Traveling Abroad: My Gender is "Undisclosed Information"

"You're going to have a problem with that." He said flatly, staring at me with zero affect. He was our baggage checker at the Atlanta airport. We had just arrived via the shuttle, taken another shuttle, and had struggled with the machines to check-in for at least 10 minutes. These unexpected delays had made us a little more frantic than we'd like, especially with such long flights ahead of us.

I was traveling with my teacher bestie who had purchased tickets for us, and everything seemed to be working just fine with her passport. Mine, however, didn't scan, so we had to try to get it to work with a human at the baggage check. I wasn't understanding at first.

"You're undisclosed information," he continued, "when I swiped it, everything came up but that. I had to manually put the 'x' in."

"Oh," I said.

"They still haven't caught up." I couldn't tell if this was an apology?

"You're going to have a problem with that every step of the way." Those words hung on me along with all the considerations I hadn't made when proudly selecting that box for my passport forms. This was the year that I was attempting to be more visible with my students. In the previous years, even though I was out as queer, and last year when I came out as non-binary, I just told people that my pronouns were he/they. It was easier, I thought, than trying to correct years of socialization (especially with students), who saw someone at the front of the classroom who presented very male. I have a beard, sometimes like now, it is very long. I don't wear feminine clothing very frequently, though I have been known to rock some. So for most people, I am sure that it would be easy to assume. Because of this, I had just let it slide - "whatever is easier." 

This year, however, I wanted to make sure that I was visible for students. I wanted them to see me calling people in instead of just calling people out. I wanted them to see uncomfortable conversations with adults and students too. I wanted them to have an example for navigating spaces - especially when most of the world sees my gender identity as "a problem" at best.

Each time throughout the process of changing gates and planes, and customs, whenever there was a pause in the system I, and my friend, would wonder if it was related to my "undisclosed information."

In France, at the Paris airport, I had to scan my documents and then move into a stall. The gate closed behind me, and it stayed shut in front of me. Cameras photographed me and my face from different angles forming a digital image. 

Would the gate open? Is this as long as the person in front of me had taken? Is this normal? 

I thought about what it meant. I worried about what it meant. I didn't worry enough, I guess, when I filled out the paperwork just a couple of months ago. This was my year, I had told myself, to be out. My friend reminded me about what this would have meant if we had traveled through Turkey. What are the laws in Italy? When the US Government had warned me that other countries might not "recognize" my gender choice, I had not considered the danger. 

But the danger isn't just international. With the recent masacre at the Club Q nightclub where 5 people were killed and more than 18 were injured, LGBTQ people are increasingly becoming the targets of physical violence. This isn't an accident. Fox News, politicians, and other outspoken right wing extremists spew hatred and lies about queer people every day. Queer people are called groomers, pedophiles, and the enemy of America. We are labeled as a target, and Americans treat us like one. 

There are layers, and intersections here that need unpacking and support. Gun violence is a national problem. Extremists causing violence directly and indirectly through the media, hatered towards the LGBTQ community, toxic masculinity: these are all national issues. But when they come together involving a man in body armor wielding multiple guns at a drag show, we have a crisis. I will continue to raise my voice along with so many others throughout America's history to ask the all too familiar question of "how many more."