Becoming the People We Wish We Were: An Address to the Graduating Students of Harvey Milk High School
Commencement address delivered to the graduating class of Harvey Milk High School,
a New York City school created for LGBT students
and others whose home schools are not safe
a New York City school created for LGBT students
and others whose home schools are not safe
June 25, 2015
I'm supposed to tell you that with hard work and persistence, you can do anything. But you know that already. If you didn't, you wouldn't be graduating. So I want to tell you something different: that you can become the person you wish you were.
When I was your age, I didn't know that. In fact, till I was in my mid-forties, I believed that because I was born into a male body, I could never become the person -- the woman -- I wished I was.
When I was growing up, there were no transgender people on TV, no openly trans people holding jobs, being teachers, running for public office, being models or talk show hosts or Navy SEALS or famous athletes. Everyone I saw was either male or female. Every teacher. Every doctor. Every politician (actually, back then, they were mostly male). Every famous person in history. When I was young, I didn't even know there were other transgender people. I felt like an alien, a monster, a mistake. I wanted, and tried, to die.
When I stumbled across a magazine article by a woman whose son had become her daughter, I learned that I wasn't the only trans person in the world, and that there was a way for me someone born male to change my body and live as a woman. I longed to do that, but I was was terrified that my family and friends would reject me, that I would be homeless, alone and unloved and unlovable. I could become the person I wished I were, but I was sure that my family, my neighborhood, my country, my world, had no place for anyone like me.
So I kept pretending I was the boy, then man, that people thought I was, pretending I wasn't always thinking about dying, pretending I was really alive when most of time, I felt dead.
As trans kids go, I was lucky. I made it through high school, and then through college. A few months after graduation, I married a woman I had starting seeing in my freshman year. I had feared no one would love me if I revealed that I was transgender. But I had told her I was trans when we were sophomores, and she said she didn't mind that I felt female inside, that she would stay with me as long as I acted like a man.
It was a terrible mistake to commit to a relationship in which I would only be loved as long as I agreed not to become the person I wanted -- needed -- to be, but when I lived as a man, all my relationships were like that. My job, my friendships -- everything depended on me giving up on living my gender identity.
By the time I got married, I had completely surrendered to the prejudice against transgender people that surrounded me. If people were going to hate me for being who I was, well, I would do my best to pretend I was someone else. I didn't stand up for my rights, or anyone else's; I kept quiet when I saw injustice and oppression. And above all, I stayed hidden, avoiding anything -- any activity, opinion, clothing, even tone of voice -- that might reveal my female gender identity.
Prejudice and fear not only ruled my life; they ruled my heart. I hated myself for being trans, and I hated myself for being afraid to become the person I wanted to be: the honest person, the brave person, the kind person, the joyful, grateful, generous person, the person who didn't make excuses or blame others for my decisions, the person who would stand up and make a difference.
I knew I couldn't become that person as long as I was pretending to be a man. But gender was only part of the problem. I couldn't become the person I wished I were by hating myself, or by telling myself I had no power over my life or by running away Becoming the People We Wish We Were: An Address to the Graduating Students of Harvey Milk High School | Joy Ladin:
