 Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Today: Parker Molloy, author of The Present Age, a newsletter about the intersection of media, politics, and culture.
Issue No. 170When Attack Ads Come for You
Parker Molloy
When Attack Ads Come for YouDonald Trump’s obsession with anti-trans rhetoric has escalated during his reelection campaign, culminating in a new campaign ad built on raw malevolence. In the ad, grainy footage paints Kamala Harris as a villain for supporting medically necessary healthcare for prisoners and detainees—a right to which they’re entitled under the Eighth Amendment. As Photoshopped images of Harris standing next to various trans people flash on the screen, a narrator sneers, “Kamala Harris is for they/them. President [sic] Trump is for you.” The ad weaponizes pronouns into a punchline (and a dangerously othering “they”) and reduces trans lives to a political prop. It’s infuriating and dehumanizing. The urgency I feel as a trans person isn’t hypothetical—we’re in a race against a possible future where bureaucratic hurdles become insurmountable walls, and the identities and rights of every trans person might really be erased from the legal fabric of this country. A few weeks back, I found myself sitting in the drab waiting room of the local Social Security Administration office—the kind of place where every minute stretches into an eternity. Muted beige walls were adorned with faded posters about retirement benefits and disability claims, and the air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and disinfectant. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare. I’d brought a folder containing all the necessary documents for updating my gender marker, something I thought I had fully resolved nearly a decade ago. A few days earlier I’d phoned to confirm that Social Security still had my old gender on file—and they did. It was a stark reminder that bureaucracy may move slowly, but the tides of politics move frighteningly fast, and it was like a punch to the gut. The clock ticking toward the upcoming election grew louder. And nothing has happened in the time since to alleviate the quiet dread settling into my bones. With just over a month until voters head to the polls, the potential for a second Trump administration haunts my every waking moment.
I’ll also need to renew my passport early. The current one doesn’t expire for a few more years, but who knows what the landscape might look like then? Securing that little blue book with the correct gender marker might buy me another decade of authenticity in the eyes of the world. It’s a preemptive move, a small buffer that could safeguard a piece of my identity in documentation, even if societal recognition wavers. Last month, I wrote about my time in an intensive outpatient mental health program. It was a step I needed to take—a lifeline in turbulent waters—but the underlying anxieties haven’t dissipated. If anything they’ve intensified as November approaches. The news cycles don’t help, each headline a fresh wound: legislative attacks on trans rights, debates over our very existence, and the relentless spread of misinformation, drowning out almost everything else in my life. Amid the dread, there have been a few moments that offer a glimmer of relief. Every so often, I’ll read a story about young trans people who seem to have a sense of hope for this world, or I’ll see that the pro-trans political positions of Gov. Tim Walz haven’t hurt his chances of becoming the next vice president, and I’ll get a peek at a world that isn’t so scary. These moments give me reason to believe that all is not lost. The harsh truth though is that even if Trump loses—and I truly hope he does—the attacks on trans rights won’t simply vanish. The underlying currents of transphobia—spawning increasingly violent rhetoric, dehumanization, and legislative assaults—have been set in motion in ways that won’t easily be halted. A loss might secure four more years in which the highest offices aren’t held by people openly hostile to our existence, but the cultural battles will persist, fueled by those who will continue to see our rights as negotiable or expendable. So I wake up each day with a visceral fear that’s hard to shake and a mind racing with “what ifs” that spiral into dark places. The simplest tasks can feel monumental and even the notion of hope feels almost naive, yet I cling to it because the alternative is unbearable. Hope, fragile as it is, is the thread that keeps pulling me forward.
FLAMING HYDRA DEBATE PREPThere’s still time before tonight’s doubtless harrowing Vice Presidential debate to read Hydra Ana Marie Cox’s excellent piece about it over at The New Republic. Lordy lou. Here is a TikTok of one of the contestants that we enjoyed.
Buy glorious t-shirts, books, and other fine products at the Flaming Hydra Swag and Archive Project Fundraiser.
|
