Trans Rally

Closeted Ally

I draped a rainbow flag around my back and arms as the speakers spoke. My nine year old and I were standing with hundreds of others at a rally created in support of Trans Rights. There were other children in the crowd but they were with their adults and my son began to grow restless. I promised him we would march soon. He entertained himself by reading the signs people held, pointing out one that showed Trump with a pig’s snout. As the crowd began to move I greeted several familiar faces with a wave and a smile. “Trans Rights are Human Rights!” we echoed to the declaration yelled from a blow horn and we made our way up the promenade with the crowd. When my son had had his fill he pushed me to the side and we stood still as the group walked on, passing us. My boy was hungry and though it felt silly to chant from the sidewalk, I continued to do so before reluctantly walking us in the opposite direction.

Photo by Cecilie Bomstad on Unsplash

I was still wrapped in a giant Pride flag and as our distance from the movement grew, I hate to say it, but I began to feel uneasy. Moments earlier it had felt safe to be seen in the colors, but now I felt vulnerable. I shrugged off the cloth and folded it into my bag, chastising myself as I did. How easy was it for me to tuck it away and blend back into the scene on the sidewalk when those I had just left could not do the same? I now fully expected to enter a restaurant and to be welcomed as a customer and seated with a child, all without questioning looks. I was aware such simple privileges would not be a guarantee for the people I had just left and my admiration for them only grew. They could not fold themselves into tiny handbags at a whim. They entered public spaces uncertain how they might be treated, yet wore their identities day in and day out with grace, and even fostered events that emphasized peace and love and acceptance. And I didn’t have the courage to wear the flag more than half a block, for fear of what others might think.

My reflex to retreat right back into straight white womanhood felt like safety, but shit, if I have to hide a rainbow to stay safe, there is A LOT wrong here, not just with me, but with our society. Days later I am still ashamed of my cowardice. I was tempted to shop for a pin that might state “I am an Ally” but that feels like a cop out. Simply wearing a pin is meaningless. It may look nice, but it is a mere token of support. I think I need to show up more and more in places and spaces where I am uncomfortable, where I am an anomaly, and ask with sincerity, “Is there any way I can serve?” Then I need to be quiet, listen, and be ready to grow. I am hoping then that one day I will become strong enough to graduate from being a closeted ally to becoming an accomplice instead.