Precious Cargo
Voices of Courage on the Road to Concord
“I’ve had scars longer than I had breasts.”
– Prisha Moseley, age 25
I left Montgomery at dawn, bound for Boston with a mission heavier than my luggage. The real journey began when I landed, grabbed my rental car, and set out to gather my crew.
My first pick up was Simon, a 20-year-old Berklee-trained musician whose quick grin made our first in-person meeting feel like old friends. He rode shotgun, my steady compass and DJ, navigating Boston traffic with ease and curating a soundtrack for every highway stretch. Thanks to Simon, I’m now hooked on Spotify’s Eurovision finals — a surprising goldmine for world music.
We looped back to the airport for Prisha and Elle. Prisha, a young Michigan mother, radiates unyielding courage. Elle, 27, a free spirit from Montana now on the West Coast, carries quiet resilience. All three are detransitioners, bearing the emotional, physical, and social scars of what was done to them. Their strength is humbling. They show up, despite it all.
We were headed to Concord, New Hampshire, where the state Senate was holding hearings on HB 377 and HB 712 — bills to ban puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and double mastectomies for minors.
Evie joined us the next morning, a Boston-based lesbian with DIAG (Democrats for an Informed Approach to Gender, a group advocating evidence-based gender policies). Meeting her in person, I found her funny, confident, and her testimony clear, grounded, deeply personal. Like me, Evie knows a gut-wrenching truth: as gender non-conforming, butch lesbians growing up today, we’d likely have been transitioned. We feel it in our bones.
Jamie Reed and Lauren Leggieri, co-executive directors of the LGB Courage Coalition, were there too, along with Boris Spider, our legal expert using a pseudonym to protect his bond with his child. That name isn’t just a shield—it’s a reminder of the broken families this ideology leaves behind. Parents like Boris, terrified of losing their kids for refusing to lie, are why I do this work.
As head writer for the Courage Coalition’s Substack, I was there to testify and tell the story. What happened in Concord needs to be seen and heard.
Jamie, as ever, was steady and sharp. She laid out what happens inside gender clinics with a clarity that cuts. Every time she testifies, it sharpens. She’s not just a whistleblower. She’s a blade now—one that turns softly, methodically, toward the truth.
We turned in early, bracing for the hearing’s unpredictability. By morning, trans rights activists (TRAs) packed the hallways, waving signs, chanting for cameras. But when it came time to speak, few stepped up.
We outnumbered them.
That felt like a shift. We weren’t reacting — we were defining the moment. By the second session, the TRAs’ crowd had thinned, perhaps losing steam or ground. We had facts, presence, lives.
The opposition made our case for us. A young therapist, licensed barely two years, spoke with smug disdain, earning a public rebuke from the ranking senator. An older trans-identified male claimed this wasn’t about transitioning gay kids, admitting he “tried being a gay man” before cycling estrogen as a “translesbian.” The room shifted — senators averted eyes, gallery members cringed. At one point a senator asked the Senior Director of Government Relations at Dartmouth Health whether she thought this was a form of conversion therapy. She evaded the question.
Then our voices rose. Prisha described her double mastectomy’s toll — unable to breastfeed her baby, feeling milk rise painfully in a chest surgically sealed shut. Elle, with quiet composure, spoke of testosterone’s irreversible changes, her voice, her hairline, and the pain that has never eased. Simon shared how his father’s pushback saved him from going further. They didn’t perform. They told the truth.
Peter, a gay New Englander, declared, “This is homophobia — coming from inside the house!” The line landed, funny yet painfully true, exposing how our own communities can betray us.
That evening, we dined at a cozy Capitol-area hole-in-the-wall, joined by bipartisan New Hampshire legislators. New Hampshire, my first visit, charmed me — green, vibrant, politically alive with room for honest disagreement. Among them was Rep. Jonah Wheeler, a 22-year-old Democrat from Peterborough, steadfast despite party backlash for protecting women’s spaces. His courage across party lines is rare, a beacon for change.
Over dinner, I told the legislators their bipartisan work is their strength. In a divided era, their unity to protect kids and uphold truth is vital. It’s why I believe in change.
The next morning, we drove back to Boston, Simon’s Eurovision tracks filling the quiet. We didn’t talk much, each decompressing, holding the weight of what we’d shared. It wasn’t exhaustion — it was the silence of truth.
This was my third Courage Coalition event, but it felt bigger. I wasn’t just with speakers. I was with survivors, witnesses, truth-tellers, and parents who’ve lost pieces of their hearts yet still show up — for their kids and everyone else’s.
We weren’t just carrying luggage.
We were carrying stories.
We were carrying lives.
Precious cargo.
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Beautiful piece. The critical role gays and lesbians play in this cannot be overstated. Marriage equality was achieved because gay and lesbian conservatives made the case to conservatives. Gay and lesbian liberals made the case to liberals. The same is true with this fight. Those of us who are gender nonconforming or who are gay or lesbian have to make the case demonstrating the harm done to us. Liberals need to make the liberal case against the toxic gender affirming treatment model. The movement will fail to make lasting change if it remains the current darling of the right. You are doing the work that will make the difference. Thanks for your sacrifice and be sure to take care of yourselves too.
Excellent post. Thank you all for what you are doing in NH.