By: Ethan Winters
Have you ever pulled up to a busy intersection, and thought that here amongst the constant unrest of traffic you wanted to pitch a tent? That right there in the middle of all the chaos - is where you wanted to call home. For me, and I assume many others (though they might say it differently) home was a place we created out of hopes and dreams in the middle of -you guessed it- an intersection. I found my home in the southern streets of Georgia, at an intersection between Race, Sexuality, and Gender. These streets didn’t always unfold into one another but as I grew up, traffic began to follow between them. The thing about it is, if you live in the middle of traffic, chances are you are going to get hit.
“Have you ever pulled up to a busy intersection, and thought that here amongst the constant unrest of traffic you wanted to pitch a tent? That right there in the middle of all the chaos - is where you wanted to call home.”
I have been the different one for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I was the Black kid in the group. During High school, I was the queer one. In College, I was the Trans activist. Now as an adult, I pride myself on still being all three of these things (and so much more). I often look back on how my mother reacted when I came out as Queer and then later as Trans, in those moments I never understood her fear and hesitation. Though she didn’t have the language to express it then, I’ve come to realize WHO I am was never the problem - she was afraid because of what others would do to me. Life as a Black, Queer, Trans person (a Black QT, if you will) some times feels like holding your breath and waiting. Like when you see a cop car in your review, and though you are doing everything perfectly your exhale catches in your lungs and the world seems to slow as your brain races to get ahead of the situation before it even begins. The cop passes you without incident - the world resumes. Or if you’ve ever walked home holding hands with your same-gender partner, and your brain forgets how to control your lungs because a truck full of frat boys just drove by shouting slurs. Luckily, they don’t get out of the truck - your lungs fill with air again. Oh! My favorite, going to the beach or pool and though you mentally prepare yourself for it, someone asks about your top surgery scars. Your lungs regurgitate air as it is a forien substance. You try to stitch together your answer and relay it. They smile with acceptance - lung function continues.
What is your biggest fear? Mine is to become an open case left on some police officer’s desk, covered in coffee stains and post-its of long forgotten grocery lists. Worse even a closed case with no justice. Morbid, I know. It was the murder of yet another Trans sister, that proprlled me into Trans activism in 2016. I was furious at the misgendering, the constant violence and most importantly that one of my Trans siblings was gone. My heart ached in a way I can’t describe. The number of Trans people murdered, has risen each year since then. With each loss of life, the ruthlessness of my rage sharpened into focus and drove my activism. I figured that maybe my words or effort could be what stops at least one violent act on Black person, on a Queer person, on a Trans person - on somene like me who holds space within all three.
“What is your biggest fear? Mine is to become an open case left on some police officer’s desk, covered in coffee stains and post-its of long forgotten grocery lists. Worse even a closed case with no justice. Morbid, I know. ”
2020 was supposed to be the year of clarity and vision - here’s what I see: pain. Black lives are being cut shorter and shorter, and half of them -women and trans folx- aren’t even being talked about! I see people who look like me die everyday, and look on as people defend the acts of violence on social media. The reality in which we live has taught me I can’t use the bathroom in public (Alexa Ruiz), I can’t jog in my neighborhood (Ahmaud Arbery), I can’t sleep in my bed (Breonna Taylor), buy a snack and walk home (Travon Martin), or hold my hands up to comply (Michael Brown). Notice how that leaves very little wiggle room for ya know, like surviving.The other day I was talking to my friend about what arrangements I wanted if anything happened to me. I’m 25. This is not what I imagined for 25. I never even considered that me simply being who I am could be a death sentence. Yet here we are.This is my reality, that nags at the back of my brain each day.
I wouldn’t give up my melanated complexion or change the way I love. I love all of who I am, so much so, that I wanted to show the world my truth. I’m not the problem, just like water fountains weren’t the problem - A society hell bent on staying rigid and binary is, and has always been, the problem. So why fight it you might ask, why not just fall in line and follow the ‘rules’? Simple, I was born to stand out; it is in my bones, my heart, my soul. I have the honor to be a descendant of Black folx who built this country and fought for its freedoms, I am the wildest dreams of Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, and the greatest wishes of my cousin (who was murdered in a park for being Queer). So if you want to hate me for who I am, please get your snacks ready because you haven’t seen anything yet, I’m just getting started. I will continue to speak out, to wave my flags, to be unapologetically Black, Queer, and Trans. So find a different intersection to drive your oppressive ass yee-yee trucks through because Black, Queer, & Trans people have been, still are, and will continue to be here - so get used to it!
