I Believe in Sarah McBride

I don’t remember when I started talking to Sarah McBride, but I remember how: a message appeared in my DMs back when I was newly out and first talking about my transition, saying that she liked the way I’d written something.

I didn’t tell her, at the time, that I remembered anxiously reading her coming out letter in the Huffington Post while I was still deep in denial about the person I would become. I didn’t tell her how I’d sobbed reading her memoir. She’d approached me as a peer, and I was scared to tarnish that.

Those days, when you could open up Twitter dot com and make a new friend any day of the week, now seem so far away. I’m no longer so easily starstruck. I no longer feel embarrassed by my earnestness or my optimism. Whether you see her up close or from afar, Sarah has a way of bringing that out of people.

Sarah first gained prominence for a bathroom selfie she shared in protest of North Carolina’s bathroom ban. The political landscape facing trans people was then very different, and the state was forced to relent under a tidal wave of corporate boycotts.

Her role at the time was as an activist, helping lobby for the passage of a law in Delaware that protected against discrimination on the basis of gender identity. But she knew that she could have a greater impact if she herself became a legislator. So Sarah ran for office in her home state of Delaware—not to represent herself, but to represent her district and bring meaningful change to the people who live there.

In Delaware, Sarah led the charge to create a statewide paid leave program, took on the NRA, and worked to expand access to medical and dental care for low-income residents. She didn’t just make history as the first openly trans state senator; she made real, tangible improvements in the lives of her constituents.

When she ran for Congress, Sarah knew what she was stepping into. The Republican majority in the House sets the rules, meaning that when they decided to launch a public campaign to block Sarah from using the women’s restroom alongside her colleagues, Sarah’s only actual choice was how she would respond. Anti trans campaigners may want to strip trans people of our right to use a bathroom, strip us of our right to medical care that makes our bodies feel like home, strip the very clothes from our backs. But first and foremost, they want to strip us of our dignity. Sarah’s choice denied them the spectacle they wanted most.

Trans women are held to uncomfortable standards of femininity and behavior, and punished unduly for ever showing an anger that would split many others in half. But the reality of being a member of a tiny marginalized community is that you do not get to determine the standards by which you are judged. In the years after the start of the pandemic, an increasing share of the public appears to judge us quite harshly. The legislative consequences have unquestionably made things worse for trans people from Jacksonville to Spokane. We must gather sympathy wherever we can find it. None of this is fair. Nothing ever is.

Although Sarah has been accused of "complying in advance" by not fighting the House’s unjust change to its rules, none of us are obligated to die on the first hill they come across. Sometimes there’s better terrain nearby, and reinforcements waiting. Any struggle as big as the fight for trans equality demands a diverse set of tactics and leaders. While Sarah was once an activist whose job was to call attention to the injustices faced by trans people in America, she is now the duly elected representative of a million Delawareans — people with sick family members and bills they can’t afford and rising seas on their doorstep. They do not have time for a food fight with Nancy Mace. They would be ill-served by an escalating conflict that could have led to their chosen representative being removed from committees or even expelled from the body.

Sarah’s approach has already attracted a chorus of support from people who have sat quietly or been publicly hostile to the cause of trans rights — meaning that if Nancy Mace and Speaker Johnson have future humiliations planned, Sarah will be standing on firmer ground. I only expect her list of allies to grow in her time in Congress. I understand why people don’t feel trusting right now. I understand why people do not want to wait. Trans people have watched for the last four years as state after state has rolled back freedoms and protections. It is all too easy, in such a circumstance, to feel as though the walls are closing in. It is all too difficult to be confuse patience with passivity. But patience is the stuff that change is made of. And Sarah McBride’s example is the antidote to the poison seeping into our culture. If you cannot find it within yourself to give her your trust, yet, consider the gift of your patience.