www.montereycountyweekly.com june 22-28, 2023 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY 21 Scout Luketish Gender: Man Pronouns: He/They Age: 33 Residence: Seaside Monterey County is the place where Scout Luketish finally found his place. California was on Luketish’s mind all his life—the big outdoors, the ocean, so different from the landlocked Rust Belt he is from. But before arriving in Monterey County, where he met his girlfriend and found employment at We Will Rise, a nonprofit that organizes anti-bullying classes, he tried Florida. Luketish didn’t have good reasons to move to Florida except to follow a friend. He was working remotely for his family business while Florida was turning politically redder. Luketish left to go through the pandemic with his family in Pennsylvania, but has been observing Florida’s hardening political climate and Gov. Ron DeSantis’ attacks on the LGBTQIA+ community ever since. “You know about the legislation, right?” he asks, referring to the Florida law widely called the “Don’t Say Gay” bill. The law states that “classroom instruction by school personnel or third parties on sexual orientation or gender identity may not occur in kindergarten through grade 3 or in a manner that is not age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students in accordance with state standards.” That means not talking about gay people’s existence until a certain age. The law took effect in July 2022. Compared to Florida, Monterey County feels safe and accepting, even if overall it’s “still scary to be out in public,” Luketish says. He has short platinum blonde hair; he is friendly and smiles a lot. An artist and a fiction writer, Luketish adores magical realism, the British history novel writer Hilary Mantel and queer horror. He works as a case manager at You Will Rise, alongside artist and activist Paul Richmond, whom he greatly admires. He also works for One Starfish, another nonprofit that offers safe overnight parking to homeless people living in their vehicles. “I used to sleep in my car,” he says, explaining his motivation. Luketish wanted to leave Pennsylvania because he didn’t feel like he belonged. He grew up in a conservative and pretty religious environment, he says, and has a sister who is also trans. He knew since childhood he was trans, but didn’t have the language to describe it. “I do miss it sometimes,” he says about his hometown, adding the whole family is still there. “Nobody ever left Pittsburgh.” In his early 20s, Luketish thought some gender fluidity would be enough. He started to transition hormonally (testosterone) and culturally (name, clothes) in his late 20s, and feels “a lot happier now,” he says. His girlfriend is also trans, and he says that lets them connect as partners on a “much deeper level.” When he was still living in Pennsylvania and taking hormones for the first time, Luketish worked for a rural construction company. There, he had a few incidents of harassment— the harassers were always male, and always a group, he says. During the pandemic, Luketish was staying with his parents and used it as an opportunity to come out as trans. It was “a bit rocky,” he says. “It’s scary to test how much people love you.” But all is well what ends well: “They’ve chilled out and are accepting.” It was also difficult when it came to religion because Luketish grew up in the church. There, he found more confusion than tolerance. “Jesus never said anything about being gay or trans,” he says, suggesting the church should also be open-minded. Tahani Lopez Gender: Woman Pronouns: She/Her Age: 20 Residence: Salinas While waiting for an interview on a Sunday afternoon in downtown Salinas, Tahani Lopez looks like a Black Marilyn Monroe or Sandy Olsson “before she met Danny,” she says, defining the style she is going for (a Grease reference—she also adores Audrey Hepburn). She is with her mother, Rosemary Lopez, who escorted her to the interview and kisses her for good luck, and is wearing a light summer dress and white heels with pointed tips. Lopez has shiny lip gloss, long eyelashes, and hair up in a sweet, tiny bun, topped with a white ribbon. A soft sweater is falling from her arms. Lopez’s manner is similarly gentle— her gestures, her steps, her concerns are feminine. She wears a crystal on her neck to keep her calm and is currently looking for a calm place to work, possibly as a hairdresser. “I’ve always known,” she says about being transgender. As a child, she would wear a towel as a high hairdo and be interested in makeup. When she was 14, she came out to her mom as gay. “She said she still loved me,” Lopez says. Lopez is half Latina, half Black; she never knew her dad. Her mom’s cousin, Aunt Angel, is also trans. In fact. Lopez’s mom would help her cousin do drag. They wondered if Lopez “might be trans too.” When her daughter eventually came out as trans, she just said: “I love you so much.” There was a new name to be picked and Lopez first thought about “Mercedes.” But then another trans woman, who she met in San Francisco, told her about Tahani and Lopez loved it. That source of inspiration has since died, and Tahani never had a chance to thank her for what she considers a gift from someone who shared her experience. She has legally changed her name, and overall found people in her life to be accepting. That being said, Lopez is careful, and talks about the stages young trans people must go through. Despite what the public hears from the right-wing media, a trans person can’t do much before they are 18. They can start therapy and, when they are 16, they can start taking hormones. In other words, all is reversible, Lopez says—not that she is going back, working on mastering her coquette Tahani Lopez is thinking about starting a career as a hairdresser and is interested in fashion.
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