Support Trans Stories

and make a plan

Book burning, Germany, 1933, photo from hmd.org.uk

We do not have a plan.

There is no grand layout for how we will fight back, no play-by-play or escape strategy. We do not have a manifesto to unite us. We do not even have a list of email addresses or phone numbers like an old school phone tree from the 1980s.

There is no plan here.

Our population is spread far and wide, in every community and neighborhood, in public schools and private schools, in colleges, in labor unions, in hospitals, in airports, in government jobs, as contractors. We are everywhere and nowhere all at once. We are completely invisible and harshly visible.

But we do not have a plan.

There’s no coordinated force binding us together. Sure, there are signal chats and discord groups and other random places where collections of people work out mutual aid, but we are underfunded, broke, broken, tired, and scared. Sometimes we even disagree, because—after all—we’re human, and we’re different, and we should have the right to our own opinions.

There is no goddamn plan.

We are waiting to see. We’re paying attention. We’re holding onto hope.

That is not a plan.

Some of us want, desperately, to stay, to keep our homes, to hold onto this permanence we have built. Some of us want, desperately, to flee, to keep ourselves and our families safe, to preserve the aspects of our lives which cannot be replaced by physical possessions. Some of us want both of these things at once, and it is tearing us apart to face it.

We wish there was a plan.

Transgender Americans are under attack by our own government. We are being targeted more and more with each day that passes, and it’s unlikely that we will see a reduction in these attacks on our rights anytime in the foreseeable future. And when things worsen, it will not happen with plain-faced violence or with obvious movements—it will be quiet and deceptive and the kind of thing you may shrug off. The news will not report it accurately. Our stories will not be told with our voices.

This is their plan.

On the night of May 6, 1933, a group of Nazi-supporting youth broke into Magnus Hirschfeld’s Institute of Sexology in Germany. The entire contents of his research library were removed and burned four days later. The images you have seen of book burnings by Nazis include many books about homosexual and transexual research, though many of us don’t know this and have never been told what was in those books on fire. These events took place just three months after Hitler was made Chancellor of Germany. And, just like those books, our knowledge of that history went up in smoke.

And that was the plan.

Place your hand on your chest, just over your heart, and feel it beating. Feel your ribcage expand as you breathe, feel your breath feather over your lips. Know that you are real, that you exist, that what you feel and see and sense is true. Believe in your sacredness. Trust that your story matters. Write it down. Share it with those you trust and love. Keep your heartbeat safe, protected, sheltered, and free.

This is your plan.

Maybe you find yourself wondering why a publisher of queer books cares so much about you breathing and remembering the holocaust, or what this plea means to those of you who are not trans or genderwild in any way. So go back for a moment and look at that image of books on fire, and ask yourself what our world would look like today if they had not been burned, if their words had reached our generations, if even the story about that conflagration of books had been preserved. Think about the details of lives lived, of experiences, of perspectives, of science and medicine. Think about our collective history. Think about our right to exist. Think about the children growing up right now who need to read stories with characters like them as real people, as heroes, as someone worth fighting for.

This is my plan.

I don’t know if I will be able to remain in this country. I’m not making that decision today, but it is on my mind constantly. Whether I stay or go, I know that it is my calling to help bring books into the world, especially books telling our stories of queer and trans existence, of queer and trans beauty, of queer and trans resilience, of queer and trans survival, of queer and trans joy. No matter where we all end up, this vital work must continue, and I’m committed to standing my ground.

GenderWild Press needs your funds to survive and to tell trans stories. We’ll be firing up a crowdfunding opportunity soon, but we need all the help we can get to bring our books into being. Your support goes directly to things like book design, cover art, printing, and distribution costs. If you care about these kinds of books existing in the world, please help us make that happen.

If you are a transgender, intersex, nonbinary, or genderqueer writer looking for a home for your words—fiction or nonfiction—your story belongs here at GenderWild Press. Please consider submitting your manuscript to us, and be patient as it takes time to read and respond to these submissions. You’re also welcome to get in touch and ask questions about the process or the story you want to tell. I’ll do my best to help.

With your help and support, GenderWild will preserve the stories of and by transgender, intersex, nonbinary, and genderqueer authors. Our books will spread around the globe and find their way into waiting hands, into open hearts. Even if we cannot change the world today, we can tell real stories that matter. And that is a very good plan.

Robin, GenderWild founder and friend