Please vote

but maybe also read this first

It is such a strange thing to know that the fate of your life, of the lives of your children, or the fate of your marriage, or your tenuous hold on the things you own like a house and a car, are all suddenly in the hands of millions of people you do not know. Surreal is perhaps a better word. It’s surreal. And those people who could take all of that from you in the time it takes to exhale just once? Who are they, after all? And what do they think about in that exhale moment, in that swipe of a pen across a tiny bubble, in the decision of this party or that one, this candidate or another, this initiative, this law, this ballot? If they are angry or hurting, do they know who will suffer their wrath?

Do they think about my marriage?

Do they think about how my children expect their mother, an immigrant to this country, will always be here when they have a fever or need a hug or want to share a picture they just drew?

Do they think about how I access my medical care as a transgender person? Do they think about my worth as a human being?

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My wife and I got married three days after the fall of the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) in 2013. And the timing of it was critical for us—her student visa was very close to expiring, meaning that she would be forced to return “home” to Ireland within 3 months. Our son was 6 months old. We started the process of getting her green card the same week we signed our marriage certificate. Everything hinged on that one Supreme Court decision; our lives literally hung in the balance waiting for it.

Knowing that there would always be the possibility that our marriage could be taken from us, or not recognized by another state or country, we added in the legal step of a second parent adoption of both of our children so that my wife could always be recognized as their mother. But again, it’s worth pointing out that all of these legal actions are the result of that one Supreme Court decision to overturn DOMA. Our marriage granted her foreign national status, our marriage gave her legal parental rights. Our marriage is the backbone of our finances and our ability to own a home and establish credit and pay taxes.

And where do I fit in all of this? Am I legally recognized as male? How would that hold up if our marriage were challenged? Would there be a risk of my own parental rights if trans people were to become even more targeted than we are today?

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I’m not oblivious to the hate. I can’t unsee it. I cannot shield myself from its vitriol—whether it’s the anti-trans ads running during sports games on television or the wave of hate speech in my notes feed or the billboards condemning abortion. I see that anger daily. I swim in it. I breathe it. I am blamed for it. It’s my fault because I wanted to marry the woman I loved. Because I wanted to be myself out loud despite what my birth certificate (still) says.

This has been on my mind constantly over the last few weeks and months. It haunts me. How apropos of the season, right? You might have seen others like me mention how dark and terrifying these times are for us—the queer folx, the trans people, the families of immigrants—and in your own moment of casting a ballot perhaps you thought about taxes or insurrections or the genocide of Palestinian people in Gaza. There is so much to think about. You’re not wrong to care about those things.

But your choices have the power to direct the course of my life.

Gosh, that sounds so dramatic. It feels dramatic. I have this constant imposter syndrome monologue running through my mind that it can’t really be as bad as my nervous system is warning. It’s all rhetoric, right? I mean, we have laws and stuff that actually… Well yeah, that’s the thing. A few states do have laws recognizing trans people as a protected class, but things are less clear on the federal level. And politicians have been abundantly clear about going after gay marriage again if given the opportunity.

They have talked about concentration camps.

They have planned for mass deportations.

They have vowed to eradicate transgender people.

Today there are over 160 million registered voters in the United States. Today they will decide whether I and my trans siblings should be erased, condemned, and vilified. Today they decide the future my children will inherit. Today they decide the shape of my family.

I do hope that you vote, and I am simultaneously terrified for everyone who will.

I know that I am not alone in this feeling, and I know that there will be so many unknowns for days and weeks and possibly months following today. I also know that life will continue on regardless of electoral outcomes. But I need to acknowledge that this fear is very real. It is very present. It is the fear that my neighbor, my friend, my family member may vote to extinguish all that I am without even realizing the cost I will pay.

Your trans friend,

Robin