I saw my father reflected in the faces protesting against LGBTQ rights and sex ed

This First Person column is the experience of Alexis Zhou, a freelance writer in Montreal. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

Standing among people waving trans flags and signs saying “Leave Trans Kids Alone,”I was on the front line of a counter protest in Montreal. Police separated us from those protesting against comprehensive sex ed and LGBTQ rights.

As I scanned their faces, it looked like the “1 million March 4 children” protesters came from all walks of life, spanning various ethnic and religious backgrounds, including some who looked like me. I saw concerned parents, many with their relatives by their side — aunties, uncles, grandparents. Many had their kids with them.

“Leave our kids alone,” the parents yelled. They seemed furious with the gender ideology they see being pushed by schools. Perhaps they fear their kids could end up like us: trans or queer.

It felt like I was looking into the faces of my own family.

If they weren’t in China, I could picture my dad, my mom and maybe my aunties, too, handing out water bottles and handmade signs to the protesters. To my dad, being trans was either a Western conspiracy, the influence of female-dominated school staff or the contagion of social media. He couldn’t accept that it was coming from me. That could not be, because that would reflect poorly on him and our family.

While there were many racialized parents in the street on that day in Montreal at the protest, there was an equal number, if not more, of racialized youth on the other side around me at the counter protest.

We shouted back, “Your kids won’t even talk to you when they grow up! They will look at you with shame! Children are not your possessions!”

As I joined the chants, it felt like I was shouting at my own parents. I felt all the emotions that have been held back over so many years pour out — feeling alone while facing the turmoil of adolescence and of finding out that those I had trusted most didn’t really love me for who I am.

I grew up in Chongqing, an inland city in China. There wasn’t a hint of LGBTQ programming in my schools. No visible LGBTQ presence in public, no Pride parades and gender-affirming health care was taboo.

But I was and still am trans. I stopped seeing my family as my safe place and I started navigating my transition alone at age 15. It wasn’t public school teachers, gender ideology, a deep state conspiracy or anything or anyone else that made me trans. I just am — a truth difficult for both my family and, for many years, for me to acknowledge.

In 2018, I received a scholarship that allowed me to study in North America. In the months leading up to my departure, my parents grew increasingly suspicious of me not acting like a boy. My dad gave me talks on the danger of transgenderism and ordered me to “man up” my appearance.

The night before my flight, they became so angry with the length of my hair that they locked me out of the house, and threatened to not allow me to go to college unless I promised to act like a man.

They took me to a hairstylist that night, and since then I have not video called them over a fear of how they would react to my appearance.

Nearly six years later, we’re trying to see each other as adults — them graying, and me in my mid-20s. My dad now acknowledges that I am trans, but this comes more from a place of resignation than acceptance. It feels like all his hopes and dreams for me are gone. It’s a complex feeling that I’m still processing because I used to be the closest with my dad as a child.

We talk about a family reunion, but we still don’t yet have a plan. I really want to hug my dad, but I’m also scared. I want to believe my parents love me, even though it doesn’t feel like it. It must be hiding somewhere deep inside.

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That’s why when I see these parents protesting trans rights, I wonder what would happen if their kids turned out to be gay or trans. I think about how much pain and suffering they and their kids might all be enduring.

And as I work to repair the damaged relationship with my own family, I wish that these protesting parents could just listen, hug and love their children no matter who they are.

I hope they don’t lose years of celebrations, holidays, graduation ceremonies and meals together, only to try to pick up the pieces after the damage is done.

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