Trump Fugitives - The Flight Of The Outed, The Put Upon, And The Disaffected, But Nobody Wants Them

Alicia Randall, born Alexander Porter Randall, became a woman in the summer of 2024, convinced that the renewed Biden/Harris administration would reverse the trend of the Trump years, restore the gender spectrum and transgenderism to their proper places as New Age revelations replacing told, discredited, and meaningless heterosexuality.

Alicia made it clear during her transition that she wanted to be a girly girl, not a tarty trollop by any means, but more of a Las Vegas runway queen, all sparkles and spangles, long legs, and an effervescent personality. 

 

'That's up to you', said the surgeon who had heard requests like this before, as though one slice of the knife would produce a Hollywood starlet or Vogue model, 'and the drugs'; but Alex in the months and weeks before his reassignment surgery couldn't help himself and before bedtime reached for the glamour and celebrity magazines on his night table, and flagged his favorites.  

One particularly nice thing about transgenderism was that you could pick your persona.  Once you had been physically altered and the progesterone and estrogen were coursing through your veins, you could choose your way. Fielding Potter, for example, had decided to go full Park Avenue - cultured pearls, Givenchy, and St. Laurent.  He had been brought up as a Boston Brahmin, Beacon Hill, Nantucket, and Wall Street, so his transformation into one of the elegant, stylish women who frequented the Potter homes was a natural. 

There would be challenges, for although breast implants and depilatories could do their jobs, Fielding had been too much of man to be trimmed into the marvelously tailored suits of Chanel; but such is the zeitgeist of the day, a suspension of disbelief, and those Americans who valued sexual diversity and the outing of identity looked past his brawn (for that, unfortunately, was what it was) to the elegant, sophisticated woman he intended to be. 

 

Being a trollop (Fielding felt a sexual thrill just thinking about it), a sexually charged, theatrical, operatic woman with a touch of the trashy had always been his dream, and now it would become the here and now.

Then reality hit.  Not only was Kamala Harris not going to be President, the man most responsible for anti-transgender hatred; a bigot, a woman-hating, moral criminal was back in the Oval Office.  From the very first he made it clear that he was going to roll back Biden-era policies that encouraged, promoted, and protected transgenderism.  In one of his earliest speeches to a crowd of supporters in Chillicothe, Trump said

Out with tassels and falsies! Out with the preposterous, mawkish, outrageous freak show of lopped off men parading around as women! How impossibly twisted, a ghoulish fantasy, a side show of emotional cripples.  Can you imagine one of these creatures reading to kindergarteners?  Not in my administration.  As my close friend Javier Milei of Argentina said, 'Afuera!'

This was worse than Alicia had expected.  She knew that the era of eager promotion might end, but that good, old American tolerance, inclusivity, and welcome would prevail. Wrong.  Her life for the next four years would be penitential at best.  Time to head for the hills. 

 'The infection of Trumpism has spread', said Alicia to a friend; but she misjudged the world political climate where progressivism was being tossed aside because of internal dissatisfaction with insidious policies damaging to cultural tradition, historical legacy, religion, and ethnic union.  It wasn't that Donald Trump exported anti-wokism; it was that countries in Asia, Europe, Africa, and Latin America were deciding for themselves that the folly, the fantasist nonsense, the anti-historical presumptuousness had to end. 

As a result this proposed exodus of the disaffected - Hollywood stars who used their celebrity as a podium for political criticism and said, 'You love it.  I'm leaving it') - didn't materialize quite as they had expected. 

Poland's President Duda said that there was no right of return for Polish American queers, and denied a visa to Olivia Krall (nee Krzyzewski), one of the silver screen's biggest stars.  Giorgia Meloni, runway ready beauty and Prime Minister of Italy who shouted to an adoring audience, 'I am a woman! I am a mother! I am a Christian! I am European! and I am Italian and will be forever' slammed the door on cultural outliers, sexual alternates, corrosively hateful Muslims, and Africans.

Ireland was not particularly happy to have sour, nasty lesbians coming to Cork. ‘We love Rosie', said Sean O'Malley, spokesman for the President of Ireland when pressed on whether the Emerald Isle would now be opening its doors to all comers, regardless of sexual persuasion. 'She's a beautiful flower of Ireland,', he said of American lesbian personality Rosie O'Donnell recently moved to his country, 'but one who, sadly has lost her petals, and drifted colorlessly into very inhospitable gullies and side alleys  We respect her Irishness, but wish her well on her return home to America where she will find a much more congenial, welcome'.

'We are not a dumping ground', said Hungary's Prime Minister Orban. 'We will not take your detritus, your leavings, and your trash' in response to visa requests from Hungarian American celebrities hoping to flee Donald Trump. 

'These delicate, privileged, airy ignoramuses are not welcome here', said Gert Wilders, a conservative politician in the Netherlands, poised to take power. 

Africa of course had never had any patience or tolerance with homosexuality.  African men were as macho as they come. Virtually every man, villager, slum dweller, or plutocrat was a serial lover, a Lothario, an insatiable sexual adventurer.  Gay pride was something out of a fabulist songbook, as far from African reality as could be imagined.  Now, to be honest, no black Hollywood stars had any intention of settling in Africa however much they hated Donald Trump and America, for the random violence, persecution, robbery, homophobia, and abysmal social order of Africa was just as bad if not worse. 

'What about India?', Alicia was asked.  'They have a tradition of transvestites there, they perform at weddings, are a respected group'.  Yes and no.  The hijras do dance and flirt at weddings, but they, like naked sadhus, banded priests, and buffalo men are tolerated but restricted.  A transgender woman might do a belly dance for you at nuptials, but what goes on under the wedding canopy stays under the canopy. 

 

Belinda Marks, an American transgender, had been tempted - titillated would be the more apt term - by the idea of a liaison with a hijra, and made her overtures through intermediaries in Mumbai - in the Cages, the old and traditional red light district of the city, an open market for sexual variety.  What Belinda did not know was that the hijras made their living only partially from weddings.  They were in fact the gypsies of India, canny thieves, con artists, and scammers rivaling only Nigerians in skill and experience. 

Before she knew it, Belinda had been f**ked, looted, and left on the curb, her bank accounts emptied, and her credit stolen. 

‘Port Moresby? Antofagasta?’, suggested a friend, gently noodging Alicia, i.e. nowhere is a safe haven, my dear, grin and bear it.

‘Besides’, she went on, ‘nobody in America really cares who puts what where; and so it was that Alicia stayed the course, hoping that the anticipated sexual pogroms would not happen and that she would find some safe space for her new identity.

‘Fat chance’, said the bilked, had, and angry Belinda Marks.