What a Superhero Movie and Dolly Parton Taught Me About the Machinery of Bigotry.
We went to see the new Spider-Man movie for the second time on Tuesday, and Mari and I sat side-by-side in the dark, crying like babies.
Part of it, undoubtedly, was the timing. Tuesday was the day we lost Dolly Parton—a woman who spent her entire life reminding the world that kindness is a superpower, that empathy has no boundaries, and that every single one of us is a divine child of God, perfectly and wonderfully made. Losing a national treasure like Dolly feels like a collective tear in the cultural fabric, a sudden dimming of a very bright room, especially at a moment when we need her radical, inclusive joy more than ever.
As the credits rolled and the emotional weight of the day settled over us, a specific monologue from Spidey’s Aunt May kept echoing in my mind. It cut straight through the cinematic noise and landed right on the raw, exhausting reality of what the trans community is facing today. In a political climate where continuous attacks from the current administration and various state legislatures attempt to legislate our humanity away, her words felt less like a movie quote and more like a lifeline:
“This whole thing can get really scary, but sometimes because you’re special, people can do dark, monstrous things to you. But this is what I want you to know: You’re beautiful. And the people who love you love you not because you’re special. We love you because you’re you. I want you to remember that no matter how powerful you become, that’s your deepest responsibility.”
It stopped me in my tracks. Because isn’t that the exact machinery of bigotry? When people step into their authentic truth—when they dare to live out loud, beautifully and unapologetically, refusing to hide who they are—fearful, rigid systems try to do dark, monstrous things to shrink them back down. The legislative bans, the administrative hostility, the constant political crosshairs—they aren’t about policy or protection. They are a direct, systematic assault on human dignity. They are designed to exhaust us, to make people feel small, isolated, and hunted for simply existing.
The architects of this anti-trans legislation want the world to believe that our existence is a threat. But Dolly understood the exact opposite. She knew that it is our very uniqueness that creates a more vibrant, beautiful, and deeply human world.
Dolly famously commanded us to “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.” She didn’t just tolerate differences; she celebrated them, knowing inherently that someone else’s radiant authenticity poses no danger to your own. We should not feel falsely threatened by the beautiful diversity of the human experience—as all of our detractors would have the world believe.
The antidote to cruelty has always been connection, visibility, and unyielding love. It’s whispered in a superhero movie, and it was lived out every single day by Dolly, who famously reminded us that we should just be accepted for who we are.
You are loved because you are you.
Not because you fit neatly into a manufactured, majority-approved mold. But because your existence is inherently valuable, sacred, and true.
We are here. We are divine children of God. And no amount of political posturing, institutional hostility, or manufactured panic can strip away that core, radiant truth.
May’s reminder to Peter Parker (and, lest we forget, Jean Grey) is a clarion call to all of us who bear the weight of visibility and resilience right now. Our deepest responsibility is to hold onto that love, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, to protect one another in the dark, and to refuse to let the monsters dim our light.
But that responsibility also extends outward, demanding action from anyone who witnesses this injustice. The machinery of bigotry thrives on silence, but it shatters in the face of active, uncompromising love.
Rest in peace, Dolly. We’ll keep shining anyway—because you left us with a mandate we refuse to break: to look past the political noise, tear down the artificial divides, and honor the sacred, undeniable humanness in every single soul we meet. You’d expect nothing less from us.
And to everyone reading this, I challenge you to look inward and ask yourself: What can I do to make our world a more loving and accepting place—for everyone?
Sitting in church this past Sunday, a single phrase from our rector’s sermon struck a deep, resonant chord within me: “Where certainty ends, faith begins.”
He spoke of an unwavering mandate for our congregation—a call for radical outreach, unyielding inclusion, and the intentional expansion of our hearts to encompass, embrace, and protect everyone. But as those words settled over the room, my thoughts immediately turned to my community. To the LGBTQ+ family I love, advocate for, and walk beside every single day.
For us, the concept of “certainty” has long been weaponized. It is the rigid, dogmatic certainty of those who claim to know who we are better than we know ourselves. It is the cold certainty of policy architects who seek nothing less than the systemic erasure of our existence, our history, and our basic human dignity from public life.
We are living through an unprecedented barrage. With the 2026 midterm elections fast approaching, the political rhetoric is escalating into a desperate, fever-pitched campaign of mis- and disinformation. This isn’t abstract political theater; it carries real-world consequences:
Legislative Onslaught: Civil rights organizations like the ACLU are currently tracking over 500 state-level anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced in 2026 alone, targeting everything from essential healthcare and inclusive education to simple public existence.
Escalating Hostility: According to recent data from GLAAD’s ALERT Desk, targeted incidents of anti-LGBTQ+ hate and harassment averaged over two every single day over the past year, with more than half specifically aimed at transgender and gender-nonconforming individuals.
Targeting the Next Generation: The Trevor Project’s latest national findings show that over 80% of LGBTQ+ youth report that the sheer volume of anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric and legislation has directly degraded their mental health and safety.
And yet, in the face of this relentless onslaught, despair does not get the final word.
Where the dogma of certainty seeks to shrink our world, our faith steps in. Not necessarily a dogma or creed, but a profound, unshakeable faith in our shared humanity, our enduring resilience, and our capacity to build a better future.
Every time they try to write us out of the history books, we write new chapters.
Every time they try to force us into the shadows, we build brighter, stronger, and more vibrant spaces.
Our history is not a footnote to be erased; it is a testament to survival, authenticity, and love overcoming fear.
The attacks will likely grow more severe in the weeks and months ahead as election day approaches. Desperate movements always grow loudest right before their foundations crumble. They push fear because they know that authenticity and truth are infectious.
So here is my call to action for every leader, ally, friend, and member of our community reading this:
We must make our tent bigger, and we must shine our light brighter than ever before.
Now is not the time to retreat or quiet our voices. Now is the time to extend our reach to those who have yet to feel the warm glow of living in their full, unfiltered truth. Now is the time to surround the most vulnerable among us—our trans youth, our elders, and those isolated in hostile spaces—with our collective love, resources, and protection.
Shadows cannot survive where the light is absolute. When we stand together in unwavering authenticity, no campaign of erasure can touch the core of who we are.
Hold fast to your faith. Keep building. Keep loving.
Because together, we win.
I am a trans elder.
There, I said it.
For perhaps the first time in my life, I am fully embracing and owning that fact.
Initially, I struggled to write a message of hope for Pride Month this year. It is hard to find the right words when we are constantly inundated with hateful misinformation and disinformation from those who seek nothing less than the total eradication of the transgender community.
There is an active, coordinated effort to completely erase our existence from the history of the United States and the world.
Living on the tip of the culture war spear is exhausting, and, I might add, something we never asked for (but I digress). So, finding hope in the current landscape can feel nearly impossible. Our community is embattled at every level of government and in every corner of society—not just here in the U.S., but across the globe.
So, where do we find the hope?
I recently caught up with my dear friend and trans icon, Jamison Green, PhD . As we chatted about our lives, our loved ones, and how we are holding up in today’s hostile environment, our conversation turned to legacy. We talked about how we, as elders, are being seen and heard by the younger generations of trans men and trans women.
While most of our interactions have been deeply positive, James shared a troubling trend. A small minority of the younger generation seems to have little to no regard for hearing our stories of becoming our true selves. The dismissals usually sound something like this:
● “You’re irrelevant.”
“That was so long ago, things have changed.”
● “That just doesn’t apply to me and my generation.”
With everything happening to our community right now, there is simply no room for that brand of dismissiveness.
The Connective Tissue Across Generations
I fully recognize that our specific circumstances are different. The world was a completely different place when I came out in 2004, just as it was a different place when James came out in 1988. But different circumstances do not make histories irrelevant.
As James beautifully put it: “Our history is now more important than ever.” Another close friend once reminded me: “We are our history.” We cannot afford to lose sight of that.
If we want to find hope this Pride and beyond, the times call on us, as trans and queer people, to focus entirely on what we have in common. We share powerful, universal experiences that transcend time:
● The Moment of Truth: That profound second where we said to ourselves—and to anyone who could hear us—”This IS who I am. I am no longer going to hide my authentic self from the world.”
Or, as Anai Nin so eloquently put it, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
● The Daily Practice: The universal notion of “living into yourself” each and every day – in ways that no one else can see.
● The Shared Core: The resilience and fortitude we develop as we walk this path.
This resilience is the connective tissue that spans generations. It is what binds us together as ONE community at a time when unity is our best defense.
The Road Ahead: Buckle Up
We need this unity immediately. The mid-term elections are a mere five months away. Do you think for a second that the despicable rhetoric surrounding the transgender community is going to lessen?
To that, I say: “Buckle up. You ain’t seen nothing yet!”
True hope requires us to create space to learn from one another. Elders must listen to the unique challenges of today’s youth, and the youth must anchor themselves in the roots of those who cleared the path.
This June, let’s reject the generational divide. Let’s protect our collective narrative, honor our survivors, and remember that our visibility is our power.
We. Are. Our. History.
Let’s own it, let’s protect it, write the next chapter of it, and march forward—together.
Happy Pride Everyone!!!
National Coming Out Day has always been a powerful beacon, illuminating the strength found in authenticity. It’s a day to celebrate the fundamental act of living openly and honestly. But this year, for the transgender community, the day takes on an even sharper, more urgent significance.
It’s no secret that we are living through a period of intense hostility. Across the nation, we are witnessing a coordinated, relentless effort to legislate transgender people out of existence. These aren’t just abstract policy debates; they are heinous attempts to erase our lives, restrict our healthcare, block us from public life, and invalidate our very identities. Every news headline feels like a fresh attack, and the cumulative weight of this systemic aggression can be crushing.
The Act of Resistance
In the face of this adversity, the simple, profound act of coming out transforms into a powerful act of resistance.
When a trans person shares their truth—whether with a close friend, a family member, or on a public platform like LinkedIn—they are doing more than just informing. They are humanizing a community that is being relentlessly dehumanized by political rhetoric. They are providing a necessary counter-narrative to the panic and misinformation being peddled by those who seek to harm us.
Visibility is Vulnerability: Yes, choosing to be visible carries risks, especially now. That vulnerability, however, is precisely what makes the act so impactful.
Visibility is Education: Every shared story chips away at the ignorance that fuels anti-trans sentiment. It forces people to see their colleagues, neighbors, and family members—not as an issue, but as a person.
Visibility is Survival: For those who are still questioning, struggling, or feeling isolated, seeing a successful, open trans professional can be a lifeline—a tangible sign that a future is not only possible but achievable.
The Call to Allies
National Coming Out Day is not just for those who are coming out; it is a critical opportunity for our allies to step up.
If you are an ally, your visibility is just as vital. This year, it’s not enough to be silently supportive. You must actively, loudly, and unequivocally stand with the trans community. Use your platform—your voice, your privilege, your sphere of influence—to amplify trans voices, challenge anti-trans legislation, and create safe spaces in your workplace and community. Your active solidarity is the shield we desperately need against the forces of erasure.
To my fellow trans siblings: Your life is a victory. Your openness is a revolutionary act. Whether you are out to the world or out to just one trusted person, your truth holds immense power. Today, and every day, let us find strength in each other’s visibility, knowing that in choosing to live fully, we are winning the fight for our right to simply be.
In the spring of 2015, the landscape for the transgender community was irrevocably altered by a single, seismic event: Caitlyn Jenner’s interview with Diane Sawyer. I remember it vividly, not just as a viewer, but as someone in the room, having served as an advisor to Diane Sawyer, her 20/20 production team, and the ABC executives. We knew we were creating something that had the potential to be a watershed moment—a high-profile, sensitive, and deeply personal portrayal of one transwoman’s journey to her authentic self. For me, and for so many others, it was a profoundly validating experience. It was the first time that a person of such immense public stature had so vulnerably shared a story that, in its essence, mirrored our own—minus the Olympic medals, of course.
The interview was a masterclass in humanizing a community that had long been relegated to the margins of public discourse. It was a moment of hope, a powerful narrative that transcended the tabloid frenzy and spoke to the universal human desire to live an honest life. We hoped it would open hearts and minds, proving that our struggle was not a choice or a curiosity, but a fundamental part of the human condition.
But in the decade since, much has happened. Caitlyn Jenner’s political journey has diverged sharply from that of the trans community she once helped illuminate. She has embraced conservative politics, aligning herself with a party that has actively championed the very laws and policies that threaten the rights of trans people across the country. Her public statements have at times been viewed as dismissive of the struggles of a community facing relentless attacks on everything from healthcare access to the right to simply exist in public spaces. The woman who once told the world, “I am a woman,” now often seems to live in a political world that seeks to deny that truth to others.
And so, the question that haunts me today is not a political one, but a deeply personal one: I wonder what Caitlyn Jenner is thinking these days? Her immense wealth and celebrity undoubtedly afford her a level of protection that most trans people can only dream of. Does her privilege shield her from the daily assault? Does she have to worry about which state’s bathroom she can safely use, or if her family will lose their health insurance because of a new anti-trans law? Does she, like so many of us, feel the knot in her stomach every time a new bill is proposed, wondering what aspect of our lives will be legislated away next?
In spite of her political affiliations, Caitlyn Jenner is still a member of our community. She carries the knowledge of our shared struggle, the pain of being unseen, and the courage it takes to live authentically. As the attacks on our right to exist escalate, I can only hope that, on some level, she worries too. I hope that the immense vulnerability she showed in 2015 is still a part of who she is, and that it allows her to feel the weight of what is happening to her trans siblings.
For all the division, the core truth of that watershed moment remains: we are all human, we are all seeking our authentic selves, and no amount of privilege can ever fully erase the shared reality of what it means to be transgender in a world that is still learning to, or simply would rather not, see us.