I decided to use the famous shot of Buser Keaton being framed by the window in a falling wall, from his 1928 film “Steamboat Bill, Jr”, to illustrate exactly how I have felt since the UK Supreme Court decided that, for the purposes of the 2010 Equality Act, that transgender women did not count as women – I would have been flattened by the wall, had I not known where my marker was, which in Keaton’s case was a nail.
The monolithic stature and sheer audacity of the stunt means its context is rarely considered. After an hour of a comedy plot involving a rivalry between paddle boat owners, into which an effectual son of one captain arrives, along with his girl friend from college, a cyclone comes in to destroy the harbour town, at which point it becomes a disaster film – Keaton, in hospital, looks up as the building is torn away. His bed is blown through a street and a stable, avoiding falling masonry, until it stops outside a house – its occupant, seeing a crack opening the side of the house, jumps out of the top floor window and onto the bed, saving his life. Keaton, looking obliviously into the street, does not see the façade as it then falls, effectively re-entering the window the man had just leapt from.
From there, every possible physical gag about walking into the wind, and last-second avoiding crumbling buildings, leads to a final escape on the steamboat. It is an extremely well-handled sequence, coming from someone either supremely confident in their ability to conceive and execute these stunts so effectively, or so lax in their judgement to have endangered themselves so recklessly in the name of entertainment, financial problems and alcohol abuse have contributed to the latter narrative.
“Steamboat Bill, Jr” was also the last of Keaton’s films to be made independently, before a move to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer that saw his creative control gradually eliminated. His previous distributor, United Artists, had already began to insist on the monitoring of expenses after Keaton deployed the most expensive shot in silent film history, the destruction of a steam engine and a railway bridge in “The General” (1926), while the cyclone sequence in “Steamboat Bill, Jr”, one seventh of the film’s running time but one third of the budget, replaced a planned flood sequence, although a real-life river flood also forced this change. In short, as Keaton reached his creative peak, he was becoming less trusted.
As I said, I knew where my marker was. I have held a Gender Recognition Certificate since 2017, having done everything required of me to prove my status as a transgender woman was stable and permanent. My gender was changed in law for all purposes, as the Gender Recognition Act 2004 stated. At no point was anyone telling me that I didn’t know myself, or that I am instead autistic or have borderline personality disorder because it fit the limits of their understanding. I am perfectly fine, and the matter was settled.
Since the Supreme Court decision on Wednesday 16th April to define “sex” in the Equality Act 2010 to mean “biological” sex, because we all speak of ourselves in terms of washing powder now, it has felt like open season on trans people, despite gender reassignment being protected under the same act. I have been most perturbed by the tendency for the Supreme Court decision to have settled the matter morally, that trans people were never what they said they were, but I think the people saying that now only do so because they feel emboldened. So what – the terms “gender ideology” and “gender critical” appeared years after my formal diagnosis of gender dysphoria, and the phrase “live and let live” pre-dates all of them.
In May 2025, there are too many reasons to be apprehensive. Interim guidance from the Equality and Human Rights Commission appears to ban trans people both from the bathroom of their appropriate gender, and from their biological sex in certain situations, presumably if they “pass” in their gender too much, but I can’t be allowed to have nowhere to go. I can also still play a sport, so long as the association providing it is comprised of no more than twenty-five people. This is ahead of full guidance expected in the coming months. Meanwhile, I wrote to my MP asking for confirmation that my legal paperwork is still valid – I await their answer.
But I have not been made an outlaw. I have not been deemed an undesirable presence in society. Enough people treat trans people with dignity and respect to balance out those who say they should be, then do nothing more.
Unlike Buster Keaton, I don’t feel that people have less trust in me because of my situation, but other people could not trust themselves with the subject and concept of gender, so it has been decided for them absolutely. Policing of gender will now be unavoidable – can you prove yours?
I’ll be fine, somehow – I think the law may still be on my side. In the meantime, hoping and coping produced the following playlist, unexpectedly all from the 1970s:
The Real Thing - Can You Feel The Force
Jackson Browne - Doctor My Eyes
Fleetwood Mac - Don’t Stop
Wings - With a Little Luck
David Bowie - Starman
Elton John - Crazy Water
Slade – How Does It Feel