Well, the police have been and gone. They were good. Positive. Stepped through the incident and very carefully teasd out the precise level of threat.
No: the guy didn’t touch me. No: he didn’t step menacingly toward me. Nor did he especially get in my face. It was verbal intimidation, with no real trading of insults. We managed to keep that part of things civilised.
Well, as civilised as it gets, with some creep calling you “he” and alluding to this as being all about the clothes. Bastard!
I did a little bit of law-checking immediately prior to the police arrival and it confirmed for me the degree of bureaucratic stupidity in the current legislative arena.
The officer attending had heard of the gender re-assignment Act and therefore of Gender re-assignment certificates. So he raised some questions in respect of that.
Except that my legal protection lies not in the GRA, but in the Equality Act, which makes gender re-assignment a protected characteristic, and counts you as transgender from the day you begin treatment…or possibly even from the day you commit to beginning treatment.
In other words, the GRA doesn’t helop much at all: if anything (as I will be writing further about next week) it muddies the waters further, by creating a secondary “test” around gender.
Anyway, I’m getting off the track. The police were good. Gave me a card (again) and suggested I call if I felt in any imminent danger. They intend to investigate further, but I think they understood that this was not the way to do stuff.
If the guy at the leisure centre had a prob, then it was for him to raise with the centre management, who could then have spoken to me. It was not for him to intervene directly: absolutely not for him to use words to the effect that if I entered a particular space, I would be thumped.
Even if “he didn’t mean it seriously”. Double bastard!
Six months of becoming confident in myself – and now I am fearful about going out. I will. I am no way going to stay inside my house. But I can map out exactly how its going to go. A half hour or an hour of intense jitteriness. I feel that now. Slightly hyper. Slightly nervous. Scared. Angry.
Then it will subside. Except that the streets won’t feel quite as safe as they have before. I’ll be looking over my shoulder a bit more. Checking people out.
As for the leisure centre. Where’s the logic? (And so far, I have no criticism whatsoever for them!). If his partner and his kids are made “uncomfortable”, then they can always use the disabled facility…
But what of the Saturday morning dads who bring their daughters to the pool? Where on earth do they get their kids changed? Oh. I guess they do so in the blokes’ changing area…which is far more open plan than the women’s. Fewer – if any – cubicles.
And, of course, they expose their young daughter to the gaze of “real men”: the testosterone fuelled variety. So, hey!
Having a tranny in a “women’s changing room” where most people change in cubicles anyway is more uncomfortable than undressing a six-year old girl in front of a room full of men?
Either a) he hasn’t thought this one out or b) he has some very strange ideas about safety.
Hmmm. It strikes me that there is probably a much deeper analysis that could be applied to this. Something about male territoriality and how its OK for proper men to view young girls but not for non-men to do so? Weird. Complicated.
But for now, I am calmer. Will report back when we see what the police do.