101 Weeks...

...of Christians threatening me because I'm a transgender woman

101 Weeks

I’m coming up on a milestone: October 6th will be two years since I came out as a transgender woman. Depending on a trans person’s experience and personal preferences, we sometimes refer to either our coming out date or the date we started HRT (hormone replacement therapy) as our traniversary. For some trans people, their traniversary becomes more important than (or fully replaces) their birthday.

I’m excited about my upcoming second traniversary, about two years of being my true self, but as I sit here 101 weeks and three days into this journey of self-actualization, my heart is burdened. My heart is burdened by the fact that I still haven’t made it through a full week without at least one Christian threatening my life. Often it’s more than one.

Just so we’re clear on definitions: I am using Christian here as someone who professes that they are a Christian, and death threats include things that are:

1. Said directly to me

2. Statements that wish for my death

   1. by the person’s own hand

   2. by advocation for state violence

   3. by encouraging me to do the job myself

3. Not bots (though I will add here that harassment bots are programmed by humans)

Love Thy Neighbor

When I was an evangelical Christian teenager, I embraced a quote (mis)attributed to St. Francis of Assisi as my personal mantra: “Preach the gospel at all times, and if necessary, use words.” My friends and I talked about how we weren’t going to succumb to the trappings of hypocrisy that people see in the Church. We would be different. We would show people G-d’s love. We would spark a revival by loving people into the Kingdom.

Taking Jesus seriously, and loving our neighbors as ourselves seemed like a great idea. I still believe in loving my neighbor as myself. I wish more Christians believed that, too.

Men’s Prayer Meeting

When I came out, my employer (a major law firm in Tulsa) gave me a month of work from home time to adjust before coming back to the office. This was a big deal; they really aren’t WFM fans. I spent that month practicing my makeup, starting to figure out some clothing styles, and trying initial vocal feminization exercises. Vocal dysphoria is still a huge barrier for me (see Side B):

They Will Keep on Speaking Her Name, Volume 2 - The One I've Been Waiting For

Going back to the office after that month away also meant going back to my regular coffee shop where I spent most of my lunch breaks. I walked in on my first day back and got the warmest welcome from the baristas working that day (who all knew why I had been away). Both baristas on duty and the shop manager came up to the counter, congratulated me on coming out, asked my new name, and gushed over my eyeshadow and outfit. Anderson, always the joker, made a quip about whether I was going to start drinking girlier coffee.

Their warm, unconditional acceptance meant to the world to me.

And then my soul got crushed almost immediately. While one of the baristas made my oat milk cortado, I went to use the restroom (a single-user unisex restroom). I passed by a table where a group of five men were having their weekly prayer meeting. These were men I had seen many times before, men I had spoken to cordially on a couple occasions.

The prayer group leader, who I knew from those previous chats was an elder at his church, declared to no one in particular, but loudly enough for the entire coffee shop to hear, “If I ever see that tr***y follow my daughter into the bathroom, I’m gonna beat it to death with its own dick.”

Pray for the Dead

That wasn’t my first threat, but it was the first one I endured in person. My first threat was actually from an old friend, someone I had known for 20+ years, someone with whom I had prayed and broken bread many times. A couple days after I came out on Facebook, he messaged me to tell me I was disgusting. He accused me of being a rapist and a p#dophile and told me he was looking forward to the day Trump puts me in a camp and G-d sends me to Hell.

Christmas 2024

Last week, we let our families know that we won’t be traveling for the holidays this year. We’ve chosen to stay in our blue state. There are still transphobic people here, but at least the legal framework ostensibly protects me.

We did the road trip last year—10 hours to my in-laws’ place, 4 hours to my parents’ place a few days later, and then 11 hours back home. On the way back, a man wearing a Christian t-shirt and a red hat threatened me in a gas station. I had to wait for him to leave before I was able to use the restroom without worry. With less worry anyway.

I wrote a poem after we got home from that road trip specifically about the topic I’m writing about this morning. It’s called “Christmas 2024”

"Christmas 2024" a poem by Miranda

101 Weeks (Reprise)

The vast majority of these experiences are unprompted. They clock me in public and act out, or they seek out the social media profiles of trans people specifically with the goal of harassing us.

Occasionally I will comment on a post by a Christian who is saying something about about trans people, to thank the affirming or to ask someone to see me as a person or to ask someone not to bear false witness against trans people. That’s the extent of me “bringing it on myself,” so miss me with any victim blaming bullshit.

I’ve never wished anyone harm. I couldn’t even stand up to my bullies in grade school because the idea of hurting them back made me feel bad. The bullies I face now are Christian nationalists, and I need their fellow Christians to stand up to them because they don’t even recognize my personhood.

They’ve threatened my life for 101 consecutive weeks; it’s getting worse as they scapegoat trans people in the media all the time; and they have 101% assurance that their crusade is just.

Please love thy neighbor by stopping her bullies.

Peace be with you.
💜thepoetmiranda📚