Pride Means Playing Every Card You Have
In this life, we’ve each been dealt a hand of cards, and the only way we can influence the outcome of the game is by when and how we play those cards. Some cards are more powerful than others. The wealth card can be played in more ways and to greater benefit than most others. The whiteness card is usually played automatically whether you mean it or not. Some cards, though, are tricky: they’ll usually cause some manner of drawback, whether you play them or not, and there’s only a few circumstances where they can be a benefit. Among those is the entire suit of LGBTQ+ cards. And June is widely considered the most opportune moment to lay it on the table. The drawbacks are still there, but you’re liable to have a bit of fun with it this month.
There’s a general attitude among some that if you’re a minority in some respect, “playing the _ card” is just a way to get attention or special treatment or to get out of doing the work that “normal folks” have to do. I admit that when I was younger and knew much less about race relations, I felt similarly about people of color and “playing the race card”. But if you’re a member of a society that systematically mistreats, denies, and erases people like you, and you’ve found a way just once to use that position to your advantage, wouldn’t you take it? It’s like if you’re in a fight with a much larger opponent, a fight you neither started nor prepared for, and they’ve laid you out on the ground, and from that lower position you can reach up and grab their balls and twist as hard as you can — wouldn’t you?
I feel the same way about my personal traumas. I’ve worked shit jobs where I was abused by bosses and customers alike. I’ve been abused and sexually assaulted by a romantic partner. I’ve been abandoned and divorced before my 1-year wedding anniversary. I’m also a writer, and my best writing as always been narrative nonfiction and poetry that drew heavily on personal experiences. I used to feel bad about using these traumas to elicit an emotional reaction in my readers and get more clicks or maybe sell a book or two someday, but then I remembered: it’s not fair that I had to live through it! If I can squeeze a few benefits out of the blood and pain and rage and tears, pass a bit of that burden onto a stranger in exchange for sympathy and esteem, then by god I’m going to take that chance and run with it as far as I can go. Spool it out behind me like a flag that everyone can see.
When I came out as trans in late 2016, I made a personal decision that I’ve stuck with ever since: I will never go stealth. For those unfamiliar with the term, “stealth” refers to a way of living post-transition in which the transgender person hides or denies their trans status and their past life as a different gender, hoping to bypass the discrimination, humiliation, and danger that often results from being identified as transgender. It isn’t a viable choice for many; for instance anyone transitioning in the public eye has little chance of it, and “passing” (ugh) is not always in reach.
However, I was lucky in a lot of ways. I had access to hormones and surgery very early on, and these treatments have a much more dramatic effect on the appearance of trans masculine (ftm) individuals than on trans women. I’m relatively young, tall, and broad-shouldered, and the timing of my transition was such that when I finish my degree I could emerge onto the professional scene looking like a cis man, and quietly distance myself from most of my previous connections. I made an active choice not to. Instead, I have worn my transgender identity on my sleeve, showed up loudly at trans events with my surgical scars clearly on display, and written extensively about my transition and my gender identity online under my real name. I’ve come out at job interviews and professional networking events, and fielded the awkward questions that followed with increasing grace and confidence. I have stood on a stage and read poetry about my transition, and won awards for it.
My most recent creative endeavor is a podcast, False Dichotomies, where my friend Daria Quinn and I talk about the media we love, and interpret it through various political, social, and philosophical frameworks — mostly relating it to our experiences as transgender people. If we were straight cis folks, our opinions wouldn’t matter that much — there are a million and one podcasts where straight white guys talk about their reactions to media. But right now, media’s representation of trans issues is a hot topic of discussion, and we, as trans people, think our opinion matters. We’re banking on the chance that you agree, and will check us out.
You could say I’ve been playing that trans card for all it’s worth, and for the most part I think it’s been worth it. It’s not something I can recommend for everyone. Ultimately if you have the choice to go stealth, that’s a choice only you can make for yourself, and that’s why it’s unacceptable to out a trans acquaintance or friend without consent in any circumstances. For me, though, I’m glad I decided against it. It’s allowed me to do so much more with my life, and to live more authentically not only as genderqueer but as an artist and an activist.
See there’s something else that comes from playing your cards right: someone else might realize that they’ve got that same card in their hand, and they’ve been scared to play it. And you know what happens when you match your cards up with someone else in the game?
You both win.
Happy Pride.
