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.
With Transgender Day of Visibility here once again, I find myself thinking a lot about the word vulnerability. At one of my most recent speaking engagements I challenged the audience with this question, “What is your relationship with vulnerability?” I’m willing to bet that for many of you reading this, that is something that you rarely think about – because why would you in the first place? You may find yourself in the fortunate position of being gainfully employed, with a roof over your head and food in the cupboard. So why would a concept like vulnerability ever enter your stream of consciousness? The simple answers to these questions are that you wouldn’t – probably never. And judging by the collective “Hmmmm” sound the audience made I doubt they had too.
The exact opposite, however, is true for far too many transgender people who choose to be visible in our society. By being visible as their authentic selves they risk being vilified by those who choose hate and fear over knowledge and allyship. And for transwomen of color, this can be particularly dangerous, leading to being victims of violence at alarming levels. Everywhere we turn it seems as though there is another anti-trans bill being rushed through conservative-led statehouses that seek nothing more than to eradicate the existence of transgender people of all ages.
But what choice is there? To remain silent and shuttered away never to be seen in public is simply not an option. Yes, we are different – and if you stop long enough to listen to the stories of our journeys to our authentic selves, trust me, you’ll be moved because they are powerful beyond measure.
But there’s another side to vulnerability that I’d like to bring to your attention. As we begin to change the narrative that seeks to position my entire community as a political wedge issue it is vitally important that we have ever-increasing numbers of allies by our side, standing in solidarity with our quest for equality and inclusion. And at the very core of allyship is education. I have learned over 17 years of talks and trainings that for learning to truly happen, one must allow themselves to be vulnerable. To say to yourself, or out loud, “I don’t know everything, but I’m willing to learn.” It is at that precise moment that the heart, the mind, and the soul open and allows teaching to take hold.
By being intentional about learning and allowing that experience to fuel our allyship is how we begin to move the needle on equality and inclusion for transgender individuals of all stripes and all ages. It can be a truly transformative experience – if you let it. And that’s something to consider not just on the Transgender Day of Visibility, but every day of the year.
A Reason for Hope
In any other year, in any other decade, in any other century you might not necessarily need to have a reason for hope. In the “before times,” pre-COVID that is, hope flowed freely throughout the world. It swirled and danced around the globe unfettered, just waiting for someone, somewhere to latch on to it. The touch points are as varied as there are humans on this earth: hope for a new job, hope for an uneventful pregnancy, hope for admission to college, hope for a loved one who is waiting on positive test results from their doctor. You can insert your own here. I know I certainly can.
But then 2020 arrived and as the year unfurled it became very apparent that this year would be like no other we have ever experienced. Too many lives lost, too many dreams shattered. Far too much suffering inflicted upon our world. Our collective psyche has taken quite a beating. Tears come so very easily to me now. The truth is, I’ve cried at enough corny television commercials to know that I wear my emotions on my sleeve, but nothing like what this year has wrought. My emotions are closer to the surface than they have ever been in my life.
I have lost a brother, a mother-in-law, a brother-in-law, and a very dear friend this year. None of their deaths had anything to do with the pandemic, but the pandemic played a role in each of them, crushing my grieving process. I could not travel to whatever highly restricted and stripped-down funeral services took place, leaving me to process the loss of these lights in my life alone in my own space and time. Their passing has caused me to look at my life and my own mortality in a vastly different light. Collectively, they have shaken my foundation of hope and left me muttering to myself “why.”
Perhaps you have seen Google’s “Year in Search” video. It turns out the number one search word for all of 2020 was “Why.” Not very surprising with the year we’ve had to endure. So much struggle, anguish, hate – are you listening J.K. Rowling and Tucker Carlson? – and needless loss of life. A country divided. Far too many of my trans and black brothers and sisters killed – again and again. We all know their names – George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade and countless others. So many radiant points of light extinguished, and life stories left untold. Yes, Black Lives DO Matter and so DO Black Trans Lives.
When the “Why” casts such a shadow over us and looms so incredibly large over our world, how can the light of hope possibly break through? What do we do when “Why” has disassembled our world and repeatedly beaten us down to the point where we have nothing left to give emotionally?
Perhaps where we need to start is by turning “Why” inside out. Transforming the riddle that has been 2020 into a message of Hope for 2021.
Why . . . can’t we . . .?
Why . . . shouldn’t we . . .?
Why . . . of course we can!
It begins by creating space for hope in our lives. It’s already there, waiting to be embraced, even in the direst of circumstances. We just need to have enough faith to believe that its presence exists among us. Because it does. I think it has something to do with gratitude and embracing those things – whatever they may be – that bring you joy.
Hope is divine. Hope is healing. Hope gives each of us the energy to face another day and then another one after that. Hope keeps despair from creeping into our consciousness.
And for many of us, that’s as good a place as any to begin. One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. Hope creates the path forward where none had existed before. And most importantly, hope can help us turn the page on a year we just as soon forget.
Wishing each of you a Safe, Healthy and Happy New Year!