I don’t think about trans people.

That’s a confession, and it’s not a comfortable one. Because I should think about trans people; I should consider them, and try to understand them; and because I want to be an ally, I should do better at remembering them and their needs when I write about topics that touch on gender.

I’m hoping that writing this now, and posting it, will help me to keep trans people in my thoughts, will remind me to look over what I write about gender and sexism and men and women with a thoughtful eye; because shame is a powerful motivator. Considering what trans people have to go through in our society, I think the least I can do is feel shame about my past behavior and mindset.

I don’t have too much shame: I’ve never mocked a cis male for being feminine or a cis female for being masculine (For those of you who do not know — and I’m adding this because I was confused when I first encountered the term — “cis” is short for “cissexual” or “cisgender,” and it means someone whose gender identity matches the sex they were assigned at birth. It’s the opposite of transsexual or transgender. Read this.), never used “sissy” or “tomboy” as any kind of insult, never confused transvestites for transsexuals — never really thought that men in drag were funny, and so I didn’t laugh at bros in high school when they put on wigs and skirts and fake breasts for Halloween or pep rallies. I have never intentionally misused pronouns, nor thought that trans people were perverts, nor argued that anyone should use any specific bathroom (My ideal bathroom situation is and always has been single-occupancy bathrooms. I do not understand why it has to be one room with many people sharing a private function, when it could be a row of cubicles, each with their own toilet and sink and mirror and locking door.). I feel shame because I want two things: I want to give people who are transgender the respect they deserve as my fellow human beings, and because they are also an oppressed minority, I want to be an ally and fight for their equal rights and just treatment. I am always willing to do the second one, though I will also confess I am sometimes awkward or uncomfortable in the actual process of it; but because I don’t do the first well enough, I’m not good enough at the second.

Let me explain.

I know transgender people. Of course I do: so do you. Estimates of trans prevalence vary wildly, mostly because of the stigma attached to being trans, which keeps people from being open about who they are, and complicates the process of data collection as well; but this study shows that somewhere around 1 in 11,000 people seek either surgical or hormonal therapy; in surveys of self-assessed gender identity, the prevalence of transgender was around 1 in 300. That’s a huge difference, and just looking at the Wikipedia page shows that the prevalence of trans people has varied wildly over time and in different places — and Wikipedia only reports a half-dozen surveys in four countries. My point is both that being transgender is not uncommon, and also that our society has made it so complicated that everything about being trans is incredibly opaque: who is trans, what it means to be trans, how we should talk about (or if we should talk about) gender identity — everything.

The solution to this, of course, is to talk about it. And while there’s obviously a certain irony and disingenuousness in me, as a straight white cis male, opening up the conversation (Because what the fuck do I know about being trans?), it’s equally obvious that I risk nothing in so doing: I’m not going to be judged, not going to suffer bigotry, not going to lose my job or friends or family, or my life, by talking about this; and that means it is incumbent on me to do it, on whatever scale and with whatever platform I have available to use for that conversation. So here we are.

Why is it incumbent on me? Why is this any of my business? Because this is my world, this is my society, as much as it is anyone else’s; and the purpose of society is to enable the members of that society to live in the world. That’s why people are social animals: because grouping together and cooperating improves our survival. We need other people, not only to survive, but also for our well-being as individuals. Society enables us to do that, to cooperate with and socialize with other people, and for it to work, all of us need to contribute to that, to help accomplish that purpose. Think of it like this: when someone doesn’t fit into society, there is friction; that friction affects not just the person who doesn’t fit, but everyone they come into contact with — and that means it is in all of our best interests to try to smooth the way for everyone in our society, to reduce the friction. For everyone. Since the friction goes both ways, the solution, the conversation, can start from either side, and it’s easier for it to start with me; thus, for society’s sake, as well as for my own, I should be the one to do it.

And, of course, because I have empathy, and because trans people have to struggle and suffer; and I would like to make that struggle easier and that suffering less, just because they are people. That’s enough reason to try. Even if it is awkward.

I don’t want to come off as a savior: I do not think I have very much to contribute to this discussion. I don’t know very much. But as a teacher, my job is (ideally) just to start conversations; I see my job as a blogger the same way. When I can get a group of students to read a story and start talking about it, I don’t need to know very much about the story: the students, in talking about it, will find their way to the best answer they could possibly have — one they create themselves. My job then is only to make sure that their answer comes from the story, from the source, and not from something someone made up or brought from outside; and to ensure that everyone has a chance to offer their input and hear everyone else’s ideas.  I see this the same way, and so I’m going to treat this conversation the same way I treat a subject in my class: I will talk about what I know, what little that is, and try to express the value and importance of the topic; and then I will open it up to discussion. (I recognize that this blog is not a terribly great place to discuss anything, as the comment function is awkward; I’m fine with the conversation continuing between people away from this website, or even just inside someone’s head. But if you have anything you want to say here, you are invited to do so.)

So here’s what I know. I know that being transgender (And also being genderqueer and genderfluid, which are terms that attempt to encapsulate the middle ground in between cis and trans) in today’s society is hard. It’s hard to get people to treat you the way you wish to be treated. It’s hard to get people to understand who you are and the way you wish to be treated, not least because you have to be the one to explain, over and over and over again, to literally every person you interact with, how you want to be treated. Imagine that: imagine if every single time you introduced yourself, the other person disagreed with you. Thought you were wrong. Was confused and wanted an explanation, or even an argument. “Why do you have a boy’s name? You’re a girl.” “No, I’m trans.” Imagine having that or a similar exchange every single time you met someone. Imagine having to justify something as simple as your name. To justify it: imagine someone who just met you telling you your name is wrong. It may be hard to imagine this — though people who use nicknames or names other than their legal names have some inkling of it — because most of us don’t have to argue for the way we want to be treated in terms of common courtesy; I don’t have to fight to get people to call me what I want to be called.

Imagine if, every time you met someone or talked to them, they started thinking about your genitalia. You know? You tell them that your name is X, when they think your name should be Y because of your voice or your size or your body shape, and they frown and look down at your pelvis, or your chest. And they look hard. And they think about it. Maybe they ask you about it. Even if they’re trying to be understanding, and they ask you about what you have, or what your plans are for what you have. You know how many people have asked me directly about my genitalia? As if they have a right to know the answer? As if this is a conversation that anyone can have in casual polite company? You know how many: almost certainly the same number of people who have asked you about yours. Zero.

And when there’s stigma attached, all of this is infinitely worse. Like the bullshit about gender identity and perverts in bathrooms. Look: being transgender is hard. It’s dangerous. People judge and hate and mistreat and attack you for it. The idea that someone would claim to be transgender for the express purpose of finding victims to rape or molest is so far beyond absurd that it should not even have a place in this conversation. Why does anyone even think this? Do you imagine it’s hard for rapists to find victims? Do you think that child molesters can’t find children to molest? Do you think that grown adult men need to go into women’s restrooms in order to rape or molest someone? Are you insane? Women get raped and children get molested every day, and not by trans people in bathrooms.

But because people still talk about being transgender like it’s a pathway to easier sexual assault, it makes it that much harder to be trans, because now not only do you have to argue for your name and your basic courtesy, you have to convince people that you’re not a rapist or a child molester. Imagine having to basically announce, out loud, that you are not a rapist every time you walk into a public bathroom. White cis men like me get all pissy when someone accuses us of being rapists, claiming that the mere accusation smears all men (#NotAllMen); but first, not only do we not have to prove to people around us that we aren’t rapists on a regular basis — we are also the freaking rapists. Straight cis men are far more likely to be sexual predators than are trans people. Orders of magnitude more likely. Yet we can walk into public restrooms without people raising an eyebrow.

I’m not even going to talk about the jokes and memes, generally from conservatives, about people “choosing” to “identify” as absurd things in order to get preferential treatment. All I’m going to say is: try it. You think people would identify as trans, or as anything other than what people see them as, just to receive special treatment? Try it. Try something easy: walk into your church and identify as Muslim, or atheist. Walk into your sports bar and claim to like a different team, or even just a different sport. Tell your family you’re going to change your name. See how much special treatment you get. See how freaking easy it is to disagree with what society thinks you should be. See what it’s like to have to argue just to be yourself.

That’s my experience. I know someone who is both transgender, and gay; his love life is therefore complicated. And I thought, when I learned this about him, “Man, it would be so much easier for him if he could just give up being trans, because then he (as a cis woman, which he is not) would have a much easier time finding guys to date.” And of course it would be easier. He wouldn’t have to convince everyone to use the name and pronouns he prefers; they’d just do it, just act as if his name is a given, an assumed truth, rather than a source of argument. He wouldn’t get strange looks, and awkward questions, and accusations and arguments, whenever he wants to use a restroom. He wouldn’t have to dread introducing himself  — or hearing his name called on the roll at school, remember that? Remember the kid with the unpronounceable name, who had to either deal with the substitute/first day teacher struggling with their name, or had to predict where in the roll their name would appear and just shout out “Present!” when the teacher frowned and squinted at the list? Imagine the shit you would get if your name was easy to pronounce, but was associated with a different gender? Or if your name on the roll, on your driver’s license, on your legal documentation, was not the name you wanted to use, and the name you wanted to use would start an argument? He has conservative family members, too, who give him unending shit about his gender identity, and he would be able to dispose of all of that, if he were cis. And sure, if it matters, he would be able to date more guys, because there are more straight men than homosexual men, and so the pool would be larger if he were a straight cis woman.

And that is what showed me that I’m an idiot, and so is everyone else who thinks that being trans is a choice. There is no situation where it would be easier to be transgender. None. There is nothing about being transgender that is easy.

That’s how you know it isn’t a choice.

And that’s why we, as a society, need to recognize and ease the struggle that transgender people deal with every day. Because they, as people, have every single struggle that all people already have (Money/bills/job/housing/health/family/age/fulfillment/trauma), and they have another one, a constant, trying, sometimes brutal fight with themselves, with the world, with everything. And they have no easy choice in the matter: they can deny who they are, or they can fight to have everyone else stop denying who they are. Neither one is easy, and neither one is harmless.

Think about that.

Now discuss.