Judiciary Square

The DHOM (Deputy Head of Mission), who will be the first speaker, has let us know she will come down in about ten minutes. The room is filling up nicely, It’s World Refugee Day and it’s Pride Month and tonight’s reception marks the launch of the Annual Report of Rainbow Railroad, a non-governmental organization dedicated to protecting the rights of LGBTQI+ refugees around the world and a key partner for our refugee program.

This is why I am here in Washington. I was asked to MC this event and, since I was coming, managed to add a few more meetings to round out the day. It’s been intense but good.

I check my phone and look over at the podium. Five more minutes. Earlier today we had checked out the room and I had stood up there, imagining myself addressing 50-80 people, tonight’s estimated attendance.

Public speaking of any kind used to be a massive anxiety trigger for me. Back in undergrad a presentation to a seminar of a dozen classmates would paralyze me with fear. Sometimes I would take an Ativan which would take the jagged edge off but at the cost of leaving me feeling vaguely lobotomized and unsure of how it went after. Or during for that matter.

Somehow I overcame that and gradually came to enjoy public speaking and storytelling and especially how the two were interwoven. I learned that I could speak to a large crowd and establish rapport. Even one that was hostile or suspicious. It’s 50% preparation, thinking through the script and the messaging and 50% reading the room. I need to get better at doing the latter more seamlessly because I do tend to get into a flow state and forget about it unless I make a conscious effort. Maybe I am reading the room somewhere below the level of awareness. I don’t know.

The DHOM has arrived and S gives me a nod. It’s go time.

I take a deep breath and remind myself that I have gotten good at this. I have done it a million times.

I have never done it in a dress.

At least this is my favourite dress. With brilliant blues (match my eyes I am told) and a good length. I feel confident. I’ve felt confident all day.

I am also wearing a special talisman. A heavy silvery metal pendant on a fine silver chain. It’s a little cast sculpture in the form of an Inuk woman standing legs slightly apart. She is wearing a parka and peeking out of the hood of the parka, cheek to cheek with her, is an infant. My father had travelled to Baffin Island for business back in the mid-1970s and bought it as a gift for my Mom. Wearing it now I feel like Mom is with me. I feel her protection.

I take the podium and lean into the microphone “Good evening everyone! Bon soir!”, Ottawa habits following me wherever I go. After a few more attempts and some helpful glass tapping from the floor the room finally goes quiet and all eyes are on me.

“Good evening, Bon soir” I repeat now with everyone’s attention. “Welcome to the Embassy of Canada. We are very pleased to welcome you to tonight’s reception to celebrate the vital work of one of our important partners, Rainbow Railroad. My name is Holly Jacobs. I am a trans woman. I’ve waited fifty five years to say this.“ I stop and savour the moment.

“Tonight we will be hearing from distinguished speakers from the Embassy, from the United States Government, the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, and from Rainbow Railroad themselves.” Pause for a breath and room check. “Before we launch into the program I would like to share something. My flight yesterday was quite stressful. I only received my passport at the very last minute the night before. It was my first time flying post transition. First time leaving the country. Going through security. Crossing a border. First hotel check in. And then I thought to myself, I am feeling stressed? Really? I am travelling legally. I am documented. I have trusted friends at both my start and endpoint. I know the language at both start and end. I have cash and cards and a hotel reservation. If I am feeling stressed with all of these privileges, what must an LGBTQI+ refugee feel? How powerful must their motivation be and how awful their fear?” Audience scan. A sea of attentive faces, many nodding. That landed well.

I make some technical announcements including location of the washrooms (not inclusive) and that there is a themed cocktail available, the “Rainbow Rum Sidecar”, the product of the research and dedication of S. And then I introduce the DHOM and step down.

The remaining introductions and interstitial bits between speakers go fine. The final speaker is a refugee resettled from Central America, a gay man, who brings down the house communicating his joy and relief, and his commitment to helping other newcomers. I call for another round of applause for him and then I am wrapping things up, thanking everyone for coming and urging them to stay and network and enjoy the hospitality.

I am on a cloud. My entire life I could not have imagined doing this, even eight months ago I was terrified of stepping out my front door and braving public spaces as authentic me. I feel invincible and euphoric.

*** Please note that all opinions expressed are my own personal views and not those of my employer.Read more