Amusing Ourselves to Death: Non-detrans discontent and anxiety

The meaning of detransition ought to be made by those who have experienced it but is instead most significantly shaped by the anxieties and priorities of those who have not.

Kirsty Rackliff is a PhD student in Sociology and Social Policy at The University of Nottingham. Kirsty’s research explores representations of detransition on social media.

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In my last piece for The One Percent, I wrote:

“Detransition has arguably become inextricably intertwined with [political] debates, and through this politicisation it is no longer understood as an experience but is instead synonymised with questions of ideology and philosophy. In other words, detransition has, for some, become inherently indicative of something (Hildebrand-Chupp, 2020). Detransition is not an event, but a symbol. A rhetorical tool.”

This article does not aim to contradict that. I maintain that it is not only possible, but sometimes necessary in the research context, to understand detransition as an isolated experience irrespective of broader philosophical questions about (for example) the nature of gender identity. When researchers are considering practical questions like “What do detransitioned people want and need?,” “Does the current provision of healthcare meet those needs?,” and “How can quality of life for detrans people be improved moving forward?,” it is vital that these are not superseded or overshadowed by ideological questions like “Are these experiences legitimate?” “Are they inherently indicative?”

I, and many of the researchers I have worked with, primarily operate within a framework of presupposed heterogeneity. In other words, detransitioning people will have varying perspectives, experiences, and needs, and these differences must be not only understood, but accepted as neutral facts that form the foundation of our approach before research design has even begun.

All that being said, it remains true that the sociocultural fascination with detransition over potentially comparable experiences (particularly potentially comparable medical experiences) does say something about us as a culture. By “us” I mean the broader Western hemisphere, although at present the conversation is arguably at its most dominant and most contentious in the US (and in the UK, where I live).

Up to a point, the attention given to detransition makes sense. Where detransition with regret—particularly severe regret or regret associated with paediatric transition—occurs, questions of informed consent and best practice naturally arise. Further, these questions must be measured against the necessity for the provision of healthcare for trans and nonbinary people.

I echo a previous article by The One Percent’s Kinnon MacKinnon:

“[...] care providers, trans people, and even those who have regret over prior care received are mostly united in a desire for quality healthcare that maximizes the benefit and well-being of everyone who pursues this care.”

I also assume there are very few people who don’t feel they have a stake in at least one or more of the wider issues related to detransition, such as childhood well-being, the distribution of medical resources, trans rights, informed consent and bodily autonomy, gay and lesbian rights, and gender-nonconformity. This is probably why, on an individual level, detransition can be particularly emotionally evocative for non-detrans people.

Anecdotally, when explaining to people that I research detransition, the responses I receive are almost always immediately passionate. People are suspicious, excited, angry, intrigued. People feel these experiences in a way they don’t feel (forgive the cliche, contestable comparison) knee surgery.

And this leads broadly into what I want to touch on today. What does our interest in detransition express about us, non-detrans people? Specifically, I want to examine the notion of discontent, and how detransition can be both a source and a remedy depending on what it is assumed to indicate about society.

In my last article I explored two culturally acceptable archetypes of detransitioned people: The damaged victim and the non-victimised trans ally.

If you haven’t already seen it, I do recommend taking a break from this article to read it before proceeding. But accompanying those archetypes there are, I would argue, two dominant narratives in detransition discourse.

The first holds that detransition is an increasingly common occurrence, with initial transition presented as the result of mental illness, internalised homophobia, and misogyny, or medical manipulation. As with the corresponding archetype—the damaged victim—emphasis is placed on an assumed perpetual suffering or irreversible harm. From this perspective, the “truth” about detransition is actively suppressed by LGBTQ+ news publications, the wider transgender community, and pharmaceutical companies, hence testimonies and case reports often form the basis of this interpretation.

The second, meanwhile, maintains that detransition experiences associated with regret are overemphasised by malicious actors advocating for greater restrictions to gender affirming healthcare. From this perspective, detransition is understood as rare, primarily related to external factors like transphobia, and generally preceding subsequent retransition. Statistics like Turban et al.’s 82% of detransitions being related to interrupting factors like societal prejudice and pressure from family are often cited to support this.

To quote Robinson (2021):

“[...] Our existence (as detransitioners) is either presented as the ultimate tragedy or decried as a conservative myth, depending on what political agenda needs furthering that day.”

Historically, these two narratives were upheld by self-identified gender critical feminists and trans rights advocates respectively, but I would argue that in recent years the dominant role of radical feminism in discourse has been supplanted by American Christian nationalism. This shift is important, and will be the subject of future writing.

Based on currently available data about detransition, both narratives appear to have truths, and both are somewhat misleading. The reality of detransition is, as stated earlier, likely one of heterogeneity, and one that is even subject to change over time. There are detransitioned people with severe regrets and complications, and who oppose gender-affirming care as a result. Some liken trans medicine to a kind of “pseudoscience.” There are detransitioned people experiencing interrupted transitions, who may re-access gender-affirming healthcare when external factors like unsafe home environments have been mitigated. For some, detransition may be a temporary response to internalised transphobia caused by rampant anti-trans rhetoric in the current culture. There are also detrans people who reidentify as gay or lesbian, people who move from binary trans to genderfluid or nonbinary identities, detransitioned people who have mixed positive and negative feelings, and so on.

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On an almost unrelated note, Neil Postman’s 1985 book Amusing Ourselves to Death explores television as a medium. Specifically, why its audiovisual format is inherently suited for entertainment, and inherently dangerous for serious discourse. This (and the subsequent analysis I’m about to provide) is a massive oversimplification; I highly recommend reading it for yourself. But chapter nine, in part, explores the function of adverts/commercials. To sacrifice his nuanced, intricate argument, Postman argues that adverts create a world in which there is a problem, deliberately connected by advertisers to a feeling we might harbour, such as discontent, and then there is a consumerist solution:

“The commercial asks us to believe that all problems are solvable, that they are solvable fast, and that they are solvable fast through the interventions of technology, techniques and chemistry.” (p. 151)

Postman then explores the implications this has for discourse in an age of “image politics.” Raised by adverts, voters may no longer accept complex issues characterised by uncertainty. Instead, they expect a clear pipeline from problem to solution. As if the economic recession, cultural decline, and general feeling of malaise in the UK will be fixed if only we “stop the boats.”

“Among (lessons taught by commercials) are that short and simple messages are preferable to long and complex ones; that drama is to be preferred over exposition; that being sold solutions is better than being confronted with questions about problems. [...] a person who has seen one million television commercials might well believe that all political problems have fast solutions through simple measures—or ought to.” (p. 152)

And so:

“This is the lesson of all great television commercials; they provide a slogan, a symbol, or a focus that creates for viewers a comprehensive and compelling image of themselves. [...] We are not permitted to know who is best at being President or Governor or Senator, but whose image is best in touching and soothing the deep reaches of our discontent.” (p. 156)

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Therefore, if detransition is, for you, only defined by suffering, and almost exclusively associated with severe regret, at the negation of other forms of detransition, what does that mean? It means the medical establishment, and the liberal establishment broadly, is trying to hurt your children. That’s frightening, but it’s also reassuring. Your anxieties had justifiable roots, and there is now an obvious solution: Restrict access to gender affirming healthcare, end transition.

If detransition happens almost exclusively to trans people for external reasons, then there is no need for difficult discussions. No medical malpractice has occurred. Detransition is exclusively indicative of transphobia, and the dangers of restricted access to gender-affirming healthcare. That’s frightening, but it’s also reassuring. Your anxieties had justifiable roots, and there is now an obvious solution: status quo, liberal access to gender-affirming healthcare.

To paraphrase Postman, being sold solutions is better than being confronted with questions about problems. We are not permitted to know which narratives of detransition are true, but which are best at touching and soothing the deep reaches of our discontent.

What I mean to say is that detransition can represent specific anxieties among specific groups. It acts as a sort of barometer for threats—we were right to be worried about this—but it also acts as a remedy for anxiety. “People think transition might be a net social good, but look, we were right to be worried” versus “People think detransition is real, but look, it never happens.” Thus, detransition in part emotionally motivates non-detrans people because it can be operationalized to fit the structure established by Postman. Problem, solution. Or, in this case, anxiety, remedy.

I always feel compelled to reiterate that, broadly speaking, I am not talking about individuals. You could read this as a self-identified religious conservative or a leftist trans person and assert that no, your beliefs are not about X, you really are just concerned with Y, and you do care about Z. The legitimacy of either of these as accurate, objective truths is not the point.

I once wrote that the meaning of detransition is most importantly made by those who experience it. If a detransitioned person understands their experience as one of medical malpractice, the onus is on you to accept that. If a detransitioned person understands their experience as one of self-discovery and positive exploration, the same applies.

However, on reflection, I think it is more accurate to say that the meaning of detransition ought to be made by those who have experienced it, but is instead most significantly shaped by the anxieties and priorities of those who have not.

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