Crossing Boundaries and Fetishization: Experiences of Sexual Violence for Trans Women of Color

Abstract

Transgender (trans) women are at higher risk of sexual violence than cisgender women, with trans women of color reported to be at highest risk. This study examined subjective experiences of sexual violence for 31 trans women of color living in Australia, average age 29 (range 18–54), through in-depth interviews. An additional photovoice activity and follow-up interviews were completed by 19 women. Data were analyzed through thematic analysis and feminist intersectionality theory, identifying the following themes. The first theme, “‘A sexually tinged violation of boundaries’: Defining sexual violence,” examined women’s definition of sexual violence, including staring and verbal abuse, nonconsensual touching and sexual assault, in both public and private contexts. The second theme, “‘Crossing people’s boundaries’: Sexual harassment in the public domain,” examined the frequent sexual harassment women experienced in their daily lives. This included the subtheme, “A hostile gaze: Public staring and ‘weird looks’” and “Mockery and transphobic abuse: Verbal abuse is sexual violence.” The third theme, “‘Crossing bodily boundaries’: Experiences of sexual assault,” included the subthemes “‘Unwanted sexual touch’: Groping and forced sex by strangers,” “Danger in relationships: Sexual assault and manipulation,” “Sexual violence in the context of sex work,” and “‘We’re turned into something we’re not’: Fetishization and the sexual other.” The poor health outcomes experienced by many trans women are closely associated with their exposure to sexual violence and the social inequities and transphobia to which they are subjected. Trans women of color may experience additional prejudice and discrimination due to the intersection of gender, sexuality, race, and social class. Our research suggests that understanding these intersectionalities is integral in understanding the sexual violence experiences of trans women of color.

Keywords

sexual assault cultural contexts GLBT prostitution/sex work adult victims sexual harassment

Sexual violence, which includes both sexual harassment and sexual assault, is a significant human rights and public health issue, with negative consequences for health and well-being (World Health Organisation, 2013). Definitions of sexual violence include sexual assault, forced sexual activity perpetrated by intimate partners, strangers, or individuals known to a person (Abrahams et al., 2014); and sexual harassment, unwanted verbal, physical, or online behaviors that make people feel uncomfortable because of their sexual nature and that serve to offend, humiliate, or intimidate (The Australian Human Rights Commission, 2018). Sexual violence is not a reflection of sexual desire, it is a hostile and aggressive act, most commonly perpetrated by men against women, reflecting feelings of anger and hostility, as well as a need to exert power and control (World Health Organisation, 2003).

International research indicates that people who are transgender experience a significantly increased risk of sexual violence compared with the cisgender population (Blondeel et al., 2018; James et al., 2016). The term transgender, commonly shortened to trans, is a collective term used to describe individuals whose gender identity and expression varies from the biological sex they were assigned at birth (Levitt & Ippolito, 2014; Schilt & Lagos, 2017). Cisgender refers to those individuals whose assigned sex corresponds to their gender identity and gender expression. Trans women are individuals who were assigned male at birth, but now identify as women. Trans women take up a range of gender identity descriptors that may include woman, femme, nonbinary, gender queer, gender fluid, gender nonconforming, gender diverse, or nonbinary transfeminine (Callander et al., 2019; Peters, 2018). A recent large-scale survey of trans and gender diverse Australians reported that 53.2% had experienced sexual assault compared with 13.3% of the broader Australian population (Callander et al., 2019). Similar rates have been reported in U.S.-based studies (Stotzer, 2009). Trans individuals also experience high rates of verbal abuse and sexual harassment, which have been directly linked to their gender expression (Lombardi et al., 2001).

A number of studies have suggested that sexual violence is more prevalent among trans people assigned female at birth, compared with those assigned male at birth. For example, Callander et al. (2019) reported sexual assault rates of 61.8% for trans men and 39.3% for trans women living in Australia. Similarly, Xavier et al. (2007) showed that 35% of trans men living in the U.S. state of Virginia had been sexually assaulted compared with 23% of trans women. Conversely, in a study conducted in the U.S. city of Philadelphia, by Kenagy (2005), 69% of trans women reported forced sex, compared with 30% of trans men. It is not clear why these findings are different across U.S. states, however, successive reports by the U.S. National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs (2014, 2015, 2016) indicate that trans women experience social exclusion and violence at rates significantly higher than all other groups in the broader lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer (LGBTQ) community. In a recent Australian study, 72% of trans women reported verbal harassment and 79.8% sexual harassment in the last 12 months (Kerr et al., 2019), which the majority of trans women surveyed perceived to be associated with gender expression.

Trans individuals who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, or queer (LGBQ) may be further vulnerable to sexual assault or harassment on the basis of the intersection of gender and sexuality diversity (Callander et al., 2019). LGBQ women are significantly more likely to experience physical and sexual assault (Balsam et al., 2005; Szalacha et al., 2017), sexual harassment (Szalacha et al., 2017), and sexual assault by a stranger (Moracco et al., 2007), than exclusively heterosexual women. LGBTQ people who are more visibly “out” or identifiable are more likely to experience violence (Huebner et al., 2004). There is strong evidence that visibly appearing different also heightens the risk of physical and sexual violence for trans women (Jauk, 2013), with the period during and after gender affirmation or transitioning being the time that trans women are at highest risk of sexual violence (Ussher, Hawkey, Perz, Liamputtong, Sekar et al., 2020; Yavorsky & Sayer, 2013).

Trans women of color from a culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) background who live in predominantly White societies face discrimination and violence on the basis of the intersection of gender, sexuality, and racial identities (Crenshaw, 1991). In the United States, trans people of color are 2.5 times more likely to experience discrimination compared with cisgender people (National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, 2011). The largest transgender survey to date in the United States found lifetime prevalence rates of sexual violence at 45% for White participants, compared with 53% of Black participants, 58% of Middle Eastern participants, 59% of multiracial, and 65% of Indigenous participants (James et al., 2016). Sexual violence is often accompanied by other acts of physical violence, with trans people significantly more likely than cisgender people to experience physical violence (Dean et al., 2000). Trans women make up 8.6% of the LGBTQ community in the United States, but constitute 44% of total murder victims (Dean et al., 2000). The majority of trans women who are murdered are women of color, poor women, or sex workers (Bettcher, 2014), with many murder victims being of all three categories. This has led to the plea to “centralise race and class as well as gender” (Bettcher, 2014, p. 391) when attempting to understand violence against trans women.

Some trans women engage in sex work to make a living, or because it provides a sense of community with other sex workers (Sausa et al., 2007). While sexual violence is a common experience for all sex workers (Deering et al., 2014), there is evidence that trans women sex workers are at higher risk (Fletcher, 2013). Trans women of color are more likely to enter and stay in sex work compared with other trans women, due to a combination of racism and transphobia, which impacts schooling and employment, combined with the impact of immigration restrictions and language barriers (Sausa et al., 2007; Weinberg et al., 1999). As such, many trans women of color are subjected to a pervasive and very real threat of danger in the pursuit of their basic survival.

Experiences of sexual violence are a significant contributing factor in the distress and mental health problems reported by trans people (Pitts et al., 2006), with trans people in Australia reported to be 4 times more likely to experience depression, and 1.5 times more likely to experience anxiety disorders, compared with the cisgender population (Hyde et al., 2014). Interpreted within a minority stress model, sexual violence compounds the chronic stress experienced by LGBTQ people as a result of stigmatization and discrimination within a heterosexist and transphobic society (Cyrus, 2017; Hendricks & Testa, 2012). Within LGBTQ populations, trans individuals have been described as the most stigmatized and yet the least understood (Lui & Wilkinson, 2017; Meyer, 2012). Previous research has focused on trans and gender diverse communities as a whole (Callander et al., 2019), on trans men (Jones, 2015), or on White, middle-class trans women (De Vries, 2015). While there have been a number of surveys examining the incidence of sexual violence, there is minimal research focusing on subjective experiences of sexual violence among trans women (Fernandez-Rouco et al., 2017), and little is known about the lived experiences of sexual violence for trans women of color living in predominantly White societies.

The aim of the present study was to address this gap in the research literature, through examining subjective experiences of sexual violence for trans women of color living in Australia, using qualitative methods and feminist intersectionality theory.

Method

Design and Theoretical Framework

In-depth interviews and photovoice were undertaken with 31 trans women of color, as part of a broader mixed-method study examining sexual violence against trans women from a range of CALD backgrounds living in Australia (Ussher, Hawkey, Perz, Liamputtong, Marjadi et al., 2020). The term intersectionality challenges the notion of a universal gendered experience for women, with Kimberlé Crenshaw, the originator of the term, arguing that we need to look at the intersection of race and gender when understanding the experience of women of color (Crenshaw, 1989). More recent developments of intersectionality focus on the interaction and mutually constitutive nature of gender, sexual identity, race, social class, and other categories of difference in individual lives and social practices, and the association of these arrangements with health and well-being (Hankivsky et al., 2009). Intersectionality theory is being increasingly used to examine the experience of trans people, including trans people of color (De Vries, 2015; Matsuzaka & Koch, 2019). This framework recognizes that trans women of color are characterized simultaneously by multiple intersecting social categories, which are properties of the individual in terms of their identity, as well as characteristics of social structures, that potentially expose trans women of color to multiple forms of marginalization.

Feminist intersectionality methodology emphasizes the importance of engaging with women’s voices and lived experiences to develop greater understanding of sexual violence at the nexus of culture, gender, and sexuality (Hesse-Biber, 2014). Semistructured one-to-one interviews, using a conversational style, were undertaken by a researcher who was a trans woman of color, to explore women’s subjective experience in-depth. Photovoice involves research participants taking pictures to help stakeholders visualize elements within an individual’s life that are pertinent to a particular phenomenon, and to facilitate involvement and empowerment of research participants (Teti et al., 2019). Situated within a feminist action research model, photovoice methods have been described as an innovative way of working with marginalized people, as photovoice implicitly challenges traditional structures of power as well as traditional modes of production of knowledge (McIntyre, 2008).

Recruitment and Participants

Participants were recruited through a range of LGBTQ and migrant organizations, as well as through social media. Flyers and social media advertisements invited participation from those who were a “trans woman of colour” or “trans woman from a non-English speaking background” to take part in interviews about sexual violence. Snowball sampling was also used, asking study participants to pass on the study information to someone they know would fit the sampling criteria. A total of 31 trans women responded to the invitation and completed the first interview, with 19 of these participants accepting the invitation to undertake a photovoice activity and follow-up interview. Data were collected between September 2018 and September 2019. To recognize the participants’ time, they were provided with a gift voucher of AUD 50 for each interview.

The mean age of participants was 29 years old (range 18–54 years), with time since migration for those not born in Australia ranging from 4 months to 44 years. Participants described a range of gender identities, including “non-binary transfeminine,” “genderfluid,” “transgender female,” “female,” “sistergirl,” “genderqueer,” “woman,” “trans woman,” and “fa’afafine.” Sexual identities included heterosexual or straight (29%); or gay, lesbian, queer, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, fluid (71%). Many women adopted more than one diverse gender or sexual identity, or spoke about how their identities had changed over time. Our interviewees defined their ethnicity as Malaysian, Australian Aboriginal, Chinese, Samoan, Iranian, Indian, Tamil, Black, Sri Lankan, Filipino, Argentinian, Korean, Egyptian, or a combination of ethnicities. The majority of women (64%) had an educational qualification at degree or diploma level, with 12% currently studying for a degree or diploma. Of the remainder, 9% were educated to high school, and one woman left education after primary school. Incomes were generally low, with 35% of women receiving disability or unemployment benefit of less than AUD 30,000 or no income, 12% being students on scholarship with low income (less than AUD 30,000), 29% in casual or other low-paid work earning less than AUD 50,000, and 22% in professional occupations, earning between AUD 64,000 and AUD 95,000.

Procedure

Interviews were done face-to-face at a location that suited the participants, or via videoconferencing for those who are unable to meet face-to-face. There was no discernible difference in the content of interviews undertaken either by videoconference or face-to-face, as reported in previous research (Sturges & Hanrahan, 2004). The interviews were conducted in English, digitally recorded, and took between 60 and 120 min. Prior to the interviews, the interviewer spoke to participants on the phone, usually 2 or 3 times, to organize a time and date, check they were still available for the interview the day before it occurred, and reschedule if a participant could not make the original time or date. This gave the interviewer the opportunity to chat and get to know women prior to the interview and facilitated a level of comfort and trust. The interviewer disclosed that she was a trans woman of color and was open when asked personal questions. The interviews were conversational in nature, with a semistructured interview schedule guiding the discussion. Aligned with the research aims, the interview participants were first asked to describe their life as a trans woman of color, with a focus on experiences of gender transitioning and affirmation, then asked about their definition and experiences of sexual violence, strategies used to respond to sexual violence, experiences of support, and what health and social care providers and policy makers need to do to address sexual violence experienced by trans women.

Written and visual information was provided to aid in the photovoice process. Participants used their own smartphones to take photographs, and submitted them to the research team electronically. The participants were asked to take at least two photos, which they see as important regarding sexual violence and being trans women of color. The photographs were used as the basis for discussion in a follow-up interview conducted with the initial interviewer, which focused on the meaning of the images participants had provided. Participants were asked the question “Can you tell me about your photographs, and what they mean to you?” and a conversation followed from this question. All women provided permission for their photographs to be used in publication through being sent a copy of the images we selected and the accompanying descriptions from the interviews for approval.

Ethical Considerations

This project was approved by Western Sydney University Human Research Ethics Committee, H12530. Ethical guidelines were strictly observed prior to, during, and after the project completion. Participants were provided with a participant information sheet, they signed a consent form before the interview and the photovoice activity, and were informed that they could withdraw from the project at any time. All participants were informed that their identity would be protected in all research reports and publications, unless they explicitly gave permission for an identifiable image to be used. Where participants became distressed during the research process, the interviews were paused and the participant given the option to discontinue or resume at a later time, if they felt ready to do so. All participants were provided with information for mental health services in the participant information sheet and in the interviews. Support was also provided for the interviewer, who engaged with the interviewees over a number of occasions, and listened to many accounts that were emotional and distressing to hear. A stakeholder group consisting of members of the trans and CALD community advised the research team on study design, data collection, analysis, and ethics.

Analysis

Thematic analysis was used to analyze the interview data (Braun & Clarke, 2006). All interviews were professionally transcribed verbatim and integrity checked for any errors. Transcripts were read line-by-line in close detail, with notes added to capture relevant first order concepts or codes. Through a process of discussion and decision-making, the research team then grouped first order concepts where commonalities occurred to develop concise overarching or higher order codes. This process allowed for both the defining and refining of codes and decision-making in relation to what data should be included within each code to ensure consistency. Having formulated the coding framework, transcripts were then imported into NVivo software to facilitate the organization of qualitative data into relevant codes. Once coding was complete, each of the coded sections was summarized within a coding summary, which further helped to identify commonalities and facilitated identification of themes across the data set. Trans members of our stakeholder advisory group were given the opportunity to read and comment on our interpretation and reporting of the data, and the analysis was revised to incorporate changes in language and interpretation.

The analysis presented in this article focuses on experiences of sexual violence, including sexual harassment and sexual assault, and the fetishization of trans women of color. In presenting the results, we refer to interviewees through their preferred pronouns and pseudonyms. Following trans community stakeholder consultation, we describe interviewees as “women.” We use the term “queer” when referring to LGBQ sexual identities and “women of color” to refer to women’s ethnic identities. The photovoice images referred to in the analysis are available in Supplemental Material. All of the images from the study are available in an online exhibition at https://www.crossingtheline.online/exhibition.

Results

“A Sexually Tinged Violation of Boundaries”: Defining Sexual Violence

The women we interviewed reported that “sexual violence is everywhere.” Women defined sexual violence in a number of ways. For some women, sexual violence was described on a continuum, from staring and verbal abuse, to nonconsensual touching and sexual assault, which could occur in both public and private contexts. As Fairuza told us, “Sexual violence can be very mild, like the way they looked at you, the way they behave to you and I mean inappropriately, and to a severe condition, like assaulting you verbally or physically.” In a similar vein, Claudia defined sexual violence as “forced sexual experiences or just unwanted comments or actions,” and Gabriella said, “Sexual violence could be a physical altercation, it could be a verbal, or it could just be a form of intimidation based on sexuality or gender or whatever.” Implicit in all of these accounts is what Natasha described as a “sexually tinged violation of boundaries” and “a violation of consent,” “to you as a person or to your body,” which did not necessarily have “some physically violent element.” This includes the whole spectrum of what is officially defined as sexual harassment and sexual assault, including transphobic abuse.

For other women, sexual violence was defined more narrowly as “anything intimate without consent” (Sam), ranging from kissing, to touching, or forced sexual acts. This included sexual assault in the public sphere, where women were “cornered” or “advanced on,” which could result in “Rape. [Being] molested, groped, unwanted approaches. Unwanted whatever, sexually, forcefully, do something you don’t want” (Sefina). Sexual assault could also happen during an initially consensual sexual encounter: “sexual violence means being forced to do something that you don’t like when you’re having sex with someone” (Rena). This could include forced sexual acts, “rape,” or “taking off the condom without you knowing, to having a transmittable STI without you knowing” (Sasha). These acts were characterized as “occurring in relation to power differences” (Lin) and could include “people being controlling or demanding, asking for things that they know they shouldn’t ask for, [sexual] pressure.” These acts would fit with formal definitions of sexual assault. In the thematic analysis below, we examine this whole spectrum of sexual violence.

“Crossing People’s Boundaries”: Sexual Harassment in the Public Domain

All participants described experiencing frequent sexual harassment as they went about their daily lives. Described by Lisa as “crossing people’s boundaries,” sexual harassment took the form of both public staring and verbal abuse.

A hostile gaze: Public staring and “weird looks”

Every woman we interviewed gave accounts of feeling that they were an object of sexual interest and scrutiny on an everyday basis, manifested through “staring,” “weird looks,” or “disgusted looks.” For the majority of women, staring was experienced as malevolent and described as “transphobic,” as evident in Lisa’s account: “I’ve had a number of people stare at me before, as a trans woman. I think it [is because] this person is different sort of way. So, more transphobic rather than, ‘Hey sexy.’” Women who were wearing feminine clothes or makeup reported that staring was experienced as a violation, serving to “mentally undress” and make them feel “dirty.” Gabriella’s account illustrates this experience:

They are all looking at me, because I was in a tight-fitting dress, so they’re all trying to almost get this Superman X-ray vision to peek through my dress and see what is underneath, because always, when someone is mentally undressing you, I felt dirty.

In other instances, “looks” were unambiguously hostile. Sofia described waiting for the bus “and this guy walked pass me, he just gave me a look, a disgusted look towards me.” She said that she thought, “This is so terrible that people have to throw their anger at you because you don’t pass or you’re just different.” In each of these accounts, women are positioned as “other,” as abnormal, through being the object of an inappropriate and invasive public gaze, because they do not “pass” as a woman. This hostile gaze was described as the first step on a continuum of sexual violence, as well as a violation in its own right.

Mockery and transphobic abuse: Verbal abuse is sexual violence

Verbal sexual violence and transphobic abuse was ubiquitous across the women’s accounts. Language was used as a tool of “banal violence” through the process of deliberate misgendering. This misgendering served to deny participants’ identity as women, meaning they were not seen as who they really are. As Lin said,

The banal violence of language like “hey man, ’sup mate? What’s up mate? Hey”—and just like being misgendered, that kind of—this banal violence . . . not only is it not a process of seeing who I am, it’s a process of trying to mould me into something that I already know that I am not, right?

From any reasonable viewpoint, the many forms of verbal violence reported by participants could not be constructed as “banal.” The majority of women we interviewed described multiple experiences of overt verbal harassment by individual men or groups of men. Many incidents took the form of public mockery, which served to draw attention to and ridicule women’s transgender status, with women commonly being called “a faggot, a tranny faggot” (Jenny), “abomination” (Sefina), “pervert” (Sam), “shemale” (Petra), or “a freak” (Emma). This verbal abuse was derogatory and experienced as an assault, as Sefina told us, “So, abomination, you’re sin, what else? There’s a lot. You know, weirdo, freak, ‘Ah, you’re a faggot, poofter.’” Verbal harassment was also seen as a threat because it often contained threats of physical or sexual assault, or acted as a precursor to physical or sexual assault. For example, Revathi was followed by men, who said, “they’re gonna rape you and they’re gonna—told me they wanna hit me, they wanna cut me, they’ll throw me in the river.”

Many participants described verbal abuse when they attempted to use women’s public toilets, being called “predators” or “perverts,” invariably followed by attempts to exclude them. Jenny said that being questioned about her right to use women’s public toilets is so common that she carries a letter with her to demonstrate that she is a woman, so if “somebody goes and complains that ‘oh, there’s this guy in the bathroom, in the toilet,’” she can say, “Hey, listen. I might have something down there but I am a female. I’m going through the process of becoming a full female.” Jennifer illustrated the significance of bathrooms, and the fear of verbal harassment and exclusion in a photograph “Bathroom sign.” See Photo 1: Bathroom sign by Jennifer.

Gabriella suggested that “people tend to overlook” the impact of verbal abuse on trans women, or tell women to “ignore it.” However, this stance negates the women’s experiences and the intention behind the verbal abuse: to insult, intimidate, or threaten a trans woman because of her gender. For Gabriella and many of the other women we interviewed, verbal abuse was positioned as an experience that was as “harmful” and “difficult to deal with,” “if not worse” than physical violence.

Sometimes, women were uncertain as to whether verbal harassment was sexist and directed at them as women, no different from “cat-calling” reported by cisgender women, or whether it was transphobic abuse because they “don’t pass,” as Lisa told us,

It was a car that drove past me in the opposite direction, riding my bicycle. It was just a guy who gave a generic “woo” . . . like a mean-ish scream towards me. Like, it wasn’t any particular word, but, yeah. I don’t know if it was because I was a woman or a trans woman who doesn’t pass.

Such cat-calling could serve to validate femininity, as was the case when Gabriella was told by men she was beautiful, making her feel like the “prettiest girl in the world.” However, many of the women interviewed saw danger in “taking the compliment” as a man might “do something to her” if her trans identity is revealed. For example, Jennifer explained,

I feel like if the guy is trying to hit on me and if they found out later on that I’m trans, they’re going to be mad at me and my life is going to be in danger. For me, that’s something that I always avoid.

In some instances, a woman being told she is “sexy” was overtly threatening. Mei gave an example of walking down the street, and a man coming close to her and suddenly saying, “You look very sexy.” She said that “It’s definitely sexual violence, because he didn’t do any body activity to me, but the language is already doing the sexual violence.”

Reports of racism combined with sexism and transphobia demonstrate the intersection of gender, sexuality, and cultural identity in trans women’s experiences of verbal harassment. Many women of color reported lifelong experiences of being subjected to verbal racist harassment, which compounded, or was a component of, their experience of verbal harassment as trans women. Natasha described her school experience as “just like shit in the playground like, ‘Go back to where you came from.’” Claudia said that she had “a fair amount of body hair growing up” and, as a result, was “called gorilla a few times by some of the White boys.” She also regularly experienced “casual racism” as an adult, which she thought was supposed to be a joke. She said, “I don’t find it funny.” Jenny described herself and other Indigenous sister-girls being held in “the city watch house” (the men’s prison) in the late 1980s, and experiencing racist and homophobic threats from male prisoners:

They called us every name under the sun. They called us “faggots turn around” and threaten us saying, “We’re gonna rape you and fuck you up your fucking ass, you faggot!” “I’ll fuck you up your ass!” and lovely things like that.

Jenny remarked that the police did nothing to stop this verbal sexual abuse. Indigenous sister-girls may be more vulnerable to this form of ostracization and verbal abuse, given the “over-policing” of Aboriginal communities in Australia, particularly Aboriginal women (Cunneen, 2001). For other women, transphobia, homophobia, and racism were combined in online abuse. This abuse is illustrated in Rena’s account below, when she described men being “mean” and “harassing” her on online dating apps, then being “violent” in their comments if she did not reply:

Maybe they’ll be like, “You fucking faggot,” or “You’re ugly anyway,” and, “You—stop playing hard to get . . . you’re not even a woman,” or something like that . . . This one guy he got really aggressive at me. He calls me a whore [writing]: #nevertrustanAsianwhore.

A small number of participants also talked about experiencing transphobic and racist verbal abuse within the general LGBTQ community, sometimes from other queer people of color. For example, Elizabeth talked about being on the tram with “raucous commuters” whom she said she was trying to “block out” because they made her feel anxious,

then one of them who I read as being also queer or gender diverse in some way and a person of colour turned to me and said as they were leaving, “You’re so fucking ugly, you look like a [voodoo] doll.”

Maya described how “narratives of violence” were often used against people of color as a means to gate-keep involvement in the queer community, telling us it was a way to keep “trans people of colour out of spaces and to keep spaces as White as possible.”

“Crossing Bodily Boundaries”: Experiences of Sexual Assault

Staring and verbal abuse were often the precursor to physical sexual assault, which served to “cross bodily boundaries,” perpetrated by strangers, intimate partners, and sex-work clients. Many women saw physical sexual assault as a reflection of the fetishization of trans women, which served to legitimate objectification and sexual assault.

“Unwanted sexual touch”: Groping and forced sex by strangers

Groping and unwanted sexual touching by strangers was a common occurrence for women, illustrated within Mei’s photograph “Hand under skirt,” which depicted a man’s hand under a woman’s skirt. In describing the image, she said, “Sometimes a man, sometimes they will actually touch the woman’s part.” See Photo 2: Hand under skirt by Mei.

Many women described being frequently “groped” in bars or nightclubs, as Maria said, “half the time I’ve gone to bars I’ve been groped. I consider it harassment but apparently it’s an assault thing.” Elizabeth told us she was on the dance floor in a club when a man “came over and started dancing with me and then he manoeuvred behind me and grabbed my groin.” She said that she felt trapped and unable to escape, illustrated by her photograph of a hand in chains, which she described thus, “Feeling trapped when being groped in public and no one can see. No one can tell that you’ve not really wanted it at all and that you’re uncomfortable and it’s a sexual situation. I was frozen.” See Photo 3: Chains on wrist by Elizabeth.

Being groped or touched on public transport such as buses, trains, and taxis was also a common experience. For example, Jennifer described a man, “rubbing his dick on my butt.” She then “noticed him breathing on my neck . . . and then suddenly he grabbed my arse, and that’s when I slapped his face.” The apparent social acceptability of this situation is illustrated by the response, “he just moved to a different place, and no one even tried to stop him.”

Unwanted touch by strangers also took the form of rape or other forced sexual acts. Jenny told us that when she was looking for work at a country show, a man told her, “‘If you come in the toilet with me and suck this, I’ll get you a job at one of the sideshows.’ So, not knowing any better [I did it].” She said that, as an adult, “I’ve been raped quite a few times [by strangers].” Sexual assault was sometimes accompanied by physical assault. A large proportion of women described accounts of being spat on, slapped, hit, or stabbed. Maya described going to a party, “in heels and looking femme” when, “These guys just came up to me and they were all like, ‘What the fuck is that?’ And the one guy came up to me and just spat on my feet, like my heels.” Dinaz told us they were at a wedding in a country town in Australia, soon after they came out as trans:

I was quite violently sexually and physically assaulted . . . that was pretty bad, it was three blokes who had been harassing me when I first arrived and then they were waiting when I got back from the reception.

This sense of danger and lack of safety is illustrated in Steph’s photograph “Alley streaked light,” which she described as, “That’s an alley way. It’s not very safe to walk at night. There’s no one around, so anyone can do whatever they want, and it’s dark, so no one is safe.” See Photo 4: Alley streaked light by Steph.

Danger in relationships: Sexual assault and manipulation

Many women were sexually assaulted by people known to them, and, for some, these assaults started at a young age. For example, Sefina told us she was raped at the age of 12 by her cousin, who was 30. Although, at the time, she felt that “this doesn’t feel right,” she was also confused because the rape served as a “validation” of her feminine identity: “This man wanting me, and sexually advancing on me . . . attracted to me, to the woman.” Amanda described sexual assault of trans women and girls as commonplace in Samoa. She said, “with boys, with men in the family, men in the village, you just shut up, toughen up and move on [because] they always expect that a fa’afafine is there to satisfy a male gender’s needs.” Childhood sexual assault was compounded by bullying at school, which was described by Sam as making them feel “like a helpless cow being led to slaughter, with all that helplessness and all the fear.”

Dating and the establishment of new relationships in adulthood brought a heightened risk of sexual violence, with many women being forced to undertake sexual acts or being raped on first dates. As Dora told us,

I sat in the seat [of the car] and the doors were locked, immediately. It kind of turned into “if you don’t perform oral sex on me I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” My hair was really pulled, I got slapped in the face and I knew this was a very fucking bad situation

Lin described despite only “planning to have lunch” with a date, things quickly escalated, when the man pressured them into performing sexual acts, “He was wanting to cum, I was just like—I don’t really want to do this . . . he’s like, ‘Come on, come on.’” Complexities surrounding disclosure of trans identity when beginning an intimate relationship with a cisgender man was associated with risk of violence. As Dinaz described,

I think because a lot of people do want to hurt us . . . they feel guilty about finding us hot, they want to have sex with us but then they also have a lot of internalised homophobia, transphobia, a lot of cis straight dudes find trans women hot, and then they get the gay fear when they are engaged in sex.

Some participants talked about having to learn “that it’s okay to say ‘no’ to sex” when they were dating. Lin had previously identified as a gay man, and said they had “just learned how to say ‘yes’ to everything because gay men are supposed to be super horny and you’re just supposed to like it.”

A number of women also described being coerced into sexual acts or “raped every night” within ongoing intimate relationships. For example, Elizabeth told us, “Over a period of time I kept on losing agency in terms of what I wanted.” She used the image of scissors and knotted underwear to describe “what it felt like to be expected to touch my partner whenever she desired.” The tied underwear was a “sign of like breaking a lock” that is the relationship, and the scissors represented “something that’s meant to be safe and protected, that has been violated.” See Photo 5: Knickers and scissors by Elizabeth.

Sam described their partner as becoming unexpectedly “persuasive and manipulative,” which eventually led to a

a loss of my own self-voice . . . I lost my virginity . . . without even asking for consent . . . my entire world just got flipped upside . . . leaving me shocked, leaving me confused, disorientated.

Similarly, Sofia told us that she “had a partner who was quite violent, like having sex and would not stop even though I asked [him] to stop.” Although some women identified their partners as sexually abusive, many said that they did not feel it was possible or easy to leave the relationship. As Amanda told us,

[I was] craving companionship, when you’re lonely, [when] you’re on drugs and you think no one else is going to be with you . . . [you] tolerate so much of the abuse . . . you learn to just accept it.

Sexual violence in the context of sex work

A number of the women interviewed were involved in sex work and reported both physical and sexual violence from clients, encapsulated by Dalilah’s comment, “People feel like that if they’re paying for services, they own you and can do what they want with you.” Sexual violence took many forms, as Sefina told us, “we face some violence from clients . . . hair pulling, scratches, punches came into play.” Many participants reported that clients would purposefully remove condoms without consent during sex, as Amanda told us, “You have the ones that forcefully, when you keep telling them, ‘No, you’ve got to use a condom’ . . . [and] they’ve trickily tried to pull it off, or they have pulled it off.” Sasha said, “straight married clients have this fantasy of breeding you and so want to ejaculate inside of you, they have this fantasy from the porn that they watched.” Women also described experiencing clients who do “things that we didn’t consent to” (Selvi), and if the woman attempted to refuse, this could result in intimidation and psychological abuse. Being trans could add to the risk of sexual violence during sex work, as Rena remarked, “being an escort as your job you’re not very safe and because you’re trans, you’re even more likely to be facing discrimination and sexual violence against you.” Dalilah described “men who see trans women” sex workers as being “closeted and there’s probably anger and frustration there and if—[snaps fingers] they can flip.” Being a trans woman of color multiplied the risk, and removed safety nets of support available to cisgender White sex workers, as Sasha told us, “working in a brothel is safer and then the facts are trans women of colour are excluded from those establishments, so we are forced to work privately. Hence, we’re more likely to experience sexual violence in our work.” Blacklists of dangerous clients “who do terrible things to sex workers” are commonly shared, however, as Dinaz told us, “because of racism trans women of colour are not included in those groups, so they don’t get to have access to those safety mechanisms.”

Participants reported that they were rarely believed by authorities when they reported physical and sexual violence during sex work, and, thus, it went “unreported” and “unresolved.” As Sefina told us, “People have said, ‘Well you agreed to get paid,’ but at the same time, I didn’t ask for a bloody nose, a broken eye, you know, half my hair pulled out.” Selvi told us people have said to her, “Stop being a sex worker. You deserved it.” Selvi went on to say that trans women of color who are sex workers are frequently “powerless” to avoid violence as they often struggle to find other employment, resulting in significant financial insecurity:

It is a problem for trans women because a lot of us may have difficulty finding work, so a lot of us look to sex work to make a living, at least in the interim while we’re working things out and working up the confidence to even be able to be in public. It’s such a common experience for us. So, yes, violence against sex work is a trans issue.

This statement is clear evidence of the intersection of social class, gender, and ethnicity in the vulnerability to sexual violence for trans women of color who perform sex work.

“We’re turned into something we’re not”: Fetishization and the sexual other

Many women described feeling vulnerable to sexual violence because they were fetishized and positioned as “sex objects” or “exotic” due to their trans identity. Jennifer illustrated the sexual objectification of trans women through the use of a photograph of a box of eggplants. She told us, “One meaning of sexual violence for me, is to be objectified, because, like eggplants, guys make assumptions about what we are, and what we can do, we’re, being turned into something we’re not.” The concept of being “different” or “mysterious,” and thus of sexual interest, was also evident in Dora’s account, where she said “in pornography . . . it’s already kind of a fetish . . . having your own category [as a trans woman].” See Photo 6: Eggplants in a box by Jennifer.

This objectification was associated with a feeling of lack of control in intimate relationships. Jennifer, for example, discussed feeling as though she were a “doll.” She said,

People treat us as a doll, basically, they can do anything with it, they can remove clothes, they can dress us. A lot of people see us as inanimate object . . . you don’t have any control over what’s being done to you. You don’t ask a doll what kind of dress she wants.

The concept of being positioned as a “doll” to sexually appease male partners was also evident in an account given by Lin, who told us,

I was seeing him for like a year . . . he ended up pushing me into the bathroom and trying to put lipstick on me . . . I was like oh, no, don’t fucking touch my body . . . I’m not your doll . . . that was my first encounter with the direct physical violation of my bodily autonomy.

Fetishization could also be manifested as inappropriate questions or touching of women’s genitals because they are trans, as Mei told us, “When you say you’re a trans woman, they are interested in your original body parts, they say will it become smaller [penis]? This kind of uncomfortable words or uncomfortable actions, so they may touch it.” Mei positioned this fetishized curiosity as “sexual violence.”

Many women discussed fetishization in relation to the intersecting nature of being a trans woman and a woman of color, and the impact this had on how they were viewed by potential partners or sex work clients, primarily cisgender White men. Dora said, “There is definitely a thing about South East Asia, and trans women,” and Elizabeth told us, “Asian women or South East Asian women are exoticised in the eyes of White men . . . there’s that intersection of exoticising women of colour and also exoticising trans women.” Women interviewed positioned this intersection as contributing to higher rates of sexual violence and the dehumanization of trans women of color. For example, Maya explained, “Essentially, if you’re fetishising a person for anything, let alone the ‘transness’ or the ‘brownness’ . . . you’re basically dehumanising them . . . [they] become the object of violence in that sense.” Elizabeth described how the intersection of being a trans woman and a woman of color impacted power dynamics within intimate relationships, which led to sexual violence. She told us,

A lot of men . . . have a level of entitlement to the woman’s body by virtue of choosing them over a normal cis woman . . . add the elements of exoticised stereotypes . . . and power that White sexual partners might have over minority women . . . due to ingrained beliefs about race . . . [means] sexual violence is often being driven by power imbalances.

As a result of fetishization and sexual violence, many participants described constant fear and anxiety, and as a result either remained “closeted” to avoid being publicly identified as a trans woman, or focused on passing, for as Jenny told us, “a person that passes, gets treated a lot better.” Trans women gave accounts of using makeup, clothes, and hormones to pass as women. However, many said that they had difficulties in passing as a “pretty girl” or “beautiful woman” within the confines of archetypal White femininity, which was seen as the ideal, because of the “confines or bounds” of the “physical body,” including body hair, size, scarring, or having “brown” skin. This left them vulnerable to sexual violence as visibly trans women.

Discussion

This study examined the lived experience of sexual violence for trans women of color living in Australia, using one-to-one interviews analyzed through a feminist intersectionality theoretical lens. Previous research has used intersectionality theory to examine gendered identities of trans women of color (De Vries, 2015), and trans individuals’ experiences of sexual violence (Matsuzaka & Koch, 2019). This is the first study to use feminist intersectionality theory to examine sexual violence experiences of trans women of color, and to use photovoice methods alongside interviews to empower and give voice to women. Our findings reinforce the importance of acknowledging the intersection of gender, race, sexuality, and social class when understanding the experiences of violence against trans women of color (Bettcher, 2014), including trans women of color who participate in sex work (Sausa et al., 2007).

Sexual violence was a common experience for all of the women we interviewed, reflecting the high rates of sexual violence reported by trans women in previous research (James et al., 2016; National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, 2011; Sausa et al., 2007). It was during and after gender transitioning and gender affirmation that the majority of our participants experienced both sexual harassment and assault, as reported previously (Levitt & Ippolito, 2014; Yavorsky & Sayer, 2013). For some, sexual violence commenced in childhood, reflecting the established link between gender nonconformity and increased risk of childhood sexual abuse (Roberts et al., 2012; Walker et al., 2019), reinforcing the need for recognition of the vulnerability and support needs of gender diverse individuals from a young age (Robinson et al., 2014; Telfer et al., 2018). Sexual abuse in childhood was ignored or condoned, as has historically been the case with cases of childhood sexual abuse in the broader community (Warner, 2009), however, experience of childhood sexual abuse is a risk factor for a wide range of physical and psychological health problems (Maniglio, 2009). Sexual abuse in childhood may also increase women’s vulnerability to sexual violence in adulthood, if they have internalized the notion that sexual violence is acceptable, or something they deserve (Maker et al., 2001). This is a matter of concern, for as the number of experiences of sexual violence increase, including sexual abuse in childhood, the risk of psychological distress increases (Szalacha et al., 2017).

For other women, sexual violence was first experienced in adulthood, following their gender transition and affirmation as women. These accounts reflect the objectification and gendered oppression of all women, with sexual violence grounded in misogyny and gender-based discrimination (Gavey, 2005; Langenderfer-Magruder et al., 2016). The consequence is that constant awareness of the need to avoid sexual violence is a taken-for-granted element of femininity for both cisgender and trans women (Rader, 2008; Yavorsky & Sayer, 2013). For some of the participants in our study, sexual violence affirmed their status as women, illustrating the complex meaning of misogynist abuse for trans women (Levitt & Ippolito, 2014; Matsuzaka & Koch, 2019; Yavorsky & Sayer, 2013). However, the majority of women we interviewed were aware of the dangers of “taking the compliment” in relation to verbal harassment, for if they were discovered to be trans through invasive touching or other forms of “genital verification” such as groping (Bettcher, 2014, p. 394), this could serve to reinforce media representations of trans women as “sexualised deceivers” (Serano, 2007), precipitating physical sexual violence.

For trans women, misogyny is combined with transphobia, described as “transmisogyny” (Serano, 2007), with being trans and a women standing as multiple and intersecting risk factors for sexual violence. Transmisogyny included being subjected to transphobic and derogatory comments, including being mocked, insulted, laughed at, and threatened with or subjected to physical or sexual violence in the public domain because of being trans. Many women were also deliberately misgendered in their interactions with others, a form of microinvalidation (Sue et al., 2007) positioned by participants as part of a continuum of sexual violence. These findings reflect accounts of verbal and physical sexual violence reported by trans women in previous research (Clements-Nolle et al., 2006; Kerr et al., 2019; Xavier, 2000), the consequence of which was feeling objectified and hypersexualized, which could lead to fear, anxiety, social exclusion, or a dangerous situation. Heterosexual men were the primary aggressors, for whom “taking on the feminine” can serve as deeply problematic to heterosexual masculinity, sometimes linked to the “taunt of homosexuality” (Yavorsky & Sayer, 2013, p. 154). This is further evidence of the role of sexual violence in maintaining gendered power dynamics, and as a tool of patriarchal power.

The consequences of being perceived as gender nonconforming within a trans misogynistic and cis-normative society means conforming with sociocultural expectations of gender through “passing” is imperative for trans women (Miller & Grollman, 2015). Many women we interviewed reported being closeted, or endeavoring to “pass” as a cisgender woman to minimize the possibility of being identified as trans and, as a result, being subjected to sexual violence, as reported previously (Levitt & Ippolito, 2014). This practice reflects the established fact that appearing visibly different heightens the risk of violence for trans women, leading to the conclusion that the threat of sexual violence serves as “gender policing” (Jauk, 2013, p. 808). This form of gender policing impacts all individuals who do not fit as expected with dominant norms of masculine/feminine behavior as deemed appropriate to biological sex (Migdalek, 2014). This is amplified for trans women of color who are simultaneously hypervisible as a trans woman and as a non-White person in a country dominated by constructions and impositions of cisgender White femininity in all areas of life (Graham, 2014). At the same time, for trans women of color, experiences of sexual violence were accompanied by what has been described as the “everyday racism” of “microaggressions” (Sue et al., 2007, p. 271), which for our participants was manifested through a combination of racism, and transmisogyny, in some instances, accompanied by homophobia. Theorized through an intersectionality framework (Crenshaw, 1991), this reflects the intersection of gender, ethnicity, and sexuality in the lived experience of sexual violence against trans women of color, a “multiple marginalisation” that compounds the broader social discrimination trans people of color experience, understood as minority stress (Cyrus, 2017).

Many women reported sexual violence in ongoing intimate relationships in adulthood, as reported in previous research with trans women (James et al., 2016). In a study of trans women of color in the United States, 44.7% reported intimate partner violence in the last year (Bukowski et al., 2019). These findings illustrate the particular vulnerability of trans women of color who feel they cannot leave abusive relationships because of economic or psychological vulnerability (Moolchaem et al., 2015). Many trans women of color are subjected to sexual violence in the family (Cense et al., 2017; Fernandez-Rouco et al., 2017), with migration providing the only means to escape family violence and control. However, migration and the pursuit of asylum is a challenging process that can generate a new level of vulnerability and victimization for trans women of color (Alessi et al., 2017). Migration can bring resettlement challenges and experiences of racist exclusion and abuse (Alessi, 2016; Alessi et al., 2020), with the intersection of cultural, sexual, and gender identities along with citizenship status increasing the risk of sexual victimization for trans women during the migration process (Chávez, 2011).

Sexual violence during sex work was common, including rape, physical assault, and men purposefully removing condoms without consent during sex, as reported in previous research with trans women (Lyons et al., 2017; T. Nemoto et al., 2011; Sausa et al., 2007). Sexual violence toward trans sex workers is a serious health and human rights issue, which is associated with psychological distress, resulting in suicide attempts (T. Nemoto et al., 2011) and substance abuse (Keuroghlian et al., 2015; Sausa et al., 2007). Trans women who were sex workers felt they were socially stigmatized and positioned within society as deserving of physical and sexual violence, as found in previous research with trans women sex workers (Fletcher, 2013) and sex buyers (Jovanovski & Tyler, 2018). Social stigmatization is prevalent for all sex workers, but trans women of color experience more social oppression and stigma than other sex workers (Weinberg et al., 1999). The majority of trans women killed are trans women of color, trans women who are poor, and trans women who are sex workers (Bettcher, 2014). Whereas some trans women engage in sex work because they have no other option in terms of making a living (Sausa et al., 2007) and others choose sex work because it is empowering, or culturally normative, in trans communities (Fletcher, 2013; Sausa et al., 2007), trans women of color are more likely to engage in sex work due to having no other option, due to a combination of social disadvantage compounded by racism and transphobia (Weinberg et al., 1999). Our findings, thus, support Bettcher’s (2014) argument that “the role of sex work must be seen as occupying a special role in our understanding of transphobia” (p. 391). In contexts where sex work is heavily policed or illegal, women are more vulnerable (Deering et al., 2014). Negative experiences with police were described by many of the trans women of color in the present study, who reported lack of acknowledgment that sexual violence had occurred, as reported in previous research (Langenderfer-Magruder et al., 2016). This finding is evidence of what has been described as the “deeply embedded stigmatising assumptions of sex work as inherently dangerous,” which “can function to alleviate some of the police responsibility in protecting the civic rights of sex workers” (Krüsi et al., 2016, p. 1143), and highlights the importance of the decriminalization of sex work.

Situated within feminist intersectionality theory, we theorize that trans women of color are sexually objectified based on race, class, and gender. It has been argued that “non-trans people have a sense of entitlement about trans bodies . . . that warrants examination and study” (Fletcher, 2013, p. 68), reflected in the fetishization and sexualization of trans bodies (Ellis et al., 2016). At the same time, the objectification and sexualization of women of color is central to colonization and White privilege, reflected in cultural representations of African women as sexually lascivious and unrapeable (Watson et al., 2012), and of Asian women as provocative, mysterious, yielding, and vulnerable (K. Nemoto, 2006). In the present study, accounts of verbal harassment, bodily groping or assault, or being chosen by a partner or sex work buyer were because of being a trans woman, a woman of color, or both. Providing insight into the subjective experience of fetishization of trans people (Ellis et al., 2016), these accounts demonstrate that trans women of color are sexually objectified as a woman (Fredrickson & Roberts, 1997), a person of color (Watson et al., 2012), a queer person (Balsam et al., 2005; Szalacha et al., 2017), and a trans person (Bettcher, 2014). The intersection of these identities increases the risk of objectification and sexual violence for trans women of color, and reinforces the importance of acknowledging the intersection of gender, race, sexuality, and social class when understanding violence against trans women (Bettcher, 2014). The bodies of women of color have been described as a space where racism, classism, and sexism converge (Watson et al., 2012). The bodies of trans women of color are subjected to additional marginalization, through the tyranny of transmisogyny.

These findings have a number of implications for practice and policy. The experiences and needs of trans women in relation to sexual violence remain poorly understood by many health care providers, legislators, the police, and policy makers (Smith et al., 2014). The absence of culturally competent information and knowledge about transgender experience among first responders and service providers, accompanied by misinformation, can lead to stigma, prejudice, and discrimination, resulting in unmet needs for transgender people (Hawkey et al., in press; Pallotta-Chiarolli, 2018). There needs to be recognition of the specific needs and experiences of trans women of color, as well as education and training about gender and diversity, to prevent sexual violence occurring. These measures must be accompanied by supportive legislation and policy to address sexual violence experienced by trans women of color, as well as other women and trans people, to provide protection and support. Trans women of color who are migrants or refugees in predominantly White countries may, thus, need support in establishing safety and stability in their chosen gender, as well as strategies for dealing with the challenges of resettlement (Alessi & Kahn, 2017).

There are a number of strengths and limitations in this research study. A strength is the adoption of a feminist intersectional framework (Crenshaw, 1989), which allows us to understand the complexity of the experience of sexual violence of trans women of color, a group often neglected in research. The in-depth examination of lived experiences through interviews and photovoice is also a strength, giving voice and empowerment to a group of marginalized women. The limitations are that participants responded to a request to take part in a study examining sexual violence, which means that the women’s accounts may not represent the full range of experiences of all trans women of color. Our interviews were also all conducted in English; in future research, interviews in the preferred language of participants would facilitate exploration of women who do not speak English. While 31 women did the first interview, only 19 chose to engage in the photovoice activity, which is a limitation. However, the photovoice was optional, and we did not want to exclude women who were reluctant to engage with visual methods. Finally, while some women did report childhood sexual abuse, we did not ask specific questions about this experience, a subject that deserves further study.

Conclusion

The poor health outcomes experienced by many trans women are closely associated with their exposure to sexual violence and the social inequities and transphobia to which they are subjected. Trans women of color and those from a CALD community, as well as trans women who identify as queer, may experience additional prejudice and discrimination due to the intersection of gender, sexuality, race, and social class. Our research suggests that understanding the complexities of these intersecting identities is integral to understanding the sexual violence experiences of trans women of color.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank Australia’s National Research Organisation for Women’s Safety (ANROWS) Limited for funding this research. The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and cannot be attributed to ANROWS. We would like to thank Kyja Noack-Lundberg, Samantha Ryan, Jack Thepsourinthone, and Rosie Charter who contributed as research assistants to the research.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Jane M. Ussher

Author Biographies

Jane M. Ussher, PhD, is professor of Women’s Health Psychology in the Translational Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University, Australia. She is editor of the Routledge Women and Psychology book series and has researched and published extensively on women’s sexual and reproductive health, women’s madness, and the health of marginalized groups, including culturally and linguistically diverse women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex (LGBTQI) populations.

Alexandra Hawkey, PhD, is associate research fellow in the Translational Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University, Australia. Her research focuses on sexual and reproductive health of women from culturally and linguistically diverse groups. She is interested in exploring methodologies that empower research participants and give voice to the marginalized.

Janette Perz, PhD, is professor of Health Psychology and director of the Translational Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University, Australia. She is coeditor of The Routledge Handbook of Women’s Sexual and Reproductive Health (Routledge, 2019), with Jane Ussher and Joan Chrisler. She has undertaken a significant research program in sexual and reproductive health, including co-investigator with Jane Ussher on Australian Research Council (ARC)-funded projects examining premenstrual syndrome (PMS) in heterosexual and lesbian relationships; couple-based psychological interventions for PMS; changes to sexuality and fertility after cancer; sexual well-being and reproductive needs in culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) populations; and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex (LGBTI) cancer care.

Pranee Liamputtong, PhD, is professor of Public Health at Western Sydney University, Australia. She is a health–social science researcher with knowledge and skills in qualitative research methodologies and inclusive research methods. She has worked extensively with vulnerable/marginalized groups including trans women, refugees, and migrants in Australia, and women in Asia in the areas of sexual and reproductive health, sexuality, breast cancer, HIV/AIDS.

Jessica Sekar is a researcher and writer at the Translational Health Research Institute, Western Sydney University. Her research focuses on sexual violence and experiences of cancer by LGBTQI people. She serves as a community liaison for organizations and works with vulnerable populations including LGBTQI people and culturally and linguistically diverse people.

Brahmaputra Marjadi, MD, MPH, PhD, is a senior lecturer at the Western Sydney University School of Medicine and core member of the Translational Health Research Institute. He is a mixed-methods researcher focusing on various aspects of diversity and their intersectionality, cross-cultural knowledge translation, and community-engaged medical education.

Virginia Schmied, PhD, is professor of midwifery in Nursing and Midwifery at Western Sydney University. She researches the social and emotional health and well-being of women and men in the transition to parenthood, breastfeeding, and young child feeding; perinatal mental health, particularly in vulnerable communities; and researching improvements in service delivery and professional practice.

Tinashe Dune, PhD, is a senior lecturer in Interprofessional Health Sciences at Western Sydney University. Her research, teaching, and practice (clinical psychology) focus on the experiences of marginalized populations. These include the experiences of culturally and linguistically diverse people, those living with disability, aging populations, LGBTIQ-identifying people, and Indigenous populations.

Eloise Brook, PhD, is the media manager at the Gender Centre Inc. She also works as a researcher across gender, political science, media, and communication lines. Her main focus as an academic has been the intersection of these various areas on transgender and gender diverse lives.

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