One step forward, two steps back? 2020’s impact on the intersectional fight for women’s justice in Britain.
A piece for International Women’s Day 2021.
‘Every day I see racist, discriminatory headlines and rancid Twitter debates invalidating transgender women’s right to exist.’ No, these are not my musings from today, or yesterday. These words have been lifted, untouched, from my Instagram story on March 8, 2020.
The pertinence of this today upsets and angers me, in equal, visceral amounts. This observation was made a year ago and is as searingly relevant today. It begs the question, have we made any progress in the last 365 days?
More specifically, have British feminists embraced the need to focus distinct energies toward ameliorating the disproportionate oppression faced by women of colour and transgender women? And, more widely, has the position of these marginalised groups of women improved in British society, at all?
A lot can change in a year. Shit’s got worse. For sure. But it’s more complex than that.
The fight for trans rights
Transphobia is rampant in Britain. 2020 showed that to be a fact. Other countries are pointing and staring in disbelief; a stupefying phenomenon from which they cannot avert their eyes. Headlines such as ‘Why is British media so transphobic?’’ and ‘Transphobia is Everywhere in Britain’ attest to this point.¹ ²
The British media is the foremost proponent of transphobia. Pretty much all of the major UK papers propagate transphobic fallacies for the general public to consume as routinely and mundanely as breakfast. A study conducted by Lancaster University found that 6,399 articles about trans people were published in the British press between October 2018 and October 2019.³ That’s 17 and a half articles published a day. In a random sample of 100 of these articles, 47% questioned whether transphobia was even a valid concept. Rather obsessive, don’t you think?
The Guardian is a particularly prominent offender of this. Many of their op-eds fall back on the straw man argument that transgender people, by simply existing and asking for equal rights, are ‘encroaching’ on cisgender women’s rights. They frame transgender people’s existence as a hot topic to be ‘debated’. Statements are deliberately un-outlandish, insidiously covert. The underlying notion of, ‘but think of the women and children!’ is almost always employed. An outcry that has historically been used to limit the extension of civil rights to marginalised groups in society. As trans activist Nim Ralph puts it, ‘the same article has been rolled out on repeat for the past few years.’⁴ When you distil the surfeit of articles down to their core arguments, you are almost always left with the same few jigsaw pieces.
The internal friction at the Guardian over content related to transgender issues has reached a boiling point in recent years. Over the course of 2018, three transgender writers left the Guardian due to the hostile atmosphere. In response to the third writer leaving, over 300 LGBTQ+ Guardian staff signed a letter to editors, protesting the transphobia that was permeating the workplace.⁵ Suzanne Moore, serial writer of transphobic content, doxxed the signatories, rallying the general public to view this as an attempt to ‘silence’ her and lash back on her behalf. As expected, hoards came running to her defence, having been effectively conditioned to believe they have a legal right to debate whether or not trans people should exist.
Ray, a non-binary person interviewed by Dazed, describes the innate power of the media in this context: ‘the thing about the press is, it’s very hard to dispute… people will tend to think, “Well, that’s true, because it was in the Guardian.”’⁶ Editors know they have power over the people, and this is how they use it. Irresponsible at best, evil at worst. It’s a vicious cycle that needs a circuit break.
This conviction of freedom to espouse hate speech (because let’s call it what it is) has emboldened many, even some of our formerly beloved authors. The Maya Forstater verdict in late 2019 was J.K. Rowling’s villain origin story. Or was that the time she spent the first weekend of Pride Month invalidating transgender women’s existence?
In an article reflecting on the past year through the lens of intersectional feminism, it would be wrong to overlook the influence of Rowling’s words on the treatment of trans women. Arguably the most high-profile discussion on transgender people this year arose from Rowling’s essay entitled, ‘J.K. Rowling Writes about Her Reasons for Speaking out on Sex and Gender Issues’. In this, she provides ‘evidence’ of a problem that simply does not exist at the proportions she is insinuating. For instance, contrary to the ‘60–90% of gender dysphoric teens [who] will grow out of their dysphoria’ that Rowling is so concerned about protecting, 0.03% of transgender people were found to be seeking detransition care in a 2018 study by the American Society of Plastic Surgeons.⁷ She employs these misdirections, so she can disguise an attack on trans women’s rights as a saviour moment for misguided children and cisgender women. Hmm, where have we heard that before?
It’s difficult to see how publishing an essay with so much misleading content was anything other than an act of ill will. Dormant prejudices and mere misunderstandings will have been affirmed in swathes of unassuming readers due to their endorsement by such a widely respected, and hugely intelligent, public figure. The contents of this essay will influence and inform the mistreatment of transgender people in British society, and worldwide, for years to come, I am very sad to say.
The British public have been primed for years by the press to agree with the statements served on a platter by Rowling; appetising and meticulously prepared to be wolfed down without a second thought. Transphobia is embedded in our press. And it has trickled down into the rest of society. Even our policies and legislation.
Annually, the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Association (ILGA) creates a Rainbow Map of Europe. Each country is given a ‘score’ based on the legal and policy practices they have in place to protect their LGBTQ+ population.
In 2020, the UK received a ‘score’ of 66%, behind Malta with 89%, Belgium and Luxembourg with 73%, and six other countries.⁸ Our worst performing category, unsurprisingly, was the ‘legal gender recognition and bodily integrity’ category, where we scored an embarrassing 48%. In fact, in all the categories that we lost ‘points’, this was almost solely due to our lack of legal protections for transgender and intersex people.
In their accompanying report, ILGA put it succinctly: ‘in an increasing number of countries, legal gender recognition measures are being stalled, including in the context of a hostile climate on trans rights fuelled by opposition groups, as was the case in the UK.’⁹ Our state of affairs regarding trans rights is so dire that we got a special mention. I think that says it all.
Transphobia has seeped into every one of Britain’s pores, and now the blackheads are visible for all to see. Our media, our courts, our prisons, our celebrities, our social media feeds. For God’s sake, it’s even ravaging Mumsnet.
But where are the actual transgender people in all of this? As Shon Faye has noted, “[transgender people] don’t have control of the media — the discussion is never on our terms.”¹⁰ Here, Shon pinpoints the cardinal sin of British media — transgender people are rarely, if ever, consulted on the issues that directly affect them. As a collective, they are scapegoated and berated, but their individual stories, their livelihoods, their humanity remain obscured due to a chronic lack of a platform. Who is talking about the unacceptable fact that anti-trans hate crimes have trebled since the Government announced the GRA consultation in 2018?¹¹ The fact that one in four trans people have experienced homelessness?.¹² That two-thirds of transgender teenagers suffer from depression and 80% have experienced verbal abuse?.¹³ And that 41% attempt suicide, due to the abuse and invalidation they receive for simply trying to live as their true selves?.¹⁴
People are unaware of these realities or, worse, they don’t care because the discourse is so far removed. They cannot comprehend that trans people are not just a figment of imagination, but in fact real life people, with real life jobs, and friends, and partners, and feelings.
When asked what changes they would like to see with regard to the treatment of transgender people in Britain, one anonymous non-binary person told Dazed, ‘have a bit of humanity’. I think these are wise words for us all.
Exposing the inequalities faced by women of colour
COVID-19 has exposed the racial and ethnic inequity present in British society by making the devastating consequences tangible. It has laid inequalities bare in the most heart-wrenching way possible, so we have all been forced to reckon with reality.
Black women in the UK are over four times more likely to die from coronavirus than White women.¹⁵ People from Black, Asian, and minority ethnic backgrounds have experienced higher infection rates and higher death rates relative to White people in this pandemic. It’s a perturbing truth. Studies by the Office for National Statistics show that there are significant reductions in these disparities once socio-economic and geographical factors are accounted for.¹⁶
This discovery confirms that pre-existing systemic inequalities are greatly to blame for the disproportionate effect of COVID-19 on Black and Asian communities in the UK. ONS reported that, in 2019, only 27% of respondents from Black ethnic backgrounds reported that they had enough assets to cope with a total loss of income over a period of three months.¹⁷ The percentage of White British respondents who said the same was 52%. This discrepancy in financial security manifested itself in a number of repercussions during the pandemic. Compared to almost half of White British adults in paid work who reported a decrease in their weekly hours one month into the first UK lockdown, only a third of Indian and Black adults reported the same.¹⁸ Clearly, people from minority ethnic backgrounds have remained working on the frontlines as a result of economic necessity. They simply have had no other choice.
Such is the case for women of colour working in frontline roles. Women make up 70% of the UK’s health and social care workforce and, within this percentage, women from minority ethnic backgrounds are overrepresented in sectors such as personal care and nursing.¹⁹ Care homes have seen the greatest loss of life in the past year — almost a third of all COVID-related deaths in the UK have affected those in care homes — and 13.2% of care workers are Black women.²⁰ ²¹ Women of colour have been, and still are, overrepresented in high-risk environments, with many bound in these roles by economic necessity.
Overrepresented and underprotected. In the first, most lethal months of the pandemic, personal protective equipment (PPE) was insufficient or simply unprovided by the Government. A report from the British Medical Association (BMA) in April 2020 uncovered that 64% of doctors from minority ethnic backgrounds had felt pressured to work in settings with inadequate PPE, exposing them to risk of infection.²² Only 33% of White doctors said the same. One junior doctor commented, ‘BAME doctors are dying from coronavirus in the line of duty. Most of them have underlying medical conditions. They are not being risk assessed nor tested.’ It’s true. As late as January 2021, only 46% of doctors from minority ethnic backgrounds said they had undergone a health risk assessment and that the necessary safety adjustments had been made to their role.²³
This negligence has led to disproportionate rates of infection and subsequent loss of life. By April 2020, 64% of nursing staff, the majority of whom women, that had died from COVID had been from minority ethnic backgrounds, despite only making up 20% of the workforce.²⁴
Frontline workers outside of the medical field were even less protected, and nigh on forgotten about. Transport staff, teachers, supermarket workers, delivery drivers — all overlooked in the initial furore over the absence of masks. On 14 April 2020, it was revealed that these groups would not be included in the Government’s action plan for the supply and delivery of PPE, on the advice of the World Health Organisation (WHO).²⁵ In hindsight, this was a shameful lapse in judgement. 14 transport staff in London alone had died prior to this announcement, as a direct result of working without proper protection. Belly Mujinga was one of those fourteen.
Belly Mujinga was at the precise intersection to render her invisible to those in power. A Black, working-class woman on the concourse at Victoria Station as a transport worker. She was left unprotected by both her employer and her government. Despite having a history of lung and throat issues, which was known to Govia Thameslink Railway (GTR), she was placed in a public-facing role on Saturday 21 March, the day she was spat at by a member of the public.²⁶
As the government did not advise nor provide for railway workers to wear PPE at this time, Belly was not wearing a mask. She contracted coronavirus and passed away from her infection two weeks later. Prime Minister Boris Johnson mentioned Belly in Parliament saying, “the fact that she was abused for doing her job [is] utterly appalling.” Three weeks later, Metropolitan Police announced that there was ‘insufficient evidence’ to conclusively prove that the man who spat at Belly did so deliberately. As a result, he would not face criminal charges. Such a persistent evasion of accountability underlines the story of Belly’s untimely demise.
At every turn of the story, Belly and her wellbeing were neglected. Her maltreatment was a symptom of how society viewed her: primarily through her racial background and her occupation. To her employer and our government, she was disposable. Only when millions of us spoke out against the egregious treatment she and her family suffered did either of them care enough to recognise Belly and her story.
Belly and her passing are symbolic of many things. Most notably, and most disturbingly, of how COVID exposed discriminatory attitudes towards women of colour, frontline workers, and working-class people in British society, and simultaneously normalised the unresolved mistreatment of these groups. Her story showed how quickly prejudices could be exposed, feigned interest in by those responsible, and then brushed under the carpet. Although Belly’s story may have fallen largely on deaf ears in the Commons, it remains sentient in the public conscience. The petition for her justice on Change.org had reached 2,104,865 signatures when I went to check on it earlier today.²⁷ This had risen by over 1,000 signatures in one week. A testament to a shared pledge to never forget her and continue fighting against injustice.
It has taken death — so much needless death — for many people to understand the inequalities and injustices experienced by women of colour in Britain. We must harness this greater awareness to push for greater accountability and action from those in power.
Going forward in 2021
Not everything is so bleak. To focus solely on the negatives would be disingenuous when the past year is the closest we have come to a civil rights movement this side of the millennium. We have seen thousands and thousands physically showing up in unequivocal support for trans women and women of colour, their experiences, and their need for justice. This is all the more significant against the backdrop of a pandemic. As Lucia Blayke, founder of London Trans+ Pride, said, “none of us want to be out during lockdown, but we have to be. We have no choice.”²⁸ Over 4,000 people shared her sentiment, stepping out in the September sun to celebrate transgender and non-binary people and protest for greater legal protection.
In late August, demonstrators participated in the Million People March in light of the Notting Hill Carnival being moved online.²⁹ This exchange is somewhat a microcosm of 2020. In place of celebrations, protests were held. The year was marked by reflection, studiousness, awareness raising, and solemnity. Celebration has felt fraught and inappropriate at times, especially given the loss felt by us all in one way or another. Loss of life, loss of freedom, loss of our ways of living, our ways of coping. But to celebrate — the lives of those we’ve lost, the progress we’re making, yourself for making it through — in the face of tragedy, that is the essence of coping. Of extending ourselves outside our realms of comfort, grasping onto others and letting them in. Reaching outwards, rather than retreating inwards. Community. This year has shown the undeniable malleability and resilience of community. Physical proximity is not the be all and end all of community. It is not the definition of community. Community begins and ends with people who support us, listen to us, share with us. People who argue, fight, and reconcile with us, all in one go. Community is love — wholly and completely. It is taking the weight off the shoulders of those who have been carrying their burdens for years. It is sharing it among the rest of us, so we can go forward energised and with the mutual support to properly agitate for a better lot for us all.
Undoubtedly, we still have a way to go until British feminism embraces true, uncompromised intersectionality, and transgender women, women of colour, and transgender women of colour have access to equitable opportunities. The terrain we were faced with this year was certainly rocky, but we’re stronger for it. And, in my mind, the rest of the journey won’t be as long nor as burdensome if there’s more of us to carry the load.
