Still, I must admit I never thought it would end like this.  When I heard the news, my heart dropped.  I spoke with former colleagues and friends as we comforted one another in our collective grief. It’s hard to put into words the complex feelings of a place where I spent 12 years of my life and career.  Where I learned so much about the city where I was raised, poverty, faith, inequity, power (how to steward it well and what happens when you don’t), leadership, innovation, community, grace, love, myself, and most of all, PEOPLE. 

I have heard and read many opinions about CitySquare closing, which is understandable. The organization means a great deal to many people for various reasons. The organization and its leaders were not perfect, but it is still one of the best and most enriching experiences I’ve had.  I trust that God either causes or allows all things for a reason.  That has given me a great sense of peace, and no matter what, every time I think about our beloved CitySquare, it all comes back to the PEOPLE.

I decided to channel some of my mourning into a love letter to the Poverty Fighters of CitySquare. Poverty Fighter is a moniker near and dear to my heart, as I proposed the term to help define our internal identity after we changed our name from Central Dallas Ministries to CitySquare.  We had just gone through layoffs and made tough decisions in 2009, following the recession, and then rebranded in late 2010.  We had clarity on presenting who we were externally, but had a lot of work to do to rebuild internally. Knowing how we banded together —then and now —brings me joy. To have worked anywhere in the organization is a badge of honor that you wear forever, and I am honored to have served as the organization’s Chief People Officer. One of the most important aspects of my job was to amplify the humanity, the value, and the work of the CitySquare team, as understandably, so much of our focus was on the external work we were doing in the community.

The Poverty Fighters of CitySquare made me a better person and leader.  I am forever grateful and indebted to them. They are brilliant and beautiful humans who make our city, state, country, and world a better place. I don’t want the stories of the people who did the work to get lost or be forgotten. As we navigate the current political climate, I am also disheartened by the erasure of the progress and contributions of people in and from marginalized communities, specifically Black people. I was inspired by two Dallas legends I admire, Marilyn Clark and Diane Ragsdale  and their work in documenting Black women’s contributions to the Civil Rights and Black Power Movement.  So, I want to start this journey on Juneteenth by centering Black women’s contributions to CitySquare. 

I hope we can see our shared humanity through the stories of these women who contributed their brilliance, leadership, care, creativity, and so much more to help CitySquare realize its mission. Thank you for joining me during this mourning, celebration, reflection, and reclamation journey- Soul of CitySquare. 

Hesson’s journey from a media background to the foundation’s creation was shaped by his work in radio and podcasts and a 2018 campaign position with Texas politician Beto O’Rourke. But it was his role as campaign manager for Dallas District 7 candidate Calvin Johnson that revealed the low political engagement levels in predominantly Black and Brown neighborhoods. This experience, combined with the desire to address systemic issues, motivated Hesson to create the SERUN Foundation, whose name stands for the Socio-Economic Revitalization of Urban Neighborhoods.

One of the foundation’s flagship initiatives, the Clean the Block Initiative, targets urban environmental challenges in communities often overlooked by city services. “We’re focused on urban environmentalism, meaning we don’t see the fight for a better climate beginning in the rainforests or oceans—it starts here in our cities,” said Hesson. The initiative has tackled areas within South Dallas, Houston’s Fifth Ward, Oak Cliff, and even Buffalo, New York, removing over 65,000 pounds of trash and restoring multiple homes.

The Clean the Block events, which address problems like illegal dumping and neglected public spaces, are sometimes initiated by community outreach and sometimes by SERUN Foundation volunteers scouting for areas in need. “People reach out, saying, ‘There’s illegal dumping on my street,’ or ‘There’s a lot of litter around here,’” Hesson explained, adding that requests often reveal larger issues in city-managed spaces. In Dixon Circle, for instance, Genaro Park has become a site for illegal dumping and flood risks, prompting the foundation to take direct action and engage city departments in revitalizing the area.

SERUN’s community-driven approach extends beyond cleanup events. Through its Get Up to Code program, the foundation assists residents with common code violations, preventing costly fines that disproportionately affect veterans and people with disabilities. “Our goal is to help legacy homeowners maintain their properties and pass down generational wealth,” said Hesson. Volunteers address tasks like tree trimming, lawn maintenance, and bathroom remodeling, reducing the burden on homeowners and fostering neighborhood pride.

The SERUN Foundation’s work demonstrates that urban environmentalism is more than an ecological effort; it’s a form of political advocacy aimed at mobilizing communities for long-term, sustainable change. As Hesson emphasized, “Our work is political in nature. We’re committed to advocating for these communities and addressing the challenges they face.”

In its tenant advocacy work, the SERUN Foundation recently confronted property management issues within communities managed by the Monroe Group, an out-of-state landlord accused of allowing substandard conditions. “The toughest part is organizing residents,” Hesson explained, emphasizing that landlords wield significant financial and political influence. However, public awareness of the neglect has grown, spurred by media coverage and efforts to engage city attorneys and community prosecutors.

“We’re pushing for accountability from the city attorney’s office and are mobilizing local advocates,” said Hesson, citing incidents of sewage and hazardous conditions that plague Monroe Group properties in areas like Oak Cliff. This advocacy work complements SERUN’s community-building efforts, as the foundation also aims to rebuild residents’ pride in their neighborhoods. “Without pride, there’s no incentive for residents to fight for their neighborhood,” Hesson said.

The SERUN Foundation’s collaborative approach has been instrumental in expanding its impact. The foundation partners with about a dozen local nonprofits to amplify its reach. Notable collaborations include the Oak Cliff Veggie Project, which focuses on food distribution and community education, and a coalition of nonprofits working on mutual aid programs.

Recent events reflect SERUN’s holistic approach to community welfare. The foundation recently supported a mental health and education technology event hosted by the nonprofit NRVE, held at Creators Don’t Die in Dallas. They also hosted a vigil for Felita Bailey, a Dallas native killed in Lubbock by Dylan Black, an individual who escaped justice when charges were dropped.

As the foundation grows, Hesson envisions establishing a dedicated headquarters in South Dallas. “We need space, ideally with a courtyard where community members can gather, voice concerns, and speak freely,” he explained. This vision aligns with the foundation’s mission to be a resource and advocate for the community, providing a forum where issues overlooked by local authorities can be brought to light.

Looking forward, the foundation is committed to holding officials accountable for mismanaged funds intended for community revitalization. “We’re mobilizing to reclaim the $5.7 million that District 7 deserves,” Hesson declared, referring to funds that were allocated to Fair Park, but was found unaccounted for in an internal audit and considered misappropriated. With active social media engagement and ongoing efforts to establish a dedicated phone line, the SERUN Foundation invites community members to connect with them on various platforms, including TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn, as well as via email at contact@SERUN.org.

Through the Clean the Block Initiative, Get Up to Code program, and powerful partnerships, the SERUN Foundation is not only addressing environmental and social injustices but also building a foundation of resilience and pride for Dallas communities.

Grayson Mask: How did this organization begin? And how did you both get interested in harm reduction in the first place?

Brett: Growing up in Texas, you’re always exposed to some sort of substance. As I went through life, I noticed that a lot of my close friends and family members were putting themselves in danger with those substances. I started to read up on different substances to get a deeper understanding of them. I came across the term “harm reduction” in a book titled Drug Use for Grown-Ups. It briefly discussed harm reduction, and that opened the floodgates for me. I spent the next year or so looking for a harm reduction group, but because of the state of harm reduction organizations in Texas, it was challenging.

In Texas, harm reduction is very grassroots. Unlike some states that have an official office of harm reduction, Texas doesn’t have that kind of structure. So, whoever is providing these services and helping people is really all there is. I reached out to a couple of organizations here in Dallas, but I didn’t hear back from anyone for almost a year. That’s generally how it can be with harm reduction in Texas, because the state looks down upon it. There are laws and policies in place that don’t protect those who are trying to help people using substances. It can be difficult to get into these circles because everyone is a bit guarded, and rightfully so. There are strict paraphernalia laws on many of the materials that these groups provide, which could get them into trouble. At first, I wondered why no one was asking for help. But as I got more involved, I realized they needed a vetting system to make sure the people they welcome into their circle are trustworthy. That’s what brought me to DREAM. DREAM was started three years ago by our founder, Stevie. She created DREAM after moving to DFW and realizing there was nothing here. She took it upon herself to create DREAM out of her living room. And that’s where we kicked off. I’ll let Paige share her story now.

Paige: For me, addiction has run in my family for many generations on both sides. I grew up in a tiny town in East Texas, where addiction and substance use, not even just addiction but substance use in general, are pretty common. I saw firsthand what people were going through, even through my own experiences as someone who has used different substances. When I moved to Dallas, I was looking to get more involved in the community. I started volunteering with a now-defunct group that worked with the local unhoused population. I noticed that substance use and the unhoused community are closely connected. I had to emotionally come to terms with meeting people where they are. A friend of mine, who was on and off with heroin addiction, taught me a lot about this. Instead of being upset when they relapsed, I focused on meeting them where they were. It taught me to love someone through it without expectations and to provide them with the resources they need to stay safe until they’re ready to move forward. When that group shut down, I started looking for a new place to volunteer and found DREAM. I began volunteering with DREAM and joined the board shortly after. I joined last April, and it’s consumed my life ever since.

Grayson Mask: I saw on your Instagram page that you recently did a tabling or giveaway at Zoey Lane Fort Worth. How do you decide where to do tablings? Are there locations that are better than others? How do you find people who might need your services?

Paige: Zoey Lane is actually our monthly free store in Fort Worth, named after one of our board members who passed away. It just depends on where we can get in. We work not only with the unhoused but also with people in the local community who need help. This includes college kids and working people who might not seem like they need our services. We table at various events, like bars or festivals if we’re invited. We keep an eye on where we can fit in, and each tabling event is different and unique. It depends on the community and where we’re going. Fort Worth is more street-focused, while downtown Dallas is a bit different. We try to find the most affected areas where we can safely operate. Sometimes we’ve moved the Zoey Lane free store four or five times around the same block due to police activity or other changes.

Grayson Mask: I was curious about some of the things you offer at these tabling events. I know you have an Amazon wishlist, for example. Can you tell us more about what you provide?

Paige: Hygiene items are definitely at the top of the list. Everyone likes to feel fresh and clean. When you’re sleeping on the streets and have limited access to a bathroom or shower, having something to freshen up is really valuable. So, hygiene items are definitely at the top.

Brett: Yeah, I would honestly put hygiene items above food. Don’t get me wrong, people need food, but there’s something about having baby wipes or hygiene products—they’re probably some of the first items to go. It’s hygiene products, wound care, sunscreen, and bug spray.

People don’t like feeling dirty or gross, being sunburned, or getting eaten up by bugs. I think that’s something people often take for granted.

Grayson Mask: That makes sense. Speaking of things that might be taken for granted, you often mention on your page the phrase “never use alone” as harm reduction. For anyone curious or who doesn’t understand what that means, could you explain it?

Paige: Sure. “Never use alone” is a concept that’s very important to us, especially given our organization’s personal experiences with the opioid crisis and losing friends to overdose. Using alone increases the risk of overdosing because there’s no one there to call 911, administer Narcan, or provide help if something goes wrong. It’s crucial to have someone with you who can respond if needed. We always say, “Do slow and low,” because you can always do more, but you can’t do less. Having someone there can make all the difference. However, we know it’s not always possible to have someone available. That’s why there are hotlines and apps that offer services to monitor you while you use. These services can contact emergency assistance if you’re in danger. We provide information about these resources on our website and Instagram to ensure people have access to help when needed.

Grayson Mask: Is it easy to test drugs for harmful substances like fentanyl? How do you educate people about that?

Brett: I’m a big proponent of having multiple tools for drug checking. It’s crucial because we’re not just in an overdose epidemic but a drug poisoning epidemic. People often don’t know what they’re taking. We work with a drug-checking lab at UNC that does GC-MS testing—Gas Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry. This testing measures different molecules in a sample to identify substances like fentanyl or xylazine. It’s a valuable service for those who want to take extra precautions.

We also strongly advocate for test strips, which are more accessible and affordable. These strips can test for specific substances, like fentanyl, to ensure a person knows what’s not in their drugs. Fentanyl test strips are as important as Narcan because they provide an immediate way to test substances and avoid potentially deadly overdoses. We encourage people to use all available tools. If you can’t send a sample for lab testing, take test strips and make sure you know what you’re consuming. We’re in a time where you just don’t know what you’re getting. For example, we know of a study on fake Adderall pills, which are often methamphetamine. This might be due to a cleaner synthesis of meth from Eastern Europe or the DEA cracking down on Adderall prescriptions, leading people to find alternatives.

Grayson Mask: I noticed that you guys collaborate a lot with Planned Parenthood. Can you tell me more about the connection between Planned Parenthood and harm reduction?

Paige: Harm reduction and healthcare are almost the same thing; there’s a huge overlap in what we do. It’s all about providing access to needed care, which aligns with many of the services Planned Parenthood offers. We try our best to connect people with as many community resources as we can because, at the end of the day, we as an organization can’t do everything. Planned Parenthood has been great so far. We’ve had good luck working with them, and they’ve been really supportive. A lot of the things we need, like Plan B, condoms, and period kits, are things they provide to us without any hassle. People often take these small items for granted, but they’re really essential. So, Planned Parenthood donates these resources to us, no questions asked, which helps us provide necessary items to those in need.

Grayson Mask: Given that you’ve been on this three-year journey, starting as a grassroots organization without many alternatives in the DFW area, are there any favorite moments or successes that have made you excited about this work?

Brett: I actually had a great experience this past weekend during our Zoey Lane event. Hearing how much people appreciate what we’re doing—it’s really rewarding. It’s hard to explain because we do this work as a selfless act. We’re not looking for pats on the back or rewards; we do it because it needs to be done. But when the people we serve express their gratitude and show that they understand the importance of the tools and services we provide, it really lights up my day. That’s why I do this work—to know that they feel seen and supported.

We’ve also collaborated with groups like the Texas Drug Users Health Alliance, which has been really motivating. Traveling to Austin for protests and working on broader plans for drug users in Texas has been a significant experience. It’s hard to pick just one moment because there’s fulfillment in every part of this work, even if it’s just assembling overdose kits at home. Knowing that these supplies will go to people who truly need them is incredibly satisfying.

Paige: I completely agree with Brett. It’s not about one specific moment but more about the overall experience. When I joined in April, Brett was doing most of the work on his own. We were scrambling to have access to Narcan and basic supplies. Now, with more collaborations and resources, we’re in a much better place. When we first started, people didn’t really know who we were. But now, like at Zoey Lane, people recognize us and even miss us when we’re not around. They’ve gone from calling us the “hippies” to referring to us as “the family,” which is really cool. Just last weekend, I had an experience that stands out. I met a guy a few months ago who tried to trick me out of free stuff, but now we have a great rapport. Over the weekend, he told me that he and his wife managed to get off the streets and into a new place. Its moments like these, celebrating those wins with the community, that are so motivating. It’s not just about helping them; it’s about seeing them make progress and getting out of difficult situations.

Grayson Mask: For my last question, what are the future steps or projects you guys are excited about for this year and next?

Paige: In a broader sense, we’re just trying to grow and be present in more spaces, fitting in wherever we can. We’re lucky to be involved in some great events, like the End Overdose Awareness event at the end of this month and the Medical Marijuana March in October. We’re planning more events with Planned Parenthood, too. Really, we’re just looking to double down and do as much as we can with the local community. It’s not one specific, exciting answer, but I think the best way to put it is that we’re aiming to get bigger and better with our community involvement. What do you think, Brett?

Brett: One specific project we’re hoping to make progress on is establishing Narcan vending machines. We’re in talks with some organizations about what that would look like and how to make Narcan more accessible. We’re also looking to expand our sharps exchange program, like our syringe exchange, to make that more accessible for the community as well. Those are some tangible goals we’re working towards, but on a larger scale, we definitely need more hands on deck to achieve these goals.

My response was to explain what terf ideology and to encourage him to trust that his kids know what they are talking about. That they clearly have internet and social media savvy. I also politely suggested that skepticism about whether terfs are a real problem harms trans people.

I’ve seen this skepticism across institutions. It’s especially common when people like gender studies faculty and queer studies faculty or students make statements or take actions that are transphobic. The idea that certain people or places can’t be transphobic makes it harder for us to be believed, to be seen as real.

Many trans authors have written about experiences of having their identities or words treated with suspicion, especially Indigenous, Two-Spirit (2S), Black, and queer and trans of color experiences of disability, neurodivergence, class, diaspora, and genocide survival. These are suspicions about realness. The best response to this suspicion is the carefully intersectional community writing by multiracial queer, trans, and disabled groups. Inspired by intersectional trans writing, I am intentionally using the word “terf” in lowercase and without the periods that indicate the acronym and definition (“Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists”).

I use lowercase to indicate that I mean both terfs who know they are and claim they are terfs, and terfs who might not know they are terfs. The use and meaning of the term has changed, both with the onset of self-identifying terfs and the reactionary accusations against trans people by terfs who don’t know they’re terfs.

In this essay I won’t link to or cite terfs. Instead I link to trans and queer authors and use my own experiential knowledge. I invite readers to look for terf ideologies where they might not expect to find them. Likewise, I don’t define every term that trans communities use to name ourselves and our experiences. I believe readers will find that they understand where they might not expect to.

II. Terfs Who Know and Terfs Who Don’t

Sometimes I identify as neurocrip. Sometimes neuroqueer, sometimes neurotrans. As a transmasculine nonbinary queer, my neurodivergence isn’t separable from my transness, and vice versa. As a white settler faculty member in a Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program, it’s always my responsibility to understand racism and anti-Indigeneity as best I can.

As a neurocrip and transmasc person working in an institution, it’s not always my responsibility to point out transphobia, neuronormativity, and sanism. But I believe it is my responsibility to educate about transmisogyny, and about ableism that doesn’t directly affect my own bodymind. To fully understand the transmisogyny of terfs, it’s necessary to confront their racism, anti-Indigeneity, and ableism.

Terfs are transphobes who claim to be feminists. “Terf” is not a slur (neither is “cis” (https://www.huffpost.com/entry/what-cisgender-means-transgender_n_63e13ee0e4b01e9288730415)). And not all terfs know they’re terfs.

When I write: “not all terfs know they’re terfs,” I mean that terfs by definition don’t know themselves or their own biases. This is true of any groups or people who have what Edén Torres calls “internalized dominance,” and who don’t self-reflect on their power. The lack of self-reflection by terfs nullifies their perspective. Their arrogation of “radical” “feminism” should disqualify them from the conversation.

Terfism and transmisogyny are deep-seated and embedded ideologies that we have to root out in dominant culture and in ourselves. Terfs who don’t know they’re terfs identify as feminists. They might think or say it’s cool that trans people exist. Terfs who don’t know they’re terfs don’t understand that they need to do the self-reflection to root out their internalized cis feminist dominance. Self-identifying terfs don’t want us to exist. Terf who don’t know they’re terfs don’t want us to take up too much space.

Self-identifying terfs appropriate trans activism and the power of naming oppression, taking on the term that trans people created to name terf ideology. Self-identifying terfs also appropriate the practice of reclaiming words. Many communities have reclaimed actual slurs like the word “queer,” or the word “crip” as a shortening of the common ableist term. Terfs who name themselves terfs operate as if they are the targets of a slur and have reclaimed it.

Terfs who don’t know they’re terfs antagonize trans people with reproductive rights frames that double down on “women,” and mean cis women only.

Cis women’s bodies are not the only bodies who need access to abortions. Cis women aren’t the only people, nor even the only women, who need the freedom and resources to adopt or conceive, carry, and birth children when they want to and when the medical technology is available, or when it becomes available to transfemmes.

Terf ideology is a suspicious and dismissive interpretation of the gender freedom and creation that trans people make together. It belies a belief that gender is only ever oppressive, defining feminism as resistance to oppression of cis women only. This usually means white or settler or cis or abled women.

The colonial racist imposition and enforcement of gender on enslaved bodies is best understood as processes of “ungendering.” Ungendering reduced bodies to flesh and labor, as Black feminist thinkers like Hortense Spillers have argued. This ungendering includes enslaved childbearing after rape by white cis men slavers. But this oppressive ungendering is not a topic for self-identified terfs.

Terfs ignore or minimize any gender oppression that doesn’t give them what Audre Lorde termed “the moral authority of suffering” in her essay/speech “The Uses of Anger.” Lorde exposed the projection of this moral authority in the accusations white “feminists” leveled at her. When she insisted on conversations about racism, white cis women accused her of the “moral authority of suffering.” This deflection by white cis women showed their zero sum racism that can only see its own suffering. Terf transphobias in actuality wield a “moral authority” of suffering cis women. This suffering of cis women is more real to them than the suffering they support and inflict on trans people, especially trans women.

Suffering is not the criterion of who “counts.” It will lead to competition for the most moral authority if it is how we define feminism. Trans feminists aren’t trying to win that moral authority, just as Audre Lorde wasn’t wielding it as a Black feminist.

Suffering matters, but it’s not what makes us feminists. It matters because excluding the intersectionally-marginalized within a group is an immediate threat to their existence. Those of us who are hated by the loudest voices on both the political Right and the political Left are the most institutionally vulnerable. The most institutionally vulnerable are closest to being unhoused or unsheltered, to losing, or never having, employment, to being abused and attacked.

This isn’t about suffering, it’s about justice. It’s about who has the megaphone and the platforms to declare they are suffering the most, need reproductive healthcare the most, or are the only real women. And that to say otherwise is “political correctness.”

III. Whose Business is Trans Business?

At the root of this moral authority of suffering cis women is the hatred or disdain for the “choice” to be a woman. It goes like this: ‘Who would “want to” be a woman in this world if they didn’t “have to”?’ On this logic, transmasculine people betray our suffering and inescapable womanhood to pretend to be men, and trans women and femmes “pathologically” choose womanhood. These are all cis and terf frames of gender and of the decisions trans people make. When terfs who don’t know they’re terfs don’t do the work to root out these frames, they do more harm by making our business theirs.

The questions around choice for trans people are our question to grapple with, usually with entirely different terms.

It is for each of us to process and articulate in community with each other, according to our own experiences of transness. The binary of choice vs. birth destiny is a cis binary that degrades our needs – whether we see them as choices, non-negotiables, life-or-death, something else, or some combination of these.

Within this logic of terf norms is often some room for nonbinary identities, as long as we’re not also transsexuals or want to change our bodies at all. “Transsexual” refers specifically to accessing or wanting medicalized transition, and has been a pathologizing term. Authors and activists like Kai Cheng Thom are reclaiming the term to highlight the tolerance of certain ways of being trans while others are further marginalized. (https://www.genderpodcast.com/s/GR_Ep81_Kai-Cheng_CLEANED2.) There’s no right or wrong way to be trans, and how we each identify (or don’t) is ours to decide.

I’ve felt all of this very personally. In my grad program a cis feminist professor openly rejected trans body modification while teaching us Judith Butler’s social construction of gender. I’ve also experienced shunning for refusing to be the “safe” trans person who the group could feel good about themselves for liking. Having solidarity with other trans people, particularly trans femmes, has made me a target that I hadn’t been before.

As a nonbinary queer who was masculine-presenting long before medicalized transition, I was expected and encouraged to be suspicious of trans women and femmes. And in exactly the ways I’ve outlined here – to double down on suffering cis womanhood or suffering nonbinariness as the definition of womanhood or nonbinariness. Female-assigned-at-birth nonbinariness – exclusively, within this logic. I was encouraged to assume that trans women and femmes had been socialized male in ways that gave them unequivocal privilege. So that any critique they offered was easily dismissed as aggressive covert privilege.

Whether trans women and femmes ever experience assigned-male privilege when they are young is for trans women and femmes to each sort through, in their own way. Whether I experienced masculine privilege as a little female-assigned bruiser is for me to sort through. And, yes, I think I did, simultaneous to other privileges like whiteness, as well as the pain and marginalization of gender nonconformity.

Cis and terf so-called feminisms make our business theirs, without engaging our voices or the realities of our pain, our needs, and our joy. Our childhoods, our gender assignments, and our relationships to them are our business.

There are plenty of cis feminists who can and do engage our stories and our analyses of gender, and a marker of terfs is that they don’t engage. They may virtue signal. They may cherry-pick our quotes. They may arrogate our critiques of gender for their own purposes, like when they talk about drag as transgressive while questioning the realness of trans women. But they do not engage.

There is nothing real about the “feminism” of terfs. Terfs act as if trans people threaten their realness, when that’s in fact what they do to themselves. As Janet Mock showed in Redefining Realness, dominant cis culture needs a radically different understanding of who and what is real, and how. When the Right complains that we don’t even know what a woman or a man is anymore, it wields the white supremacist colonial binary frame of man and woman imposed on Indigenous peoples.

Terfs righteously agree and reinforce these binaries, undermining trans feminisms, as well as 2S ways of living Indigenous “genders,” in the terminology of colonizer languages. When the binary is the only thing that makes gender real, when skin tone or first language or where someone grew up is the only thing that makes their mix-race experience real, when abled bodyminds are consistently represented as the only real bodyminds, the “most” real becomes, maybe, the most fake. What I mean is, what’s more narrow in scope, more inaccurate, more disingenuous, than the idea that there’s only one way to be real?

And doesn’t it lead to a politics of fake feminism, fake anti-racism, fake access? Questioning the realness of anyone’s marginalized identities that we fight every day to claim and reclaim and live in, and exist as, puts all “suspicious” identities further at risk.

Ableism thrives in pop culture and culture war panics about people faking disability. Or not being disabled enough to be deserving of care and access. Suspicion of Indigenous and mixed race identities is trending, with the full support of the altright’s most nasty trolls. Trans women and femmes are not counted as women or the genders they identify as, especially if they don’t “pass” or try to for cis people. It is ableist and transmisogynistic to question mixed race identities. It’s racist and ableist to question trans women’s and femmes’ identities. It’s racist and transmisogynistic to question disabled identities.

To put it another way, it’s not my place to question someone’s marginalized identities. If a person has a disability that is not apparent to me, it’s not my business if they don’t disclose or name it. It’s not my place to question or minimize it, because if I’m wrong, I’m reinforcing and acting out ableism, adding to every ableist thing that person has experienced, and causing more harm and pain. The stakes are too high.

Given everything I’ve written here, everything I believe about the history and present of oppression, how could I question this realness of experience? How could I question the Indigenous identities of mixed race 2S people whose genocide and gendercide survivance is only through escaping and resisting complete annihilation? The term “gendercide” was coined by Deborah Miranda to name the difference between homophobia and the extermination of Chumash targets through what in Eurowestern English we call transmisogyny and transphobia.

Who would question the identities of those whose ancestors survived however they could, including passing as white, including navigating the projection of whiteness every time their Indigeneity was erased by a census taker or marriage license? If we question someone’s Indigeneity and we’re wrong, it’s not a stretch to say we are participating in genocide and gendercide. The stakes are too high.

IV.
Transnational Terfism

Terfs appropriate transnational feminist frames to claim that cis women from non-Eurowestern countries are being bullied here on Turtle Island by trans people, accusing us of gender ideology or transgender imperialism. In doing so, they expose their own Eurowestern commitments to a colonial, violently imposed, cisgender essentialism, and they show their transmisogyny.

Do terfs know how many trans and queer refugees are in the U.S. because they have to flee transphobiic violence?

There are women and femmes all over the world who identify outside of binaries, or in other ways that don’t fit into any colonial terminology, even of “trans.” Some 2S and transnational/Global South folks do identify as trans and/or nonbinary and/or intersex, often also along with the terms in their Indigenous languages or survivance inventions of language. There are 2S folks who aren’t counted as transnational, as colonized and gendercided survivors. Somehow, instead, 2S people are perceived as…US American? Eurowestern? Especially if they also identify as queer or trans? Colonizers of transnational “cis” women?

Not only is transness and its intersectionality erased when 2S folks are accused of trans imperialism; the ancestral practices and sacred roles of colonized ←→ sex assigned Indigenous people are further dismissed in this ongoing gendercide. Their survivance of genocide and gendercide, their reclamation, their gender creation and proliferation, their existence is under attack.

Do terfs who appropriate transnational feminisms know, when they invoke genital cutting, rape, and murder of cis women, that intersex infants are mutilated all over the world, including in the US? Do they know that folks with similar bodymind experiences may have sacred roles in their cultures?

Do terfs know that trans adults all over the world are accused of mutilating our bodies if we choose to change them? And that in some countries there are more rights on paper and more resources than there are in Global North countries for those who want medical transition or inhabit genders counter to assignment at birth?

Do they know the “life expectancy’ and necropolitical death expectancy of trans women in the US, especially Black and Indigenous / trans women of color? Do they know how ableism and the medical industrial complex impact and distort so many BIPOC trans women’s and femmes’ lives?

Do they know that rape is both a tool of war and colonization and an ongoing tool of queerphobic and transphobic gender “correction” and punishment that is also traced through histories of colonialism?

Do they know that rape is historically intertwined with mixed-race and Indigenous passing?

Do they know that trans adults are being called “groomers” for existing in the presence of children and young adults, for making art or performances that celebrate our existence, and if we educate about our identities?

Transphobes can call themselves feminists, but that doesn’t mean they are.

“Growing up as a person of color, that wasn’t a thing for us. You’re not depressed, you have food on the table. That’s what we were told growing up, so I have always thought that”, Ramese stated. 

Coming back to Texas, Ramese moved back in with his family and decided to go back to school. He jumped back and forth between different majors and wasn’t feeling right in any specific pathway. It was during this period of confusion that Ramese came up with the idea behind the More than Mental Project. Sitting with his best friend and co-founder, Karina Jackola, the two watched Beyonce’s Homecoming documentary that inspired them to make a global difference. Ramese brought up the concept behind a community-based nonprofit that would expand access to mental health treatments for those wanting to have long-term mental soundness. 

“Honestly I still remember the look on her face when I invited her to embark on this wild journey with me”, Ramese stated. But even though Karina had hesitancy in this new opportunity due her own struggles with mental health, she trusted the vision that Ramese had and wanted to bring her own point of view on dealing with depression and anxieties. The original idea was to focus on community events and small, pop-up instillations, but this has rapidly spurred off into a growing team of nurse practitioners, social workers, and professional counselors that support their goal.

The website is managed by qualified mental health professionals, who offered live support and chat to those who are looking for help. If the situation needs to be escalated, then website visitors are escorted to a psychologist or professional counselor who can assist with severe mental health conversations. While the website continues to receive consistent viewership and acts as a great gateway for those who’ve had limited education on mental health, it’s the organization’s in-person events that allow them to build out new team members.

“We just had a fundraiser at Torchy’s Tacos, and we were sitting there and someone next to our table, who wasn’t there for us, began asking about what we were doing and what we were about”, stated Ramese. That individual happened to be a school counselor, who welcomed the organization into her school district. The references and vote of confidence from a new professional encouraged the More than Mental Project to expand into mentorship programs. Their ‘Hallway Health’ program emphasizes the importance of coping skills, health communication, and many other topics in classrooms across the Dallas-Fort Worth area.

For adults who still want to open about their own mental health, this organization has developed a program called ‘Beyond Brotherhood and Lifting Ladies’, which empowers both genders to build healthy communities. While it’s technically one program, the mentorships are split between the genders for various reasons, primarily due to the unique coping skills of both genders. “A lot of young men are trained not to look at their mental health and be strong and stand up and you have to be tough”, stated Ramese. Ramese mentions the negative stigmas surrounding women as well, who sometimes feel as if they’re too emotional or must shut out feelings. A continuing issue amongst younger women in this program is the taboo conversations behind body dysmorphia and physical appearance.

These programs have made Ramese optimistic about future initiatives and on younger generations dealing with negative mental health stigmas. “The LGBTQ youth that I deal with are becoming more open and inspired, because they see a person like them in a meaningful position”, Ramese stated. With diversity being an important part of the team, Ramese believes they can make outreach to classrooms all over the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.

By now we know that the way to avoid the virus is to keep one’s distance from other people, and to remain isolated for as long as possible. But let us not forget the equally important fact that this is much easier for some of us than for others.

Picture child A who is asked to isolate herself from her friends, stay home and successfully finish out the school year. She lives in a house with a yard, has her own bedroom and laptop and is equipped with high speed internet. Her parents have jobs that can be performed remotely so they can continue to make their living on their laptops. They can, therefore, remain comfortably in their home for the safety of themselves and their family.

Enter child B. She lives in an apartment or shelter, most likely with multiple siblings and extended family. She does not own a laptop and has no internet connection. Her parents are likely in frontline jobs such as healthcare, food service, grocery, cleaning or transportation. Their jobs require them to put themselves in daily danger of contracting a deadly virus and bringing it home to their family.

Hope Supply Co. is a Dallas nonprofit which has been meeting the critical needs of homeless and at-risk children for 30 years, to allow them the chance to thrive. You might guess that child B best illustrates a child we serve. Our children live in packed apartment complexes, crowded homeless shelters, domestic violence safe houses, residential drug rehab centers where their parents are getting treatment, or rehab homes for their formerly incarcerated parents. These are just a few examples of the reality of the children served by our over 78 partner agencies.

Now more than ever our children and their families rely on our support. We are the largest children’s diaper bank in Texas, annually providing over 2 million diapers and another $1.6 million in value of other essentials such as hygiene, feminine products and school uniforms and supplies. We take care of the basics, because basics aren’t basic, they’re essential. Many struggling families simply cannot afford these essentials. To keep one baby clean, dry and healthy for a month costs $80 for diapers alone. Parents are forced to make difficult decisions between food and hygiene. In the shadow of COVID-19, their troubles are mounting.  In the richest country in the world, this is unacceptable.

Our mission is simple and our execution efficient. Since the pandemic blindsided Dallas in mid-March, Hope Supply Co. has missed not a single day of service to those who need us now more than ever. The burden of taking care of the most vulnerable should be the burden of the government. Sadly, in our great country, nonprofits shoulder the lion’s share of that burden day in day out. Government failures to properly address this crisis for the most vulnerable shine a bright spotlight on the fact that those of us who can help have every obligation to do so. If we are all in this together, let’s all be in this together.

After Governor Greg Abbott’s recent executive order failed to clearly instruct Texans to stay home, Dallas, Tarrant, and Denton counties responded by issuing and amending countywide shelter-in-place orders.

In contrast, Collin County Judge Chris Hill first delayed taking any action, and eventually declared a week later, “All persons in Collin County are hereby ordered to stay home, except for travel related to essential activities.”

Hill did not provide a definition of ‘essential activity.” He further equivocated:  “All businesses, jobs, and workers are essential to the financial health and well-being of our local economy and therefore are essential… Businesses that are able to remain open need to remain open.”

Collin County Commissioner Darrel Hale explained, “We’re giving freedom to allow people to decide for themselves what is most essential to them versus having the government tell them this is the things we deem essential for you.”

Lives hang in the balance. Texas recently reported 6,812 cases of COVID-19 with 127 deaths. Across the United States, there are 338,000 cases with nearly 10,000 deaths.

Families across Texas need leaders who put people over profits.

For my family, having an immunocompromised child, we decided to stay home when the first case was reported in Frisco. But around us, the thrum of business as usual continued. Home improvement stores were crowded, employees were called into work at retail shops, and organized teams are still practicing on “closed” fields.

A majority of states have stay-at-home or shelter-in-place orders in effect, covering 75% of the population of the United States. With Florida, Nevada, and Arizona going under statewide orders this week, Texas remains the prominent holdout.

The Governor recently amended his statewide order to clarify essential activities and businesses, but devotion to the abstract ideals of limited government and personal freedom has resulted in a patchwork of conflicting and confusing public safety messaging that will cost lives.

This crisis demands action, not an abdication of the responsibility to lead. Stopping the spread of this disease is a collective action problem.

Hospitals and ICU beds fill quickly to capacity. Unwillingly, healthcare providers may not have the resources to care for all who need it.

Government exists to step in when selfish behavior endangers others. The Centers for Disease Control’s advice is clear: stay home.

Rather than follow the advice of every public health expert to isolate community members and shut down all but the most essential services as the pandemic explodes, Collin County Commissioners want to remain open for business.

This will be deadly for some.

Following the failure of the Governor and the County Commissioners to protect the public, cities within Collin County scrambled to issue stricter orders.

One day after Collin County’s official “Stay home, work safe” instruction, McKinney’s Mayor George Fuller signed an executive order requiring city residents to shelter in place. Other cities followed his lead.

Not only did the Governor and Collin County Commissioners delay publishing necessary restrictions to stop the spread of a pandemic, they also burdened city leaders seeking to enforce any meaningful restrictions to protect North Texans.

The State of Texas has been touting local control and local solutions, but state government will gladly override a local government’s ability to address fracking, taxation, and education.

Meanwhile, Collin County is a case study in the dangers of local control in emergency management. A laissez faire approach to public health endangers everyone.

Public safety demands leadership, and leaders must follow the facts and the science, not partisan beliefs. Those facts and that science is clear–the actions and pronouncements of the Governor and Collin County Commissioners are not, and that has endangered our North Texas community. The State and County governments must act in concert with Texas cities to preserve physical health over financial health.

It is a matter of life and death.

As Community Engagement Manager at Wesley-Rankin Community Center, my daily interactions with lifelong residents are special to me. We live, laugh, and play with a looming uncertainty of what to expect each day.

As luxury apartments and expensive townhomes are creeping into this sacred space, working in the proximity of this housing crisis with displaced families makes clear the fear and uncertainty of marginalized groups in this community. Recently land slated for affordable housing development by Dallas Habitat for Humanity was sold, the 1.4 acres of land in West Dallas with an uncertain future.

In September 2016, the catalyst of where community development started to peak began when 305 families were faced with the eviction notices to vacate their homes in West Dallas.

Drive past the intersection of Nomas Street and Winnetka Avenue and the overgrown brush is a daunting reminder of what used to be home for mostly Latinx and Black families. For many families that have lived within the community for generations, the changes have left them with no place to go.

Many share the ideal of the American dream – that longing for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Everyone has a right to build their version of happiness. But often underrepresented communities of color are the first to pay the price for gentrification—especially within the City of Dallas.

A lack of choices for living comfortably emerges in West Dallas where expensive modern homes, and fine dining replacing the desolate warehouses and worn houses. Communities of color have no place they can afford to live and raise their families and no space to contribute their voice and culture.

“Unaffordable housing requires an occupant to spend more than 30 percent of his/her income,” according to the National Low Income Housing Coalition.

Many families struggle to meet that 30 percent threshold, along with managing their household needs. Affordable living and community transformation need to include everyone, not just a select few.

The City of Dallas is making strides with the development of the Comprehensive Housing Policy with tangible goals to create and maintain affordable living conditions. At the same time, gentrification threatens and instills fear in minorities even with the stated best intentions from city leaders.

One of the goals of the Comprehensive Housing Policy is to “overcome patterns of segregation and concentrations of poverty.”

But looking at the prices of luxury apartments at The Austin at Trinity Green and Alta Trinity Green next to the homes struggling to keep up with code compliance demonstrates  this dichotomy continues to be a battle.

Tucked away across Singleton Avenue, families may wonder when the next developer or realtor will start with offers again to buy their homes. They watch as land intended for affordable housing is put on the market.

No doubt they wonder whether or not the end is near.

Choice and Hicks were paired together through the non-profit organization, A Steady Hand. Inspired by a “Breakfast with Dads” event, Donald Ray Parish Jr. decided to establish a new organization to address the effects of fatherlessness on today’s youth. A Steady Hand provides mentorship, educational exposure and leadership development.

“I ordered a picture of us for the house,” said Choice’s mother, Wylonia Johnson. Choice asked her, “Hey- why not get that picture of Mike and I done so I can give it to him on his first Father’s Day?”

In a heartwarming surprise, Choice brought a framed photo of the two of them to Hicks’ home as a gift.

“Mike was a great mentor and a great man,” said Choice. “The talks that we had were amazing and helped me out a lot. If we had more men like him to give there time the community would much better.”

Choice praised Hicks as a “good mentor and good big brother” and says he will be a good father.

Hicks was touched by the gesture and said, “As a mentor, you really don’t know if your kids are listening or care. Then they show you- and, in that moment, you realize all that you are doing is not in vain. They love that you care.”

“The hidden blessing in mentoring is that the original deposit of love that a mentor pours into a mentee is often returned hundredfold,” says Parish. The organization is based in Dallas and currently partnering with six schools throughout the city.

Learn more about A Steady Hand on their website or Facebook.