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Accepting male privilege while doing nothing to eradicate it and uplift women of color will not save me, and it will not save other transgender men.

By Morgan Givens I stand at the cross-section of multiple identities as a queer black trans man. I remember what it was like to be viewed as a black woman. I remember how I was treated, spoken to, and neglected by society. It’s true that there are dangers inherent in being a black-bodied person, of being seen only through the lens of a society that trains others to view me as subhuman, as worthy only of a bullet or chains, of being seen as a black man who needs to be put down. I never realized how unsafe I had felt, how heavy the weight of fear had pressed against me until it lifted. I distinctly remember when it happened, my shoes as they slapped the pavement, their scuffing reaching my ears as I trekked across an open parking lot, blanketed in darkness on a frigid December evening. I remember the fear of being gendered as a woman evaporating, and the final puzzle piece of male privilege sliding into place, as I was struck by the sudden realization that I no longer had to worry about being attacked as I moved towards my car.

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