Business before pleasure today. Serious business.
I repeat this information from Cara’s site:
Enact ‘Leelah’s Law’ to end transgender ‘Conversion Therapy’
I add my own modified message.
Leelah Alcorn was 17 years old; she was transgender. She wrote her suicide note (http://i.imgur.com/6cZjm4P.png), posted it on Tumblr, and then walked in front of a semi-truck on the highway to end her pain.
In her suicide post, Leelah described her parents forcing her to attend Christian ‘Conversion Therapy’. They withdrew her from her public school – they isolated her from her friends – they denied her efforts to confirm her female gender identity. I submit that these parents deliberately committed criminal child abuse against Leelah. They are the type of parents who knowingly act in such careless disregard as to deliberately make their children hate their self.
Leelah’s closing last words: ‘My death needs to be counted in the number of transgender people who commit suicide this year. I want someone to look at that number and say “that’s fucked up” and fix it. Fix society. Please.’
I cry each time I read Leelah’s final letter. She engaged in the same feminine protesting to her family as I throughout my own childhood. I know her pains – I myself was suicidal with pains – I wish I could have been there to ease Leelah from her pains. I extend to anyone out there whatever help or consoling to you that I can do. If nothing else, I give to you my warmest, my most heart-felt HUG through these cyber waves.
Sorry, I am not one of those sunshiners who goes along with the ‘It gets better’ routine. It does not get better. The world hates us – the world hates us more each day that we exist in their world. What you can do is join with we who accept you as you are and we as our own can make it not get worse for you.
Suicide rates for transgender youth are the highest suicide rates in this nation. ‘Conversion Therapy’ is documented to cause great harm; it led to Leelah’s suicide. Therapists are using it to brainwash the child’s gender identity. These therapies are unethical. Let Leelah’s petition become one small effort to end those therapies.
Then we have this petition: ‘Formally Investigate the Transphobic Violence Leading to the Rising Death Toll of Transgender Women of Color in the U.S.’
Thank you, Kira. This is from her site.
Since January 9, 2015, twelve (12) Transgender women, mostly women of color, have lost their lives due to hate and Transphobia. Eight of these beautiful lives were lost in the first two months of the year. With such a high death toll, something must be done to raise awareness and end the senseless killings of a targeted, vulnerable community.
For Transgender women of color, safety is a real and warranted concern. We are asking the administration to raise awareness and take action to keep this community safe, by conducting a formal investigation of these deaths occurring across the county to the targeted community of Transgender women, particularly women of color.
Please take action to ensure this community does not have to live in fear of losing their lives to hate and violence.
Please view this week’s episode of PBS ‘Religion and Ethics Newsweekly’ (check your local listings or go to PBS.org).
They include an extended segment about transgender in Christian churches. They interview people who are trans and people who are ordained ministers who welcome trans into their church.
If an anti-trans Christian wants to view the issue with an open mind, at least this is a start. Doubtfull any hard-core anti- would consider watching let alone coming away with a renewed perspective.
Recent comment from Cara, my spirit friend of this domain and renown Barbarian Warrior Princess of the Renaissance Festival, reflected on the Ford Mustang. I owned my share: 1964 1/2 (1975 – 1976, pearl white) and 1965 (1994 – 1999, baby blue).
My first Mustang has its own curious memories.
I bought it cheap – $300 in 1975.
Its days were where my memories lie. Slim and I travelled up-state planning to visit with Laurel, my former high school English teacher from Pinewood School (Pylaia, Greece). We all became friends during our year together at Greece and continued our friendship with regular correspondences via the postal mail.
My effort to meet with Laurel during that Summer of 1976 had a frustrating start. Unbeknownst, she was travelling back and forth from her home at Pescadero to house-sitting at Redwood City. We apparently missed each other in opposite directions for a day. Realise, dear reader, that in 1976 we had no such thing as cellular telephones as we walked 10 miles to school in the snow each day. Add that she had no home telephone and I did not know her house-sitting telephone. Ah, the ‘good ol’ days’.
So Slim and I sat at the Pescadero Post Office and waited during most of the day on the possible idea that she would come collect her mail. Nope; she did not arrive at the Post Office.
Meanwhile, I saw a curious red roadster that afternoon. It was at the gasoline station across the street while I waited for Laurel at the Post Office. Slim and I hurried to check it out before the driver finished his fill-up and drove away. He showed it to us. Cool! I thanked him and off he went.
There was no Laurel all day at the Post Office, so I parked where it seemed safe – at the school parking lot. Little did I know that security would lock the entry during the night; I watched as he closed the gate and drove away, but I wasn’t going anywhere till daytime anyway. Oh well. Then the later late-night security guard drove by my car; looked inside with his flashlight and saw Slim and me sleeping in the car. He woke us and told me that I must leave the premises – that parking at the beach was safe and legal – that he would make rounds to check on me at the beach during the night. I asked the guard about Laurel; he told me that he knew Laurel from the school. He gave some ideas to me to track her the next morning..
I parked at the beach and awoke at dawn. I took the guard’s advice, I made a telephone call at the local police station, and Bingo!, I found Laurel. The Police helpt me with directions to Laurel’s home – in the mountains of Pescadero. I never would have found it on my own – a good lesson to ask for directions before you get lost.
Laurel and Slim and I had a good time visiting for a couple days. She introduced us to Chuck, her boyfriend.
Laurel and I prepared our dinner that afternoon: stuffed squid. YUMMY! Gawd I love fresh seafood and miss it living inland.
That evening Laurel and I sat and talked. I showed our school yearbook from the year after she left (1972 – 1973 school year, my second year). She had a good time reminiscing about our old days and the people we both knew.
I considered telling Laurel about my pending change during this visit. I did not expressly tell her, but oops, some papers in the yearbook fell out and she saw them. They were to be my props for my telling until I got cold feet.
Teacher hand-out papers were from my 11th Grade ‘Psychology’ class at Pinewood – those notes were from days of that class when we talked about transvestites and transsexuals. As the teacher’s notes showed, he defined both TV and TS as sexually aberrant deviations. The teacher’s lessons and notes made me angry in 1973 – but I bit my lip and stayed silent. Actually, I can’t blame the teacher. Back then (1973), psychology lumpt TV with TS and defined both as sexually aberrant deviants. I know what I am, I know I am NOT TV; I know I am NOT a sexually aberrant deviant – I do NOT prey on children. And what about my parents who preyed on me? It was my body that was mixed and needed correcting; the clothes that girls wore made less matter to me.
Other papers that slipt from the yearbook were my references to electrologists at my home city; I wanted to check them out as a possibility if I developed facial hair. I had some hair in 1976 when I was age 20, but not much (yet); I had no clue what was about to happen in another couple years. I plucked then same as I would during subsequent years. I could clear my face in less time than to shave anyway in 1976; the bonus was a clear face for days and no stubble.
Laurel read through the teacher’s notes, looked at the electrologist list, and put them back in the book with a curious glance at me but without comment. I wondered whether she began suspecting something about me.
I really so much wanted to tell her, but our visiting was about our re-union and not my intimate troubles.
Then there was that red roadster. I asked Laurel and Chuck if they saw that car. They told me that is Neil Young’s car and that man driving it is Neil Young. Ahh! I met Neil Young and did not recognise him. Looking back, he was probably pleased that this young kid with the Lhasa Apso was not all gushy intruding on him but instead wanting to check out his ‘rod’ and compare notes to my Mustang.
Sometime following my visit to Laurel, I wrote to her and told her all about my self. I reminded her about my visit to her, my papers I was ready to use as props, my lost nerve that I shrunk from telling her. I realised I did not want to spoil our visit with issues that she might not know how to handle – that I simply wanted to enjoy the visit without any other pressure. She accepted my apology.
Better than that, Laurel came to visit me where I lived at Utah (1982). She was eager to talk.
She arrived during the evening and told me that she wanted to really talk to me. She asked if I had any wine; I did and offered it to her. She told me that she had to get drunk to give her ‘what fer’ talk to me about being female. As she sipt her wine, she told me quite a lot. She and I were obviously not going to get naked, so she brought foreign porn with her to show graphic pictures to go with her graphic words. How could I explain that ‘dangly thing’, my faux ‘male’ anatomy, was a ‘virgin’, but my rudimentary vagina and structures had their own experiences in the privacy of my own home?
I do not know if it was the booze or her personal inclination for something, but Laurel made a comment from her perspective that I understood. I could have taken it as an insult from my transsexual perspective, but that would have been difficult because she could not understand my core gender identity perspective. Anyway, Laurel told me, ‘Nick, you are a very handsome MAN who could have any woman HE wanted. I’M attracted to you.’
Laurel was looking at Nick that evening, the male you see similar in that 1981 work ID photograph. In her uncertainty, Laurel discussed how she did not want me to continue with my transition. She thought that she could convince me that my ‘very handsome MAN’ male looks should convince me to stay ‘male’. Transsexualism does not work that way.
I saw that 1981 male predecessor person as ugly, not attractive, whether male or female. Maybe he is ‘handsome’, I do not know that because I NEVER saw him that way. I saw that picture of that person as the contemporary (i.e., 1982) appearance of my female self and felt revulsion by it. In other words, my appearance as Nick is ugly as Sharon regardless of how others perceived ‘him’ as a male.
Laurel’s comment made no matter to me. She did not quite comprehend the gender identity issue; few people I have known outside the community understand this core gender identity mix-up. So many people have no conflict of their own; they are totally satisfied and pleased with their mind and body, unlike trans.
I told Laurel how I appreciated her open honesty.
I made certain Laurel saw my pills to know this is serious. I reminded her that there was no going back.
When I settled at my new residence (June 1985), Laurel was among the first persons whom I called to tell about completing my transition. ‘I did it!’, I told her during a nervous, but cheery, telephone call. Yep, I had my operations and successfully completed my transition. She was happy for me.
We later lost contact with each other. I miss Laurel and her well-meaning support.
The second Mustang story will follow in a later post.