This post is taken from a speech I made at a conference in Leeds last month, Recognising Diversity? Gender and Sexual Equalities In Principle and Practice.

• We live in a society where we needn’t sit here like open-mouthed chicks waiting for entertainment to be regurgitated down our throats, helpless, squawking recipients.

• Increasingly we have choice in what we consume and it’s just as well – because the media has traditionally offered very little on the menu for people like me.

• When I was little I recall my dad was always saying, “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”.

• I was called a lot of names as a child, you see, so he had plenty of occasions to repeat it.

• It’s ironic, isn’t it, how people use words to try and make you feel better about other people’s words while simultaneously arguing that words don’t matter.

• I think they do. And I think images matter too.

Photo: Ryan Harding Photography

Photo: Ryan Harding Photography

• But I do know, through my activism and engaging with people online, that I’m not alone in feeling wholly misrepresented by mainstream media.

• I could list statistics that show how unhappy trans people are with the way they are portrayed in the media, but that doesn’t quite capture the depressing feeling of disappointment described, rather eloquently, by American writer and news editor Janet Mock.

• Last year she wrote:

“As a trans woman, there’s rarely a time when I’ve been able to applaud the portrayal or someone’s commentary on a woman like myself in mainstream media. As a fan of many shows, entertainers and writers who’ve belittled “my people,” I have a bittersweet relationship with what I consume. If I wrote off every famous person or show that offended me, I would have nothing to watch.”

• So what do we do with this mass depression, this feeling of powerlessness?

• Well, as I’ve found with my own depression over the years, we have to get up and do something.

• I’m not a fan of reactive activism, and I’m not sure that new regulations are the answer either – trans people are already supposedly protected under the existing PCC guidelines. These guidelines simply need enforcing.

• That’s why I’m extremely excited by a project called All About Trans, which connects media professionals with real trans people.

• We’re supported by the BBC and Esmee Fairbairn Foundation and the idea is to simply get influential people into the same room as trans people and create empathy.

• We hope that if we can put a human face on trans we can remove the caricature and make the people with power in the media think twice next time a script, or article or proposal lands on their desk that ridicules people like me simply for being trans.

• Last month we met with the editor of the Observer John Mulholland for a nice cup of tea; the week before that we took top brass from the BBC’s comedy department to the aquarium for the day.

• Everyone had a great time and those media professionals now have a memory of a fun afternoon out with people not so very different from themselves.

• It shouldn’t be necessary to remind media professionals that we are human beings worthy of respect – but sadly it is.

• It’s tempting to want to explain ourselves as trans people.

• Many trans women still feel they have to sell their transition narrative to get their voices heard in the media and that narrative has to conform to certain cisgenderist cliches of binary transformation from one essential to another i.e. ‘trapped in the wrong body’ or the ‘before and after’

• Even I’ve been tempted to do this before. And I’ve had plenty of opportunities.

• The problem with trans narratives, though, is that they are almost always in response to a cisgender, that is, non-trans-demand.

• My good friend and historian Jeff Evans, who does fantastic work getting LGBT History Month taught widely and well in schools, tells me that he is often asked if he can talk about the history of gay men.

• There is no such history.

• “Gay men” as an identity is a relatively recent social construct and it is not possible to write a history of gay men.

• Men who have sex with men, however, have always existed.

• What we can do is look at how society has treated those men.

• So it is for trans people. The idea of a “trans woman” which is how someone like me might describe herself, is an even newer concept.

• We can’t do a history of trans women or indeed trans men as none exists.

• Trans people, or people who do not fit neatly into one gender or the other, however, have always existed.

• The story isn’t about how trans people came about – and that’s not to say that recent medical opportunities have not made life easier for many trans people – but how societies have dealt with us.

• This isn’t about trans people and it never was.

• It’s about everybody else and how comfortable they feel about letting trans people exist and express themselves.

All About Trans... volunteers chat with Channel 4 News anchor Cathy Newman

All About Trans… volunteers chat with Channel 4 News anchor Cathy Newman

• So the problem, then, with trans narratives is that they invariably set out to explain and justify and mitigate the difference (or ‘otherness’) of those telling the story.

• Essentially this narrative boils down to “My life is horrible, please be nice to me!” – I’ve been guilty of slipping into this rhetoric myself at times.

• Ultimately this hands power to the person hearing the story. It’s a form of begging, begging not to be bullied.

• Do you think bullies listen to such pleas?

• This approach may work with some people who are borderline hostile towards trans people or may illicit sympathy from people who would have been supportive however they were awoken from their ignorance.

• The thing is though, this “poor me” pathetic transsexual narrative has been going on for over 60 years and it doesn’t appear to have made a huge difference to the way people like me are treated on the street.

• If you walk into a bookstore you will find whole sections devoted to LGBT writers.

• Some of these will be confessional biographies. Many will be by trans women.

• Many will be theoretical books.

• During my time as Acting Assistant Editor of Gay Times I was sent many academic books that tried to unravel what it means to be gay, to be queer, to be gender non-conforming.

• What is it all for?

• This is a conference to discuss complex ideas so perhaps this is an odd platform from which to present my message today.

• But trans people and anyone with an interest in gender diversity have to stop trying to dissect everything and anything about our experiences.

• It’s all just Trans 101 and trans 101 doesn’t work.

• We are othering ourselves.

• I’m only going to reference just two books today: the first is Edward Said’s Orientalism and the second is Julia Serrano’s Whipping Girl.

• Edward Said helped popularize the term ‘othering’ in his seminal text, Orientalism.

• He argued that, in the West, we have an idea of what it means to be Eastern; we have stories and myths about Eastern people about how they are and what they do – based on the severely limited and prejudicial but unchallenged understanding of a few early colonialists.

• Mysterious, exotic, licentious, workshy, deluded, devious essentially childish and incapable of making sensible decisions about what is best for them, immutable, incapable of changing for the better – where ‘better’ means behaving in the same manner as the ascendant culture

• These are some of the characteristics attributed to “oriental peoples”

• We’ve heard it applied to other ethnic groups, to other marginalised groups and, of course, to women.

A temple to Orientalism... Brighton Royal Pavilion

A temple to Orientalism… Brighton Royal Pavilion

• Such words summarise the assumptions of misogyny, the same misogyny that Julia Serano identifies as transmisogyny

• Serrano cuts through all this bullshit in her wonderful polemic, Whipping Girl, and at the end of it I was left feeling angry but also with a deep sense of “Wonderful, why did that even need writing?”

• Trans people just are. Get over it.

• Treat us with dignity. What more is there to say?

• If you’re still keen on your academic theory, I urge you to check out a researcher and thinker called Y. Gavriel Ansara. He has been key in developing an academic outline of cisgenderism and he points to the “invisible college” of academics researching trans people.

• They are usually white, male, educated and middle aged. They reference each other’s work… they write prolifically and build up each other’s status as experts on trans issues.

• They are consulted when the time comes to redraw health guidelines on trans people – guidelines that almost always problematize trans people.

• This, too, is built out of nothing.

• Trans people are people, and that’s all there is to it really.

• My activism used to be rather reactionary, we’d sit around waiting for something awful to happen and then get angry and say please don’t be horrible to us we have such awful lives as it is.

• Now, with All About Trans we answer questions honestly and explain issues to them but we are more focused on what they can do to help us make things better.

• We ask them what the problem is. Why the big fuss?

• It’s a positive dialogue and one in which trans people are not explaining themselves but politely asking to be treated with respect and enquiring as to why that is not currently happening.

• It’s very simple for me.

• I feel happiest expressing myself the way I do and being referred to and perceived by others a certain way. I don’t need to know why.

• I hope the younger generation of trans people can continue looking outwards and force the mainstream to take a long hard look at itself instead of obsessing over trans people.

• Positive, unapologetic engagement is how we make things better and do I hope you’ll check out the great work we’re doing by visiting Thanks for having me!


Are you a man or a woman? Yes, thanks.

This time last week I was getting ready to go to the Attitude Awards, where I was asked to present the gong for media representation. (I write for Attitude magazine’s rival, GT, so I was particularly flattered to have been invited. Thanks for having me, editor Matthew Todd.)


You might expect a transgender woman to have a lovely evening at an event that celebrates diversity. And I did. I had dinner sandwiched between the outrageous Paul O’Grady and super lovely Celia Imrie (giving me a koala hug, above). Cher breathed on me. Last year Kate Moss blew smoke in my face, so I just need Madonna to cough on me and I can die happy. Trans people were mentioned throughout the speeches, and I was close to tears as we heard about the plight of gay and trans people in Russia, when the Attitude Community Award was given to the Russian LGBT Network. Matthew Todd made several references to trans people and gave me a warm personal mention in his opening speech. He sat me at the top table, with Gareth Thomas, Ed Milliband and his parents. It was surreal. The overwhelming majority of guests were trans allies and I had a truly wonderful night.

There were one or two incidents that stuck out, though, precisely because of the lovely safe space in which they occurred. I saw an acquaintance with a female friend. This friend asked me what I was doing at the event, was I gay? Paris is trans, my pal told her. What does that mean, asked the friend. Are you a girl? That was my starter.

Later I headed out to the back with my new pal Matt Cain, where we joined a man and a woman having a cigarette. She asked me what I was doing at these awards, was I a lesbian? She loves lesbians, you see. I tell her I’m transgender – and so began the main course. Are you a woman? Are you a man? Are you a third sex? What are you? No, you don’t understand – have you had everything done? Why can’t I ask you these questions?

I tried to explain that mentioning I’m trans doesn’t mean you can ask me if I’m a man or a woman, or indeed anything about my genitals. I tried to be nice. They were drunk. We were drunk. Everyone was having a good time. Why bother explaining that her reaction was like meeting a gay man and asking if he ‘takes it up the arse’? I might have made this point, but then the guy started mouthing that I had ‘brought it up’ and what did I expect? They had done nothing wrong.

He was a smartly dressed man round about my mother’s age, who said he wrote for a quality paper. I don’t know if he was gay. Perhaps I should have asked. I’d at least expect him to be gay friendly if he’s turning up to the Attitude Awards though. So this was an intelligent, broadsheet journalist, in his early 40s, at a gay awards ceremony. And he didn’t see what the big deal was. At first. Later we all shared a cab to a wine bar and he agreed his friend’s questions were not, as I generously put it, ‘ideal’. I wasn’t sure if I’d really wanted to go to this wine bar with these people, but, after our little chat I said, Come on, let’s have a good night anyway. I meant it.

In the bar I start talking to a smart businessman, who asks me what I do. I’m a journalist, I say. What do you write about, he asks. Equality and diversity, feminism, gay and transgender issues, I reply. Ooh, he says, what’s your interest in transgender people? I tell him I’m transgender. It’s hard not to mention this if I’m discussing my work and why I have been invited to something like the Attitude Awards. Then this otherwise sensible man starts asking me if I’ve had ‘the op’. And so on. This was dessert. So, he continued, what does transgender even mean? This isn’t actually a bad question but God bless Mr Cain all the same for jumping in with: “It means she doesn’t want to answer questions about being transgender all night. OK?”

But what are you Paris? I felt like saying I am Paris Lees, winner of the Positive Role Model Award for LGBT at the National Diversity Awards 2012, Radio 1 and Channel 4’s first trans woman presenter and top of the Independent on Sunday’s Pink List of influential gay, lesbian, bi and trans people. I wanted to say that because they made me feel like my genitals are the most important thing about me. And don’t get me wrong, they are good… so good, but there’s a little more to me than that, you know? Instead I moved on, flirted with the cutest guy there, drank some pink champagne and, finally, got a black cab home.

If any of the people I met that night are reading this, take my answer down as I’m only going to say it once.

I am a woman. On a mission.

Top of the Pops

I’m on the cover of today’s Independent on Sunday, having been named the most influential LGBT person in Britain by the Pink List 2013. I’m so pleased my work and my way of doing things, positively, has been recognised. I’d like to thank the wonderful people in my life, so, in no particular order…


Thank you!

Mark, for putting up with me.

Mum, thanks for the tough love and for teaching me to be cheeky.

Aunty Ray, for teaching me to always be kind.

Mamma Jo, for being mother superior.

Kenny, for filling a void.

Aunty Louise and Uncle John, for always being there for me.

Natalie, for being the coolest sister and sticking with me through thick and thin.

Sarah, for giving me guidance, being clever and putting up with my moods.

Roz, for being rather awesome at all times.

Jane Czyzselska, for being the first person to pay me for my writing and continued support.

Darren Scott, for giving me stability and access to free makeup.

Leng, for always encouraging me.

Janet, for your wisdom and adopting me for a while.

Louai, for introducing me to Almodovar when I needed escapism.

Blayne, for being the coolest little brother anyone could ask for.

Michelle, for delivering Blayne. And delivering me to Brighton in one piece.

Chelsea, for guiding me through the dark days.

Steffi, for being a crazy creative bitch and those 4-hour phone calls.

Vicky, for bringing me food when I couldn’t leave the house.

For Carmel and Sam and El and my Brighton girlies for letting me join the cool gang, for trips to Boots, lobster and pumpkins.

Cormac, for being someone I can trust with my life.

Rachael Mee, for being the best pal a gal can have – when I wasn’t yet the gal I am today.

CN Lester, for educating me and putting things in perspective.

Nathalie McDermott and Alana Avery, for being super lovely and doing what you do oh-so well.

Patrick and Dan, for teaching me how to pitch, treating me like a lady and not believing me when I tell you I’m a soulless bitch.

Piers Bradford, for believing in me and opening doors I didn’t know were there.

Stuart, Caroline and Ravi – for seeing something in me and taking the chance.

Tim Lusher – for commissioning my first broadsheet article and helping me grow as a writer.

Alice Lloyd and Joe Hallam for helping produce something to be very proud of.

Christine Burns, for always wishing me well, and inspiring me when I was depressed.

Cathy N, for being frank, fiesty and fierce.

Michelle Bridgman, for making me laugh.

Kathy, for editing advice, warmth and lunches in the Sun’s canteen.

Dr B, for surprisingly good advice.

Theresa, for believing me.

Calpernia, for being witty enough to give me a fresh perspective.

Lisa Markwell, Sarah Morrison, Katy Guest and Kim Watson, for seeing value in what I do.

Everyone who has ever messaged me with words of kindness, teachers along the way and social workers who kept me from the abyss. For anyone I’ve forgotton, too.

Julie Burchill, for writing Sugar Rush and making me want to move to Brighton, where it all began. And for highlighting bigotry and giving me a voice.

To all my lovers, for making me feel like a woman. Or a man. Depending on when we made love.

And to all my haters, people who do not wish me well, those who would try to hold me back because they resent the good things I now have in my life, those who made me feel ashamed, frightened and inferior… you make the biggest impact on me because you make me determined.

Thank you!

Where am I now?

I plan to share some of my story at some point so I’m experimenting with creative writing. Honest, critical feedback welcome.


You know those TV dramas you get about delinquent kids from broken homes, who always end up living with some super nice foster family? The ones we call ‘gritty’. It’s usually a white man and a white or black woman who desperately want to help a troubled child, and they have a nice home with clean bed sheets and towels and mugs that aren’t chipped to prove it. They have a kitchen table they can sit at, which they do, with the mugs that aren’t chipped, warming their hands, while they discuss what to do about the latest addition to the household. They really seem to care. They worry about the best way to deal with the psychological trauma they’ve invited to their home, memories of tormented mothers, violent fathers and heroin needles on kids’ playgrounds. The kid always runs away. Maybe back to the playground. The kid is always found. The kid always takes it out on the nice couple, who the kid won’t call mum and dad at first and isn’t expected to, of course. Eventually the nice couple with the white man and the black or white lady win the kid over and they all muddle on, somehow. The washing machine works properly. The windows close properly. The kid is still haunted but, ultimately, everything is going to be alright. We know that.

That’s where I am now. I am the child and the mother. I adopted myself. I have a little teapot that makes one cup of tea and lots of different types of tea in my cupboard and when I open it I know that everything is going to be OK because I’m in the nice house, now. With the nice people. The carpets stretch out onto the streets and the whole world, in fact, seems safe again. Sometimes I make myself a cup of tea late at night not because I am thirsty but because I want to touch the mugs and the kettle and the spoons and the milk and all of these things that suggest I am in the nice house. The happy house. I’m happy here. I feel the mugs and they are solid, but I know they are easily breakable, and I can’t stop the shaking inside me, the quivering, the haunting. When they become chipped I throw them away. I think to myself, count your blessings girl, you can’t have everything – but you can have a nice cup of tea. Eight mugs, 6 plates, 5 bowls and 4 saucers. I am truly blessed.

And I feel I want to tell my story. I’m the kid in the TV show who doesn’t want to open up but obviously has so much to say. So I prepare. I write. I experiment. I try ideas out. If it’s all to come out, that which has been kept inside, it must be done carefully, it must be decommissioned, decontaminated, handled with care. It’s toxic. I have to do something with it because it can’t stay here. It’s corrosive. I have to pass it on or else blast it into space and that won’t be easy. So yes, it has to go somewhere. I’m trying to find the words. How many will I need? How many blessings? Do I really have everything ready to paint the picture? Can it all be conjured up, brought out, emitted, if I can just get the right words in the right order? Will you understand? I’m at the kitchen table, mug in hand, but where are you, reader? Are you ready for me to begin? Turn the TV off and take a seat with me. I’m going to tell you a story.


I’m experimenting with creative writing as I’m contemplating writing a book, perhaps an autobiography. I welcome feedback, particularly harsh and honest responses. Here we go…


Emma felt increasingly sick as she spun around on the… err, well, she didn’t know what it was called, actually. The spinny-round thing. It had an orb at its centre, once red judging by the chipped paint now largely replaced by scabby looking metal. It reminded Emma of a planet. Mars. There was an old Mars bar wrapper underneath it too, which somehow seemed to add to this idea. The wrapper was faded by the sun at one end. Emma decided she wanted a Mars bar.

Mars had satellites. Four seats, one of which Emma was sat on. Sat on Emma was a small boy. He was four. A little boy. Emma was a big girl. She was 9 – practically a teenager. The boy was called Luke, and he clung onto her as they circled Mars. Emma was worried about falling and returning to Earth, as the particular patch of earth she was likely to land on was peppered with broken glass. It was pretty, though, like a shower of stars. They glistened against the black floor of the playground, a smelly plastic affair that seemed to Emma like a mixture of tarmac and bath sponge. Much of her world was carpeted this way: she preferred grass, but there were bugs in grass and they might sting you. Emma was afraid of insects, and wasps, so, thinking this, she threw her near empty can of Cherry Coke across the park and out into the universe, where it collided with her sometime-sweetheart and sometime-tormentor Matt. It was a space attack.

“Oi,” shouted Matt, “Fuck off!”

“Don’t swear in front of him,” Emma mouthed back, nodding towards her adopted child. “He’s only four!” Matt didn’t seem too concerned though. “Ya should’ve thought about that before you started throwing stuff at me. You fat cow.” Emma had been getting called a fat cow quite a bit since her mum had bought her a silver bomber jacket for Christmas. It was summer now but Emma refused to be seen in public without it. It was becoming dirty and worn at the sleeves and several other girls on the estate had since got their own bomber jackets, orange, blue and neon yellow. But Emma was the first.

Matt shouted over again: “Why are you hanging around with that little kid anyway?” Emma put both her hands onto the circular bar she’d been using to spin her and her small passenger around Mars and tried to slow down. She realized her hands would smell of metal now. These things happened in space.

The world started to come into focus and Emma became dizzy as the spinny-round-thingy lurched to a halt. She was facing the estate. The playground was surrounded by a small metal fence, painted green, but, like Mars, it was faded and chipped. There was a gate on the other side though no one used it, only little kids who came with their mums. Emma and her mates climbed over the fence, after racing to it, of course. Last one from the estate to reach the fence had lurgy. Everyone knew that. Beyond the fence was the park, a strip of grass that wasn’t cut very often and was full of old school books and free newspapers. Emma could see a copy of the Recorder flapping about. Beyond that was the alleyway, another metal fence made up of endless black bars which arched and curved at the top, joined by horizontal bars at the top and bottom. On the other side of that were wooden fences with holes in them, out of which poked blackberry bushes and, from time to time, vicious, slobbering dogs and more small children with dirty faces.

Emma looked above this, though, to the house with the red and white flag hanging out the window. She understood this was the England flag, but she had no idea why someone would want to have it on their house, the corner trapped by a closed window. There were at least two people who seemed to think it was a good idea on her estate though. Emma’s eyes jumped to the right as someone two houses down opened an upstairs window, one of the smaller ones on top, and she heard music coming out. I’m gonna get you baby, they sang, over and over. Emma wondered what they were going to do with the baby when they got it.

“He’s my friend,” she replied. “I like him”. Emma did like him. When she was older – which seemed like it would take forever, whenever she thought about it, which was all the time, according to her mum – she wanted a baby boy. All the young women on the estate had little baby boys and girls and Emma couldn’t wait to join the club. She had a toy iron at home and was prepared for the hardships of life ahead, which her mum frequently went on about. Emma thought her mum moaned too much. She would never moan if she had a little baby boy.

“He’s really funny, you know. He says dead stupid stuff sometimes. Said his name was ‘Rachel’ yesterday!” Now she had Matt’s attention.

“You what?” he mouthed, leaving his jaw open in theatrical shock.

“Yeah, he told me he’s a girl. Swear down!” Emma was thrilled by the attention and couldn’t wait to blurt out more. Plus it was true. She never told lies, Emma. Matt couldn’t stop laughing. “Argh, that’s naughty! I’m telling Pete.” Pete was Matt’s dad. Well, sort of. Matt didn’t know his real dad but Pete went out with Matt’s mum and made her smile more than he made her cry and Matt had never actually seen him hit her so he was OK in Matt’s book. And Pete would want to know about something like this. “It’s not his fault, he’s only four, he doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Emma, defensively, though simultaneously egging him on: “Go on, say it again, say you’re a girl.” Her passenger was swinging back now and Emma held onto his little legs. He was scared he was in trouble, but also pleased that the older kids seemed to be paying attention to him. Really paying attention.

“I’m a girl.”

Both Emma and Matt laughed, Matt hysterically so. This was just about the maddest thing he’d ever heard anyone say in his life. He couldn’t believe it. Pete wouldn’t believe it. No one would believe it. It was unbelievable. He asked the boy to say it again.

I’m a girl, said the boy, though he didn’t say it out loud this time. Not fair. They didn’t believe him. He knew he was a boy, of course, but he also knew he was a girl. Of course. Obviously. He couldn’t really explain it. His mum never spoke to Emma’s mum, as far as he knew, and she certainly wouldn’t be seen dead talking to the likes of Pete. Too common. He should probably just go home now, before he got himself into more trouble, but he didn’t want to leave Emma. He asked her to walk him home.

“See you later, alligator,” screeched Emma to Matt as she and her small ward headed towards the fence. Matt responded by throwing the empty can of coke back at her, but it turned out it wasn’t quite so empty after all and Emma got yet another stain on her bomber jacket. It would have to go in the wash again and Emma’s mum wouldn’t be happy. The washing machine cost money. Emma’s mum would have to put another 50p into the electricity box. Emma wondered if she could run it under the bathroom tap before her mum saw.

“Why are you going, anyway? I was only joking with you,” said Matt, who looked a little sad around the eyes.

“I’m just gonna walk him home and I’ll be back out later,” Emma reassured him. Emma was pleased that he would miss her, but she had to be grown up. Duty called. “I can’t let him walk home alone,” she said in a lowered, though perfectly audible voice that implied there was no other option. “He’s only a little boy”.


Four years ago I uploaded a video to YouTube. I was nervous. It was the first time I’d spoken so openly about being transgender and I knew I might later regret it if I decided to go stealth again. I wasn’t so sure of myself back then. I had a breakdown, once, after something horrific happened to me for no other reason than me being trans. Funnily enough it wasn’t the event that made me nearly lose all hope – not to mention my mind – but rather the fear of becoming a national talking point. I’m rather bold and outgoing. I don’t know if Lucy Meadows was introvert or extravert but the sort of things that can happen to people like us terrified me.

Photo: Ryan Harding

Photo: Ryan Harding

In the video I talk about guys, which, before I became an equality campaigner, was my specialist subject. I’ve been with lots of guys. When I first transitioned (from male to female) I let many of those guys treat me badly. Without wanting to generalize about half the population, let’s say that some men treat some girls rather poorly. Trans girls, in my experience, are often treated the worst. These guys will fuck you, sure, but don’t expect an invitation to dinner: he doesn’t want to be seen out with someone like you. I believed that for a few years and was convinced I’d spend the rest of my life alone. Dating is hard anyway but harder when you’re trans. I’m hot stuff and was single for four years so, obviously, that’s my only explanation. And anyway who wouldn’t want to date a narcissist?

If I’d really thought so highly of myself, though, I wouldn’t have let men disrespect me. Regardless of gender I suspect many people feel this way. Would you let people treat you the way they did when you were 17? You get burnt and you get smart. You demand respect if you have healthy self-esteem. Or maybe you don’t and you get sucked into toxic relationships based on inequality, shame and fear. Many trans people suffer low self-esteem from living in a culture that constantly tells us we are less than everyone else, less attractive, less serious, less important – and less entitled to the privacy, decency and basic human dignity afforded everyone else. Many trans people suffer toxic relationships.

I started demanding respect. Are you a hunk? Great, let’s get it on! Do you respect me? No? See you later! It’s funny but, after years of letting people treat me like shit, the moment I started demanding respect, I got it. I told guys that if they wanted to see me, they could take me for dinner. If they wanted to get me drunk, they could take me for cocktails. I only had time for a man who was proud to walk out with me hand in hand and now I spend most of my time holding hands with such a man. We’ve just bought a house together.

It’s been an interesting week for me and it’s got me thinking. My relationship with the media is like my relationship with men. All I could see at first was the shitty way people like me should expect to be treated. I thought, ah well, that’s the way of things. I put up with it. I let myself be inferior because I let others see me as inferior. We were in it together, we’d made a pact. There were rules I had to obey, not to be seen or heard or else risk abuse, violence or ridicule. “If you ever see me in town, you won’t say hello to me or anything will you?” – that’s what I used to get asked by the men who wanted to be intimate with me. “Oh no of course not,” I’d reply, ‘I wouldn’t embarrass you like that!”

We let people take advantage of us when we are low, don’t we? We let men in late at night to penetrate us without kissing us, because we’re lonely. We let documentary makers penetrate our privacy because we want to make ourselves real. We put makeup on to meet other people’s beauty standards and show our before-and-after photos to make them like us more. It’s what they want from us and, at first, we don’t know any other way to be.

Well how about we tell them to fuck off? Over the past two years I’ve turned down several offers to appear in the media because the people making them didn’t respect me. I worried, though. What if I didn’t get another chance to get my message out? It was no different to my former fear that I would be alone for the rest of my life. I held out for respect and both times I was right.

Trans people, like many types of people, are starting to demand respect from the media. Katherine O’Donnell is night editor of the Times in Scotland. Juliet Jacques blogs for the Guardian. Bethany Black is a standup comedian. You might laugh at Bethany’s jokes but you don’t laugh at these women (and others like them) because they haven’t compromised. Don’t compromise. As Juliet wrote for the New Statesman recently, on the way the media treats trans people, compromise is neither desirable nor possible.

Stop feeding the lions. Stop jerking the jerks. They can all sort themselves out.

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Cruelty to trans children must stop. FULL STOP.

In February this year I was asked to speak at an organisation I greatly admire, the NSPCC – the first time, I understand, that trans issues have been officially discussed there. I really hope the NSPCC can do more work to support trans kids in future. I promised to make my notes available online… find them below the clip of me and child trans campaigner Livvy James,

• When I was asked to come and talk to the NSPCC my initial reaction was: Great! I’m so pleased they’re looking at transgender issues – but what do I know about vulnerable children?

• I quickly realized, though, that I know all too much about vulnerable children. I was one.

• I’m not sure how much you know about me but I’m a campaigner, writer and broadcaster – and much of what I do focuses on promoting the idea that trans people deserve the same human rights as everyone else. So do trans children.

• So what are the issues affecting children who express their gender non-conventionally?

• Trans kids can expect bullying, isolation, rejection by family, teachers and schools, rejection of their identity, lack of role models, and violence.

• Here’s an extract of a piece I wrote for the Guardian in 2011:

“Growing up, the only time I’d ever seen trans people on TV were those ‘brave’, depressing ones, hanging around hospitals waiting for ‘sex change’ surgery. They may as well have been aliens. The ex-mining town where I grew up in Nottinghamshire was insular to say the least. Changing gender was something that simply didn’t happen to the people on my council estate. But I knew from four that I was ‘different’, and other people seemed to notice too. I was routinely bullied, often quite violently, for years.”

• This time last year I appeared on BBC Breakfast with a trans girl called Livvy. After being bullied at school she began a campaign to end bigoted reporting of trans issues in the press. (Clearly this 10-year-old was smart enough to make the connection between bullying at school and bullying in the press.)

• I was both pleased and sad to meet Livvy. I wish I’d had the support that she enjoys when I was a child. I got quite the opposite – and was bullied by my violent father for “acting like a poof”.

• It’s important to understand the culture into which trans children are born. Trans people are ridiculed in the press daily and we are frequent punch lines in comedy across a range of genres. Julie Buchill’s Observer piece, in which she accused trans people of being “bed-wetters in bad wigs” was just one example.

• If serious newspapers feel it’s OK to attack trans people because of the way they look – relying on lazy, inaccurate stereotypes – why would our playgrounds be any better?

• Parents of trans children (whether they know they are yet) will read newspapers (like mine did) and this will inform their view on what transgender means.

• Does anyone here know someone who is transgender? If not, where do you get your information about trans people?

• Most people get most of their information about trans people from the media. As the media promotes bullying of trans people, you can see what trans kids are up against.

• Ironically, though, some of the most sympathetic stories about trans people are about trans children.

Livvy James

Livvy James

• People are often more willing to accept a gender identity that doesn’t match up with a person’s birth sex providing puberty hasn’t occurred and there are no secondary sexual characteristics to indicate birth sex (put simply: people are more likely to accept someone who was born with female genitals as male if he doesn’t have visible breasts.)

• Most trans people, though not all, will tell you they knew who they were, inside, from a very young age. I did. The majority are “non-apparent” – and were not able to come out and be themselves when they were young.

• Most trans people were also too scared to tell anyone; many older trans people even felt so pressured into conforming that they got traditionally gendered jobs and began families. Many trans women, i.e. those who feel female but were born male, enter the army in an attempt to “man up”. This is frequently unsuccessful. (“Flight into Hypermasculinity” (1988) by Capt. George R Brown documents this.)

• In this way, we might compare being trans to being gay – with a ‘coming out’ (although it is important to note that transgender is not an ‘extreme form’ of being gay and that trans people may turn out to be straight, gay, lesbian or bisexual the same as anyone else. This is about identity, not sexuality).

• So if it’s not about sexuality (and clearly in young children that can’t be the motive) why are people trans?

• GIRES have a great website that explores the theories behind why people are trans, and I’d like to read something from a booklet they produced for the Department of Health.

“Typically, we are divided by our physical sex appearance into ‘male’ and ‘female’. We tend to think that all human beings fall into two distinct categories: boys who become men, and girls who become women… In most cases, our sex appearance, gender identity and gender role are in agreement with each other. However, a few individuals find that the way they look on the outside doesn’t fit how they feel inside.”

• This doesn’t mean that all boys who play with dolls are trans. But some might be. There are various theories as to why people might feel they are in the wrong body – social, mental, hormonal and physical – ultimately none of this matters.

• The important thing is that trans children exist. It doesn’t matter why they exist. They deserve the same human rights as everyone else – they must be protected from violence and abuse. They are likely to be vulnerable and need protection. Oftentimes from their families.

• I know that children’s charities have, in the past, held back from explicitly supporting trans children. There may be various reasons for this, not least the pernicious idea that trans is somehow taboo or wrong.

• Many people who deal with trans children – including teachers, adoption agencies or GPs – won’t understand trans issues. Some may be openly hostile.

• It doesn’t matter, though, if people who deal with children don’t ‘agree’ with transgender – the law now recognizes gender reassignment as a protected characteristic under the Equalities Act 2010. Transgender is something people just have to learn to deal with.

• People who may wish to help trans children may also feel scared and that they don’t understand the issues properly. Or that it is about sex. It’s not. And the only thing to understand is that this is a human rights issue and a child protection issue – protecting these children from bullying and social rejection.

• There is research in the States that shows teachers in schools are scared of dealing sensitively and positively with trans children because they fear being seen as ‘too progressive’, or ‘too left-wing’ and who also fear the response, in particular, of parents of other children, and indirectly, through them, the media.

• Mermaids, a wonderful charity that offers support to families with trans children, has really struggled to find funding – mainly due to that unhelpful idea that trans is taboo.

• I cannot praise them enough for the good work that they do, such as brining together families for weekend retreats where parents can talk to other parents going through the same difficulties and the children can play safely. Mermaids also offers guidance to schools who have a pupil who is trans – from breaking the news to the other pupils, to solving problems like what changing rooms the child will use.

• I’d like to finish by asking people to check out Mermaids and also by reading a few case studies of trans children. Thank you.