“Transdissive”: Naming a Dangerous Kind of Dismissal

 

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I’ve been thinking a lot about how we describe political leaders who, while not overtly hostile to trans people, repeatedly sideline our concerns in favour of a “safer” middle ground. The word transphobic doesn’t quite fit. It implies a visceral rejection, a fear, or even hatred of trans people. That’s not what we’re seeing in certain corners of the Democratic Party right now. What we’re seeing is something subtler, but no less dangerous. And I think it deserves its own word, I propose: “transdissive” — a combination of transgender, diss and dismissive.

Defining “Transdissive”

To be transdissive is to minimize, sideline, or deprioritize trans people and our needs — not necessarily out of animosity, but as a calculated political choice. It’s the posture of a politician who says, implicitly or explicitly: “You matter, but not enough to risk alienating voters who don’t understand you. So for now, you’ll have to wait.”

This isn’t about hate; it’s about expediency. It’s the quiet shrug that says, “We’ll get to you later,” even as policies and rhetoric shift in ways that harm us now.

Why “Transphobic” Isn’t Always Accurate

When I transitioned 16 years ago, I learned to recognize transphobia in its purest form — outright hostility, misgendering, discrimination, violence. That’s not what we’re dealing with here. When California Governor Gavin Newsom flirts with far-right talking points about sports, or suggests that the Democratic Party “overplayed” trans issues in the last election, it doesn’t read as hatred. It reads as political calculation — and dismissal.

That’s transdissive.

And transdissive politics are uniquely insidious because they sound reasonable to those not living the consequences. They offer the comfort of centrism while reinforcing a dangerous narrative: that our existence is negotiable.

Why It Matters

Being transdissive isn’t benign. History teaches us this. In the U.K., it began with politicians across the spectrum soft-pedalling their support for trans rights. Before long, that “strategic silence” gave way to policies that eroded healthcare access and stripped away basic protections. When both major parties treat you as expendable, you have no defenders left.

In North America, the danger is that what starts as a whisper — “maybe we need to tone this down to win votes” — becomes a chorus. That chorus emboldens the far right and conditions allies to see silence as acceptable. And silence is never neutral. It is a choice with consequences.

A Personal Lens

As a trans woman in my seventies, I’ve lived long enough to see the ebbs and flows of political courage. When I transitioned, I was terrified that my existence would alienate my friends, my family, my faith community. For a while, it did. But over time, many came to see that my life, my dignity, wasn’t a bargaining chip.

Politics is slower to learn that lesson.

I’ve never been refused care by a patient or a family in my work as a hospital Spiritual Health Practitioner, even in moments when my identity was known. What I have seen, though, is the corrosive impact of dismissal — of people being told, implicitly or explicitly, that they matter less. That their pain and their personhood can wait. It erodes trust. It hollows out hope.

That’s what transdissive politics do to trans communities. They tell us we are on our own.

A Call for Precision — and Accountability

Language matters. If we want to hold our leaders accountable, we need a word for this phenomenon. Calling it transphobia muddies the waters, allowing those in power to brush off criticism by saying, “But I’m not anti-trans.” And in a narrow sense, they’re right. But they are transdissive. They are actively choosing to dismiss and delay our needs for political gain.

Naming that dismissal gives us power. It lets us say:

• We see what you’re doing.

• We understand the cost of your “strategy.”

• We won’t let you pretend this is harmless.

Where We Go From Here

The anti-trans machine is relentless. It has poured millions into fearmongering campaigns designed to make us look like the threat. And it’s working — not because the lies are persuasive on their own, but because too many people in power think appeasement is the safer bet.

The truth is, transdissive politics don’t protect the Democratic Party from backlash; they invite it. They teach the public that trans people are fair game, that our rights are a bargaining chip to be negotiated away. And every inch conceded today becomes a mile of ground we’ll have to fight to reclaim tomorrow.

As a Canadian watching from across the border, I see how profoundly an American leader’s courage — or lack of it — echoes beyond U.S. politics. When someone as visible as Gavin Newsom normalizes the sidelining of trans people, it doesn’t just shape the discourse in America; it emboldens those in Canada and the U.K. who are already testing the waters of their own transdissive politics. By the same measure, a bold defence of trans dignity from someone with his platform could shift the tide — proving that courage, not cowardice, is what builds trust and wins hearts.

Call it a strategy if you want. To those of us living this reality, it feels exactly the same: being thrown under the bus.

Like any group that is unfairly targeted, we deserve to be defended — boldly, unapologetically, and without condition or reservation.