When I was the compromise: my history with the NGO complex

How prepared are we for a Dutton victory, and how much are we willing to compromise with the fascists?

As an activist and commentator, it’s my role to uplift the stories of trans women who suffer from the state. Whether it be a photojournalist who was attacked by police whilst doing her job, British kids protesting the removal of their healthcare rights, or the women who are no longer around to speak their truth to power, I’ve taken it upon myself to make sure these stories get the airtime they deserve.

It’s an honour I don’t take lightly, because whilst all stories deserve to be told, it doesn’t mean that all stories are going to be heard. Some stories might be lucky enough to be shared and peppered all over our social media feeds, but most aren’t. Many are just too sad, too confusing, or too unpalatable to be processed, but it doesn’t mean that those of us in the game of storytelling won’t try to tell them anyway.

One story I really struggle with telling is my own. I’d love to say it’s because a story of graduating private school, university, then slowly making it as a writer isn’t super interesting, but yeah that’s not it. I struggle with sharing my story because, for the longest time, I was ashamed of my background, I felt undeserving of my platform, and because I felt that detailing my experiences with homelessness and social housing could unfairly damage the reputation of the organisations that provide the social services that many trans people rely upon.

However, as time goes on, I’ve realised my story is far from unique, and I’ve become increasingly convinced that these organisations are hopelessly ill-equipped and unprepared to protect us from the wave of fascism about to hit us. This needs to change. Maybe if detailing my experiences is too harsh for these orgs to hear, then that’s all the more reason for me to use my platform to share it.