It occurs to me tonight to put my rainbow grocery bag in the trunk. Not just because that’s where it belongs, but to not give anyone an excuse to take out their religion on my car window.
It occurs to me that if I were in a redder county, I would never have left it visible to begin with.
It occurs to me on a Walmart run after work that I should have taken off my company staff badge with the Pride flag on the back while walking alone in the dark.
It occurs to me that in other places, I would never have been allowed to put that sticker on my identification to begin with.
It occurs to me to move my black ace ring to my left ring finger in a protective lie, signaling to the men of the crowd that I am another man’s property. If they don’t respect my humanity, they may respect the rights of possession—or at least the fear of violating them.
It occurs to me that I have the privilege of safety in being gender conforming, able to chameleon my way into invisibility.
It occurs to me that I have to constantly remind people I know what I’m talking about, that my experiences are erased, that I am here too, that we are not new or a trend or a bonus feature.
It occurs to me that I do not require documents to be changed, or medicine to be seen as myself, or a search for my literal voice with the help of lessons.
It occurs to me that I am likely the only one you know. That when I speak, I must point to many others like me but not like me, so you have a broader view.
It occurs to me that I occupy a space of assumed privilege as others explain marginalization that I live every day myself. Amusing at times, but mostly frustrating.
It occurs to me that my intersections give me advantages to steward so others will be heard.
It occurs to me that most people don’t have to wonder if their friends, family, church, or job will disown them over basic identity facts. If they confess who they are, will they receive a birthday card this year, will they have any references for their job applications, will they be welcomed home at Christmas, will they still have an emergency contact?
It occurs to me that others have faced far worse: Will they still have a home, food, a functional body, their lives?
It occurs to me that there is safety in numbers, and my numbers are small, often just me and my carabiner and my rainbow T-shirt.
It occurs to me that an ally up the mountain was murdered for less.
It occurs to me that I can change my shirt, but others can’t change their voice, their government, their bones.
It occurs to me that some allies will only care to the point that it is comfortable to be with us. Our humanity is an issue on which they agree to disagree with friends and colleagues and those who can help their careers.
It occurs to me I must have patience for the indoctrinated.
It occurs to me that I don’t have the tolerance to wait.
It occurs to me, too, that even the wait is privilege. Others, our youngest, are running out of time.
Invisible Cake Society 