Being Safe as a Trans Woman: The Unspoken Rules No One Should Need Navigating Safety When Your Existence Is Political – and Personal

It’s always a wonderful time to be yourself, but also, it’s not a great time to be a transgender woman (or transman or non-binary person) right now. For reasons that almost certainly require a sociology, psychology, and political science degree (and a minor in children's fantasy literature?!?) to fully understand, transwomen have become the new political football in a number of countries across the globe. Everything from our fashion choices to our very existence is currently being debated in the halls of parliament, in the houses of congress, and at awkward family dinners. But the reality of our situation is thus: as these debates rage on, trans people still have to get out of bed and go about their lives each day, and that means knowing the unspoken rules. 

Right – so I lied; they aren’t unspoken. Trans people talk about them a lot. If you’ve ever heard someone ask, “Why do trans people make being trans such a big part of their identity?”, I want to ask what you thought about the scene where Peeta and Katniss calmly discussed 12th century gothic art in The Hunger Games. They didn’t; because when your safety is at risk, your priorities shift dramatically. And so the first rule is: find a community. You need peers who can commiserate; elders to guide; leaders to take charge; fighters to protect; and nurturers to care. 

Call it “chosen family”, “the House of LaBeija” , or just “that one whatsapp group”, these are the people that keep you sane and safe. 

But not everybody has the privilege of queer community.

Estimates put the transgender population at somewhere between .5% and 2% of the global population. On the low end, that means a town of 5000 people might have 25 transgender people – but the reality is, because people tend to leave a place where they don’t feel safe, that number is probably lower. And without community, we have our second rule: sometimes we hide, and that's okay. A survey in the US (Pew Research Center) showed that in 2021, 42% of Americans say they personally know someone who is transgender. I can tell you with almost certainty, that number is higher – because not everyone knows they know a transgender person. If being openly trans isn’t something you want or are able to do, your options are to live closeted (as your assigned-at-birth gender) or stealth (as a cisgendered-passing person of your true gender), and these are always entirely valid choices.  They can also be just as difficult as living openly transgender: the mental toll of dysphoria and the risk of being outed are a heavy burden. The transgender people I know of living stealth/closeted lighten this by sharing their truth with a select few (often online), but even this carries risks.

Because it’s increasingly difficult to know who to trust.

The political debate about transgender people, and especially transgender women, intersects with so many other debates and issues it’s difficult to keep track. Conversations about feminism, the patriarchy, women's safety, fairness, equity & equality, often open the door to using transwomen as a topic to score a point, when – I'll remind you of the statistic above – more than half of people* have never talked to someone they knew was transgender (*or at least, half of Americans in 2021). People have chosen sides, and half the time the reasons have nothing to do with any actual encounter with a transgender person. 

Sometimes transphobia comes from exactly where you expect, but sometimes the call is coming from inside the house (“LGB without the T” exists, and breaks my heart). So we need safety rule number three: look for the signs. Some are more obvious and others, subtle. Sometimes it’s a sign of a potential threat; sometimes, a possible ally. Sometimes it’s a smile, an angry look, a pin, a compliment, a HASSL shirt, a red hat, a “No Transphobes” sign, or a “hello”. But even if we’re always looking, unfortunately, not every sign is that easy to read. 

Because we are also some people’s fetish. 

Sometimes what seems to be support from an ally is something different, and much more dangerous. It’s also extremely worth mentioning that this is something almost any marginalized woman has likely encountered. Marginalized women are objectified for existing outside the status quo in behavior that may seem positive at first, but is rooted in racist, ableist, transphobic, queerphobic and misogynist beliefs. 

I was leaving a grocery store recently, and the man working at the door complimented my (painted gel-x) nails: usually, a positive sign of an ally. And then he grabbed my hand to take a closer look. I froze, smiled, waited for him to let go, and obviously did not go back to that store. Objectification is dehumanization, and nothing puts women at more risk. Which is why I rely on my last rule: trust your instincts. There are some days where I am sure I’m overreacting, but I’d rather trust my instinct and avoid a problem than take that chance.

I only came out as transgender about 1.5 years ago. I’ve learned these rules in a brief moment; in part because I’m privileged to have community and supportive allies, and in part because predators don’t wait for some magical moment to start harassing you. When I got cat-called for wearing a skirt and make-up the first time, I still had a beard. I’ve been harassed, assaulted, and threatened a number of times since. So these rules are my own: I don’t speak for the entire trans-community – no one person could – but I speak from experience. If you are cisgendered, please seek out other transgender people’s perspectives; talk to us, read our experiences, listen. And if you are trans and disagree with everything I said here, please join the HASSL LGBTQIA+ whatsapp chat and come yell at me there. 

Love you all, stay safe.