Why I Fight: The War Against 'Transactivism' I Never Asked For
From Hashtag to Hard Reality: A Soliloquy from the Ideological Battlefield
Sometimes, there is an insidious, consuming rage that bubbles from the deepest pits of one’s soul. A rage born of betrayal, of alienation, and most fatally, of erasure. I stand on this platform, not as a mere individual, but as a beacon for an annihilated identity, a forgotten human experience, and a misunderstood medical problem. In this current epoch of the 'transgender umbrella', the 'trans' narrative has been hijacked, distorted, and weaponised, obfuscating the raw, visceral reality of transsexual lives.
Why I Fight
Why do I fight? Why do I rage against the wave of so-called 'transactivism' that sweeps across our culture with a fevered, unforgiving tide? It's not for lack of compassion or an inability to understand. It's because the very heart of my existence is under siege. It is because these crusaders of a newfound 'wokeness' are leading a war that erases the blood, tears, and pain that have been the backbone of my lived experience on this Earth.
It is because every fibre of my being screams in anguish at the audacity of those who hijack our stories and claim them as their own. It is because I am tired of watching the true essence of transsexual strife diluted and reduced to nothing more than a fashion statement or a social media trend. It is because the battle I wage is not against a world that doesn't understand me, but against those who pretend they do.
Transactivism, in its present form, is an opiate for the uninformed masses. Cloaked in the veneer of righteousness, it parades itself as the ultimate advocacy for all under the transgender umbrella. But what it truly is, is an Orwellian leviathan, a well-oiled propaganda machine that homogenises, dilutes, and ultimately, erases the distinct narrative of the transsexual.
In the grand spectacle of transactivism, where has the voice of the transsexual been left? Erased, overshadowed, and drowned out by those who think that plastering their profiles with flags and slogans makes them heroes of our cause. You know nothing of the agonising nights, the tears shed in quiet corners, the echoes of sex dysphoria screaming inside one's mind. And yet, you dare to assume authority on it?
Allies or Adversaries
It's one thing to face ignorance from the outside world; it's another to be blindsided by those who claim to be your 'community'. When did the unvarnished voices of genuine transsexuals get drowned out by a cacophony of ill-informed, virtue-signalling activists? These so-called 'activists' label me "divisive" for demanding a nuanced narrative, but isn't their generic, one-size-fits-none approach the true betrayal? They dilute our stories and blend them into a watered-down ideological concoction, robbing us of our individuality and our humanity.
Every single day, I am confronted with a grotesque carnival of tokenism that reduces my reality to a gendered performance. A parade where virtue signalling has replaced genuine understanding, where retweets and trending hashtags substitute for empathy, and where 'trans' 'allies' drunkenly stumble over themselves in a competitive spectacle of wokeness. This perverse pageantry is not a celebration of identity; it's a death knell for authenticity.
This is not a trendy hashtag. This is not a pithy catchphrase. This is a life lived on the razor's edge of sex embodiment and self-conception, a jagged precipice of reality in a world inundated with the kaleidoscope of gender ideology. When I see 'allies' donning the mantle of 'trans rights' without understanding the depths of a transsexual’s agony, I feel not only neglected but betrayed.
Why, you ask, do I possess such vehement distaste for what seems, on the surface, to be a noble endeavour? Because it is deeply personal. This is my soul being trampled, mocked, and co-opted for social brownie points. To witness your existence, the defining struggle of your life, commodified, caricatured, and carnivalised by those who claim to advocate for you is a torment few can fathom.
The Mirage of Inclusion
Under the guise of inclusion, transactivism has broadened the definition of 'trans' to such an extent that it has become meaningless. They've reduced transsexuals to mere footnotes in our own stories, cast aside in favour of a more palatable, sanitised narrative of 'trans joy' that the masses can digest without discomfort.
Transsexuals are told that if we just play along, if we keep quiet about our specific needs and challenges, we'll benefit from this broader 'trans' acceptance. But what acceptance is this, if it’s built on the erasure of our unique struggles and distinct needs? To conform is to silence the scream within, to betray the very essence of who we are. We are being offered a seat at a table that was built on the annihilation of our voices. This is not a gift—it's a gilded cage.
Rainbow-hued Oppression
The modern transactivist might call me a relic, a product of a bygone era. They might label me a traitor or accuse me of internalised transphobia. But in doing so, they prove my point. Their so-called 'activism' isn't for people like me; it's for themselves. It's a means to an end, a way to secure their place in the hierarchy of the 'woke'.
Their attempts to paint my fierce dedication to preserving true transsexual identity as narcissism is a laughable distraction. It's not about "liking myself too much." It's about demanding the right to define and own my narrative. It's about demanding that same respect for every transsexual out there.
In their self-congratulatory echo chambers, transactivists might have convinced themselves that they're the vanguard of a new era of enlightenment. But from where I stand, it looks a lot like the same old oppression, just dressed up in rainbow colours.
An Existential War
Why do I fight? Because if I don't, I surrender to an existence where my identity, my medical condition, and my reality are buried beneath an avalanche of ignorance, condescension, and misguided ideological zealotry. I fight for recognition and the right to define my narrative. I fight against the commercialisation of my existence. I fight to reclaim and resurrect the space that has been stolen from me, from us, and from those yet to come. Every tear, every wound, every scar drives me forward.
This is a war and the stakes are high. The casualty? Authenticity. Reality. Truth. The integrity of my soul is on the line. This battle is not a choice—it's a matter of existential survival. That, in its unvarnished, unapologetic fury, is why I fight.
Tired Transsexual is the pen name of a male-to-female transsexual who lives in the U.K. Her Twitter account is @tiredtransmed