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Why I, as a straight woman, will be marching at Trans+ Pride
Why I, as a straight woman, will be marching at Trans+ Pride

The Independent

time25-07-2025

  • General
  • The Independent

Why I, as a straight woman, will be marching at Trans+ Pride

I'm not a marcher at heart. I tend to panic in crowds or really anywhere without a good mobile signal if I'm not on horseback. I don't attend parades because they're usually too hot. In short, I'm like a rather pathetic indoor plant. Nonetheless, I will be donning tabard and face mask to steward the accessibility block of London Trans+ Pride: the 'plus' is to include anyone's identity; the mask protects the disabled marchers who lead the march. I'll be there with the many other non-trans people who have attended excruciatingly comprehensive training sessions on Zoom, all wanting to show support for a community who have been made Villain of the Week by a tiny yet overexposed force desperate to stamp on someone more vulnerable than themselves. Certainly, this was why my friend Sara and I first volunteered last year; neither particularly keen joiner-inners, both requiring continuous applications of SPF50 to safely set foot outdoors in July, but rendered so cross by what was being said about trans people in our name that we did what generations have done and channelled our Inner Aunt. Certainly not in The Handmaid's Tale sense, and perhaps slightly less in the formidable Wodehosian, but in allyship; caring about people who aren't your children, and fulsomely advocating for them. I had no idea what on earth to wear to a march, or who would be there, so I wore a wonderfully pedantic T-shirt made by my friend Helen Zaltzman for her language podcast The Allusionist, highlighting that the singular use of 'they' has been in use since 1375. In the lack of a protest sunhat, I wore a cap I'd won in a competition by the, erm, Equestrian Noticeboard. Shortly after I arrived, another steward said hello. It turned out that they worked for a very popular horsey brand and had been volunteering at Trans+ Pride marches since their child came out. Offering support to this march as a straight cisgender person matters (sorry if you dislike that term – please blame academic science). The unfolding campaign against trans people is a ringingly clear repetition of Britain's appalling treatment of gay men through the 80s and 90s. The highest-profile curb on trans rights came in April, when the Supreme Court ruled the legal definition of a woman is someone born biologically female. The focus on trans women – never trans men – narrows the idea of 'What is a woman?' to one that affects anyone who doesn't fit stereotyped femininity. When I was a contestant on Only Connect in 2022, someone tweeted that they were 'supporting the trans team', presumably because I am a very tall Second Alto with my dad's jawline. I took this as both a compliment and further proof that anyone who says 'You can just tell ' where appearance is concerned is unrelentingly stupid. The trans people I know are objectively more attractive than I am, for one. The 'gender critical' crowd's nonsensical rubbishing of anyone who seems different impacts us all – not just in terms of how we are perceived, but in taking us backwards. It is rolling back our humanity. The most moving signs I saw at last year's Trans+ Pride were those held by parents, warmly offering free hugs to people whose own parents didn't accept them. It reminded me of last month's exhibition of the UK Aids Memorial Quilt at the Tate Modern and everything I have learned about the Aids epidemic when families shunned their children or banished their partners. Being 'critical' of someone's right to exist is perilously close to fascism. The United States has shown where such anti-freedom legislation can lead in the shortest time. Rolling back on trans rights is a dangerous path – and one that entirely distracts from the real issue. No man, God bless them, needs to spend years transitioning in order to attack women. Anyone with that cruelty in mind can do so by simply walking through their front door. It is important for us to stand up now, however much we feel it doesn't affect us, because, truly, it does. In the years since Section 28 was ended, I've seen relatives' views on gay people evolve from 'He must be terribly sad' to greater understanding. It hasn't 'made' any of my straight relatives gay. My own understanding has evolved, too, because a side effect of Section 28 was breeding ignorance – and that despite the work Channel 4 did to quietly educate British kids through late-night documentary strands and Eurotrash. New rules suppressing trans discussion in schools, brought in by this Labour government, won't stop young people questioning their identity. It will only make them less safe – just as it did when 'gay' rang out as an insult across BBC radio and school playing fields. The legacy of Section 28 showed us Britain that suppression only wounds; it doesn't prevent. However much their identity might frighten you – or, perhaps, society's response to this identity – you cannot stop someone being who they are, only delay it. Nor can you make anyone what they are not. The government may have forgotten the sins of the past – even, and most shamefully, those among them who themselves are gay – but I have not. I have no wish to return to being the ignorant person I was, nor letting wildly over-amplified voices overtake society's reason. Life unquestionably has particular challenges for each of us, but those of us who are heterosexual and non-trans are lucky enough to be playing in society's default mode. Standing up for the rights of our fellows under challenging circumstances is not limited to the distant past. It continues to be the most British of values – and the right thing to do.

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