I stopped riding the Tube because of constant harassment.

People in the trans and non-binary community are turning to GoFundMe to fund private transportation, prompting me to do the same.

October 13th 2024.

I stopped riding the Tube because of constant harassment.
When I first moved to London with my group of friends after graduation, the idea of living on the Northern Line seemed perfect. We were just a short walk away from the local park, and from there, we could hop on the tube and be in the heart of the city in no time. It was an exciting prospect, but unfortunately, that excitement was quickly replaced with fear.

As someone who expressed their gender in an androgynous way, the crowded and confined space of the Tube often became an oppressive and uncomfortable experience for me. People would stare, point, and even take photos without my consent. It was a daily occurrence, and it made me feel both invisible and hyper-visible at the same time. It was dehumanizing, and yet, I soon realized that it had become the norm for me.

The public discourse around non-binary individuals had created a societal atmosphere where strangers felt it was acceptable to poke and prod at me, trying to figure out "what I was." And on public transport, they had the perfect opportunity to do so. It took a toll on my mental health, and I found myself avoiding going out or using public transport, which led to turning down work opportunities and social plans with friends.

It wasn't just the fear of being harassed, but also the lack of support from those around me. Even during rush hour, people would avoid sitting next to me, not wanting to be associated with the visibly queer person on the train. It was a lonely and isolating experience, and it only added to my feelings of invisibility and vulnerability.

But then, I discovered a way to avoid the daily street harassment - private transport. After seeing other trans and non-binary individuals creating GoFundMe pages for this very reason, I decided to give it a try. The support I received was overwhelming, and it gave me a newfound freedom. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe traveling and re-emerging into the world.

However, this sense of safety was short-lived as I faced backlash and criticism from anti-trans figures for using private transport. And when I heard about the rise in hate crimes on public transport, particularly towards women and girls, my heart sank. I knew the fear and pain that these women must be feeling, and it's something that no one should have to endure.

But it's not just women and girls who face this fear and danger on public transport. LGBTQIA+ individuals, like myself, also feel threatened and unsafe. Research has shown that one in five LGBTQIA+ individuals feel threatened when using public transport in London, and nearly four in five feel that it's dangerous for them to visibly express their identity.

It's a reminder that our desire for freedom from male violence is interconnected, and we must look out for each other if we are to feel safe just living our lives. And then, the pandemic hit, and suddenly, everyone was fearful of public transport. But for me, it was a chance to reset and grow into myself in a way that I hadn't before.

As I returned to the world, I felt nervous about using the underground again, but I had also grown in confidence and identity during lockdown. My gender expression had changed, becoming more masculine, and I felt stronger and more sure of myself. I felt like I could make a fresh start.

But I haven't forgotten how I felt before. Recently, I found myself on a train with a lone woman and a group of football fans. I could sense her fear, so I sat opposite her, taking out one earphone to keep my wits about me and make sure she wasn't a target for abuse. I wanted to be present and provide allyship, something that I wished others had done for me.

It's these small moments of support and solidarity that can make all the difference. We need to look out for each other, no matter where we're traveling, and allyship should be second nature to us all. Despite our differences, we often face the same agitators, and it's up to us to stand together and protect each other. Do you have a similar experience? I'd love to hear your story. Share your thoughts in the comments below.

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