There are posts I want to do about the so-called Equality bill and the Transgender Day of Remembrance vigil in London yesterday, but I need to be in the right mindset to do that, and right now I'm not.
But something happened last night that made me think about facing up to things we're frightened of. I think "facing ones fear" is a cost-benefit thing; on the one hand, there was the Reclaim the Night March that some of us briefly ran into last night after the TDOR vigil. I'm scared to go on this march, and I know lots of other trans women are. Ironically, I'm scared to go on it for a reason which may be very similar to the reason those women on the march did go on it...
When a woman walking home alone, in the darkness, she might encounter a man, or group of men walking along. These men probably intend the woman no harm at all, but quite a few men do intend harm, or at the very least, they intend to subject her to verbal and possibly physical harassment. Lots of women therefore treat all men as potentially suspect until proven otherwise out of simple self preservation. When hearing this, lots of men tend to protest - "But I'm not like that!", they'll say. Chances are they're not, but we don't know, and it pays to err on the side of caution, because erring the other way only has to go wrong once.
This is similar to how I, and I suspect many other trans women, feel around cis feminists, especially if they're involved in events which have a history of excluding trans women, or turning a blind eye towards those within their own ranks preaching hatred and exclusion of us, or sharing a platform with such people, or, as I understand has happened in the past, trans women have suffered violence at the hands of their "sisters" at such events.
I know, and associate with plenty of cis women feminists who are trans inclusive and work alongside us against discrimination and exclusion, but there are lots who seem to seriously hate our guts, and wish us harm. Such people have been, and continue to be associated with Reclaim the Night.
And I've heard the protestations, in past years and this time too, "not everyone there is like that! You're tarring us/them all with the same brush!". I've heard these protestations from cis women feminists, and from the odd trans woman brave enough to go on the march, "Nobody attacked me". Well that's fine - I've walked outside in the dark lots of times past men and not been attacked, but it happens, and once is once too often. The point is not that women like me would probably be OK on an RTN march, the point is that we don't feel safe.
I mentioned the cost/benefit thing earlier. There can be benefits to facing ones fear - I suffer a fear of heights, and in the past I've found this crippling. I also really like exploring cool places though, like the tops of mountains and deep canyons. This is incompatible with acrophobia, and I judged the benefits from facing my fear of heights and pushing through them to be worth the cost, which at times has equated to near blind panic. I'm much better now though, to the point where I can free fall 4 metres through the air from the top of a climbing wall before the rope catches me, and not even feel as though it's raised my heart rate, and that's good because I enjoy it.
With events like RTN though, I feel that the cost outweighs the benefits. Any sense of inclusion and solidarity I feel is only ever going to be tenuous and conditional at best, especially if it ends at a rally where people like Julie Bindel are speaking, which she has in recent years. Conditional acceptance and getting to listen to someone who would probably prefer that women like me didn't exist seems like a very poor payoff indeed for facing the sort of fear and heightened sense of anxiety that I normally reserve for walking home alone in the dark.
Originally posted at http://auntysarah.dreamwidth.org/215517.html - you can comment here or there.