Changing the Conversation

Being on the streets can be tough, and being transgender can be difficult. But, being both transgender AND homeless is like being involved in a covert war that a lot of folks don’t even realize is going on.

Trans folks face a multitude of hurdles in life, but living on the street poses additional problems. Everyday tasks like shaving or washing can be daunting depending on where you are in the country. When I was hitchhiking, I would sometimes end up at a random truck stop where they did not have private bathrooms. I was at a point in my life where I had to shave my face everyday. If I didn’t, it could be dangerous – people would start to question if I was “really” a woman, and my ability to get a ride that was safe would be jeopardized. I had to get inventive.

Inexcusable, the slaughter in this world.
Insufficient, the merely decent man.

—At the Restaurant, Stephen Dunn

I.

There’s a certain kind of loss that is supposed to accompany terrorism. A loss of innocence and the sort of sudden and caustic realization that you are not safe—that safety in this world is an illusion, anyone can have access to your personhood at any point. You’re supposed to think to yourself, How could this happen?

I am heartbroken over what happened in Orlando. My heart is with all those we lost, all those who were injured, and all their friends and family. I am an openly lesbian, visibly gender non-conforming person, who is an active member of the Lesbian Gay, Bi, Transgender, Queer, Intersex, and Asexual (LGBTQIA) community, and like most of the community, I’ve been struggling. I have been visibly Queer for several years now, and although it’s not uncommon for me to get weird looks, to hear homophobic things, or to be misgendered, I’ve generally found a safe place with my friends, family, and in my community.

The Friday before Pulse Nightclub’s Latin Night was the target of the deadliest mass shooting in modern U.S. history (read Marc Dones' thoughts on the impact of the tragedy in Orlando), I was in Boston at Machine Nightclub’s Latin Night. At this local gay nightclub packed for Pride weekend, my friend and I danced, waited too long at the bar for overpriced drinks, cheered Latinx drag performers and gogo dancers, and left before the bar closed to get a good night’s sleep for the rest of the celebratory weekend.

The next morning, the Saturday morning before Pulse Nightclub’s Latin Night, I hurried to the Boston Pride float I was walking with and took in an unexpected sight. Of the more than 50 people already there, about three quarters were wearing sombreros, in assorted colors and patterns, ready to march to represent a prominent LGBTQ-focused organization that has no unique ties to the Latinx community.

I exchanged a few words with my friends about it. Did you know about this? Whose idea was this? Should we say something?