenged pre-conceived notions of gender and sexuality in Ecuador.

Campozano introduced “cuy” and “cuyr” as Ecuadorian responses to “queer”; unfixed terms that refuse direct translation. Understanding cuy(r) from a located Ecuadorian perspective enables a recontextualization of trans feminist activism from peoples including enchaquirados, a cuy(r) Indigenous community on the Ecuadorian coast. Campozano argued that a proper documentation of Ecuador’s cuy(r) history must cenre on localised language and understandings, lest these be displaced by Eurocentric or Americanised understandings of queer identity.

Two presentations then followed on the topic of Indian trans rights legislation. First, Sanjula Rajat of the University of Oregon (USA) presented their paper Beyond ‘Third Gender’: Coloniality and Hindu Nationalism in Indian Trans Rights Legislation. Rajat argued that the British colonisation of India required complicity and collaboration from portions of the Indian population, including in the imposition of the colonial moral order. An example of this was the “anti-eunuch” campaign which aimed to eliminate the hijra, culminating in the banning of their perceived cross-gender communities in the Criminal Tribes Act of 1891. While this law was repealed shortly after Indian independence, colonial logics remained in the new state. This can be seen broadly in continued processes of population surveillance and control, and specifically in continued state harassment and violence towards hijra.

In 2014, the NALSA judgement theoretically granted new civil rights to hijra and trans people, including a right to self-determination regardless of surgical status, and affirmative action to support employment. In practice however, hijra and trans communities continued to be targets for state criminalisation and control, especially in the wake of the ironically named Transgender (Protection of Rights) Persons Act in 2019. Rajat argued that the Transgender Act represents a continued expansion of state power, through the conflation of hijra and trans identities as “third gender”, and the logic for this made legible through appeals to nationalist myths of an accepting pre-colonial Hinduism. In practice, the Transgender Act has also made many people’s lives more difficult, for example through reversing elements of NALSA relating to matters such as affirmative action and legal recognition, and criminalising begging.

Rajat therefore positioned the law as a form of pinkwashing by the Indian government. They argued that British colonialism cannot be blamed alone for the difficulties faced by hijra and trans people in India, and that doing so obfuscates the ongoing impact of caste-based violence through Hindu nationalism.

Further analysis of NALSA and the Transgender Law was provided by Chandrasekhar Venkata Durga Sepuri of the University of Maryland (USA), in Weaving an Ambedkarite Theory of Transgender Justice. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar was a key figure in the Indian independence movement and a campaigner against the caste system. Sepuri outlined three key principles of the Ambedkarite theory of justice which are highly relevant to trans experience:

  • A grand vision of social justice, underpinned by commitments to liberty, equality, and freedom of expression.
  • Recasting social relations, emphasising the value of fellowship with all other human beings, in contrast to Brahmanic logics of caste distinction.
  • “Educate, agitate, organise”: a vision of political power in which education is central to liberation.

Sepuri observed that the recent rising power of ethnic democracy and Hindu nationalism in India has coincided with the increased “protection” of trans people in law. However, this has in practice involved increased regulation of trans people’s lives. Echoing Rajat, Sepuri argued that the NALSA judgement failed to recognise Brahmanical foundations of transmisogyny, instead helping to build Hindu nationalist rationales for governmentality. The text of the NALSA ruling invited trans people to “join the mainstream” within the implicit context of this Hindu nationalism.

These problems were compounded through the shift from a (flawed) rights-based approach in NALSA, to a welfare-based approach in the Transgender Act. In addition to the discriminatory provisions outlined by Rajat, Sepuri highlighted how the lack of specificity in the Transgender Act’s welfare provisions deny opportunities for trans people to gain social or administrative power, and provide no specific legal consequences for discrimination against trans people.

From an Ambedkarite perspective, therefore, trans people have been failed on multiple fronts. They are denied access to equality and freedom of expression outwith the limited context of Hindu nationalism, denied fellow feeling through the focus on welfare rather than meaningful access to work or power, and there is an absence of a coherent approach to education that recognises intersectional forms of oppression.


Final thoughts

Thursday was a long day. I received a lot of intense information, and also took part in many meaningful conversations which are not reproduced here. I found myself zoning out a bit during the sessions on parenthood and detransition, so took a break during the evening plenary. I had earlier advised a PhD student not to worry too much about constantly attending every possible session – I definitely needed to take this advice myself!

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Amplify trans youth

This morning I logged into instagram and watched, transfixed in amazement and worry, as a young person scaled the walls of the Department for Education.

The aspiring spiderman is part of the activist group Trans Kids Deserve Better. At the time of writing they are staging a multi-day protest at the Department for Education building in London, for the right to a safe and inclusive education.

Watching the video, I fear for Squirrel, the anonymous activist who is genuinely risking their life to stop government employees from taking the group’s banner. It’s very apparent that Squirrel is a skilled climber who knows what they are doing – equally, one wrong move could result in a deadly drop to the concrete pavement. This is not safe.

But of course, the entire reason this protest is happening is because young trans people are not safe.

Trans Kids Deserve Better launched their campaign for youth autonomy, safety, respect, and inclusion in July, from a dramatically high ledge of an NHS England building. In an interview with Jess O’Thompson for Trans Writes, the emergency doctor and children’s TV presenter Dr Ronx Ikharia argued that “our young people deserve better than suffering, and shouldn’t be scaling walls”. But they added that for this to happen, trans kids must be “believed, supported, affirmed, and loved”.

And this is the crux of the issue. Under the Conservative and Labour governments, we have seen a policy environment in which teachers, doctors, therapists and parents are actively discouraged or prevented from believing, supporting, affirming, or loving young trans people. Instead, families face prison sentences for supporting young people’s continued access to medication, NHS England is expanding the provision of state-funded conversion clinics, and a growing number of schools are refusing to allow even the discussion of trans experiences.

Trans kids are not safe because they have been entirely failed by the adult world. They have been failed by politicians, failed by civil servants, failed by the NHS, failed by the voluntary sector, failed by researchers, and in many cases also failed by their doctors, teachers, and parents or carers. This is why the activists from Trans Kids Deserve Better are literally scaling walls in their fight for an actual future.

Looking at the challenges facing young trans people, it can be easy to lose hope. But the actions of Trans Kids Deserve Better show that there is a better way. Doomerism helps nobody. The successes of successive liberation struggles have come about because people have continually dared to believe that a better world is possible, and fight for it. The young people currently sat outside the Department of Education are not bemoaning what they have lost: they are insistently demanding change.

Image from Trans Kids Deserve Better

What can we do? In their conversation with O’Thompson, activists from Trans Kids Deserve Better explained that while trans adults often want to “protect” trans youth, they would rather we “amplify” them: “we don’t need sympathy, we need support”. This is a call to action, with a focus on solidarity, rather than trying to speak for young people or bemoan their situation.

Many adult trans people and allies have complained about the lack of mainstream media coverage for the actions of Trans Kids Deserve Better. But we should not simply wait for the papers or news programmes to start caring. It’s up to us to talk about what’s happening. Today’s queer and trans communities only exist at scale because we made our own media, told our own stories, and forced the mainstream to catch up.

So I encourage everyone who reads this to share the story of what is happening. Share it on social media, share it with friends and family, share it in conversations at work and in bars and in cafes and in parks and at gigs and festivals. A few days ago I was at a pub in Bath, fresh from Pride, still holding a placard that read “Ban Wes Streeting” (copied shamelessly from someone else in Glasgow a couple of weeks prior). Someone asked what Wes Streeting had done, so I told her. She was appalled, but grateful to have learned what is happening, and better informed to act. Information spreads when we spread information.

Trans Kids Deserve Better are also hoping that more people will contribute to their actions. You can sign up as a supporter, stay updated from their Instagram account, or contribute to their fundraiser.

If you, like me, would rather not see young people risking life and limb by climbing public buildings, it is time to fight with them, not “for” them. Together we can build a safer world.