Reflections on Safety

What I learned while traveling abroad as my [trans] self.

This piece discusses violent intrusive thoughts and symptoms of acute psychosis. Reader discretion advised.

Before my recent travel abroad to Senegal, Germany, and the Netherlands, I called a health and safety phone line provided by my University. This is a resource that can answer questions about traveling with medication and basic health and safety concerns. I had never traveled internationally since starting testosterone and I didn’t know what to expect carrying my needles and hormones through airports or in places where transitioning isn’t legal. I wanted to talk to someone who could explain to me the best practices and reassure me that it would be easy to do.

The first person I spoke to was a nurse who said she wasn’t sure what would happen in Senegal if I traveled there with testosterone, so she would reach out to their partners on-the-ground to get their input. She told me that traveling with injectables is pretty common and I should keep them in my carry-on and travel with my prescription and a doctor’s note just in case anyone asked. It turns out that being trans isn’t really unique when it comes to needing to travel with medication, it just feels unique because of the harassment we face.

After our chat, she asked if I’d like to speak with a “security specialist” about my concerns. I figured sure, why not. I was sitting in my office with a long list of to-do’s before my trip, may as well do everything offered to me in preparation. When the specialist got on the line, I told him I am traveling to Senegal as a trans person and wanted to get his opinion on what I might expect to experience there.

I truly think this man Googled my question and started reading off answers. He told me I should be very careful because people really don’t like LGBT people there. It’s important to note that he kept repeating “LGBT” when I wasn’t talking about being “LGBT” - I was specifically asking about being trans. The word trans never left his mouth during our entire phone call. He said that I shouldn’t bring my personal cell phone with me because the authorities might go through it and if they find evidence that I’m “LGBT” then I could be detained and experience torture. People might beat me to death and the police won’t care to do anything to stop it.

I stood up from my chair and started pacing around the office. “In what situation would the authorities be going through my phone??” Well, airport security might suspect you and pull you aside. “I am traveling as a white, male-passing person with my University for my job. My passport says ‘M’ on it - I really don’t think people are going to clock me as being trans like that…” He responded with a personal anecdote: When I was traveling in Israel studying security, they went through my phone all of the time. They always found me suspect because I was studying security. And I’m Italian! I’m like, a normal looking guy. This was the point where I knew he was bullshitting me. He probably rattled off to me all the ways I could potentially die for about ten minutes before I thanked him and ended the conversation. Is there anything else I can help you with today? “Nope, that’s it.”

I stood there dumbfounded, staring at the students who were working at the table in front of my desk. “You’ll never believe the conversation I just had…” I tried to shake it off and go back to work, but the weight of it didn’t leave me. It wasn’t what the guy told me - I fully didn’t believe I was in any of the danger he tried to convince me I was in. Senegal isn’t even close to Israel in terms of checkpoints and militancy. This dude clearly had no idea what he was talking about. What really struck me was how easily he imagined harm coming to me. He had never seen me or spoken to me before this conversation, and yet he made it brazenly clear how comfortable he was imaging the worst possible harm coming to me. When I told my colleague studying international security what had happened, he thought it was normal at first, saying it’s basically the dude’s job to describe the worst-case scenario. Once I started explaining the details of his warnings, even my colleague thought it was strange.

The most I got out of that conversation was a deeper understanding of how comfortable people are imaging great harm coming to trans people for simply existing. I didn’t fear any of the things he told me to fear - my team wouldn’t send me on a trip if they thought I would be in mortal danger. Senegal is known for Teranga, a highly-valued philosophy of hospitality. The first thing people were going to notice about me was that I was a foreigner, and one of the only white people in the vicinity. They would make me feel welcome for being there, and they did. Questioning my gender would not be a thought in their mind, especially since I was going to be wearing masculine Senegalese style and be binding every day. But still, his warning about airports lingered, and I was terrified of going through security.

It may come as no surprise when I say I experienced zero issues going through any of the many airports I was in. I didn’t even need to take my meds or needles out of my bag, and no one searched my belongings. I never had to hand over my doctor’s note or try to explain in broken French that I just use needles for my medication. No one cared. No one questioned my gender. Of course, I was misgendered a few times here and there. I get misgendered everywhere. But that’s the thing about being trans that no one tells you: most people don’t care, at least not to the point of wanting to hurt you. The issue isn’t mobs of people hunting us down - the issue is the few people who will hurt us getting away with it due to bystander effect and general lack of understanding. The bottom line is: if I let fear of physical harm coming to me for being trans dictate where I go or travel, then I wouldn’t leave my house.

The biggest lesson I’ve taken home so far is realizing how much my trauma brain was still affecting my thought patterns - and how much non-trans people contributed to them. Before going abroad, I didn’t go a day without thinking of the potential harms that could come to me. Being kidnapped from my home, imprisoned, and tortured were common thoughts that I was experiencing without questioning their validity or place in my life. I should be prepared, right? What traveling to three countries in three weeks taught me was that I am generally safe in this world, safer because I am white, and safer still because I lean towards masculine. The dominant political narrative does not represent the common beliefs people have about trans people, even though that’s what legislatures and religious extremists want us to think. The transphobes are the loudest, and they want us to be afraid. They want us to stay closeted or be dead. They make up stories about us being defected, dangerous, non-humans. But if traveling with testosterone and needles taught me anything, it’s that having life-sustaining medication is the most normal and boring thing in the world.

The worst things in this world are already happening, right now, to Palestinians. To people in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. To people in prisons. There is already torture, genocide, sexual violence, and displacement ongoing. To be constantly imaging these things happening to me feels insensitive and tone-deaf. I have the privilege of having an American passport. I can go to many countries with no visa, no explanation, and no worry. Why should I spend my time imagining things happening to me that will probably never happen? Do I really want to spend my whole life preparing for a worst-case scenario that will never come?

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A week before traveling abroad, I had a THC-induced panic attack where I experienced psychotic delusions for the first time. I became convinced that my partner V and I were about to be kidnapped from the air bnb we were staying at in Philly. We were at a concert when the attack started, and as we were walking back to where we were staying, I threw my smart watch under a car to avoid being tracked. As we approached the air bnb, someone was standing outside and I refused to go in, thinking he was waiting for us. When V convinced me to go inside, we learned that there was a party being thrown upstairs, and the person outside was waiting to be let in. I then believed the people throwing the party were conspiring against us, and gleefully plotting the sexual torture they would inflict on us. I stood against the door hyperventilating, waiting for people in black uniforms with guns to burst in. I ran to change my clothes and was ready to sprint to the car and just start driving. I took off all of my metal jewelry so that my phone couldn’t use it to ping my location. I deleted apps and tried logging out of Google. It was the most afraid I have ever felt in my life, and it all centered on us being preyed upon for being trans. The whole thing lasted two hours.

There was a part of me that knew the things I was convinced were happening were probably not real, but that part had no power over my thoughts. I had the intuitive understanding that I needed to talk to someone completely outside of the situation to find some semblance of safety. After V told me we couldn’t go to the car and start driving, I called my mom who listened and reassured me that I was safe. I asked her how she knew that and she said, “because none of those things are happening to you right now.” I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words in general. I had other support as well: a friend offered to let us stay at their place so we didn’t have to sleep at the air bnb. V was so patient and kind and didn’t hospitalize me, which would have only made the delusions feel more real. I bravely got into Ubers to travel to my friend’s house, even though I thought they would take us to a second location to be brutalized. I went to sleep on my friend’s couch that night feeling more safe, and woke up in shock that I went into a state like that in the first place.

That morning, I was able to retrieve my smart watch after we got back to the air bnb to pack up and go home. I looked at the data from the night before and saw my heart rate had spiked up to 192 bpm, a critically dangerous number. The next day when I saw my therapist for an emergency appointment, she asked if the attack had anything to do with me going abroad in less than a week. I said no, telling her that I knew I’d be safe abroad, and I thought it was just the THC mixing with my regular intrusive thoughts. But, as more time has passed, I can’t help but connect the experience to the “security specialist” telling me that the exact things I feared would happen to me. I just wasn’t afraid of them happening to me abroad - I was afraid of them happening to me in my home country.

I felt more safe abroad than I usually feel in my regular life at home, but that doesn’t reflect the actual danger I may or may not be in at any given time. That’s the thing, I’ll never know how safe a place is for me until I’m in that place and not experiencing harm. As someone who didn’t experience safety at home until my mid-twenties, it’s been hard to believe anywhere could be safe for me, especially when trans people are casually told they’ll be beaten to death for existing. It is true that there is an inherent lack of safety when you live a life outside of the norm, especially when your community is being legislated against at a historical rate. Trans people are being targeted, but the people targeting us varies depending on context. Some people are targeted by their families, other queer people, or police. Black trans women and gender-nonconforming people face more hurdles to safety than I do as a white transmaculine person. There can never be one unifying idea of safety for trans people - we can only do the best we can with what we have.

I am my own litmus test in this world. I am within a community of people who love me and would fight for me. I trust that people care about my safety. Who are you to tell me differently? If you think I am unsafe for being alive as myself, you might be right, but that doesn’t mean you get to tell me what violence is coming to me. If you imagine the specific brutality that could come to me without even knowing me, then you need to reassess how comfortable you are imaging harm coming to strangers.

I do not imagine harm coming to me. My healing prepares me for danger I may face in this world. I am safe in my community. I assume neutral or best intentions from strangers. People care about my safety. I can tell when a space is or isn’t safe for me. I feel safe in my home. I am worth fighting for. I bring joy to this world. This earth supports my life and my thriving. I stand up for those in danger. I stand up for myself.

Shortly before I left for Senegal, the nurse I initially spoke to got back to me with what the medical team abroad advised about traveling with testosterone. They said that as long as I don’t travel with more than a 3-month supply and have a doctor’s note, all will be well. And it was.