Transgender Day of Visibility is a day of joy, but also of caution and care | Opinion

Severiano Christian knew they were non-binary at the age of 18. At 22, they became the California Senate’s LGBTQ Caucus consultant. And now, at just 27, Christian is the Legislative Director for California State Senator Scott Weiner, D-San Francisco.

It’s a high-profile and powerful position where they help shape LGBTQ+ policy, and where Christian deals with issues such as the medical treatment of incarcerated LGBTQ+ people and intersex health care.

In childhood, Christian said they “never had the vocabulary” to describe how they felt about their gender. They liked sports, but they also liked painting their nails, and they found themselves falling outside of the typical construct of what it means to be a “man” or a “woman.”

Opinion

“The whole gender thing didn’t make sense to me,” Christian said. “(Non-binary) just made perfect sense to me.”

People who identify as non-binary are those who did not identify with the traditional gender binary — “male” or “female.” This community uses many different terms to describe themselves, with “non-binary” being one of the most common. Other terms include genderqueer, agender, bigender and genderfluid, among others.

Transgender, by definition, means your gender identity is different from the gender assigned at birth — usually “male” or “female.” Many non-binary people consider themselves members of the transgender community, but some do not.

“Everybody has their own experience with gender, whether they think about it or not,” Christian said. “Just because somebody’s experience may be different than yours doesn’t make them any less than. It doesn’t mean that they have an agenda.”

Transgender Day of Visibility, on March 31, was an opportunity to celebrate a community that has faced far too much opposition. But, to Christian, the “double-edged sword of visibility” can also result in “danger.”

The cost of visibility can be fatal. According to the National Library of Medicine, studies show that 82% of transgender individuals have considered suicide, while 40% of transgender adults and 50% of transgender youth have actually attempted suicide.

“The really heinous vitriol that we see on a national level and state level here has an inherent impact on the way that people view the community,” Christian said.

Across the nation, more than 400 anti-LGBTQ+ bills are up for consideration in various state legislatures, city councils and school boards. Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” law, for example, doubles as Gov. Ron Desantis’ 2024 campaign theme.

Tennessee’s Senate Bill 1 prohibits “a healthcare provider from … administering to a minor a medical procedure if the … procedure is for the purpose of enabling a minor to identify with, or live as, a purported identity inconsistent with the minor’s sex.” That bill became state law in March.

Even right here in California, Assemblyman Bill Essayli, R-Norco, has introduced Assembly Bill 1314, which requires California teachers and school districts to notify a parent if a child “requests to be publicly addressed by a gender pronoun other than their sex at birth, or to use facilities of a different gender.”

These and other bills attempt to undermine and weaken nondiscrimination laws; censor and limit access to books or information about transgender people; seek to prohibit transgender people from using facilities like public bathrooms and locker rooms; and prevent trans students from participating in school activities like sports, according to the American Civil Liberties Union.

But sometimes even small gestures by allies can help.

As a fellow in the California legislature, Christian was honored alongside their cohort on the floor of the senate, and something as simple as the clerk reading their name and using their correct pronouns gave Christian a sense of joy and belonging.

“I don’t think anyone is going to go out of their way (to be transgender) as a political statement to endanger themselves,” Christian said. “People are just trying to live happily.”