Why Cons Are Still My Safe Space
by Danny Palmer
Danny Palmer (he/him/his) has been doing this for 6 years now. What exactly “this” is may be somewhat ambiguous, but involves having been a Slytherin since the age of 9 and being a part of the Leaky/Geeky community in any and every way possible. As a disability and LGBTQIA+ advocate and photographer by trade, Danny spends most of his time using fandom circles and stories to engage in bettering the world and discussing themes in fiction and how they translate to real life. Danny also believes in always being yourself, as strange and wonderful as that may be, except when you can be Captain America. Then be Captain America.
This essay is part of our series of writing from trans people for our Protego campaign, which fights for trans rights and safe spaces. If you have a story or perspective you’d like to share, email katieb@thehpalliance.org
“What’s so dangerous about the world around you?”
“Why do you need a safe space?”
The questions and sideways glances have been pouring in this week.
Often, it’s not about the immediate dangers. The threat of violence is shockingly high in the LGBTQIA+ community — it always has been, particularly towards trans folks and people of color within our community. Pride was once a riot at The Stonewall Inn, led by the very folks that suffered the worst of the abuse: trans women of color. While the present has felt comparatively tolerant, there were those before us that fought and died for acceptance, for visibility, and for the preservation of safe space.
Now we come together to be visible, to stand in solidarity, to say we are here, and we won’t hide again. Not now, not ever. We gather to mourn, and to support one another, and to work. To focus our attention on where we still have work to do, to keep fighting for rights and respect for all of us, not just some of us. And maybe we aren’t safe from violence when we gather together. There’s always the threat that someone would come to hurt us in these spaces of acceptance and growth, to strike at us where there’s the most possibility for harm. But I will not go quietly. These spaces taught me that being myself is worth all costs. I’d rather leave this world knowing who I am than survive in fear. We will not be bent or broken. Despite everything, we gather, and we find strength in this together.
Safe spaces are more than places — they are communities we can rely on. Safe spaces are knowing that when you go into the restroom that fits your identity, you won’t have to scan the room, marking the fastest exits, determining whether anyone has looked sideways at you, and what their intent is. Safe spaces are knowing that no one will spot you out on a date and decide to say something to your parents or your boss or a million other people because they think they know what’s best for you. Safe spaces are the ability to be who you are, even if only inside those doors, for that moment. Safe spaces are asking someone out because you don’t fear violence dressed up as rejection. Safe spaces are the momentary affirmations that no one will ask you to be someone you’re not. That you’re wanted and loved and important just the way you are.
For many trans people, that community, that safe space, is found at fan conventions. I wouldn’t be out now if it weren’t for convention spaces where love and acceptance is promoted above all. I went from being an overly invested ally to being an out Queer trans man in the space of a few short years. I am so much happier and healthier now for it. I couldn’t be myself before I became heavily involved in LGBTQIA+ safe spaces, because I didn’t know myself. I was given a shelter to ask questions of myself, to explore what I thought and who I was, and to build the strength I needed to take my honesty out into the world. I know more about myself now than I ever could have possibly made sense of on my own because I was given a space to explore in. Without that space, without that community I built at conventions and other safe spaces, I don’t know that I would have ever gotten there.
A few friends and I ran the LGBTQIA+ meetup at GeekyCon last year. It was the first year the panel was run by a diverse group that wasn’t exclusively white and gay. Every member of the panel had a different gender and sexuality for the most part, because we made that something that was important and valuable. Often part of forming a safe space is pushing further and going beyond what may be immediately apparent from one’s own worldview to consider others. So often the most visible or palatable voices are showcased over those who may be less easily digestible when we talk about this community. We made an honest effort to reflect our community as best we could because it was important to us. It was a step. One of many. Part of creating a safe space is constantly working to make it better, and to address the million things you didn’t think of when you began.
Safe spaces, like cons, continue to grow, to change, to do better. I love that cons can be very welcoming spaces for gay and lesbian folks, but for trans folks, the world is still learning. Two years ago, I came to LeakyCon only to run into the realization that although this wonderful space was everything to me, even here no one could help me avoid a name that was never mine. For logistical reasons, badges were printed with the registrant’s legal name, often undermining trans folks’ actual names and creating distress. Most people were polite and kind about it, but I still don’t know if that made it hurt less or more. I wanted that promise to be kept, I wanted to feel safe again, and no one seemed to know how that could happen. It was such a small thing, but it was as immovable as a mountain, and just as heavy. So I told them how it hurt. I talked, and I talked, and I talked some more. I fought to make them understand. And in the end, they did. By GeekyCon 2015, registrants were able to write their own names on their badges.
No space is perfect. No space is without any harm. We’ve seen that at conventions, and in Orlando. But safe spaces — safe communities — will to make right what’s wrong. The next year, GeekyCon didn’t just change their name badge policy. There were also safe bathrooms, meant for everyone. There were instructions for volunteers to use gender neutral terms when addressing guests and stickers provided by the Harry Potter Alliance to fill in pronouns. They didn’t just change the single problem that had started all this, they changed the whole environment, and built a place that I and others like me could belong. That environment inspired people to discuss pronouns openly and volunteer to escort others into bathrooms and ensure their safety. It wasn’t just an apology or a correction, it was unflinching acceptance. It was a promise that yes, I did belong there. It was permission to take up space. That is the work that needs to be put in to make, maintain, and rebuild a safe space. It takes constant work, and safe spaces will never be perfect. Even so, nothing comes close to erasing their value or the changes they make in people’s lives.
