The Challenge

The queer radical community is one that I have long identified with. Ever since I came out as queer, and later as trans*, it has been this community that I have been consistently drawn to. Regardless of what city I’m living in, I always seem to find the radical queers. I have organized with and marched along side with radical queers. From facilitating a workshop on queer activism to marching at Queer Bomb (in Austin) or the Dyke March (in Boston) to staffing a drop-in center for queer youth, I have done a lot of work with the queer community and I hope to continue. Not only because I am queer but also because these are my people and I want to work with them.

Which is why it’s so frustrating, not to mention problematic, when I’m the only trans woman of color in radical queer space. Over and over again, I find myself in a room full of cis queer women and trans men. Over and over again, I find myself in a room full of white people. The radical queer community positions itself as representative of all queer people and advocates for the needs of the queer community. It supposedly fights against those systems of power and oppression that keep all queers oppressed. And yet at the same time, trans women of color are nowhere to be seen; even though they are the most vulnerable in our community.

One has only to glance at the case of CeCe Mcdonald to see all the worst intersections and manifestation of white supremacy, patriarchy and capitalism. She was arrested and is being charged with second-degree murder, the same charge as George Zimmerman, for being the victim of a hate crime and fighting back. She is being charged, basically, for being a poor, black, trans woman. And while there has been a very strong movement of people organizing to free her, this is the exception to the rule.

The last 20 reported cases of trans* murders have all been trans women of color. What, than, does this say about the radical queer community when we are not centering the needs of the most vulnerable in our organizing? How can we purport to create a fully equitable world if we are not making space for them?

The reason for all this is that transmisogyny and racism is rampant and often unchecked in radical queer spaces. From TWoC lack of presence to their lack of “desirability” to their outright exclusion, it’s clear that the radical queer community is not accountable to us. They assume that since white cis queers are oppressed, they couldn’t possibly be oppressive themselves. Somehow, they think that people’s queerness excuses or erases the other ways in which they are privileged. But this is a myth that needs to be constantly challenged. The radical queer community needs to be aware in the ways that they are being oppressive, especially when it is unintentional. They need to know that there are reasons why trans women of color don’t show up to their functions or their rallies. And its because you don’t represent us.

How many black and brown trans women need to die before you put our needs first? In April alone, there have been 3 reported murders. 3 women killed in a community that is already small and nearly invisible. Coko Williams, Clay Paige, Brandy Martell. And if these are the reported murders, can you imagine the number of unreported murders? The unclaimed bodies and forgotten names?

So I challenge you, dear radical, to put your money where your mouth is. If you are really committed to this work, put us first. Be aware of our struggles, of our triumphs. Hell, be aware of our existence! Don’t just mourn us when we are murdered, but celebrate and work with us in life. Actively participate in making this world a safer place for us.

But most of all, I challenge you to see us. To know us.

 Morgan is the latest in a long line of fierce warriors. She is walking in the footsteps of Audre Lorde, Sylvia Rivera and her own mother to achieve the collective liberation of all peoples. She maintains her own blog,, and has been published in xQSí Magazine and The Urban Resistance among others. Morgan hopes to go to graduate school for writing and to use her poems, essays and stories to challenge, inspire and incite radical action. She also really enjoys Thai food.

The Deviant Body: A Queer/Trans* Perspective on Eating Disorders

As an eating disorder survivor, bodies and how they are culturally perceived is something I spend a lot of time thinking about. Having wasted many years of my life trying to demonstrate—indeed, create—social value for myself by attempting to change the way my body looks, I understand that as a person AFAB* and regularly presumed to be a womyn, my value is reliant almost entirely on how well I conform to certain standards of beauty. (For what it’s worth, I conform to these in some ways, and not in others.) Social acceptance is important for most people, but for womyn-identified and AFAB people, this kind of acceptance still relies primarily on the way we look. Failing to meet these strictly-enforced standards of beauty effectively means that you are bad, undesirable, unwanted, even immoral—a waste of space, if you are even acknowledged at all.

Since my diagnosis as a teenager, I’ve tried to pay attention to how eating disorders are portrayed in the mainstream media. I don’t believe it’s changed much in the decade or so since I became interested, although I can’t back this opinion up with anything other than my own observations. Still, it seems like it’s only been within the last few years that the mainstream media has begun to really acknowledge that people other than young, white, middle- and upper-class womyn suffer from eating disorders. While the narrative is slowly shifting to recognize that men can also have eating disorders (and it grinds my fucking gears to see that these diseases are taken more seriously because of this), it is rare to see coverage of this phenomenon in people of color, gender and sexual minorities, and poor people, despite the fact that young womyn of color and poor people may be particularly vulnerable to EDs, as well as underdiagnosed and undertreated. I’ve noticed that for many people with an ED or EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified) with whom I’ve talked or whose work I’ve read, reducing the amount of space you take up in a capitalist, racist heteropatriarchy fundamentally against people like you makes getting smaller pretty appealing. Who’da thunk it.

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Transcreature from the Pink Glitter Lagoon

I was a thirteen-year-old lesbian. I was also a fourteen-year-old bisexual. Then a fifteen-year-old queer grrl, a sixteen-year-old genderqueer and, finally, a seventeen-year-old transboy. Luckily, the last one stuck and I won’t be doing any more tiresome coming out in the foreseeable future. But, having spent time in all those identities, I’ve also spent a lot of time in feminist spaces. Early on, feminism was shiny and attractive to me because Kathleen Hanna was shiny and attractive to me. Only after many long hours of really paying attention to the lyrics, zine-ing, researching, and workshopping, did it became a no-brainer. Women deserve fucking rights. Period.

Once I spent a little time in radical spaces, my views on this changed. Sure women deserved rights. But what defines a woman? Someone labeled a woman at birth? Only straight women? Only white women? Only women without disabilities? There are a lot of ways to be a woman and even more ways to be perceived as a woman. And what exactly does “rights” encompass? What good is closing the wage gap when women of color, trans women, women with disabilities, fat women, low-income women, and countless others can’t get jobs to begin with? What good is it when they have to worry about being attacked on their way to the interview? In the wise and feisty words of Emily over at Tiger Beatdown, my feminism will be intersectional or it will be bullshit.

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