Why Trans People Are So Threatening
A Reflection on Fear, Control, Transphobia and the Illusion of Certainty
The recent surge in anti-trans rhetoric has left many asking, “Why so much now?” For me, the answer keeps circling back to something deeply human: our need for certainty in the face of fear. Especially fear of death, of change, of losing identity.
In my studies as a Spiritual Health Practitioner, I’ve come across a psychological framework that helped everything click: Terror Management Theory (TMT), [1]—the idea that much of our behaviour is driven by our need to fend off the reality of our mortality.
Terror Management Theory and Transphobia
TMT was inspired by the work of cultural anthropologist and philosopher Ernest Becker, whose Pulitzer Prize–winning book The Denial of Death argued that much of human behaviour is driven by our fear of mortality. Becker suggested that we construct cultural worldviews—religious doctrines, national identities, moral codes, to give life meaning and to protect ourselves from the unsettling knowledge that we are, in the end, biological creatures destined to die.
TMT builds on this insight by showing how, when people are reminded—consciously or not—of their vulnerability and mortality, they cling even more tightly to the beliefs and identities that help them feel significant. That might be religion, nationalism, body image, or, in this case, a rigid, binary view of gender.
Recent experimental studies have begun to explore this connection directly. One titled “Effects of Mortality Salience on Religiosity and Transphobia”[2] found that when individuals, particularly those with strong religious convictions, were reminded of their mortality, they demonstrated increased levels of transphobia and a reinforced attachment to traditional worldviews. Another, “How an Engrained Fear of the Unknown Fuels Transphobia,”[3] connects this response to the discomfort people feel when faced with gender identities that defy binary classification. Both affirm what many of us already know in our bones: our existence is often perceived as a threat—not because of what we do, but because of what we represent.
The Existential Threat of Trans Visibility
Trans people don’t unsettle society by demanding anything extraordinary. We do it simply by being. Our existence calls into question the belief that there are only two sexes and only two destinies. We show that identity is not fixed but felt, not assigned but uncovered. And for those whose worldview depends on hard boundaries, that’s not just confusing—it’s terrifying.We expose the gender binary for what it is: not a law of nature, but a fragile cultural convenience. We show that masculinity and femininity are not opposites, but overlapping expressions on a spectrum. And if that’s true—if the rules they were taught don’t apply universally—then they may be forced to ask: What rules am I living by? Who gave them to me? And whom do they serve?
These are not easy questions. Most people don’t want to wrestle with them. So instead, they push away what forces them to reflect. Trans people, simply by being visible, become that mirror.
Integrated Threat Theory and Cultural Identity
Another helpful lens here is Integrated Threat Theory (ITT), which explains that people often respond with hostility to groups they perceive as a symbolic threat to their cultural values. Hence, Trans people are seen—consciously or not—as undermining traditional masculinity, femininity, and the very idea of a “natural order.” This triggers anxiety about cultural continuity and belonging. We become, in their eyes, a threat to everything that feels familiar, sacred, and safe.
Shame, Projection, and the Mirror Effect
What often gets framed as moral outrage is, more truthfully, moral panic, rooted in projection. Some of the loudest anti-trans voices are not reacting to us, but to something in themselves: a memory, a desire, a moment they buried long ago. Maybe they touched something tender once, something that didn’t fit the story they were told about themselves, and now they punish that memory every time they see it reflected in someone else.
What looks like conviction is often shame wearing a mask. Shame turns inward. Transphobia turns it outward.
My Journey Through Internalized Transphobia
I didn’t transition earlier, not because I lacked knowledge, but because I was drowning in doctrine. My Evangelical faith taught me to fear myself, to see my body as a battleground and my truth as a temptation.I was steeped in an acute case of internalized transphobia and homophobia, rooted in the Evangelical belief system I clung to with desperation. I hated the fact that I didn’t feel fully male. I saw any softness, any flicker of gender incongruity, as sinful. Just entertaining the thought that I might be female felt like betraying God.
When I finally learned what it meant to be transgender, at the age of 40, I still couldn’t accept it. I feared what it would mean for my marriage, children, and identity. I told myself I could out-pray it, out-serve it, out-masculine it. I tried everything to make it go away.
It took me sixteen more years of that painful inner war before I had an epiphany—one that began with Jesus's words.
In Matthew 19, Jesus says:
“Not everyone can accept this teaching, but only those to whom it is given… For eunuchs were born that way from their mother’s womb.”
For the first time, I heard it with new ears. Jesus was acknowledging what so many religious gatekeepers refused to: not everyone is born male or female in the way we think. Not everyone fits the binary. But not everyone will understand—but some will. Some will be given the grace to see.
That moment cracked something open in me. It didn’t resolve everything, but it gave me permission to stop fighting and condemning myself. It gave me a way to reconcile my faith with being trans.
Conclusion: We Are Not the Threat
So when I’m misgendered, stared at, or dismissed, I remind myself: I knew this wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.
But I also remind myself:
We are not dangerous. But we are revealing.
We don’t threaten the truth—we reveal the falsehoods it’s been hiding behind.
We’re not confused—we’re painfully clear.
We are not here to destroy meaning—we’re here to expand it.
So the next time someone recoils at our presence or posts vitriol in a comment, I won’t assume they hate us. Instead, I’ll wonder what part of themselves they’re still afraid to face. And I’ll keep living my truth anyway.
References
[1] Landau, M. J., Solomon, S., Greenberg, J., Cohen, F., Pyszczynski, T., Arndt, J., & Cook, A. (2004). Deliver us from evil: The effects of mortality salience and reminders of 9/11 on support for President Bush. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 30(9), 1136–1150. https://doi.org/10.1177/0146167204267988
[2] Greenburg, M., & Gaia, A. (2019). Effects of Mortality Salience on Religiosity and Transphobia. JEWL Scholar. https://jewlscholar.mtsu.edu/bitstreams/9b55bd63-cc26-445f-bc5e-2da4f070adb6/download
[3] How an Engrained Fear of the Unknown Fuels Transphobia. ScholarWorks at Merrimack College. https://scholarworks.merrimack.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1021&context=soe_student_ce
