Nur Sajat, a trans social media personality and businesswoman who fled Malaysia, was allegedly sexually assaulted by religious officers.
The cosmetics entrepreneur fled the country in January after she was charged with breaking Sharia law by wearing a dress at a religious event in 2018. She faces up to three years in prison, which supposedly brought “contempt” to Islam.
The Washington Post reported Sajat was arrested on 8 September by Thai police for entering the country illegally, and a police official said the deportation process was underway.
Phil Robertson, deputy Asia director at Human Rights Watch, told the South China Morning Post that Sajat had been granted asylum but declined to specify the country. But Sajat announced on Monday (18 October) that she fled to Australia and was now safe from the threat of imprisonment.
She opened up about her harrowing journey in an interview with the New York Times. Sajat alleged she received a summons from the religious department of the state of Selangor, where her business is based, in January.
When she was inside the department, she claimed at least three men kicked her, pinned her down and groped her breasts. It was the same day she was arrested and officially charged in a Sharia court in Malaysia, she said.
Sajar explained that her mother, who witnessed the assault, confronted one officer about the incident. But the officer alleged it was a non-issue as he perceived Sajat as a man.
The New York Times said this account of the assault was corroborated by an activist who spoke to Sajat’s mother.
“They think it is justified to touch my private parts and my breasts because they perceive me as a male person,” Sajat said. “They didn’t treat me with any compassion or humanity.”
She made a police complaint after the incident. Local authorities in Malaysia said that a religious department enforcement officer was called in to give a statement. But no further action has been taken and the department refused to comment to the New York Times.
Sajat said she felt “protected to be my true self” and “to be free” the moment she received refuge in Australia.
“I felt trapped in my own country, where I was born, because of the laws there that criminalise me and consider me a man,” she explained.
She added that she felt like she’d been “scapegoated” to “distract from larger issues” in Malaysia, saying her case was “sensationalised because of my social media presence”.
“I was trapped and cornered in Malaysia because of the Sharia system,” she said. “My very being, my existence, was being questioned.”
She continued: “But I am very firm in my identity as a woman. This is who I am.”
Queer Malaysians routinely face discrimination under the country’s strict Islamic laws which penalise any form of “carnal intercourse against the order of nature” with a penalty of up to 20 years imprisonment and whipping.
Propose changes to the penal code could make this harsher and punish anyone who is deemed to “promote” LGBT+ lifestyles on social media as well as those who “insult” Islam.
AL, who is trans, non-binary and genderqueer, has been assaulted twice on public transport in the last 18 months – but they didn’t report either incident to the police.
“The first time, I was on a bus in east London,” they say. “It was quite crowded, and the woman who was sitting by one of the last two free seats had a bunch of flowers on it. When I asked her to move the flowers aside, she got very aggressive; she yelled at me that I was a disgusting pervert and a f****t, and when I tried to sit at the edge of the seat without moving her flowers she started hitting me on the shoulder.”
When AL asked her to “back off” she did, but continued loudly insulting them – until a woman a few rows behind “stood up loudly and put her in her place”.
I’m incredibly grateful to the woman who stood up for me,” AL says. “In all fairness to everyone else on the bus, they cheered loudly after she told off my aggressor.
“But she was the only one to take initiative.”
Trans hate crime reports quadrupled over the last six years
AL’s experience is sadly all-too common within trans and queer communities in the UK.
Reports of homophobic hate crimes have risen by 210 per cent over the last six years, according to VICE World News, while reports of transphobic hate crimes rose by 332 per cent in the same period.
In the UK, the law recognises five different types of hate crime on the basis of: race, religion, disability, sexual orientation or trans identity. Any crime can be prosecuted as a hate crime, the Crown Prosecution Service says, if the offender either demonstrates or has been motivated by hostility based on one of those five types.
Between April 2020 and March 2021, there were 2,588 reports of trans hate crimes in Britain – seven reports every day.
But those are just the incidents that were reported. AL didn’t report the abuse they experienced on the bus to the police: “The police are part of the problem, not the solution,” they say. “I can’t think of a situation in which I’d call the cops on anyone.”
The second time they were assaulted was also in east London, when they were leaving an underground station.
“A young woman who was sitting by the exit seemed upset at seeing me en femme, and tried to follow me asking loudly why I was dressed that way,” AL says. “When I told her that I wasn’t interested in having that conversation and left, she kept yelling and throwing things at my back.”
They add: “I’d been verbally assaulted and sexually harassed by men before, but I hadn’t had my physical boundaries violated before, and it was particularly devastating that it came from women.
“It made me feel that there’s no one you can feel entirely safe around.”
Seventy per cent said this was because they felt that the police could not help them. A third said they expected the police to be transphobic, while another third said they experienced too many transphobic incidents to be able to report them all.
‘The whole experience was very stressful’
Statistics paint a grim picture of life for trans people in the UK.
A report by trans-led organisation TransActual this month, “Trans lives survey 2021: Enduring the UK’s hostile environment“, found that 67 per cent of trans women, 63 per cent of non-binary people and 60 per cent of trans men have experienced transphobia on public transport. This figure rises to 75 per cent of Black trans people and trans people of colour (BPOC), and 70 per cent of disabled trans people.
Seven per cent of BPOC experience transphobia “every time” they take public transport, compared with one per cent of white trans people.
Similarly high numbers of trans people have been subjected to transphobic street harassment from strangers: 85 per cent of trans women, 73 per cent of non-binary people and 71 per cent of trans men.
Another non-binary person, John, told PinkNews that they didn’t report their experience of transphobic abuse on public transport to the police.
“I sometimes go out wearing a wig and light make up, but this one particular time on a train, I was going to Manchester,” John says. “This guy was just staring at me, and made me feel really uncomfortable and anxious so I moved seats, and he followed me.”
That in and of itself was “really odd and creepy”, John says, so they told him that he was making them feel uncomfortable and asked him to stop looking at them.
The man asked John why they were wearing a wig, and they replied that they didn’t need to explain that to him. The man laughed, and said: “You one of them, chicks with a dick?”
This made John “upset, shaking and anxious”, they say. “I said to him I was born with an extra X female chromosome and the way I feel and look has nothing to do with you and mind your own business please.”
But then “he got aggressive and said the most disgusting things ever… He was in my face, I felt so threatened and not sure what to do”.
A woman came to John’s rescue, telling the man to “mind his own bees wax” and to “sort your own life out before messing with someone else’s”. John reported the incident to the ticket man on the train, who asked if they wanted the transport police to be called.
“I said don’t worry about it,” John recalls. “I felt I was wasting their time, felt very anxious about the whole experience.
A “deeply loved” Latina woman was tragically killed in Seattle, Washington, making her the 41st trans person murdered in the US this year.
Zoella Rose Martinez, a 20-year-old known by her friends as Zo Zo or Zoey, was shot in a nature area north of Maple Valley in late August.
At around 8.45pm on 31 August, Martinez met Jacaree Rashad Hardy, 24, a man whom she believed had stolen $1,000 from her bank account.
She agreed to meet Hardy in a parking lot at the Belmondo Reach Natural Area, King’s County prosecutors said according to The Seattle Times.
Martinez had alerted a friend about the rendezvous, who agreed to keep watch while the meet took place.
But her friend was late, arriving just 30 seconds after Martinez had been shot five times in the front passenger seat of Hardy’s car.
Her body was found the following day in an alleyway outside Seattle Fire Station 21 in the city’s Phinney Ridge neighbourhood.
Hardy was charged 7 October with second-degree murder and first-degree unlawful possession of a firearm.
Seattle police used surveillance footage, as well as correspondence the victim had over Facebook, to identify Hardy.
After impounding Hardy’s car, a silver Lexus seen in the footage, they found five .40-caliber shell casings, a fired bullet, and blood on the front passenger seat
Hardy had been on the run for more than a month, but US Marshals pinned him down at a Renton apartment building on 6 October – they found him hiding under his bed.
Trans woman’s ‘life was cut far too short’, say activists
Martinez’s identity as a trans woman was confirmed by her family to activists, the Diversity Alliance of the Puget Sound wrote on Facebook.
“They proudly stood by their daughter through her transition and will continue to do so,” the trans advocacy group based in Tacoma said.
Such acts of brazen violence against trans women of colour in particular have deepened fears of an “epidemic of violence” facing trans people, activists, the American Medical Association and president Joe Biden have warned.
For many activists, the spate of violence underscores the realities of being trans in America today.
Trans Americans face higher levels of homelessness, poverty and unemployment, all the while they are routinely dragged into culture wars debating their very right to exist by obsessed Republican legislators.
Activists point to some bracing data to stress this. Three-fourths of confirmed homicides against trans people have involved a gun, according to the 2017-2019 Transgender Homicide Tracker.
Protestors march with chants, trans Pride flags, signs and white clothing in support of Black Trans Lives Matter on June 14, 2020. (Michael Noble Jr./Getty Images)
With Martinez’s death, at least 41 trans, non-binary or gender non-conforming people have been violently killed, according to the Human Rights Campaign, which has been monitoring the slayings.
In the death of Natasha Keianna, investigators have not ruled out homicide, but details remain sparse at the time of writing. Haven Bailey was also fatally shot by police in May.
The Transgender Law Center decried the “tragic” slaying of Martinez, who was “deeply loved by her friends and family” in a Facebook statement.
“The news of trans homicide is routinely delayed, which underscores the heartbreaking reality that there will always be more victims than we know,” the group stressed.
Tori Cooper, who helms the HRC’s Transgender Justice Initiative, told PinkNews that this year’s homicide total is likely to eclipse 2020’s, which ended on a dizzying 44 deaths.
“With one month until Transgender Day of Remembrance, we’re already on track to identify more incidents of fatal violence than last year’s record high,” they said.
“Zoey’s life was cut far too short, a reflection of a culture that views transgender and non-binary people as disposable.
“In statehouses and in the media, this year has also seen a record number of attacks against transgender and non-binary people.
“We must acknowledge their humanity, and put an end to this devaluation of our lives.”
In yet another frightening attack, an “ambitious, mesmerising” Black woman was brutally slain in Florida, making her the 40th trans person murdered in the US this year.
Royal Poetical Starz, 26, was fatally shot in Miami Gardens, a city in the north-central Miami-Dade County, on the afternoon of 2 October.
According to local law enforcement, the shooting took place between Northwest 18th Avenue and 183rd Street at approximately 12:51pm.
The shooter sped off in a getaway vehicle, police added whole both misgendering and deadnaming the victim, only to crash into a tree mere blocks away from the scene. The killer fled on foot.
Royal Poetical Starz ‘lived each day like it was her last’
To those who knew her, Starz was a vibrant, charismatic young singer who always sought to see the good in those around her.
The Florida Career College Vocational School graduate always “left a lasting impression on everyone that she met,” a GoFundMe started by her loved one to raise money for her funeral in Omaha, Nebraska, states.
“She was an ambitious and talented singer that produced many beautiful recordings. . Unfortunately, we will never get to hear her sing again or become the Star that she was destined to be
Described as shy in high school, Starz blossomed as she and her friends banded together to form a singing trio, according to her obituary on a local funeral home website. Nights were spent belting out the songs that, unbeknownst to her friends, would later become her “legacy”.
“Her final accomplishment was becoming her true self and becoming the person in his heart that she always wanted to be,” the obituary reads. “[Starz] did more in her life than more of us will ever do.
“She lived each day like it was her last.”
For the Human Rights Campaign, which has been monitoring the years-long surge in anti-trans violence in the US, Starz’s death brings with it unnerving yet all-too-known truths about what it means to be trans in America today.
Starz is at the “very least” the 40th trans, non-binary or gender non-conforming person killed in the US in 2021, according to the HRC. But talliesfrom other monitoring organisations place the figure even higher than that.
In the death of Natasha Keianna, investigators have not ruled out homicide, but details remain sparse at the time of writing. Haven Bailey was also fatally shot by police in May.
“Royal Starz was shot in broad daylight in her own car,” said Tori Cooper, who helms the advocacy group’s Transgender Justice Initiative, in a blog post.
“She changed her name legally, but the police still misgendered her. Too often, transgender people are denied basic humanity even in death.”
The HRC estimate that approximately three-quarters of all known victims are misgendered by media and/or by law enforcement. While three-fourths of confirmed homicides against trans people have involved a gun, according to the 2017-2019 Transgender Homicide Tracker.
“Royal deserved to live and pursue her dreams,” Cooper added, “but she became yet another victim of the horrific epidemic of violence against trans and non-binary people.”
Dr. Rachel Levine, the nation’s most senior transgender official, made history again Tuesday by becoming the first openly transgender four-star officer across any of the country’s eight uniformed services.
Levine, the assistant secretary of health, was sworn in Tuesday as an admiral, the highest-ranking official of the U.S. Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, whose 6,000 uniformed officers are entrusted with protecting the nation’s public health. Levine’s appointment also made her the organization’s first female four-star officer.
Dr. Rachel L. Levine was sworn in as an admiral Tuesday in U.S. Public Health Service Commissioned Corps.hhs.gov
“This is a momentous occasion, and I am honored to take this role for the impact I can make and for the historic nature of what it symbolizes,” Levine said in a speech at her swearing-in ceremony. “I stand on the shoulders of those LGBTQ+ individuals who came before me, both those known and unknown. May this appointment today be the first of many more to come, as we create a diverse and more inclusive future.”
Levine, a pediatrician who previously served as Pennsylvania’s health secretary, has spearheaded numerous efforts to combat public health issues, including the opioid epidemic, maternal mortality and childhood immunization. A graduate of Harvard College and Tulane Medical School, she has also written on medical marijuana and pediatric medicine. https://iframe.nbcnews.com/Hnx98sa?app=1
In heading the health corps, Levine will be in charge of deploying the country’s public health workers to respond to crises ranging from the coronavirus pandemic, which has killed more than 725,000 Americans, to natural disasters such as flooding.
Levine said she was proud to follow in the footsteps of her father, who served in the Air Force during World War II, and other members of her family who are veterans.
“Just as they stepped up to defend our rights to freedom and liberty, I now follow in their storied tradition of service as I step up to defend the health of our nation,” she said.
Out of the eight uniformed services in the United States, including the Army, Navy and Air Force, the Public Health Service Commissioned Corps distinctly focuses on medical issues.
Levine made history in March when she became the first openly transgender federal official to be confirmed by the Senate. She was narrowly confirmed by a vote of 52-48, primarily along party lines.
Senior health officials lauded the historic nature of Levine’s appointment to the public health corps for the LGBTQ community, noting its particular significance during LGBTQ History Month, which is celebrated in October.
“Admiral Levine’s historic appointment as the first openly transgender four-star officer is a giant step forward towards equality as a nation,” Health and Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra said in a statement.
As the nation’s top transgender official, Levine has previously told NBC News that she will work to support the LGBTQ community, particularly transgender youth, saying “we have to protect those most vulnerable in our community.”
“The time is now for our country to continue to move the bar forward for diversity,” Levine said Tuesday. “And I am proud to wear this uniform and answer that call.”
A 25-year-old Black trans man called Mel Groves died of multiple gunshot wounds in Mississippi on Monday (11 October).
Groves is at least the 39th trans or gender non-conforming person to be violently killed in the US in 2021, according to the Human Rights Campaign(HRC), which tracks anti-trans violence in the US.
He was a student at Alcorn State University, a historically Black university in Lorman, Mississippi, where he began studying plant science in August 2021.
Police in Jackson, Mississippi, confirmed that Groves died after driving himself to hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.
Groves collapsed while getting out of the vehicle at Merit Health Hospital and was transferred to the University of Mississippi Medical Center, where he died on Monday afternoon (11 October), Jackson Police Department (JPD) spokesperson Sam Brown told local news.
Brown added that JPD are trying to determine the location of the shooting, as well as potential suspects and motives.
roves’ death is the 115th homicide in Jackson this year. The state capital recorded 130 murders last year, the highest number in its history.
Murdered Black trans man misgendered by media outlets
According to the Human Rights Campaign, Groves was an active member of The Knights & Orchids Society (TKO), “a southern centered grassroots startup founded and led by Black, queer, transgender, and gender non-conforming people supporting gender justice and LGBTQ visibility”.
On Facebook, TKO said: “He was murdered. The news outlets are already misgendering Mel and using his old name.
“The motive is unknown, but we know the violence that happens to trans people in our communities. Mel had even shared that he feared for his life because he was trans in Jackson.”
The organisation added that it is “trying to find real answers” and offered a reward for “any leads and information”. TKO also asked its community to contact Mississippi media outlets and demand they stop misgendering Groves.https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2FTKOSociety%2Fposts%2F1787350028134229&show_text=false&width=500
Tori Cooper, HRC’s director of community engagement for the Transgender Justice Initiative, said: “Mel Groves had an incredibly bright future, but it was stolen from him well before his time. The loss of such a life is a tragedy for our community and for the world.
“We must work to create a society where trans people, especially Black trans people, no longer have to live in fear.”
At least 39 trans people have been violently killed in the US this year. The real number is likely to be higher, as many such killings go unreported, or the victim misgendered and deadnamed.
Mel Groves’ death follows that of Kiér Laprií Karter, who was shot dead on 30 September in Arlington, Texas. She was 21 years old.
In 2020, 44 trans and gender non-conforming people were violently killed in the US – more than in any other year since HRC began tracking such deaths in 2013.
Hundreds of out transgender people and allies from across Florida and from as far away as Southern California gathered in Orlando Saturday to rally and to march, demanding justice, equality and acceptance.
“There are so many of us who feel excluded from our cities and our communities,” said Ariel Savage of Riverside, Calif.
“Visibility and support is crucial,” declared Savage, 24, in one of the stirring speeches to the crowd at a rally on the shores of Orlando’s Lake Eola, just prior to the march. “We are here today at the National Trans Visibility March because we are real and we have had enough!”
“There are so many of us who feel excluded from our cities and our communities,” said Ariel Savage of Riverside, Calif.
“Visibility and support is crucial,” declared Savage, 24, in one of the stirring speeches to the crowd at a rally on the shores of Orlando’s Lake Eola, just prior to the march. “We are here today at the National Trans Visibility March because we are real and we have had enough!”
ARIEL SAVAGE DELIVERS A SPEECH PRIOR TO THE NATIONAL TRANS VISIBILITY MARCH IN ORLANDO, FLA., ON SATURDAY. (VIDEO BY DAWN ENNIS)
“It just goes to showcase the collective love that we, as trans people, have for each other, and that even in a world that excludes us and locks doors on us, we keep marching and we keep breaking those doors down every day,” Savage later told the Los Angeles Blade. She’s the policy director at TruEvolution, a Riverside-based nonprofit focused on racial justice and providing health services and emergency housing for LGBTQ+ people. “The Inland Empire has a lot of work to do,” she said, calling it “not necessarily the most accepting environment.” This was her first visit to Orlando.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many trans people in one place before,” Savage said. “It feels very beautiful to be in a place where I’m not scared and I just feel excited and happy and at peace.”
Flynn, left, was accompanied by his mother, Michelle and her cousin, Rochelle, at the National Trans Visibility March in Orlando, Fla. (Photo by Dawn Ennis)
Flynn, who is 14 and from Orlando, held a sign decorated in the blue, white and pink colors of the transgender flag that said, “I’m so proud to be me.” He marched with his mother, Michelle, and her cousin Rochelle, who is lesbian. Flynn said he’d known he was a trans boy since sixth grade but only recently came out to his mom. “Of course, I was confused, at first,” said Michelle, of Orlando. “But since then, I have educated myself and I’ve joined parent groups and I support him fully.”
Florida’s ban on trans student-athletes and similar laws in eight other states are worrisome for Flynn’s family, his mother said. “It does worry me as a mom, because I want to protect my kids. But I also want him to be who he is. I think it’s really important as parents to support our children.”
March organizers say they chose both this location, and the weekend of Orlando Pride, to show unity with the larger LGBTQ community. “Orlando has a spirit of heart and love, and we wanted it to be here to celebrate with them,” said NTVM executive director, CEO and founder Marissa Miller.
Marissa Miller, executive director, CEO and founder of the National Trans Visibility March, spoke at the Torch Awards in downtown Orlando, Fla. (Photo by Dawn Ennis)
Following the march, members of the transgender community and allies formed a special contingent in the annual LGBTQ Pride Parade through downtown Orlando, holding aloft a huge trans Pride flag.
Transgender marchers and allies held aloft a huge trans Pride flag, designed by Monica Helms, as they joined the LGBTQ Pride Parade in Orlando, Fla. (Photo by Josh Bell, executive director of One Orlando Alliance)
Next year, the march moves to Los Angeles, according to Come Out With Pride’s communications director, YouTuberMelody Maia Monet, who first brought the idea for combining the Orlando events to her board of directors. She’s been out 11 years and said she’s excited to see how Pride has evolved in her adopted hometown of Orlando.
Melody Maia Monet, center, held a sign saying, “Visible 4 Those Who Can’t Be” as she marched in the National Trans Visibility March in Orlando, Fla. (Photo by Dawn Ennis)
“What I really love is that we’re kind of moving away from the binary,” Monet said. “When you walk around this place, not just the National Trans Visibility March area, but all around Lake Eola Park, where we’re having Come Out With Pride, you’ll see people of basically every stripe under the rainbow, you know? So I think that is that is a great thing to see.”
The Biden administration is using a Trump-era policy to approve the expansion of health care coverage for transgender Coloradans, forcing many of the state’s private insurers to cover gender-affirming care.
Former President Donald Trump’s 2018 policy allows states to redefine the essential health care benefits insurers are required to cover under the Affordable Care Act. On Tuesday, the Biden administration used it to approve Colorado’s request to add gender-affirming care among its health plans’ guaranteed benefits.
The move will force individual and small-group insurers to cover transition-related procedures, including hormone therapy, breast augmentation and laser hair removal, starting Jan. 1, 2023.
Federal officials and Colorado Gov. Jared Polis, one of two openly LGBTQ governors, said they hoped the measure would serve as a model to expand gender-affirming care in other states. The Biden administration also cited discriminatory barriers that transgender Americans frequently face when they seek transition-related care, often described as cosmetic.
“Health care should be in reach for everyone; by guaranteeing transgender individuals can access recommended care, we’re one step closer to making this a reality,” Health and Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra said in a statement Tuesday. “I am proud to stand with Colorado to remove barriers that have historically made it difficult for transgender people to access health coverage and medical care.”
Medicaid covers gender-affirming care in more than a dozen states, including Colorado. But onlya handful of states, including Massachusetts and Washington, have policies similar to the new Colorado measure, requiring many private insurers to cover transition-related care.
As a result, nearly half of transgender Americans — including 54 percent of trans people of color — say that their health insurers covered only some of their gender-affirming care or that they had no providers in network, according to a survey last year by the Center for American Progress. The report found that 46 percentof trans respondents and 56 percent of trans respondents of color were denied gender-affirming care by their insurers.
Dr. Alex Keuroghlian, the director of the National LGBTQIA+ Health Education Center at Boston’s Fenway Institute, who works directly with transgender patients, applauded the Biden administration’s new measure.
“What we’ve learned the hard way is that private insurers and employers won’t necessarily have these equitable policies around coverage of medically necessary gender-affirming care without the government enforcing such expectations,” he said.
Keuroghlian said that when Massachusetts similarly expanded coverage for transgender patients in 2014, he had to modify his schedule to keep up with the demand.
“We saw a remarkable increase in trans and diverse community members pursuing gender-affirming care because they didn’t have to pay out of pocket,” he said.
Many health insurance companies and lawmakers describe transition-related procedures as cosmetic, but many of the country’s leading health institutions say they are vital.
“In our mind, there is no debate,” said Dr. Jesse Ehrenfeld, the first and only openly LGBTQ board member of the American Medical Association. “These transition services and gender-affirming care for transgender patients are medically necessary. That’s what the science has demonstrated.”
Trans advocates have also long argued that transition-related procedures can help trans people more easily assimilate into society and avoid targeting.
“We are trying to eliminate trauma and discrimination in our lives,” said Lourdes Ashley Hunter, the founder and executive director of the advocacy group Trans Women of Color Collective. “And if that means that I need to get facial feminization so that when I go to the store or market I’m not being harassed and I’m doing so freely and safely, then so be it.”
The Biden administration’s approval of Colorado’s health care request aligns with the president’s campaign pledgeto expand medical care for transgender Americans. It also follows the administration’s decision in May to reinstate federal discrimination protections for trans patients, which the Trump administration had rolled back.
Conversely, some states led by Republicans have tried to limit access to care for trans Americans.
In April, Arkansas became the first state to ban health care providersfrom providing trans youths with gender-affirming care, with legislators in favor of the measure arguing that they wanted to protect children from procedures they would regret later. Similar bills have been introduced in dozens of other states, including Texas.
“His shadow is huge,” says Moore, who was a writer and showrunner on Netflix’s “Dear White People.” “He’s a brilliant goofy comedian, he’s brilliant as a political comedian. He has been brilliant for so so long, but I also don’t think because you’ve been brilliant means that you’re always brilliant.”
Moore announced on Twitter and Instagram on Wednesday night that she would no longer work with Netflix after she watched Chappelle’s latest standup special, “The Closer,” which premiered on the streamer on Tuesday. In the special, Chappelle makes numerous jokes about trans women.
Moore transitioned during the pandemic, a journey she has chronicled across her social media platforms.
“After the Chappelle special, I can’t do this anymore. I won’t work for @netflix again as long as they keep promoting and profiting from dangerous transphobic content,” she wrote on Instagram.
She also tweeted, “I love so many of the people I’ve worked with at Netflix. Brilliant people and executives who have been collaborative and fought for important art….But I’ve been thrown against walls because, “I’m not a ‘real’ woman.” I’ve had beer bottles thrown at me. So, @netflix, I’m done.”
I talked to Moore on Thursday afternoon from New Orleans, where she is working on the Peacock reboot of “Queer As Folk.”
Why did you decide to speak out on Twitter?
I never loved Dave’s trans material before but this time it felt different. This is the first time I felt like, “Oh, people are laughing at this joke and they’re agreeing that it’s absurd to call me a woman.” The fact is that’s the exact rhetoric and language that is used against us. I have had beer bottles thrown at me. I have been thrown against a wall for using a women’s bathroom. I would just say it’s ironic that for somebody who famously walked away from a TV show because he felt like the messages of the joke got lost, he doesn’t see what the messages of these jokes do to people. He talks about our feelings being hurt. My feelings are fine, but being thrown against a wall hurts or worrying at night if I can get home safe. That stuff is not theoretical. I’m really tired of my existence being a matter of debate, that this is something that we all just get to have an opinion about. We all get to have an opinion whether or not I am what I say I am. Look, I have no desire to cancel Dave Chappelle. He should make whatever he wants to make but I will say to Netflix, it’s not like this was a live special. They saw this and were like, “Yeah this seems okay to put out there.” The truth is it’s not. It’s dangerous and it has real world physical violence repercussions. People like to say, “Oh, it’s just a joke.” I get the joke. By the way there’s a lot that’s funny about being trans, but the idea that it’s funny that we call ourselves women, which was the subtext of a lot of those jokes, is not one of them. It’s actually the same language used by people who seek to hurt us.
Why do you think this went through at Netflix? The streamer is known for inclusive and diverse programming and expanding opportunities for the most marginalized.
That’s a good question. I don’t know how it got passed because I will say having worked on a show there, I know that they think about these things and have conversations about these things. I think probably part of it is that Chappelle has carte blanche to say whatever he wants, and I think that’s great. I do believe in freedom of speech. I really do. But I have the freedom of speech to say that somebody’s speech bothers me, and I don’t want to work with a company that promotes that speech. It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous language. I can’t say it any clearer.
Do you think Chappelle has a responsibility to stop telling these jokes?
I don’t think it’s my place to tell Dave Chappelle what he needs to do. He should make the jokes that he wants to make. I cannot like them and that’s what I’m saying here.
Do you want Netflix to pull his specials?
I don’t think that’s the answer. I don’t think that’s a reasonable outcome here. I don’t think this material and a lot of his trans material has a place in discourse. I think a lot of his trans material that maybe I personally had given a pass before feels a lot worse in context of this material. Any benefit of the doubt that was given feels like it is gone. But what I really want is I want companies to hire trans people to work there who can say, “Hey, we sure about this?” The fact of the matter is there are very rarely trans people in those rooms and yet we are so often the subject of the derision. We’re very rarely in any decision-making positions. And I think that’s my bigger concern. I don’t know what Netflix should do, but I feel something needs to be done. Whether that’s removing part of this special, whether that’s amending the special in some way, I don’t know. To be honest it’s not my job to fix their problem, but I do think they have a problem.
Have you heard from anyone from Netflix since you tweeted last night?
I had a very nice conversation with somebody who I think is a stand up person who wanted to talk and to hear my point of view. And I really respect them for doing that. But it wasn’t like something was going to be changing after this one phone call, nor that’s what I expected.
Had you been talking to Netflix about any new projects?
I’m developing stuff currently and there’s always a conversation about where are we going to take the pitch. I am not going to be taking anything to Netflix for the time being. I don’t know what it will take for me to feel comfortable in changing that. I know that it will take some action.
Texas mom Annaliese Cothron drove an hour and a half from her home in San Antonio to the state Capitol in Austin this year for a rally in support of transgender children, including her own child. It’s a drive she has made so many times that she has lost count.
Trans youths in the state have been the targets this year of more than 50 bills that would restrict their participation in sports or ban them from gaining access to certain health care, among other restrictions.
Cothron was leading the crowd in a chant, but she started to get tired. So she asked the Rev. Remington Johnson, a Presbyterian clergywoman and a fellow activist, to take the bullhorn.
Johnson, a trans woman who has testified almost a half-dozen times against anti-trans bills, had shown up that day riding a longboard, wearing hot pink shorts and carrying a huge trans flag, Cothron recalled. She took the bullhorn, and the first thing she said was: “Trans kids are magical.”
Cothron, who has an 8-year-old child who is nonbinary, said the moment has stuck with her.
“That, to me, was so powerful,” she said. “Nobody talks about my child like that, because they don’t have the same experience that a trans person has to know really how truly unique and magical and powerful transgender children are.”
The Rev. Remington Johnson waves pride flags at a rally in Austin in May.Ricardo Martinez
Johnson, a health care chaplain who previously worked in a hospital supporting people who are sick or dying, said her role in life is to be a caregiver and a “justice bringer.” She returns to the Capitol again and again despite the toll it has taken on her physically and emotionally, not only to advocate for herself as a trans woman, but also to bring some levity to a space that has been traumatizing for trans people and families.
“The caregiving at the bedside, the caregiving at the Capitol — it’s all one and the same,” said Johnson, who is working on her master’s degree in nursing at the University of Texas at Austin. “These are all systems, and there’s suffering swirling, and I feel like my role and my responsibility here is to at least show up.”
Activism as an ‘exercise in self-love’
Johnson, 35, grew up just outside Texas in the rural Oklahoma Panhandle, in a family with Mennonite roots. She said she wasn’t raised with liberal or conservative ideals; she was “kind of raised tabula rasa” — her parents would encourage her to put herself in other people’s shoes.
Johnson said that in junior high school, she had an experience with her family that made her feel as though she couldn’t talk about her identity openly. One evening, while her family was visiting the gay-friendly beach town of Provincetown, Massachusetts, two tall women walked past, she said.
“I remember as a kid just being like, ‘I don’t know what that is, but I love everything about it,’” Johnson said. “I don’t know if they were drag queens or trans women or what, but it was magical. But that was also the same moment where I got to hear from family members about how they were not OK with those folks. So it was this sort of whiplash.”
She said her coming out process was gradual after that. She told a therapist in college how she was feeling about her gender, and the therapist suggested that she might be a trans woman, “and I was like, ‘Thank you very much,’ and I never went back,” Johnson said.
She wrestled with internalized transphobia — a battle that continues to this day and plays a role in her activism, she said.
She moved to Texas in 2008. Nine years later, Texas Republicans introduced a bill that would have required trans people to use the bathrooms that matched the sexes listed on their birth certificates. Although Johnson was out as trans at that point, she said, she didn’t feel ready to participate in activism, because she felt she “was the problem.”
“I just felt like I was the boogeyman that Republicans were talking about, because I was this huge, built, powerful figure that was going to be using the restroom with them,” she said. She didn’t feel ready to advocate then, but when the 2020 legislative session began, she decided she wanted to be there.
“I want to show up for me and because a lot of the things that these legislators and anti-trans folks were saying are things that my loved ones have said to me during my transition and internalized transphobia that I say to myself,” she said. “So some of this is an exercise in self-love and self-compassion and a tangible reminder that there’s nothing wrong with me.”
‘Fixing things is what I do’
Among the families who are fighting anti-trans bills at the Capitol, Johnson’s presence is known as healing. She developed that skill, putting people at ease, during her work as a health care chaplain, when she would help people make difficult decisions, such as whether to go through with high-risk operations or to go home with hospice, or end-of-life, care.
She said she introduced herself to a woman in hospice care as “a fixer.” The woman responded “What are you going to fix?” and Johnson said, “I’m going to fix it.”
“And I did, I fixed it,” Johnson said. “I couldn’t cure her cancer, but I could help her build a relationship with her care team. I can help her build a relationship with her family.
“Fixing things is what I do,” she added.
Even outside of her activism, in her personal life, she fixes. She took up woodworking and built the cabinets and the countertops and redid the flooring and the windows in her last home. During the pandemic, she taught herself how to longboard, and she now builds her boards herself.
Her friend Meghan Jacobson said fixing things and caring for people are at the core of who Johnson is.
“She worked in hospice because she recognizes the specialness and the importance of these moments that a lot of other people run away from,” Jacobson said, adding that Johnson saved her life over the last year by connecting her with a mental health care provider and by simply being there to support her.
Parents who advocate on behalf of their transgender children at Texas’ Capitol tell similar stories.
Linzy Foster, who is from Austin, has been to the Capitol about a dozen times this year to advocate on behalf of her 7-year-old trans daughter. She said that she has been dealing with a lot of anxiety recently and that during a news conference last month, she was breathing heavily. Johnson, who was sitting next to her, noticed.
“She just put her hand on my back and was rubbing my back, and we just had this little moment,” Foster said. A reporter from the Austin American-Statesman captured a photo; Foster said that when she saw it, she “burst into tears.”
“Because it’s just symbolic — she is fighting her own battle, but she keeps showing up for the parents so that we can show up for our kids,” Foster said.
The energy at the Capitol is often heavy and traumatic for parents, Foster said, and Johnson makes everyone laugh.
For example, at one news conference, Johnson described how Republican legislators in Texas and elsewhere tried to pass bathroom bills after the Supreme Court ruled in favor of marriage equality in 2015. “What happens is they try to vilify women like myself who have a little bit of size, and we’re just too charming and beautiful to want to pee next to,” she said, leading to a chorus of laughs.
Johnson said she tries to bring humor and joy to her activism because she wants trans people watching “to feel safe, at least for a tiny moment.”
“I want them to see somebody that gets to stand up in front of them, and I want to feel like I’m a good representative,” she said. “I want to feel like the mothers can look and say, ‘Oh my gosh, my child can grow up and it’s going to be OK.’ I want to offer a tiny moment of levity and power and hope.”
‘This is not trans tragedy. This is trans joy.’
Although someone wouldn’t know it by watching her speak at the Capitol, Johnson said that she has been traumatized by her activism this year and that the trauma is getting worse as she continues to go back.
She compared the experience to a sports injury. Sports have been and still are a huge part of her life — which is partly why she fights so hard for trans kids to have the right to play. She plays on a gay flag football team in Austin.
“Showing up to the Capitol is like playing through an injury,” she said. “There has been a traumatic injury to my soul. And I see it, and I’ve had it checked out by professionals, and they say, ‘You can keep playing on it, but it’s going to hurt you.’”
The Rev. Remington Johnson speaks at a rally on the steps of the Texas Capitol in Austin. Brad Pritchett
But she stressed that activism isn’t only about trauma. She said that after the Supreme Court ruled last year that LGBTQ people are protected from employment discrimination under federal law, she rode 26 miles around Austin on her homemade longboard carrying a huge trans pride flag. “People were honking and stopping for photos,” she said. “It was really special.”
For Cothron, Johnson’s positivity and joy show her that her nonbinary child can grow to thrive.
“This is not trans tragedy. This is trans joy,” Cothron said. “And Remington is there to really embody that. … To me, my child being able to have role models who are adults and fighting — and not just fighting but also thriving — that is just so critically important.”
For Johnson, that’s the trans experience: “to be able to go through discomfort and come out on the other side with this buoyant, joyous presence,” she said. “That’s who we are. That’s who I am.”
