#queerliberation — Public Fediverse posts

There is a political project underway to make transgender existence pathological again.

That distinction matters.

This is not merely about terminology. It is about institutional power: who gets to define a person's identity, whose account of their own existence is considered credible, and what happens when an individual refuses the definition imposed upon them.

The historical pattern is not particularly obscure.
First, difference is classified as disorder.
Then disorder becomes evidence of incapacity.
Incapacity becomes justification for paternalism.
Paternalism becomes coercion.

At that point, the institution no longer has to demonstrate that the person is dangerous. It merely has to establish that the person is not sufficiently competent to define themselves.

This is how medical authority can become a technology of social conformity.

And no, putting this process inside a psychiatric framework does not make it benevolent. Calling coercion treatment does not alter its coercive character. Calling confinement care does not make the locked door disappear.

There is a particularly grotesque irony here: people who insist that transgender identities are merely ideological constructions are perfectly willing to construct an elaborate ideological apparatus around the proposition that trans people are mentally defective.

The objective is not scientific neutrality.
It is disciplinary legitimacy.

So let us dispense with the euphemisms.

If your political programme requires declaring an entire class of people mentally ill because they refuse to live according to your preferred conception of gender, you are not practising medicine. You are practising social control.

And if your proposed remedy is to remove those people from society until they become sufficiently compliant, then the problem is not their supposed pathology.

It is your willingness to manufacture pathology in order to justify their removal.

History has a name for that kind of medicine.

It is not care.
It is not neutrality.
And it is certainly not progress.

We have already seen what happens when institutions are given the authority to decide which identities constitute legitimate human existence. We do not owe anyone the opportunity to repeat the experiment on us.

#TransRights #TransLiberation #TransIsNotAnIllness #QueerLiberation #MedicalEthics #HumanRights #Antifascism #EndTransphobia #NoGoingBack

Ah yes. The great fascist emergency:

RAINBOWS.

Apparently a bit of colour on a wall is now a sinister ideological occupation force.

Paint over it with a German flag, though, and suddenly it’s “just as it should be.” 🤡

And then comes my favourite little sentence:

“Tolerance and diversity are being forced on me.”

Oh sweetheart.

If your freedom requires everyone else to disappear, you don't want freedom. You want the freedom to spew your hateful nationalism without any resistance.

You don't want “unpolitical.”
You want your politics to be the wallpaper.

You don't want to be left alone.
You want us to be invisible.

And no, I don't think you're confused.

I think you know exactly what you're doing.

That's the ugly little secret underneath all that whining about “perversion” and “having things shoved in your face”:

You want us gone.

Well.

How terribly inconvenient.

We're still here.
We're loud.
We're queer.
We're colourful.
And we're not asking your permission.

Deutschland verrecke! 🏳️‍🌈

#Antifascism #FuckFascism #QueerLiberation #LGBTQIA #NoPasaran #Germany #Diversity #Pride

Ah yes. The great fascist emergency:

RAINBOWS.

Apparently a bit of colour on a wall is now a sinister ideological occupation force.

Paint over it with a German flag, though, and suddenly it’s “just as it should be.” 🤡

And then comes my favourite little sentence:

“Tolerance and diversity are being forced on me.”

Oh sweetheart.

If your freedom requires everyone else to disappear, you don't want freedom. You want the freedom to spew your hateful nationalism without any resistance.

You don't want “unpolitical.”
You want your politics to be the wallpaper.

You don't want to be left alone.
You want us to be invisible.

And no, I don't think you're confused.

I think you know exactly what you're doing.

That's the ugly little secret underneath all that whining about “perversion” and “having things shoved in your face”:

You want us gone.

Well.

How terribly inconvenient.

We're still here.
We're loud.
We're queer.
We're colourful.
And we're not asking your permission.

Deutschland verrecke! 🏳️‍🌈

#Antifascism #FuckFascism #QueerLiberation #LGBTQIA #NoPasaran #Germany #Diversity #Pride

Ah yes. The great fascist emergency:

RAINBOWS.

Apparently a bit of colour on a wall is now a sinister ideological occupation force.

Paint over it with a German flag, though, and suddenly it’s “just as it should be.” 🤡

And then comes my favourite little sentence:

“Tolerance and diversity are being forced on me.”

Oh sweetheart.

If your freedom requires everyone else to disappear, you don't want freedom. You want the freedom to spew your hateful nationalism without any resistance.

You don't want “unpolitical.”
You want your politics to be the wallpaper.

You don't want to be left alone.
You want us to be invisible.

And no, I don't think you're confused.

I think you know exactly what you're doing.

That's the ugly little secret underneath all that whining about “perversion” and “having things shoved in your face”:

You want us gone.

Well.

How terribly inconvenient.

We're still here.
We're loud.
We're queer.
We're colourful.
And we're not asking your permission.

Deutschland verrecke! 🏳️‍🌈

#Antifascism #FuckFascism #QueerLiberation #LGBTQIA #NoPasaran #Germany #Diversity #Pride

Ah yes. The great fascist emergency:

RAINBOWS.

Apparently a bit of colour on a wall is now a sinister ideological occupation force.

Paint over it with a German flag, though, and suddenly it’s “just as it should be.” 🤡

And then comes my favourite little sentence:

“Tolerance and diversity are being forced on me.”

Oh sweetheart.

If your freedom requires everyone else to disappear, you don't want freedom. You want the freedom to spew your hateful nationalism without any resistance.

You don't want “unpolitical.”
You want your politics to be the wallpaper.

You don't want to be left alone.
You want us to be invisible.

And no, I don't think you're confused.

I think you know exactly what you're doing.

That's the ugly little secret underneath all that whining about “perversion” and “having things shoved in your face”:

You want us gone.

Well.

How terribly inconvenient.

We're still here.
We're loud.
We're queer.
We're colourful.
And we're not asking your permission.

Deutschland verrecke! 🏳️‍🌈

#Antifascism #FuckFascism #QueerLiberation #LGBTQIA #NoPasaran #Germany #Diversity #Pride

This post starts with a warning. A terribly important warning that you probably don't expect, at least not from me. But hear me out:

Trans people are extremely fucking dangerous!

We are dangerous in the way that a cat is dangerous to a carefully arranged bookshelf.

We are dangerous in the way that a question is dangerous to a very bad answer.

We are dangerous in the way that a tiny stone is dangerous to a machine designed on the assumption that nothing will ever get stuck in the gears.

We are dangerous because we demonstrate something profoundly inconvenient:

the boxes are not laws of nature.

Someone drew them.

Someone named them.

Someone decided who goes where.

Someone built an entire social architecture around pretending that the boxes had been handed down from the heavens, carved into the chromosomes, engraved into the bones, and personally notarised by God.

And then along comes some queer little creature with purple hair going,

“Hmm. I don’t think this box fits.”

Catastrophe!

Civilisation trembles!

Someone phones the newspapers.

Someone demands a parliamentary inquiry into the alarming existence of a person who bought the wrong socks.

Because gender, apparently, is supposed to be terribly simple.

You are assigned a category.

The category comes with instructions.

The instructions come with expectations.

The expectations come with consequences.

And everyone is supposed to nod politely and spend the next eighty years pretending this arrangement was inevitable.

Except humans are gloriously terrible at obeying arbitrary rules forever.

We transition.

We question.

We experiment.

We refuse.

We discover ourselves.

We change our names.

We change our clothes.

We change our pronouns.

We change our lives.

And sometimes we look at a rule that has been treated as sacred for centuries and say:

“That’s a funny-looking rule.”

This is where things become politically inconvenient.

Because patriarchy doesn't merely say that people have genders.

It says gender tells us who should lead, who should obey, who should provide, who should nurture, who should speak, who should remain quiet, who should be powerful, who should be pretty, who should be tough, and who should bloody well know their place.

Authoritarian religion can turn that into theology:

Someone else gets to tell you what you are.

Capitalism can turn it into administration:

Someone else gets to categorise you, market you, insure you, employ you, regulate you, and sell things to you on the basis of that category.

And authoritarian politics can turn it into a particularly ugly little demand:

Stay where we put you.

Trans people answer:

No.

Not because every trans person has read Gramsci before breakfast.

Not because we have all assembled a revolutionary committee beneath the local kebab shop.

Sometimes we're just trying to figure out why our reflection looks wrong.

Sometimes we're just trying to survive.

Sometimes we're just trying to buy a fucking skirt without somebody writing a newspaper column about it.

But our existence nevertheless demonstrates something revolutionary:

identity is not necessarily obedience.

And once that idea exists, you can't put it neatly back into the box.

Because someone else starts wondering:

Why do I have to be this way?

Who said?

Why?

What happens if I don't?

Who benefits?

And why does my freedom make you angry?

Oh dear.

There goes the furniture.

The great secret is that rigid systems don't necessarily fear the individual.

They fear the example.

One person stepping outside the line proves the line can be crossed.

One person surviving outside the category proves the category wasn't the universe.

One person refusing their assigned role creates the horrifying possibility that other people might realise they have choices too.

And suddenly the problem isn't:

“What are trans people doing to society?”

The problem becomes:

“Why does society require everyone to be this particular way in the first place?”

That is the dangerous question.

So yes.

I was wrong.

Trans people are dangerous.

We are dangerous to compulsory conformity.

Dangerous to inherited hierarchies.

Dangerous to authoritarian certainty.

Dangerous to the idea that bodies come with political instructions attached.

Dangerous to the notion that identity is something assigned once, stamped on the forehead, filed in triplicate, and never questioned again.

We are dangerous because we keep demonstrating that human beings are messy.

Wonderful.

Contradictory.

Uncooperative.

Impossible to sort perfectly into little administrative boxes.

And if your entire social order requires human beings to remain inside those boxes forever, then perhaps the existential threat isn't the person climbing out.

Perhaps the existential threat is the fact that the box was never the world.

It was only a box.

And somebody just opened the lid.

Sorry about that.

Well.

Not that sorry.

#TransRights #TransLiberation #NonBinary #GenderFreedom #FuckThePatriarchy #QueerLiberation #ResistConformity #SmashTheBoxes #BeDangerous #RadicalQueer

This post starts with a warning. A terribly important warning that you probably don't expect, at least not from me. But hear me out:

Trans people are extremely fucking dangerous!

We are dangerous in the way that a cat is dangerous to a carefully arranged bookshelf.

We are dangerous in the way that a question is dangerous to a very bad answer.

We are dangerous in the way that a tiny stone is dangerous to a machine designed on the assumption that nothing will ever get stuck in the gears.

We are dangerous because we demonstrate something profoundly inconvenient:

the boxes are not laws of nature.

Someone drew them.

Someone named them.

Someone decided who goes where.

Someone built an entire social architecture around pretending that the boxes had been handed down from the heavens, carved into the chromosomes, engraved into the bones, and personally notarised by God.

And then along comes some queer little creature with purple hair going,

“Hmm. I don’t think this box fits.”

Catastrophe!

Civilisation trembles!

Someone phones the newspapers.

Someone demands a parliamentary inquiry into the alarming existence of a person who bought the wrong socks.

Because gender, apparently, is supposed to be terribly simple.

You are assigned a category.

The category comes with instructions.

The instructions come with expectations.

The expectations come with consequences.

And everyone is supposed to nod politely and spend the next eighty years pretending this arrangement was inevitable.

Except humans are gloriously terrible at obeying arbitrary rules forever.

We transition.

We question.

We experiment.

We refuse.

We discover ourselves.

We change our names.

We change our clothes.

We change our pronouns.

We change our lives.

And sometimes we look at a rule that has been treated as sacred for centuries and say:

“That’s a funny-looking rule.”

This is where things become politically inconvenient.

Because patriarchy doesn't merely say that people have genders.

It says gender tells us who should lead, who should obey, who should provide, who should nurture, who should speak, who should remain quiet, who should be powerful, who should be pretty, who should be tough, and who should bloody well know their place.

Authoritarian religion can turn that into theology:

Someone else gets to tell you what you are.

Capitalism can turn it into administration:

Someone else gets to categorise you, market you, insure you, employ you, regulate you, and sell things to you on the basis of that category.

And authoritarian politics can turn it into a particularly ugly little demand:

Stay where we put you.

Trans people answer:

No.

Not because every trans person has read Gramsci before breakfast.

Not because we have all assembled a revolutionary committee beneath the local kebab shop.

Sometimes we're just trying to figure out why our reflection looks wrong.

Sometimes we're just trying to survive.

Sometimes we're just trying to buy a fucking skirt without somebody writing a newspaper column about it.

But our existence nevertheless demonstrates something revolutionary:

identity is not necessarily obedience.

And once that idea exists, you can't put it neatly back into the box.

Because someone else starts wondering:

Why do I have to be this way?

Who said?

Why?

What happens if I don't?

Who benefits?

And why does my freedom make you angry?

Oh dear.

There goes the furniture.

The great secret is that rigid systems don't necessarily fear the individual.

They fear the example.

One person stepping outside the line proves the line can be crossed.

One person surviving outside the category proves the category wasn't the universe.

One person refusing their assigned role creates the horrifying possibility that other people might realise they have choices too.

And suddenly the problem isn't:

“What are trans people doing to society?”

The problem becomes:

“Why does society require everyone to be this particular way in the first place?”

That is the dangerous question.

So yes.

I was wrong.

Trans people are dangerous.

We are dangerous to compulsory conformity.

Dangerous to inherited hierarchies.

Dangerous to authoritarian certainty.

Dangerous to the idea that bodies come with political instructions attached.

Dangerous to the notion that identity is something assigned once, stamped on the forehead, filed in triplicate, and never questioned again.

We are dangerous because we keep demonstrating that human beings are messy.

Wonderful.

Contradictory.

Uncooperative.

Impossible to sort perfectly into little administrative boxes.

And if your entire social order requires human beings to remain inside those boxes forever, then perhaps the existential threat isn't the person climbing out.

Perhaps the existential threat is the fact that the box was never the world.

It was only a box.

And somebody just opened the lid.

Sorry about that.

Well.

Not that sorry.

#TransRights #TransLiberation #NonBinary #GenderFreedom #FuckThePatriarchy #QueerLiberation #ResistConformity #SmashTheBoxes #BeDangerous #RadicalQueer

This post starts with a warning. A terribly important warning that you probably don't expect, at least not from me. But hear me out:

Trans people are extremely fucking dangerous!

We are dangerous in the way that a cat is dangerous to a carefully arranged bookshelf.

We are dangerous in the way that a question is dangerous to a very bad answer.

We are dangerous in the way that a tiny stone is dangerous to a machine designed on the assumption that nothing will ever get stuck in the gears.

We are dangerous because we demonstrate something profoundly inconvenient:

the boxes are not laws of nature.

Someone drew them.

Someone named them.

Someone decided who goes where.

Someone built an entire social architecture around pretending that the boxes had been handed down from the heavens, carved into the chromosomes, engraved into the bones, and personally notarised by God.

And then along comes some queer little creature with purple hair going,

“Hmm. I don’t think this box fits.”

Catastrophe!

Civilisation trembles!

Someone phones the newspapers.

Someone demands a parliamentary inquiry into the alarming existence of a person who bought the wrong socks.

Because gender, apparently, is supposed to be terribly simple.

You are assigned a category.

The category comes with instructions.

The instructions come with expectations.

The expectations come with consequences.

And everyone is supposed to nod politely and spend the next eighty years pretending this arrangement was inevitable.

Except humans are gloriously terrible at obeying arbitrary rules forever.

We transition.

We question.

We experiment.

We refuse.

We discover ourselves.

We change our names.

We change our clothes.

We change our pronouns.

We change our lives.

And sometimes we look at a rule that has been treated as sacred for centuries and say:

“That’s a funny-looking rule.”

This is where things become politically inconvenient.

Because patriarchy doesn't merely say that people have genders.

It says gender tells us who should lead, who should obey, who should provide, who should nurture, who should speak, who should remain quiet, who should be powerful, who should be pretty, who should be tough, and who should bloody well know their place.

Authoritarian religion can turn that into theology:

Someone else gets to tell you what you are.

Capitalism can turn it into administration:

Someone else gets to categorise you, market you, insure you, employ you, regulate you, and sell things to you on the basis of that category.

And authoritarian politics can turn it into a particularly ugly little demand:

Stay where we put you.

Trans people answer:

No.

Not because every trans person has read Gramsci before breakfast.

Not because we have all assembled a revolutionary committee beneath the local kebab shop.

Sometimes we're just trying to figure out why our reflection looks wrong.

Sometimes we're just trying to survive.

Sometimes we're just trying to buy a fucking skirt without somebody writing a newspaper column about it.

But our existence nevertheless demonstrates something revolutionary:

identity is not necessarily obedience.

And once that idea exists, you can't put it neatly back into the box.

Because someone else starts wondering:

Why do I have to be this way?

Who said?

Why?

What happens if I don't?

Who benefits?

And why does my freedom make you angry?

Oh dear.

There goes the furniture.

The great secret is that rigid systems don't necessarily fear the individual.

They fear the example.

One person stepping outside the line proves the line can be crossed.

One person surviving outside the category proves the category wasn't the universe.

One person refusing their assigned role creates the horrifying possibility that other people might realise they have choices too.

And suddenly the problem isn't:

“What are trans people doing to society?”

The problem becomes:

“Why does society require everyone to be this particular way in the first place?”

That is the dangerous question.

So yes.

I was wrong.

Trans people are dangerous.

We are dangerous to compulsory conformity.

Dangerous to inherited hierarchies.

Dangerous to authoritarian certainty.

Dangerous to the idea that bodies come with political instructions attached.

Dangerous to the notion that identity is something assigned once, stamped on the forehead, filed in triplicate, and never questioned again.

We are dangerous because we keep demonstrating that human beings are messy.

Wonderful.

Contradictory.

Uncooperative.

Impossible to sort perfectly into little administrative boxes.

And if your entire social order requires human beings to remain inside those boxes forever, then perhaps the existential threat isn't the person climbing out.

Perhaps the existential threat is the fact that the box was never the world.

It was only a box.

And somebody just opened the lid.

Sorry about that.

Well.

Not that sorry.

#TransRights #TransLiberation #NonBinary #GenderFreedom #FuckThePatriarchy #QueerLiberation #ResistConformity #SmashTheBoxes #BeDangerous #RadicalQueer

This post starts with a warning. A terribly important warning that you probably don't expect, at least not from me. But hear me out:

Trans people are extremely fucking dangerous!

We are dangerous in the way that a cat is dangerous to a carefully arranged bookshelf.

We are dangerous in the way that a question is dangerous to a very bad answer.

We are dangerous in the way that a tiny stone is dangerous to a machine designed on the assumption that nothing will ever get stuck in the gears.

We are dangerous because we demonstrate something profoundly inconvenient:

the boxes are not laws of nature.

Someone drew them.

Someone named them.

Someone decided who goes where.

Someone built an entire social architecture around pretending that the boxes had been handed down from the heavens, carved into the chromosomes, engraved into the bones, and personally notarised by God.

And then along comes some queer little creature with purple hair going,

“Hmm. I don’t think this box fits.”

Catastrophe!

Civilisation trembles!

Someone phones the newspapers.

Someone demands a parliamentary inquiry into the alarming existence of a person who bought the wrong socks.

Because gender, apparently, is supposed to be terribly simple.

You are assigned a category.

The category comes with instructions.

The instructions come with expectations.

The expectations come with consequences.

And everyone is supposed to nod politely and spend the next eighty years pretending this arrangement was inevitable.

Except humans are gloriously terrible at obeying arbitrary rules forever.

We transition.

We question.

We experiment.

We refuse.

We discover ourselves.

We change our names.

We change our clothes.

We change our pronouns.

We change our lives.

And sometimes we look at a rule that has been treated as sacred for centuries and say:

“That’s a funny-looking rule.”

This is where things become politically inconvenient.

Because patriarchy doesn't merely say that people have genders.

It says gender tells us who should lead, who should obey, who should provide, who should nurture, who should speak, who should remain quiet, who should be powerful, who should be pretty, who should be tough, and who should bloody well know their place.

Authoritarian religion can turn that into theology:

Someone else gets to tell you what you are.

Capitalism can turn it into administration:

Someone else gets to categorise you, market you, insure you, employ you, regulate you, and sell things to you on the basis of that category.

And authoritarian politics can turn it into a particularly ugly little demand:

Stay where we put you.

Trans people answer:

No.

Not because every trans person has read Gramsci before breakfast.

Not because we have all assembled a revolutionary committee beneath the local kebab shop.

Sometimes we're just trying to figure out why our reflection looks wrong.

Sometimes we're just trying to survive.

Sometimes we're just trying to buy a fucking skirt without somebody writing a newspaper column about it.

But our existence nevertheless demonstrates something revolutionary:

identity is not necessarily obedience.

And once that idea exists, you can't put it neatly back into the box.

Because someone else starts wondering:

Why do I have to be this way?

Who said?

Why?

What happens if I don't?

Who benefits?

And why does my freedom make you angry?

Oh dear.

There goes the furniture.

The great secret is that rigid systems don't necessarily fear the individual.

They fear the example.

One person stepping outside the line proves the line can be crossed.

One person surviving outside the category proves the category wasn't the universe.

One person refusing their assigned role creates the horrifying possibility that other people might realise they have choices too.

And suddenly the problem isn't:

“What are trans people doing to society?”

The problem becomes:

“Why does society require everyone to be this particular way in the first place?”

That is the dangerous question.

So yes.

I was wrong.

Trans people are dangerous.

We are dangerous to compulsory conformity.

Dangerous to inherited hierarchies.

Dangerous to authoritarian certainty.

Dangerous to the idea that bodies come with political instructions attached.

Dangerous to the notion that identity is something assigned once, stamped on the forehead, filed in triplicate, and never questioned again.

We are dangerous because we keep demonstrating that human beings are messy.

Wonderful.

Contradictory.

Uncooperative.

Impossible to sort perfectly into little administrative boxes.

And if your entire social order requires human beings to remain inside those boxes forever, then perhaps the existential threat isn't the person climbing out.

Perhaps the existential threat is the fact that the box was never the world.

It was only a box.

And somebody just opened the lid.

Sorry about that.

Well.

Not that sorry.

#TransRights #TransLiberation #NonBinary #GenderFreedom #FuckThePatriarchy #QueerLiberation #ResistConformity #SmashTheBoxes #BeDangerous #RadicalQueer

This post starts with a warning. A terribly important warning that you probably don't expect, at least not from me. But hear me out:

Trans people are extremely fucking dangerous!

We are dangerous in the way that a cat is dangerous to a carefully arranged bookshelf.

We are dangerous in the way that a question is dangerous to a very bad answer.

We are dangerous in the way that a tiny stone is dangerous to a machine designed on the assumption that nothing will ever get stuck in the gears.

We are dangerous because we demonstrate something profoundly inconvenient:

the boxes are not laws of nature.

Someone drew them.

Someone named them.

Someone decided who goes where.

Someone built an entire social architecture around pretending that the boxes had been handed down from the heavens, carved into the chromosomes, engraved into the bones, and personally notarised by God.

And then along comes some queer little creature with purple hair going,

“Hmm. I don’t think this box fits.”

Catastrophe!

Civilisation trembles!

Someone phones the newspapers.

Someone demands a parliamentary inquiry into the alarming existence of a person who bought the wrong socks.

Because gender, apparently, is supposed to be terribly simple.

You are assigned a category.

The category comes with instructions.

The instructions come with expectations.

The expectations come with consequences.

And everyone is supposed to nod politely and spend the next eighty years pretending this arrangement was inevitable.

Except humans are gloriously terrible at obeying arbitrary rules forever.

We transition.

We question.

We experiment.

We refuse.

We discover ourselves.

We change our names.

We change our clothes.

We change our pronouns.

We change our lives.

And sometimes we look at a rule that has been treated as sacred for centuries and say:

“That’s a funny-looking rule.”

This is where things become politically inconvenient.

Because patriarchy doesn't merely say that people have genders.

It says gender tells us who should lead, who should obey, who should provide, who should nurture, who should speak, who should remain quiet, who should be powerful, who should be pretty, who should be tough, and who should bloody well know their place.

Authoritarian religion can turn that into theology:

Someone else gets to tell you what you are.

Capitalism can turn it into administration:

Someone else gets to categorise you, market you, insure you, employ you, regulate you, and sell things to you on the basis of that category.

And authoritarian politics can turn it into a particularly ugly little demand:

Stay where we put you.

Trans people answer:

No.

Not because every trans person has read Gramsci before breakfast.

Not because we have all assembled a revolutionary committee beneath the local kebab shop.

Sometimes we're just trying to figure out why our reflection looks wrong.

Sometimes we're just trying to survive.

Sometimes we're just trying to buy a fucking skirt without somebody writing a newspaper column about it.

But our existence nevertheless demonstrates something revolutionary:

identity is not necessarily obedience.

And once that idea exists, you can't put it neatly back into the box.

Because someone else starts wondering:

Why do I have to be this way?

Who said?

Why?

What happens if I don't?

Who benefits?

And why does my freedom make you angry?

Oh dear.

There goes the furniture.

The great secret is that rigid systems don't necessarily fear the individual.

They fear the example.

One person stepping outside the line proves the line can be crossed.

One person surviving outside the category proves the category wasn't the universe.

One person refusing their assigned role creates the horrifying possibility that other people might realise they have choices too.

And suddenly the problem isn't:

“What are trans people doing to society?”

The problem becomes:

“Why does society require everyone to be this particular way in the first place?”

That is the dangerous question.

So yes.

I was wrong.

Trans people are dangerous.

We are dangerous to compulsory conformity.

Dangerous to inherited hierarchies.

Dangerous to authoritarian certainty.

Dangerous to the idea that bodies come with political instructions attached.

Dangerous to the notion that identity is something assigned once, stamped on the forehead, filed in triplicate, and never questioned again.

We are dangerous because we keep demonstrating that human beings are messy.

Wonderful.

Contradictory.

Uncooperative.

Impossible to sort perfectly into little administrative boxes.

And if your entire social order requires human beings to remain inside those boxes forever, then perhaps the existential threat isn't the person climbing out.

Perhaps the existential threat is the fact that the box was never the world.

It was only a box.

And somebody just opened the lid.

Sorry about that.

Well.

Not that sorry.

#TransRights #TransLiberation #NonBinary #GenderFreedom #FuckThePatriarchy #QueerLiberation #ResistConformity #SmashTheBoxes #BeDangerous #RadicalQueer