Trans* Talk: Trans* Storytelling
This past month, I read Kim Fu’s For Today I Am A Boy. It’s a lyrical novel detailing the life of an Asian Canadian transwoman, beginning in her childhood, where she began to discover her desire for femininity, into her young adulthood, where she tried to push back against her own needs, and finally finding herself and growing into her place among her siblings. If you want a deeper dive into Fu's work, feel free to read my Parker’s Pages installment. But beyond being a spellbinding and thoughtful read, Fu’s novel opened up something that I had been considering for a long time: Trans* storytelling—what it means, why we do it, how to do it.
I am a Trans* storyteller and have been for a long time. What I mean is not that I am Trans* person who writes stories (though I am), but I am a Trans* person who writes about the Trans* experience. It feels impossible for me to tell a story that is not, at its core, Queer or Trans*. Looking back over all of my work from junior high to now, I can say that about every short story and novel I’ve written. Even without a Queer or Trans* character explicitly written in, the stories would fit into the narrative(s) of my own experience as a Queer and Trans* person, whether that meant they were about a character being ostracized, transforming, or discovering a hidden aspect of themselves. Subconsciously, I was exploring my identity and how I fit into the world through my characters. Now I do this with more intention—I write about Trans* characters and being Trans* because it feels important to me, even necessary.
The Evergreen Echo
I think Trans* people should be in control of their own stories the same way I believe that any community should be in control of their own stories. This isn’t to say that other writers can’t include Trans* characters in their stories—they absolutely should—but that Trans* folks should be the ones to own the Trans* narrative. We should decide what is an authentic recounting of our own experiences. No one else knows the experience like we do, and when others take over our stories, they tell it wrong, boiling down the Trans* experience to stereotypes: focusing on surgery, making their Trans* characters completely androgynous, or minimizing the experiences of dysphoria. It’s also important that Trans* folks tell their stories because it keeps us from being stereotyped in those ways. There is no one way to be Trans*; my experience is entirely different from the experience of my Trans* partner and friends. None of us discovered ourselves in exactly the same way, none of us experience dysphoria in the same way, and to the same degree none of us transition at the same rate or in the same ways.
How we tell our stories is entirely up to us. As a writer, I’m interested in telling stories about Trans* characters who discover a found family, fall in love, or have a happy ending. I tell them because I feel like all Trans* people deserve a happy ending, and it fulfills me to have characters like me gain things I have found and I want. Other Trans* writers, like Kim Fu in For Today I Am A Boy, explore the intersection of Trans* identity and racial identity. Others write nonfiction about Trans* history. There are Trans* filmmakers, like those who share their films at the Seattle Trans Underground Film Festival (STUFF), photographers like Amos Mac, singers like Sasha Allen, or actors and actresses like Laverne Cox and Hunter Schafer. We each tell our stories in a way that feels authentic to us—we bring our experiences to the table when we create.
The Evergreen Echo
Talking about our experiences bridges gaps between us. Not only does it connect one Trans* person to another, it connects us to our cis allies. While cisgender people will never know what it is like to be Trans*, they still might find a way to connect with and understand us. Although I don’t believe it’s important that we appease cis people, or that we owe them our stories, I do think that connecting with cisgender people could lead to better care for our community, and while part of me finds it difficult to engage with cisgender people on some matters of my identity, there are other parts of me that feel ready to be vulnerable. I don’t tell my story for them, but if they happen to hear it, that’s okay with me.
Mostly, I think that Trans* storytelling (and I truly mean storytelling in every medium) is crucial for the one doing the telling. We deserve not only to write down the truth of our history but also to rewrite it. We deserve to see ourselves in the types of content we like to enjoy. We deserve to express ourselves completely. We deserve to share as much with the world as we want to and have our voices heard, our bodies seen, and our stories told.
Do you have a Trans* story or question for Parker? parker@evergreenecho.org
