How one dismal suburban dinner party focussed my mind as to the danger of cis complacency in the fight for trans rights.

I've felt so crushed by the UK Supreme Court ruling in the For Women Scotland (FWS) case, that states, for the purposes of the Equality Act 2010 sex now means ‘biological’ sex. I’ve struggled to collect my thoughts, to feel like I’ve anything unique to say.  The internet is awash with analyses of the ruling. I’m not the person to do a deep dive into what it means. I’m not a lawyer, nor an academic, I don’t have a long history of feminist enquiry under my belt. Within a few sentences of the report I glaze over, the legal language seems designed to obfuscate, so the great unwashed can’t make head nor tail of it. Just as the congregation in a medieval church had to trust an elite interpretation of a Latin bible, we must rely on a handful of the great legal minds of the day to interpret what five of our most elevated judges have ruled. But on the one hand we have Baroness Falkner Chair of the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) gloating that trans people will now be arrested and prosecuted if they use the wrong loo, whilst on the other Lord Sumption, former Supreme Court judge himself says she is wrong, trans people are still entitled to use the toilet of their choice.

This is not the clarity Bridget Phillipson claims it is, repeating it over and over again to Parliament, like a trembling child insisting they are not afraid of the dark fools no one. Must business owners now state their pro-trans policies boldly at the door, in order to avoid potential prosecutions by a gender critical (GC) person out for a trans scalp? Surely, at the very least a scheme akin to the organ donor opt-out scheme would be more appropriate. No need for a business to display their pro LGBTQ+ credentials, but the opposite - anyone who wants to restrict the access of trans people to their business must pin their transphobia to the mast, as they ride the crest of this anti-trans tsunami that engulfs our shores.

To my mind, the ruling has enshrined transphobia as a national pastime into the law of the land and our predominantly GC press are in a state of rapture.  Trans women can no longer use the ‘ladies’, and trans men can no longer use the ‘gents’, is the take home message of the day. Within days of the Supreme Court ruling, the EHRC issued a statement saying in some circumstance trans women and men can’t use the toilet of their ‘biological sex’ either. The rushed edict continued in this vein, attempting to tell lesbians and gay men the terms of their sexual attraction and who they can and cannot meet in groups of twenty-five or more. The blatant homophobia was off the scale.

But enough of my interpretations of what the ruling may or may not actually say, and how it's being interpreted. Let's focus on the group of women who bought the case, FWS, and those like them.  The women listed as its directors are not household names, I wouldn't be able to pick them out of a police line-up, but amongst the women who stood outside the Supreme Court to celebrate their victory were some very familiar faces - Maya Forstater and Helen Joyce of Sex Matters. In case you don’t know, Forstater rose to fame after winning an employment tribunal, where gender critical beliefs were given the honour of being formally protected in UK law. The fact that the tribunal judge ruled this win did not now mean GC people could misgender with impunity was immediately ignored by  Forstater and her followers, who took the win to mean the complete opposite. Joyce is the mathematician who hates trans people so much she wrote a book attempting to deny their existence and when trans people carried on existing, she resorted to eugenics type speech talking of: “reducing…the number of people who transition".

The images of these privileged white middle-aged, middle-class, university educated GC women popping champagne corks outside the Supreme Court turned my stomach, for they are, in many ways just like me. But I am not them. There is a certain moral bankruptcy in dancing with glee at another groups downfall, when that group is a vulnerable and tiny minority, which, as a group, has done nothing to materially harm you; whilst your main aim is to repeatedly harm them, whether by expressing a desire to deny them healthcare (Joyce again) or by wishing to deny them access to a place to pee (all GC people all of the time)  What motivates these women to incessantly punch down at one of society’s most marginalised groups? I understand many have suffered at the hands of men. There are histories of rape and domestic violence. That cis men carried out attacks of any sort on any of these women is abhorrent. By all means, be afraid of cis men. I don't need to repeat the statistics here about the number of women killed by men each year, be that a partner or ex, father or son. And surely, we all know by now the figures for rape in this country and the appalling fact that convictions for rape are almost non-existent. If a man is accused of raping a woman and the case makes it to court, 97 times out of 100 he walks free. It's estimated only one in six rapes is ever reported. So, when a man rapes, he actually has a 99.5% chance of getting away with it.

And maybe it isn’t just about terrifying things like murder and rape, maybe it’s about the more mundane: taking on the lion’s share of childcare duties and sacrificing your career ambition on the altar of motherhood, being overlooked for promotion, being talked over in meetings, having a male colleague pass off your ideas as their own. I get it, I recognise these resentments in myself, and the feeling of powerlessness against patriarchy. Women have fought against sexism for centuries, and whilst some headway has been made, the system is still stacked against us. Could it be, that these women, understandably resentful at men were simply too exhausted and run down to fight the true oppressor, that in fact they realized to do so would almost always end in defeat and decided to pick on an easier opponent instead?

Whether consciously or not, I think so. It feels good to win, just look at the delight on their faces. (You’ll have to google the picture, I refuse to share it here). But these women have lost sight of the real fight, they conflate their own needs and desires for retribution and affirmation as people of substance, with the needs of all women. They act as if they speak for us all as a homogenous group. They do not. I don’t see these women as heroes of feminism, I see them as stooges, being used by strategists far more manipulative than they will ever be, to set back, not advance, women’s rights. The funding they receive from far-right Christian fundamentalist movements in the USA may buy them legal fees, court appearances and Supreme Court rulings to be celebrated with champagne and column inches, but it does not buy them freedom, it does not buy them their disappointing lives back.

Since the ruling I’ve spent nights weeping into my pillow. Alice saw this coming, I whimpered to my husband Peter, as he held me tight and tried to comfort me. Alice, whilst she was alive, found her day-to-day living exhausting. She did not articulate it clearly, but the struggle to leave the house, go to school, go to the shops or out for a meal was marked. I wasn’t able to fully appreciate it at the time, but now I understand with the utmost clarity, that she found it hard to do these things for very practical reasons. One in particular, where would she pee?

Since the knee-jerk interpretation of the Supreme Court ruling by Falkner at the EHRC, I have been overcome with anxiety over the collective mental health of my adopted community, the trans community. Let me try to explain my anxiety from a cis perspective. To do this I will share a couple of anecdotes from the last fortnight.

The day after the Supreme Court ruling my husband, Peter, and I were due at a large suburban dinner party, a dozen or so guests. When I’d accepted the invitation, weeks in advance, the juxtaposition of the two events had not crossed my mind. I’d been glad to accept, for I’d maintained a sense of general wellbeing for a stretch of almost two months. I’d returned to the gym and started to exercise regularly, I was feeling optimistic, and my newfound confidence permitted me a little broadening of my social experience. I was looking forward to it.  I hadn’t managed a social occasion like this since Alice died. I’d coped with intimate groups, where being seen is really the point, and a huge wedding, where the opportunity to hide in a crowd was somewhat freeing.  But I’d usually declined in-between events like this, and Peter had gone without me. Going would be another step in my grief journey, a small win. But once the ruling came in, I was filled with anticipatory dread. The hosts are some of our oldest friends, Peter went to junior school with the husband, and I’ve known him since I was a teenager. The other male guests were also old school friends, I’ve known them all since my youth and their wives for almost as long.  So why the fear?

I spoke to Peter about my fears. My main concern was that people wouldn’t mention the ruling and ask me how I was, bearing that in mind. It will break me, I said to Peter, if they behave as if nothing has happened, when to me it's the only thing on my mind. Peter said nothing. They won’t, will they? I pressed.

I don’t think so, he replied. We can cancel, he offered, I won’t go without you this time.

There’s more, I added. Not one of them has reached out about my book, expressed any interest in it at all. The other day when I went out for a dog walk with Sally she didn’t even know it was out.

You can’t expect everyone to read your book, Peter offered.

I know, I replied, but strangers email me to say how much the book has meant to them, how everyone should read it, yet some of my oldest friends don’t even recall that it’s out. I feel closer to people I know via a few words on a screen than I do to these people we call friends, people I’ve known for forty years. These people sat on a pew and listened to us sob and wail as we said goodbye to our child, they listened to my plea in my eulogy, please remember us, at birthdays, and weddings and at random times. This is one of those random times, I said. Yet I feel completely forgotten.

I don’t think we should go, said Peter once more.

But something was driving me to go. I wanted to test them, and myself. I was thinking unkindly of my friends, and I wanted to see if I was right.  Of course, most of my friends, with one or two notable exceptions, were kind in the immediate aftermath of Alice’s death, but many, the majority have struggled to remain connected with me and my plight, not only as a bereaved mother, but also as the bereaved mother of a trans person who took their own life. My experience is so far removed from their own they cannot engage with it, and it is easier for me to drift apart from them, for my sense of safety in their company is not strong.

But on this occasion I declined Peter’s offer to stay home, I stood firm to my mission.

Let’s see what happens, I said. If they are lovely, I will be surprised and delighted and if they behave as I predict then we'll leave. I will give up on them for good.

Okay, he said.

Things started well, when one wife, Jen, took me to one side and said she had something for me. It was a photo; one I’d mentioned in my memoir. Taken within days of finding out I am pregnant with Alice; it shows me radiant with joy. My copy at home has been damaged and last year I’d asked Jen if she could get me a reprint. Sorry, she’d said, I don’t think I can. But today, here she was saying, I have been listening to your book, and I found this in our wedding album. I want you to have it. I started to cry at the kindness of it. Returning to the group I wondered, would I be proved wrong? But, as each person embraced me and asked me how I was, it was not with any sense of real enquiry. Each one a breezy, Hi, hello, how are you? Where no answer beyond, Fine, how are you? was expected back.  I tried my hand at ‘fine’, but I couldn’t minimise myself to keep everyone else comfortable.

Not fine, actually, I said, pretty shit.

Oh, the first replied, with an awkward grimace that brought that conversation to an abrupt end.  

The greetings continued, more hugs, more enquiries as to how I was, not real enquiries, simply the rules of engagement at a middle-England suburban dinner party.  

Yeah, you know, I replied each time. Though they didn’t know. How could they? For over the years since Alice died none of this particular group have cared or dared to truly ask. Or if they have, they haven’t listened.  

I was wondering how to speak up, how to be seen, when a latecomer arrived. Hi, how are you? she asked, on cue.

Not great, I said.

Oh, are you unwell, she asked? I went for it.

No, it’s the bad news from the Supreme Court, about trans rights, I ventured.

Oh, she said, immediately breaking eye contact and turning to Jen, beside me on the sofa.

Hi Jen, how are you? she asked. I left to find Peter. It was time to leave. It’s not that anyone was explicitly unkind (except perhaps the latecomer who was most definitely rude), but in their failure to express any interest in trans rights they harmed me. These friends don’t get it. They do not see me, do not understand me, and don’t seem to want to. The parallels with how cis people treat trans experience is not lost on me.

The next day the WhatsApp group formed to gather us all together for the occasion was full of thanks for the wonderful time everyone had had. No one commented on my departure. This is my life now. People find me difficult to engage with, so many do not bother and neither do I because it is exhausting trying to advocate for yourself from a place of weakness. Trans people have been trying to advocate for themselves for years. Now they need some cis help, which should be abundant. Trans people live in families, have neighbours and colleagues. These are the cis people who can fight alongside trans people for trans rights. Families of trans people may fear repercussions from speaking out publicly. I can speak out, Alice is dead. But there is only one of me and I'm broken and exhausted. We need cis allies with as much energy as Forstater and Joyce. (And preferably as much money).

Which is why I tell this story. I want to illustrate what the trans community is up against; the level of cis ignorance and complacency is so marked that I, as a cis person myself, often find the majority cis mindset entirely impenetrable. I naively thought my experience raising Alice and living with her death might give me some clout, enable me to talk to cis people about the fear and anxiety in the trans community from the enactment of anti-trans policy. But early compassion has turned to incredulity. I believe I’m seen as somewhat unreliable, my experience of knowing and loving Alice leaves doubters claiming I am vulnerable to bias. Whilst my friends have not voiced any potential anti-trans thoughts out loud, others do.

.

The day after the dinner party I went to the gym to lift heavy weights and clear my head. As I waited for class to start, a woman I didn't know struck up a friendly conversation. She asked me if I was doing anything nice at the weekend. Emboldened I told her I was going to protest the Supreme Court ruling at Parliament Square.

Oh, she said, it’s difficult isn’t it. I have a trans niece and a friend with a trans child who I care about, so I can see both sides.

I interrupted, told her about Alice. You’ll understand I can't agree with your both sides opinion, I said. After a pause (surely a brief ‘I’m sorry’ must have been uttered) she carried on both-siding the ‘debate’. I found my voice, aired my view, that this was not a win for women’s rights. I told her of ties between the funding of the FWS case and the US Supreme Court case that resulted in the overturning of Roe v Wade. I warned her that splitting the T from the LGB is a determined strategy to divide and conquer, not just trans people but eventually the very group FWS, Sex Matters and the LGB Alliance claim to stand for - women. Oh, she said. again. Just like at the dinner party, I walked away. She didn't seem interested.

The reluctance or inability of so many cis people - particularly straight cis people who make up most of my social circle and society more broadly - to comprehend anything other than a narrow definition of life lived by the rules that suit them, cannot be underestimated.

For much of my life I too have been relatively incurious about the oppressed, the subjugated, and their minority trauma. Yes, I was aware, developed left leaning tendencies, believed I broadly supported those less well off than myself. But…and this phrase is key…I was well off. Despite my difficulties over the years, my own minority trauma, adoption, childhood bereavement and sexual abuse, which I have written about in my memoir, that left me feeling outside and othered, I still had life experiences that protected me. I went to private school, helped by an army bursary, I was academic and entered medical school, I married a man with a good job and money was plentiful. I have always lived in very white, affluent, suburban enclaves, where despite feeling mildly dysphoric about my place in my community, I have tried to fit in. And my dysphoria was never overwhelming or insurmountable. There are things I like about my locality, the tranquillity of the countryside nourishes me, the literal safety of the building that is my home, which I love, is a source of comfort. But the community within which I live feels increasingly alien. 

Knowing Alice threw me into a parallel world, one where I and my child felt the full force of a system that was not designed for us and did not deign to bend to us. I have said it before and I will say it again, one should not have to be at the coal face to understand the dangers of that place. But often this is exactly what's needed. Knowing Alice opened a door in my mind, but it wasn’t until she died, and I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with trans people, that I finally came remotely close to understanding their challenges. The bottom line is the state is set against them. Now I see why the trans fight is aligned with the fight to free Palestine, and with allied fights to help those subject to any form of discrimination. The gender critical brigade does not understand because all they have are their luxury vexations, fear of listening to a trans woman pee in the cubicle next to them. Whilst a fear of male violence is undoubtedly true for some, this does not stop them placing themselves in situations with cis men all the time. The level of gender critical cognitive dissonance is alarming and dangerous because it allows them to perpetuate their attacks on trans rights. I understand where the risk to women lies. Not in trans people using the toilet of their choice. I know trans women are not cis men. That the Supreme Court would have you believe they are, serves to reinforce gender-critical projections of the sins of men onto all trans women.

Gender critical people are forever shouting that trans people are mentally ill and encouraging them to get therapy. I don’t see Alice’s death as the result of a mental illness. I see her death as an understandable response to state abuse. But I still tried to get her the therapy she needed to help her cope with that abuse and the trickle-down abuse at street level. It’s not so far-fetched to suggest that gender critical people are struggling in a similar way, struggling to adapt to a world that is changing in ways they don’t like and doesn't meet their needs. I suggest they too would benefit from therapy, but to work through their desire to oppress trans people. They will scoff at me of course, for making such a suggestion, how ridiculous they’ll crow. We are not mentally ill, look how accomplished we are! Well, it’s easy to win if your way of looking at the world is endorsed by the state, but it doesn’t make you right.

How can it be right that the Supreme Court listened to anti-trans organisations but did not listen to any trans voices? In their way they are simply reflecting the experience of most cis heteronormative people who aren’t listening to trans voices. Most of my friends don’t know a single trans person. Even when they have a trans relative they often casually misgender. They don’t listen to me but they trust the Supreme Court. They trust Cass, if they have even heard of it, it is independent after all, ditto the Sullivan report, independent because it says so on the tin. They haven’t opened either to inspect the contents.

It is clear to me that on-boarding of cis allies is crucial to reverse the current tide of anti-trans sentiment sweeping through the corridors of power, but we must understand many cis people are not natural allies. They are fighting their own battles, trying to keep the shape of things so the world they inhabit fits them, they don’t want to feel uncomfortable and trans people make them uncomfortable. We need to change the narrative, so it is the appalling treatment of trans people, and not trans people themselves, that gives them the ick.

I recently heard from an educator who spent time at a regional protest against the Supreme Court ruling. They did not listen to the speeches, but stood on the periphery, engaging passers-by who were prone to dismiss the protest as “just another trans thing”. This struck me as an extraordinarily powerful strategy. For I do all my talking on Bluesky. And whilst it is useful to be informed and nice to be affirmed, and its safety is crucial to me, my Bluesky experience is an echo chamber. So, in June I’m going to go on their course to help me learn the skills needed to engage cis people of unknown position on the subject of trans rights. It will be difficult, I am prone to defensiveness, and to be quite submissive, I find being challenged very triggering, reminding me as it does of all the times healthcare professionals and friends challenged me about Alice whilst she was alive. But I will do it, because people can and do change their minds.

Let’s return to those images of cis women celebrating a ruling they know will be used to discriminate against trans people. The women are smiling and relaxed. They are comfortable, they have been vindicated by the highest court in the land. But whilst these images are ugly to me, and I do not like to look at them, I am glad to have them as a record. Sometimes pictures really do speak louder than words. Several of my more conservative cis friends, those who have ‘both-sided’ the argument in the past, have commented that the optics look bad, especially when compared to images of tens of thousands of people of multiple ages, nationalities, class, sexes and genders who marched in London three days later. This gives me hope. Whilst much of this article has focused on berating the heteronormative cis mindset, small wins like this show the fight is there to be won. Triumphant as the gender critical members of FWS, Sex Matters and the LGB Alliance appear, with their entitled sense of untouchability, it seems like there may now be only one way for them to go. Could this be their Marie-Antoinette ‘let them eat cake’ moment?

And we all know what happened to her.