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I truly appreciate your essay. And yet, I find myself stumbling again and again over the idea that narratives have truly shifted. On the surface, yes—it might look that way.
I live in Germany, a relatively stable country where many human rights have advanced over the last 30 years. As a non-binary lesbian, I now have rights I didn’t have growing up in the ’70s and ’80s—years marked by ostracism because of my gender nonconformity and, later, because I was openly homosexual.
You’d think that general acceptance has truly evolved alongside these legal changes—queer rights, trans rights, anti-discrimination laws. And it does look like that, again, on the surface. But my lived experience tells another story.
Yes, there are people who are open-minded, tolerant, welcoming—and I honor them. But I also believe such people have always existed, shaped by how they were raised or how they’ve grown. Their kindness is not a product of new laws. And that leads me to ask:
If narratives have truly shifted, why do we still need so many laws and provisions just to be safe?
Rights once granted—and seemingly secure for future generations—can be taken away in an instant. Just look at the U.S., where today, being trans can lead to a dishonorable military discharge. That’s not just a policy reversal; it’s a dangerous narrative in motion. And it’s only the beginning.
Here in Germany, my body still doesn’t feel safe. There’s no immediate, tangible threat—but the unease remains. Why? Because I’ve been ostracized simply for not staying invisible. I speak openly about being non-binary, lesbian, neurodivergent—and that makes people uncomfortable. Because I’m different. Because they fear the other.
Because I refuse to vanish, I must remain vigilant. The next passerby might hurl slurs—or worse, give the glance, that quiet weapon of superiority. You might say that’s illegal—and yes, it is. But it still happened to me last year. And not from a stranger I expected it from, but from someone I once believed to be liberal.
I’ve felt it over and over: whispered conversations that stop when I arrive. Invitations that dry up when I no longer initiate. The subtle erasures. The passive exclusion. And it’s not because I didn’t try to connect.
But if connection requires my denial, then it is not connection at all.
This is still reality—especially in rural Germany. Subcultures within subcultures exist for a reason: because it’s damn hard to live when you’re socially isolated.
We hear you 💛 and thank you for taking the time to write your message. I think even those of us who are progressive need to be improving our consciousness and awareness and that is done through our environment and society. There is always room for improvement. We need laws because we have to ensure a global baseline for how all people should be treated. We have come a long way and we will go further but it's not a straight line of progress. It's also not an easy road so thank you for sharing your thoughts. It means a lot.
I truly appreciate your essay. And yet, I find myself stumbling again and again over the idea that narratives have truly shifted. On the surface, yes—it might look that way.
I live in Germany, a relatively stable country where many human rights have advanced over the last 30 years. As a non-binary lesbian, I now have rights I didn’t have growing up in the ’70s and ’80s—years marked by ostracism because of my gender nonconformity and, later, because I was openly homosexual.
You’d think that general acceptance has truly evolved alongside these legal changes—queer rights, trans rights, anti-discrimination laws. And it does look like that, again, on the surface. But my lived experience tells another story.
Yes, there are people who are open-minded, tolerant, welcoming—and I honor them. But I also believe such people have always existed, shaped by how they were raised or how they’ve grown. Their kindness is not a product of new laws. And that leads me to ask:
If narratives have truly shifted, why do we still need so many laws and provisions just to be safe?
Rights once granted—and seemingly secure for future generations—can be taken away in an instant. Just look at the U.S., where today, being trans can lead to a dishonorable military discharge. That’s not just a policy reversal; it’s a dangerous narrative in motion. And it’s only the beginning.
Here in Germany, my body still doesn’t feel safe. There’s no immediate, tangible threat—but the unease remains. Why? Because I’ve been ostracized simply for not staying invisible. I speak openly about being non-binary, lesbian, neurodivergent—and that makes people uncomfortable. Because I’m different. Because they fear the other.
Because I refuse to vanish, I must remain vigilant. The next passerby might hurl slurs—or worse, give the glance, that quiet weapon of superiority. You might say that’s illegal—and yes, it is. But it still happened to me last year. And not from a stranger I expected it from, but from someone I once believed to be liberal.
I’ve felt it over and over: whispered conversations that stop when I arrive. Invitations that dry up when I no longer initiate. The subtle erasures. The passive exclusion. And it’s not because I didn’t try to connect.
But if connection requires my denial, then it is not connection at all.
This is still reality—especially in rural Germany. Subcultures within subcultures exist for a reason: because it’s damn hard to live when you’re socially isolated.
We hear you 💛 and thank you for taking the time to write your message. I think even those of us who are progressive need to be improving our consciousness and awareness and that is done through our environment and society. There is always room for improvement. We need laws because we have to ensure a global baseline for how all people should be treated. We have come a long way and we will go further but it's not a straight line of progress. It's also not an easy road so thank you for sharing your thoughts. It means a lot.