Esther's Baby

Like a lot of trans people, I'm beginning to wonder why Brianna Ghey's mother seems to be so happy to appear in outlets like The Guardian and the BBC blaming her daughter's death on social media instead of, you know, the institutionalised transphobia of the places that seem so strangely keen to platform her. Especially when the policies she calls for seem almost certain to make it harder for other trans kids to find community online, and will indeed make it harder for abused kids of any gender to access what could be lifesaving support. 

So I thought to myself, why on Earth would she do that? And, well, you know where that tends to lead me:

Esther’s Baby

She learned, when she was very small,

that every mother wants a doll,

and not somebody who desires and dreams,

and seeks a place outside of others’ schemes.

Something to dress and show around,

a bump to bear with beaming pride

and, presently, a bouncing babe!

Not something for itself, no - a thing made,

pure product, matrix-minted issue,

wee feet to fit a dainty little shoe:

a brand new dolly, just for her;

a merit badge proclaiming care,

A sign that she was in the club,

A girl fulfilled. A woman. Mum.

And should her darling fail to settle,

should nights become a sleepless battle, 

even her complaints next day

would, to a fellow mum, convey

a maker’s pride in execution. 

Her lovely boy. Her job well done.

And if boy became something that child would chafe, 

a chain she’d worry, war against and break,

what was that but a cross to bear? 

Not for her child, of course. For her. 

All would admire her brave support,

as ally - what the A stands for. 

Except - 

If she would only wear the clothes

her mum picked out instead of those

drag-faggy rags she chose to sport;

if she would only try to walk 

less showily when they were out,

not storm and cry and scream and pout

at what was, really, just advice?

She used to be so very nice

when she was small. When she was young.

When she was what she called her son. 

And everybody makes mistakes! 

Why get so hung up on a name? 

It’s just a word. And so is her. 

So she said him sometimes. Couldn’t she be fair?

Would it kill her to stay in the room

for Harry Potter? It was just a film. 

No need for all this song and dance,

for talk of human rights and protest chants,

These things she picked up from her phone:

it wasn’t right, to undermine

A mother’s right to raise her child,

to keep her girl from running wild.

You listen to me, little lady,

you may think  you’re so amazing,

but carry on the way you’re going 

and pretty soon you’ll come to know

how girls who act like you end up…

And so she did. Well. There you go. 

How was a mum supposed to know?

You see what kids are like these days.

Their mobile phones and social games. 

She tried, you know. She really tried. 

You can’t say it’s her fault. Besides,

she still has so much work to do. 

It’s what her girl would want her to. 

She is an ally, after all,

you know - that’s what the A stands for. 

She owes it to the other mums

with troubled girls and wayward sons.

She’ll find a way to save their minds

from being warped by what’s online.

And she, so brave, will do it all

for her dear, her dead, her perfect little doll.