Through Me Prequel - i. the hanged man
Summary: Steve may be slow on the draw, but hand to god, he's sure there's something ... off about you. Or, the three times Steve was a witness and the one time he wishes he wasn't.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, eventual Steddie x fem!reader in the series
WC: 5.2K
Warnings/Themes: cursing, criticism of religion (catholicism/xtiantiy mostly), religious themes, canon-typical violence, death, idolatry via smut, blasphemy, heretical notions, angst, occasional fluff (as a treat), Biblical & western literary canon and media references/allusions
A/N: This is the first of three prequels centering on the three main characters. If you're up on your tarot know-how, you can glean some info from the banner, etc. 👀 Special shout out to my beloved Jo (@jo-harrington) for looking this over way back when! If you haven't checked out As Above, So Below, wtf are you even doing with your life!?
Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.
Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not. This (*) is a singal to check the footnote at the end!
Enjoy! 💜
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"I don't care how many angels can fit on the head of a pin. It's enough to know that for some people they exist, and that they dance."
— Mary Oliver, "Angels"
Wednesday, November 9, 1983
You first meet Steve Harrington on a cold day in early November. A feast day, memorializing one basilica or another according to your latest missive— it was hard to keep track, much less whether it was one to be observed.
A shrill ring from the phone in the motel room, this side of too loud and unfortunately, it’s enough to rouse you.
“What?”
“We have some concerns regarding a small Midwestern town, Hawkins, Indiana.”
Blearily you sit up, “Yeah?”
“Just a drive-by should suffice.”
A sigh, “Got anything else for me?”
The voice paused, as if annoyed by your tone. “We’ll be in touch, as always.”
The sound of the dial tone did nothing to elevate your mood. While presently not on a mission, you bided your time by locating relics and artifacts for future use. Yesterday’s attempt turned out to be more burden than boon— not only was the pawnshop owner a shyster but a gun-for-hire. So, no relic to be had and you had to disarm the guy, what a waste.
Luckily, Hawkins was only four hours drive from Lebanon and sounded like a pretty easy day.
But no one bothered to tell you that a boy and teenage girl were missing.
Driving down main street, the town seemed fairly normal. But the gooseflesh running up your arms and legs told a different story. As did the telltale scent of bleach in the air, signaling the presence of some high-voltage electrical discharge— ozone.
Flipping on your police scanner, you were able to glean the address of a witness and potential suspect. Consulting the map on the passenger seat, you turn off the main drag and head toward the outskirts of town.
In the driveway, there are two vehicles, one black sedan and one maroon BMW. Parking in front of the house, you grab a pen and a notebook along with a badge. After checking your hair briefly in the side-view mirror, you pull on a trench coat and knot it at the waist.
Walking up the pavement, you note the police tape against the double-doors and tire treads from other vehicles. Based on the number, you’d have to guess a party of some kind was thrown the night before.
Three quick raps on the door.
“Police, open up!”
A harried, but well-kept woman opens the door. “Yes, can I help you?” She asks politely, with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Are you Mrs. Harrington?” She nods. “Very well ma’am. I’m Detective Constantine with Hawkins P.D. May I come inside?” You display your badge for her viewing.
Another voice sounds out from the house, perturbed. “Tell her to come back with a warrant.”
The woman’s eyes blow wide, hesitant to refuse her husband. Her mouth opens to explain.
You sigh, pocketing the badge and raise your voice. “Sir, considering that a girl went missing here on your property last night, I am well within my rights to search your home without a warrant.” You smile, trying your best to remain civil. “But I am more than happy to radio the Chief from my car to relay your sentiments.”
The sound of shuffling papers and a creak from an old office chair. The door opens wider, revealing a man, Mr. Harrington, bags under his eyes and tie loose around his neck.
“I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” He says with a tight-lipped smile and opens the door wider.
With a nod, you enter, notebook out and pen ready. Assessing the home, you take a few cursory notes. Walking from the foyer to the living room, through the dining room and out onto the patio you stop— a young man in a pool chair grabbing your attention.
He looks dazed, staring at the covered pool. Legs pulled to his chest and chin resting on the tops of his knees. Dressed in a teal sweatshirt, sweatpants and socks you wonder how he isn’t shivering from the cold.
In an attempt to gently alert him of your presence, you softly clear your throat. His head jerks upward quickly, panicked eyes locked on you. “It’s okay,” you say, sitting on a chair to his left. “I’m just here to ask you some questions.”
He nods slowly, eyes never leaving you. A dull buzzing rattling in his chest.
Briefly consulting your notes, you lick your lips. “It’s Steve, right?”
“Y-yeah, Steve Harrington.”
“Great!” You smile and nod. “I’m Detective Constantine. Can you tell me about the party last night?”
He nods gaze fixed on you, on the hazy glow that seems to encircle your head; he blinks and scrubs a hand down his face; the image gone. “It was just a small thing, me, Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and Nancy Wheeler.”
“And the missing girl?”
“Right, Barb Holland. Nance invited her.”
“Nancy Wheeler, she’s your girlfriend?”
Another nod.
“Did you notice anything odd about Barb or anyone else last night?”
“No, not really. She didn’t, uh, seem to want to be here.” He frowns, brows furrowing, a slight tremor runs through him, from the cold or the shock, who’s to say?
“I think she cut her hand opening a beer, maybe?”
Jotting down a few more notes, you nod. “But didn’t make a call or say anything about making plans to leave?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Nance and I went inside, Barb stayed out by the pool. Didn’t hear anything from upstairs.”
Glancing up from your notes, you pause. Steve’s warmed up to you during the brief conversation, legs crossed in front of him instead of drawn to his chest. He looks tired, looks scared.
“Your room, I presume.”
He blushes at that, nods. Takes a tense breath in, inhaling the tangy scent and taste of newly forged metal - sharp and pure at the back of his throat.
“Can you point to where you last saw Barb?”
He does so, drawing your eyes to the far lip of the pool where the Harrington lot backs into the woods. There’s a tinge of ozone in the air, albeit fading, and a tang of copper. That’s to be expected from a cut on the hand, but the electrical discharge—
“There wasn’t a storm last night? Lightning or anything like that?”
Steve shakes his head, opens his mouth to say something when the sliding door opens.
“He wants a lawyer!” Mr. Harrington shouts, “Steve, I told you to request a lawyer before speaking with the cops.”
Steve rolls his eyes and turns back toward the house, “It’s fine, dad.”
Before Mr. Harrington can get his panties in a twist, you decide to take your leave. Standing, you pocket your notebook with one hand and place the pen behind your ear with the other. Extending a hand toward Steve, you smile.
“Thanks for your cooperation Steve.”
His hand clasps yours—warm and oddly familiar. “You’re welcome, I’m happy to help.”
Cocking your head, your eyes narrow to where your hand meets his. The feeling subsides, quelling any suspicions you may have had.
“Mr. Harrington.” You drop Steve’s hand and nod to his father, “The precinct will be in touch should there be any further questions. Your patience and cooperation are appreciated.”
And with a turn of your heel, you walk away.
A few hours later, there’s another knock at the door.
Steve answers it, waking from a nap on the couch. Eyes slowly opening, mouth like dried cotton.
The advil he’d swallowed earlier clearly did nothing to alleviate his headache, and the nap proved less than helpful.
At least the buzzing had died down. The newfound shortness of breath, however, had lingered.
He pulls the door open with a huff to reveal none other than Chief Hopper and his deputy.
“Afternoon, Steve,” he greets, eyes scanning the entryway. “Your parents home?”
Steve shakes his head, rubs the sleep from his eyes. “A detective already stopped by, earlier today.”
Hopper’s lips pull tight. “Huh.” He nods to the deputy and they leave to assess the scene, “Well, s’it alright if was take a look around here?”
He sighs, growing weary. “Yeah, sure.”
“Get some rest kid,” the Chief says and turns on his heel to go.
Steve shuts the door and drags himself upstairs. Falls face-first into bed with hopes to sleep off his headache and exhaustion.
Doesn’t hear the phone ring or Nancy leave a message.
In fact, he sleeps for three days. Specters of light dancing behind the darkness of his eyelids, and wakes with dried blood in his ears.
Sunday, January 1, 1984
He recognizes the buzzing first, the reverberation lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Knows the headache is likely to follow and shoves his sunglasses on, as if that could possibly help.
Steve’s idling in the parking lot of St. Mary’s waiting for Nancy while she attends Mass. Something about a feast for Mary or the circumcision of the Christ-child, he stopped listening and looped the curls of the telephone cord around his finger.
Parents already gone after the Christmas holiday, never staying longer than necessary.
He’d hemmed and hawed at all the right parts, while scanning through the paper for showtimes. Circled Scarface— as if she’d see that, Silkwood— a maybe, if he’s being honest, and finally Terms of Endearment— god help him.
And now, it was 30 minutes to showtime, and she was running late.
In the distance, he sees a bright flash of light. Hears the rattle and hum that follows.
Soon after, a black impala pulls into the parking lot. Correction, a smoking impala peels into the lot, sliding into a nearby parking spot expertly.
Well, that's new.
He watches as you exit the vehicle, slowly, casually, not with haste. Brushing the plumes of gray smoke aside flippantly, as if it wasn't cause for concern. A pair of sunglasses affixed to your face, frames and lenses dark resting on your nose and cheekbones.
A tiny lift of your crimson mouth is all it takes to send the blood rushing to his head. You nod in greeting to the congregants as they exit the church, as they shake hands with the priest and visit in the narthex.
You share a look with the priest, meaningful and urgent.
A tingling sensation as Nancy opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.
“Sorry about that.” She leans over to kiss him on the cheek, but Steve can’t stop staring at you.
Thank god for sunglasses.
“You okay?” Her voice is tinged with concern.
“Yeah, fine.” He says absently, shifting the car into gear, “Thought I was getting a headache but—”
“Another one?”
Steve sucks his teeth, he really doesn’t want to have this conversation again. “It’s not a big deal Nance.”
The tension in his neck and shoulders alleviated, a dull roar in his ears.
Pulling out of the parking lot, they pass where you’ve parked. His sunglasses slip minutely, just enough for him to glance at you over the bridge of them.
Catching his eye, you send a redolent wink in response.
“Do you know her?”
He clears his throat, letting the pedestrians pass by. “Uh, maybe?”
Nancy turns quickly, hazarding a glance, licks her lips while Steve clenches his jaw.
“Wow,” She breathes. “She’s—”
Steve speeds out of the parking lot like a bat outta hell. And Nancy never got to complete that thought.
Saturday, November 3, 1984
He doesn’t see you again that year, but Nancy does.
Saturday, June 29, 1985
The heat on this bus is oppressive. Offensive, even.
Even more so combined with the sweat 70-odd middle schoolers. The green ringer t-shirt with the unfortunate goldenrod yellow collar wasn’t helping things either. But, if you’d known all the particulars, you wouldn’t have taken the job.
Bagging hellspawn in the wilds of Wisconsin wasn’t worth dealing with a bunch of tweens who were hormonal and struggling to develop something called empathy.
They were mean in a scarily accurate and precise way.
“Okay twerps!” You raise a hand in the air, and count it off, “1, 2, 3, eyes on me!”
You lean against the back of the seat, facing the kids as their conversations drop to a murmur. Clipboard in hand, you flip through the brightly colored papers before addressing them once more.
“We’ll be coming to our final destination of Hawkins, in a few moments.” You pause to wipe your brow, “Couple of things to keep in mind: take only your stuff and no one else’s. Locate your adult person, parent or guardian, and then…”
You wait as the bus hisses to halt in front of the high school.
“Hey, sit back down Henderson, I’m not done yet.”
He grouses, crosses his arms and reluctantly sits.
“Right, so you find your adult and then check-out with me. Get it?”
“Got it!” They yell back and then it’s off to the races.
You brace yourself against the onslaught of tweens rushing toward the exit, clipboard clutched to your chest.
After the deluge, you scramble off the sticky plastic seat. “Thanks Larry!” You call to the bus driver and walk down the aisle, making sure no one left anything behind.
A radio crackles to life a few rows ahead of you.
“Dustin? Do you copy? Over.”
Rolling your eyes, you grab the hunk of plastic and thumb the call button. “Uh, roger that. Breaker one-nine. Henderson left his walkie on the bus. Over.”
Static and then.
“Shit.”
Shoving the behemoth in your back pocket, you step off of the bus, clipboard at the ready to check-out the campers.
Swamped with beleaguered kids and frazzled parents demanding medications and prescriptions, and mailing addresses and so forth, that you barley register the crackle and static from the walkie.
“Can you uh—” You wag a finger at an overly eager parent and pry the thing from your pocket. “What?”
“... Are you seriously mad right now?”
“Yes!” You sputter, rolling your eyes at the voice over the radio. “I’m kind of trying to do my job here.”
A laugh. “Funny, I thought you were a detective.”
You pale, a dull roar crashing through your ears. The voice is warm and melodic, slow like honey.
Handing off the clipboard to a junior counselor, you peer across the blacktop. And spy a figure leaning against the hood of a red car wearing black sunglasses. A smaller figure, jumping and waving at you in, of course, green and yellow.
“But then again.” The fuzz of static. “You were getting cozy with the padre, so maybe a change of pace. You a novitiate or just confessing?”
You refrain, with difficulty, from rolling your eyes.
“What’s it to you?”
Dustin whining when it clicks back on, “C’mon man.”
“Dinner.”
A scoff, “You wish.”
“Clearly.”
His response brings you pause, unusually forthright.
Lip pulled between your teeth, you leave him hanging for a minute and mentally sort through all the reasons why you shouldn’t.
Potential murderer - they never did find Barb Holland.
He apparently hangs out with Henderson—too many questions there to unpack there, but mainly: … why?
Already has a girlfriend, Nina… Nicole?
It would distract you from your work, but all work and no play makes you restless, and a little reckless. Speaking of which…
Pressing the call button down, you sigh. “Counter offer. I’ll allow you buy me a late lunch at the diner.”
You remember seeing a payphone somewhere around there and it’s public, so if it goes south you’ll have an easy out; you make plans to befriend the waitress, just in case.
The smugness radiates from his voice. “We have got to work on your negotiation skills.”
A crackle of static. You make a big show of turning the walkie’s dial off and shoving it back into your pocket before going back to work.
Following the directions he’d sent down with Dustin when he collected his precious walkie-talkie, you pull up to a place called Enzo’s.
Scanning the parking lot, your lips pull into a scowl when you see him.
Ah. There he is. You slam your door shut. That motherfucker.
Grinning like he’s the cat that caught the canary and goddamnit, being that attractive when smug shouldn’t be allowed.
“This isn’t what I agreed to.”
“Huh.” He cocks his head, “You don’t say.”
“What’re you playing at Harrington?”
He shrugs, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-tight jeans. You make the mistake of keeping his hands in your eyeline, looking down as you do so, and audibly gulp at the sight. Those jeans sure are tight, aren't they?
“My eyes are up here.”
You frown, and he laughs. Walks you into the restaurant— holds the door, and pulls out your chair, like a real gentleman.
A waiter quickly stops by, taking drink orders and rattling off the specials. You glace around the dining room, feeling out of place amongst the off-the-shoulder tops and high heels. Crossing your Converse-clad feet on top of one another, you stow them under the table and out of sight.
At least you weren’t wearing the ‘CAMP KNOW WHERE ‘85’ t-shirt and shorts any more.
Small miracles.
“Oh,” You say before the waiter, Kevin, goes to his next table, “Is there a payphone around here? I need to make a quick call.”
“You can use the bar phone,” He points to the bar by the hostess station. “Chris will be happy to help you.”
“Thanks!”
Steve eyes you as you stand up to leave, “Better be local distance or Enzo’ll be mad.”
“Bite me.”
He sips his drink. “Only if you ask nicely.”
With a roll of your eyes you leave him at the table perusing the menu.
Rapping your knuckles on the bar top, you smile as the bar tender approaches. “What can I get you?”
“Kevin said I could make a call from here?”
“Oh, sure.”
He leaves to get the phone and slides it in front of you before assisting another customer. You punch in the 618 area code followed by the all-too familiar number and listen as it trills.
Murray, of course, answers on the final ring.
Asshole.
“Behold!” He crows, “She brings me good tidings of great joy!”
“I hate you.”
He scoffs, “Yeah, yeah. What else is new?”
You turn back to look at Steve, he, annoyingly, waves. You reply in kind, waving your fingers before flipping him off.
“Not cursed? Bloodsick? Howling at the moon?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Still a messianic specter, sorry to report.”
“Sooooo.” You drawl, “This is your way of telling me you’ve got nothing.”
“Uh, huh.”
“And there’s no news.”
“Yep.”
You sigh, resting your forehead against the smooth lacquered wood of the bar. No jobs, no prospects, just great.
“Where are you staying? I’ll give you a ring when I get something interesting.”
You hum and stand back up. “Dunno Murray. Was kinda counting on a job to get me outta this town.”
Chris slides a drink down to you. Tequila, if you had to guess. Down the hatch it goes. You nod in thanks.
“Well, call me when you’re settled. Who knows, a slow summer might do you some good.”
“Ugh.”
You hang up the phone with a clatter and turn back to the table with a huff.
Under the evening sunlight scattered by a canopy of leaves and panes of glass, he rests his hand on your bare shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly.
Steve shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be as cavalier with his hospitality and his attention. Doesn’t know you from Adam and has already offered up the guest room.
He’s not normally this sloppy. But after things had gone sideways in ‘83 and then gone to shit in ‘84, Steve found himself slipping. Always looking over his shoulder, wondering when you’d blow back into town.
The detective turned nun turned camp counselor (Dustin swore you made the best s’mores) turned… well, whatever this was.
Not such a mystery anymore.
There is heat. There is the frame of his bed cracking. Carpet burns on his knees and back. Damp hairs on the nape of your neck. Bruises and bite marks and scratches all over him and strangely none on you, but not for lack of trying.
When he holds your torso against his, you grip him right back, and the pressure makes him feel like he could snap in half. It is wild and ferocious, tension sparking like a snarling animal ready to pounce.
He doesn’t call you darling or baby or sweetheart because those servile names feel so discourteous to what you actually are (and it’s only an inkling, but if he’s right—). He only pants and grunts and whispers fuck, fuck, fuck like a prayer.
“Don’t hold back on me now, Harrington.” You laugh, licking the sweat dripping down into your mouth. “You’ve always been honest. Go on, tell me what you want.”
He fists your hair from behind, pulls a growl from your throat, tangles his legs between yours as the two of you lie on your sides and goddamn it, he fucks you like he could die tonight. The sound of your ass slapping the smooth plane of his torso rings like a bell through the room. Your fist finds a handful of his hair and wrenches him away. You hold him down and crawl on top with a low chuckle.
“Tell me what you want.”
It’s futile to fight you. You are faster and stronger and beneath you, in the vastness of his own room, you could swallow him whole and he would let it happen.
“I want you.” Steve breathes, raspy and raw, grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you down. You bat him away and lean back instead, propping up on your feet, knees apart, showing him the entirety of your body. Gorgeous. Marble smooth. Hard as granite, but flecked with gold and dappled light.
Steve’s breath hitches in his throat.
You look cold in the way a statue might, but in the center where you are hot and wet, he could devote himself to forever.
“I want you now.”
With a savage grin gracing the transcendent beauty of your face, you allow him this request. Steve Harrington, merely mortal, succumbs entirely to your touch. His body melts into yours, shudders with reverence for your power and gravity, and he feels like he could burst apart inside of you.
Your breath is all he can hear. Your sweat is all he can taste.
You are ethereal.
And he will worship you to the end of his days.
Thursday, October 31, 1985
The bells chime on the door of Family Video before he can say that they’re closed and yes, they’re also sold out of Ghostbusters and Beverly Hills Cop.
Robin had already clocked out, picked up by some friends from band for a Halloween party, so it was just Steve closing up.
Too distracted by counting the till to acknowledge the buzz in his chest, the tension melting from his body. A distinct lack of headaches for a few months now too.
“Steve.”
A soft drip on the floor, like a leaky faucet when he glances up.
And you’re stumbling on the carpet like it’s moving beneath your feet. You’re trying to give Steve a reassuring smile and only getting across a grimace.
From what he can tell, at least.
Because you are absolutely, positively covered, head to toe, in so much blood and viscera it’s no longer red but black, dripping off of you like sludge where it hadn’t already dried. The whites of your eyes and teeth are visible, and that is not an image he necessarily wanted to have of you.
Ever, really.
“I’m alright, Steve,” You attempt. Your teeth are chattering.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Steve replies, shutting the register drawer with a flick of his wrist and shoving the deposit in the safe.
“This, uh,” You glance down at your current state, frowning.
“Not yours?” He guesses, stepping out from behind the counter, paper towels in hand. “Well, I’d hate to see the other guy.”
You rasp a laugh that quickly devolves into a cough.
“Yeah,” You say once you’ve recovered, “Totally nailed him.”
He can see as you waggle your brows, underneath the layers of blood, dirt, and grime— dried blood pulling your skin taut as it moves. Steve sucks his teeth.
“I don’t even wanna know, do I?”
Delirium is definitely sinking in because you laugh, recalling the nail gun and the thunkthunkthunk of steel driving into flesh, muscle, and bone. The screams and wails, followed by the death-rattle. His hands are on his hips as if he disapproves, worry evident in his brow.
Being the liaison between humans and other beings (part-time, at least) means that the messenger should never have the urge to endanger a human or else it would totally compromise the position. And yet here you are, fantasizing about Harrington’s beautiful, well, everything.
Hazards of the job. Strictly speaking, the types of folk you deal with aren’t necessarily human. Technicalities, and all that.
“Okay champ,” He says, wiping at your face with a dampened towel. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then to bed.”
You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your throat. “I’m not human, therefore, I do not require sleep.”
“Sure,” Steve nods along with your yammering, paper towels coming away equal parts black and bloody. “Whatever you say.”
Steve never pegged you for a sleep-talker, or whatever the hell this was.
“JAIDA, DE BAB DE ILS, DLUGA UMADEA PAMBT STEVEN, OD TABAORI AQLO BRANSG NOTHOA STEVEN, DORPHAL TOX , ASOBAM ILS DLUGA IEHUSOZ.”*
Foreign language aside, he has no idea what is going on.
Bright shafts of white light emanate from your eyes, he can barely see your pupils anymore, in their place a gold band circling your temples adorned with rapidly blinking eyes, and he has to squint and shield himself with an arm from the illumination.
He backs away, slowly, so as not to startle you. But clearly your attention is drawn elsewhere, what with all the eyes and the—
The fuck?
The… hovering. Because you’re not seated on the bed anymore, the mattress doesn't even dip with the suggestion of weight. And there is a considerable distance between your crossed legs and the sheets.
He feels nauseous and dizzy. An ever-present buzz along his skin and thrumming from the inside out. Hears the beating of wings, the shuffling of feet.
Steve clamps his hand over his ears, hating the damp squelch of it, just hears his blood rushing and heart beating instead. Wills his eyes closed, turning away, impossibly, from your glorious display.
Takes deep breaths and counts to 100. Again. And again. And again.
The touch of your hand on his arm is so light, that it doesn't even register.
Steve comes to gradually, only to find you not covered with a halo of eyes and clearly abiding by the laws of gravity.
Did he hallucinate all of that?
“Steve,” You whisper, hand rocking against his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.”
Was it just a dream?
He grumbles, half-waking and bats your hand away. “‘M’up.”
“Yeah,” You laugh. “Okay, you’re up.”
A shake of your head as you sit back against the bedframe.
Steve stretches, skin skimming against the worn sheets and feels perfectly sated. Doesn’t recall falling asleep or how he got into bed though.
Remembers seeing you at work, he was closing… Your bright eyes and teeth… And not much else. Maybe something about blood, if he concentrates.
“So.”
You’re seated a careful distance away from him on the bed. Legs fallen lazily onto themselves, hands open and resting against your knees, like one of those yogis he’s seen around town.
“You gave me quite the fright there.”
“Could say the same to you,” He counters, voice raspy with sleep. “What was—”
“Meditating.” You’re quick to answer him.
He arches a quizzical brow. “Meditating. Really?”
Bottom lip pulled and worried between your teeth. “It’s a form of introspection. Communing with your higher states of consciousness.”
“Riiiight. We’ll call it meditating. For the sake of argument.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
He shrugs, rolls his neck and shoulders. “I never said that.”
You squint, staring at him. Your hand comes up to grasp his jaw and slowly turn his head. Face remaining impassive, you cluck your tongue and rise from the bed.
“Stay there.”
The commands thrums through him.
Steve watches as you leave the room, heading across the hall to the guest bath. Hears the water running from the faucet, the wringing of a damp rag. Soft footfalls herald your return, plopping back on the bed and dabbing the washcloth against his jaw and ear.
A tap against his chin. “Other side please.”
You do the same to his opposite ear, humming to yourself under your breath. Thunder sounds in the distant night, a storm rolling through.
Deeming it a job well done, you toss the cloth into the hamper. White terrycloth tinged rosy red. A cool hand turns Steve this way and that, your eyes darting across your handiwork.
“How’s your head?” You ask, voice soft.
“Fine.” Shakes his head, in proof, rattles his brain around. “No complainants.”
“Mmm.” You hum. “No migraines or auras?”
“Not for a while now.” He clucks his tongue, “But I didn’t tell you about those.”
Ah. Now he’s caught you out.
Your mouth hangs open, gaping like a fish.
“Hey,” His hand settles over yours, warm and familiar. “It’s fine. You’re just … perceptive.”
A laugh, the rustling of wings somewhere. “Is that so?”
Steve pulls you toward him, the air punched from his lungs as your shoulder collides with his chest. You apologize profusely, rearing back and away from him.
He tugs you back into his embrace, both arms settling around you and falling effortlessly at your hips. Feels a pleasant glow at your temples, sponges a kiss there. Catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, your image seemingly replaced with iridescent reflections of light. A crown of fire round your head.
And is alarmingly at peace with it all.
Friday, November 1, 1985
The next morning you’d already left by the time he woke up.
A glass of water, a crumpled scrap of paper, and business card were on the bedside table. He picked up the water, gulping it down readily and scrambled for his glasses.
He grabbed the papers, the larger one seemingly covered in glitter, dust? Something golden getting all over his hands and sheets. Squinting because he never did get to wiping off his lenses, Steve read the business card first. Simple and to the point, nothing he didn’t already know.
The scrap of paper however, was beyond him.
Well, shit.
He dials Robin, figures if anyone could translate, it’d be her. Then calls the number listed on the card as he waits for her arrival.
An annoyed voice answers. “Ugh, this better be good, Harrington. I’m a busy man.”
“Yeah, who is this?”
“That’s not important.”
“What do you mean? How is that—” He sits up, cradling the phone between his shoulder and jaw.
“How did you get this number?”
“Uh, Constantine. How else?”
Whomever he’s speaking with roughly pulls the phone from their ear and mutters a litany of curses. Surprisingly few in English.
He takes a breath, waits for the conversation to resume.
“Okay, say I believe you Steve. How do you know Constantine?”
Steve arches a brow, devotes all of a few seconds to thought before saying, “Well, we’re uh, involved, I guess, and then she showed up to Hawkins dripping in blood last night.”
The next thing he hears is the sound of something smashing to the ground, quickly followed by a “Shit-cock dumbass motherfucking—” before the line drops dead.
*Highest God, of your dominion, give strong towers unto Steven, and govern your guard amidst Steven to look upon him, whom Thou givest mercy.
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By: Jesse Singal
Published: Dec 23, 2023
I’ve written many Singal-Minded posts highlighting deficiencies in both left-of-center journalism and peer-reviewed literature on the use of puberty blockers and hormones as a treatment for gender dysphoria (also known as youth gender medicine).
Each case of lackluster journalism or science is different, but the most common theme is omission. Peer-reviewed articles on this subject regularly omit key information about their data (such as this very important federally funded paper in which multiple important variables simply disappear) and fail to explain very basic facts like why dropout rates were so high or why some kids in a sample went on youth gender medicine and others didn’t, while articles and segments produced for popular audiences by both journalists and academics in this space routinely ignore the fact that a number of countries in Europe have found, via systematic evidence reviews, that the evidence base for youth gender medicine is lacking.
Pediatrics just published a “Perspectives” article on youth gender medicine (an opinion piece, more or less) by Emily Georges, Emily C.B. Brown, and Rachel Silliman Cohen that is one of the worst offenders I’ve come across. Despite clocking in at a brisk two-and-a-half pages, not counting endnotes and a “Ways to Advocate for TGD [transgender and gender diverse youth] Youth” chart that takes up a whole page of its own, the article contains a remarkable amount of misleading information, including a disheartening number of claims that point, via endnote, to resources that don’t come close to supporting them. The fact that Pediatrics would publish this article in its current form — and I’m getting déjà vu typing these sorts of sentences over and over and over — is a really bad sign about the collapse of institutional credibility in this area.
Now, Georges and her coauthors are clearly concerned with overly draconian reactions to the youth gender medicine controversy, some of which go as far as attempting to remove trans children from their parents’ home. But these are separate questions from whether the evidence base for youth gender medicine is good. It can both be true that all those European countries are correct that the evidence base is shoddy and that banning the treatments outright (which has not been the response in Europe) is the wrong reaction to this medical uncertainty.
Naturally, the authors don’t mention the highest quality evidence in question, which is — say it with me — the European evidence reviews. It is, and again I feel that déjà vu coming on, a shocking omission on the part of doctors writing in perhaps the most important journal of pediatrics in the world.
Let’s get into a few examples of how misleading this paper is, because so many of the specific claims are questionable at best and clearly false at worst. For example, Georges and her colleagues argue that GOP laws seeking to restrict access to youth gender medicine “deny children access to routine health care that has been shown to decrease dramatically high rates of suicide and depression for TGD youth.” There are two footnotes at the end of the sentence.
This sentence contains two claims: one is that TGD youth have “dramatically high rates of suicide and depression.” You see this claim constantly: transgender youth have terrifying rates of completed suicide, and youth gender medicine can protect them from it. I don’t want to reiterate the argument I’ve already made that transgender youth do not, in fact, appear to have a terrifying rate of completed suicide, so click that link and search down to “The article then notes” if you’re curious about that.
As for the claim that youth gender medicine constitutes “routine health care that has been shown to decrease” these symptoms, the first citation points to the WPATH Standards of Care Version 8. This is a big document, and it’s usually a sign of less-than-tight reasoning when an academic makes a strong causal claim and then asks you to pore through a big document to find the justification for that claim. Here and there the WPATH SoC does contain claims about the supposedly salutary effects of blockers and hormones on youth gender medicine, but these claims generally reference papers like Jack Turban and his colleagues’ 2020 analysis of the 2015 United States Transgender Survey — papers that are extremely weak, methodologically speaking (click here and search down for “mental and social health” to read more about Turban’s 2020 study). But the SoC also notes that “Despite the slowly growing body of evidence supporting the effectiveness of early medical intervention, the number of studies is still low, and there are few outcome studies that follow youth into adulthood. Therefore, a systematic review regarding outcomes of treatment in adolescents is not possible.” Methodologists disagree with this — you can still do a systematic review if there aren’t a lot of studies. But either way, if according to the WPATH SoC there aren’t enough studies to do a proper review, how can the WPATH SoC support the claim that youth gender medicine has been “shown to decrease” depression and anxiety?
The second citation points to Jason Rafferty’s policy statement for the American Academy of Pediatrics, which is a very strange document that certainly does not provide evidence that youth gender medicine has been “shown to decrease” depression and anxiety.
A bit later Georges and her coauthors write, “Although some individuals make it seem that GAC [gender-affirming care] is a new, experimental area of medicine, GAC is evidence-based.” Here there is some slippage between youth gender medicine and gender medicine more generally. Whether or not that’s intentional, it’s a serious stretch — arguably a misleading one — to call this area of medicine “evidence-based.” While definitions of that term can vary, we already know what the Europeans found about youth gender medicine, and a systematic review of adult care commissioned by WPATH itself found that, well, let me borrow from myself, writing in UnHerd:
The results, published in the Journal of the Endocrine Society in 2021, revealed that there is almost no high-quality evidence in this field of medicine. After they summarised every study they could find that met certain quality criteria, and applied Cochrane guidelines to evaluate their quality, the authors could find only low-strength evidence to support the idea that hormones improve quality of life, depression, and anxiety for trans people. Low means, here, that the authors “have limited confidence that the estimate of effect lies close to the true effect for this outcome. The body of evidence has major or numerous deficiencies (or both).” Meanwhile, there wasn’t enough evidence to render any verdict on the quality of the evidence supporting the idea that hormones reduce the risk of death by suicide, which is an exceptionally common claim.
Right after that, the authors explain that “When indicated, TGD youth may start gonadotropin-releasing hormone analogs, which have been used in pediatrics since the 1980s. They also may go on to receive gender-affirming hormones or surgical interventions, all of which are supported by a wealth of research on their safety and effectiveness.” First, “used in pediatrics since the 1980s” is exceptionally misleading, because the context there was (generally) precocious puberty, meaning that after the kids ceased blockers their natal puberty (presumably) kicked in, whereas research shows that the vast majority of kids who go on puberty blockers to treat gender dysphoria subsequently proceed to cross-sex hormones. That’s a very different use case, and one for which we have almost no high-quality evidence, so the “decades of use” argument really is a canard. Second, there is no footnote on “wealth of research on their safety and effectiveness,” which makes sense given that there isn’t a wealth of research on their safety and effectiveness in a youth gender medicine context.
Later, the authors write that youth gender medicine “decreases many negative health outcomes, including rates of depression, and improves well-being for children and adolescents.” The footnote points to this letter Texas Governor Greg Abbott wrote to another state official attempting to institute a policy of investigating instances of youth gender medicine performed in that state. This is clearly an error on the part of the authors, who definitely didn’t mean to cite this here. Next sentence: “GAC has not been shown to lead to short- or long-term negative health effects, and in fact, the benefits of GAC have been shown to far outweigh the risks.” Another strong claim, and this time the footnote points back to the SoC 8. I do not believe that document contains any language stating, conclusively, that all gender medicine is this safe and has such a lopsided benefit:risk ratio, but I could potentially be wrong. Either way, again, if someone makes a strong claim and then asks you to find the evidence for it in a haystack of a document, you should be skeptical.
A bit later on, the authors argue that youth gender medicine is not “medical child abuse,” as some conservatives have argued. I agree: for myriad reasons, that’s a really extreme claim, and the sort of overheated language that doesn’t really help get this conversation back on track.
But again, the specifics of the authors’ argument are quite strange and ill-founded:
GAC is not MCA. Although caregivers are vital supports in a child’s gender journey, the provision of gender-affirming medical and surgical care necessitates an alignment of the child’s goals with the evidence-based treatment plan determined most appropriate by the medical team. As a testament to GAC being patient driven, studies have found that the vast majority of youth who initiated medication intervention continue these treatments when followed in adulthood.
Setting aside how odd it is to see “child’s goals” used so breezily in this context, let’s once again check the footnote. It points to this study out of the Netherlands, which indeed showed a high continuation rate. But under that protocol — and this is very well-known to anyone who studies this issue — youth seeking blockers or hormones could be excluded for a wide variety of reasons, including mental health comorbidities, insufficiently severe symptoms, unsupportive parents, and so on. It’s really not “patient driven.” This is a misdemeanor compared to some of the misleading statements and miscitations in this paper, but it’s another sign of sloppiness and what might be genuine unfamiliarity with the contours of this debate on the part of the authors.
A bit later on the authors repeat that “The benefits of GAC, most notably on mental health,
self-esteem, and development, outweigh the risks in the majority of circumstances.” No footnote at all this time, although I guess, to be fair, we’ve already been told to read the 260-page SoC to find out where this claim is supported. Then an even stronger claim: “GAC is, for many, lifesaving.” No citation. This is the top journal Pediatrics! How can such a claim be allowed with no evidence?
This next part tips over from sloppy into genuine medical misinformation:
Research highlights how transgender youth disproportionately experience negative mental health outcomes, including anxiety, depression, and suicidality.12 However, when children are supported in their gender identities and have access to GAC, they have better mental health outcomes.12,13 Some studies demonstrate that appropriate GAC, in the context of caregiver support, entirely mitigates the increased risk of depression and suicidal ideation for TGD youth.12
Footnote 12 points to “Baseline Physiologic and Psychosocial Characteristics of Transgender Youth Seeking Care for Gender Dysphoria,” a paper published by Joanna Olson (now Olson-Kennedy) and her colleagues in 2015. As the title suggests, it simply captures the baseline characteristics of kids who showed up to their clinic. Therefore, it definitionally can’t tell us that “when children are supported in their gender identities and have access to GAC, they have better mental health outcomes,” and it definitely can’t tell us that “appropriate GAC, in the context of caregiver support, entirely mitigates the increased risk of depression and suicidal ideation for TGD youth.” The authors have severe problems getting their citations straight throughout the paper, but this is a particularly galling instance because this miscitation communicates such a strong claim about adolescent suicide.
Footnote 13 points to Diana Tordoff and her colleagues’ 2022 study of outcomes at the Seattle Children’s Hospital gender clinic, which readers of this newsletter might remember because I wrote about it twice.
Tordoff and her colleagues at the clinic and the University of Washington–Seattle (Seattle Children’s is the teaching hospital of the UW School of Medicine’s pediatrics department) watched as a group of kids at their clinic were given blockers and/or hormones and showed no meaningful mental health improvement over the course of a year. Then, by torturing various statistics so severely it’s a miracle they weren’t dragged to The Hague, they published a study basically claiming the opposite. It was one of the more noteworthy examples of genuinely pernicious medical misinformation being published by youth gender medicine clinicians in recent years — a complete breakdown of the important barrier between researcher and activist. You can read my posts for more details, but the fact that a doctor at Seattle Children’s Hospital, Emily Georges, would lead-author a Pediatrics Perspectives piece that treats this research as solid evidence represents a serious mortgaging of trust on her and the institution’s part. It’s 2023. She must be aware of the critiques of this study and how little evidence it provides for the efficacy of youth gender medicine.
This is not going to be an exhausting look at every claim in this piece. But I’ll leave you with one last example of how sloppy it all is:
Denying GAC not only represents medical neglect, but it is also state-sanctioned emotional abuse. In addition to the basic physical needs all people require for survival, humans have vital psychological needs. The degree to which these needs are met during childhood impact a child’s identity, capacities, and behaviors into adulthood.14 Emotional abuse involves actions, either as a repeated pattern or an extreme single incident, that thwart a child’s basic psychological needs.14 This form of abuse can be especially damaging because it undermines a child’s self-worth and psychological development.14 Policies that prohibit or limit a caregiver or physician’s ability to provide necessary GAC force caregivers and providers to perpetuate psychological distress.
The footnote points to a study that does not mention the word child or its variants, and which has nothing to do with the matter under discussion. The authors didn’t even give their paper a rudimentary proofreading to ensure the footnotes were correct before publishing it.
Of course, it isn’t just their fault. It would be quite easy for Pediatrics not to publish a Perspective this wildly off-base and disconnected from the real-world debate over youth gender medicine. It would be similarly easy for Pediatrics to insist on the rudimentary proofreading of citations. Pediatrics chose not to take these steps. This is a pattern.
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By: Jesse Singal
Published: Mar 22, 2024
Yesterday CNN published an article by senior writer Tara John about the UK National Health Service’s newly skeptical stance toward youth gender medicine. The main takeaway, which is big news to observers of this debate, is that the NHS will no longer provide puberty blockers to young people, other than in research contexts. (As for cross-sex hormones, a relatively strict-seeming regime is set to be implemented, and they will be offered to youth only “from around their 16th birthday.”)
As myself and a number of others pointed out, the article contains a sentence that is, in context, rather wild: John writes that “Gender-affirming care is medically necessary, evidence-based care that uses a multidisciplinary approach to help a person transition from their assigned gender — the one the person was designated at birth — to their affirmed gender — the gender by which one wants to be known.” But of course, whether youth gender medicine is medically necessary and evidence-based is exactly the thing being debated, and anyone who has been following this debate closely knows that every national health system that has examined this question closely, including the NHS, has come to the same conclusion: the evidence is paltry. That’s why so many countries, including Sweden, Finland, the UK, and Norway have significantly scaled back access to these treatments for youth.1 So it’s very strange to see this sentence, which reads as though it comes from an activist press release, published in a news article in CNN, an outlet that generally adheres to the old-school divide between news and opinion.
There’s a strong case to be made that CNN’s sentence, as written, is false. Gender medicine is at best unproven, when it comes to the standards society (and regulatory bodies) expects medical researchers to adhere to. The situation with youth gender medicine is particularly dicey, given that this is a newer area of medicine suffering from an even severer paucity of quality studies.
It would be bad enough for this sentence to have appeared in one article on one of the most important news websites in the world. But here’s the thing: this wasn’t the first time. Rather, this exact sentence, and close variants of it, has been copied and pasted into dozens of CNN.com stories over the last few years, as a Google search quickly reveals.
This sentence, and its close variants, appear over and over and over. I asked my researcher to create a list of all the instances he could find. Here’s what he sent back, in reverse chronological order.
1. England’s health service to stop prescribing puberty blockers to transgender kids by Tara John (March 15, 2024)
2. First on CNN: Major medical society re-examines clinical guidelines for gender-affirming care by Jen Christensen (February 26, 2024)
3. Record number of anti-LGBTQ bills were introduced in 2023 by Annette Choi (January 22, 2024)
4. Gender-affirming surgeries in US nearly tripled from 2016 to 2019, study finds by Jen Christensen (August 23, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
5. Trump-appointed judge blocks parts of Indiana ban on gender-affirming care for trans youth by Sydney Kashiwagi (June 17, 2023)
6. The debate on the American right isn’t about classified documents. It’s about fear of transgender rights by Zachary B. Wolf (June 15, 2023)
7. 19 states have laws restricting gender-affirming care, some with the possibility of a felony charge by Annette Choi and Will Mullery (June 6, 2023)
8. Alabama governor signs bill placing limits on transgender athletes in college sports by Rebekah Riess and Dakin Andone (May 31, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
9. Missouri attorney general drops controversial emergency rule that would have banned gender-affirming care for children and many adults by Andy Rose and Nouran Salahieh (May 17, 2023)
10. Maryland governor signs bills protecting abortion rights and gender-affirming care by Liam Reilly and Kaanita Iyer (May 3, 2023)
11. Oklahoma governor signs legislation banning gender-affirming care for minors by Jack Forrest and Joe Sutton (May 2, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
12. Missouri judge pauses enforcement of limits on gender-affirming care for trans youth and adults for 15 days by Devan Cole (May 1, 2023)
13. Transgender health care restrictions hit roadblocks in 3 states as gender-affirming care becomes marquee issue for state GOP leaders by Dakin Andone (April 27, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
14. The clock is ticking in Missouri as health care providers race to establish care regimens for trans patients by Alisha Ebrahimji, Kyung Lah, and Anna-Maja Rappard (April 26, 2023)
15. Missouri judge temporarily blocks limits on gender-affirming care for trans youth and adults from going into effect by Devan Cole (April 26, 2023)
16. Gender-affirming care, a ‘crucial’ process for thousands of young people in America by Jen Christensen (April 25, 2023)
17. Advocacy groups sue to block an emergency rule limiting gender-affirming care that’s expected to go into effect this week in Missouri by Michelle Watson, Claudia Dominguez, Taylor Romine, and Kyung Lah (April 25, 2023)
18. Utah state senator’s home vandalized in possible retaliation for transgender bill, police say by Rebekah Riess and Sara Smart (April 22, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
19. North Dakota governor signs gender-affirming care ban for most minors by Michelle Watson and Jack Forrest (April 20, 2023)
20. Indiana and Idaho enact bans on gender-affirming care for transgender youth by Sydney Kashiwagi (April 6, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
21. Kentucky GOP overrides governor’s veto of youth gender-affirming care ban by Jack Forrest (March 29, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
22. Kentucky governor vetoes ban on gender-affirming care for youth by Kaanita Iyer and Paradise Afshar (March 24, 2023)
23. Georgia’s governor signs ban on certain gender-affirming care for minors by Maxime Tamsett, Pamela Kirkland, and Jack Forrest (March 23, 2023) — start slightly modified to fit sentence structure, otherwise identical.
24. Florida sued over bans on gender-affirming care for transgender youth by Devan Cole (March 23, 2023) — has a slightly more measured framing, opening with “LGBTQ advocates and many physicians regard. . . ”
25. Missouri AG seeks to restrict gender-affirming care for minors by Raja Razek and Shawna Mizelle (March 21, 2023) — has a slightly more measured framing, opening with “LGBTQ advocates and many physicians, however, regard the treatment as. . . ”
26. New Mexico governor signs bill protecting access to reproductive and gender-affirming care into law by Paradise Afshar and Kaanita Iyer (March 18, 2023)
27. Minnesota governor signs order protecting access to gender-affirming health care by Chris Boyette and Jack Forrest (March 8, 2023)
28. Tennessee governor signs ban on gender-affirming care for minors by Shawna Mizelle (March 3, 2023) — has a slightly more measured framing, opening with “LGBTQ advocates and many physicians regard the treatment as. . . ”
29. Democratic AGs condemn DeSantis administration for asking Florida colleges for information on students receiving gender-affirming care by Devan Cole (March 3, 2023)
30. Mississippi enacts ban on gender-affirming care for transgender minors by Devan Cole (February 28, 2023)
31. GOP lawmakers escalate fight against gender-affirming care with bills seeking to expand the scope of bans by Devan Cole (February 13, 2023)
32. South Dakota governor signs bill prohibiting gender-affirming treatment for transgender minors by Sydney Kashiwagi (February 13, 2023)
33. Woman faces federal charge for calling in a false bomb threat to a Boston hospital providing gender-affirming care by Sonia Moghe (September 16, 2022)
34. Boston Children’s Hospital says it’s gotten violent threats over care for transgender children by Jen Christensen (August 17, 2022)
35. Texas can continue investigating families seeking gender-affirming care for their transgender children, state Supreme Court says by Alisha Ebrahimji, Ashley Killough, and Raja Razek (May 13, 2022)
I haven’t triple-checked every single one of these, but it’s undeniable that effectively the same words have appeared in about three dozen CNN articles since May of 2022, which was already years after the present wave of European nations rethinking these treatments had begun.
When I asked CNN about this, I heard back from someone there who explained on background that it’s standard for outlets to provide reporters with guidance about accurate and appropriate language. While that’s true, it doesn’t really answer my question. Sure, it’s not unusual for an outlet to have a house style, sometimes enshrined in a stylebook, that provides rules about how to refer to, for example, individuals in the United States who lack legal status. They used to be called “illegal immigrants,” and now they’re often called “undocumented immigrants,” or language to that effect. This is a fairly normal process by which language changes and, sometimes as a result of a push-pull between outlets and advocacy groups, outlets decide which changes to make and when. So you may or may not agree with the fact that many outlets have switched from “biological sex” to “sex assigned at birth” when discussing trans issues, but the underlying process of switching from one phrase to another is standard and occurs in many areas.
This is quite different. You do not generally see the same complex sentence pasted over and over and over into news stories written by different authors and published in different sections. I asked CNN if it could provide me any other examples of CNN.com publishing the same sentence in multiple stories by different authors, and posed the same question in an email to Virginia Moseley, the CNN executive editor who, according to the website, “oversee[s] international and domestic news operations across platforms.” I didn’t hear back about this.
This copy-paste job is journalistically problematic for a number of reasons. For one thing, it suggests that CNN has decided, at the editorial level, that its institutional stance is that youth gender medicine is “medically necessary” and “evidence-based.” While they’re being used somewhat colloquially in these articles, these terms have fairly specific definitions in certain medical and legal contexts, and treatments only qualify for such designations if they have exceeded a certain evidentiary benchmark based on solid published research. That is not the case here — far from it, actually. As written, this is a deeply misleading sentence.
The language also puts CNN writers in an awkward position. Does each and every bylined author of these stories believe that youth gender medicine is “medically necessary” and “evidence-based”? Maybe they do (which would be disturbing), but the fact is that they didn’t write these sentences — they, or one of their editors, grabbed that language from somewhere else and pasted it in. They are effectively outsourcing their own judgment on a hotly contested controversy to their employer. This is not what journalists are supposed to do, and, at the risk of repeating myself, it’s significantly different from a reporter rolling their eyes when using language like “undocumented immigrant” or “sex assigned at birth,” rather than their own preferred verbiage. Those are rather small-stakes linguistic quibbles, different not only in degree but in kind from the question of whether or not youth gender medicine is medically necessary and evidence-based. And it goes without saying that a CNN reporter who does develop doubts about youth gender medicine is likely to be deterred from investigating further by the fact that their bosses have already decided that this is the way they’re going to cover this subject — say the line, Bart. Why bother?
It’s a pattern, unfortunately. Many outlets dug themselves into a deep hole on this issue by simply acting as stenographers and megaphones for activist groups rather than doing their jobs. And now that there is ever-mounting evidence undercutting the loudest activist claims, climbing out of this hole is going to be awkward. But there’s no other option, really. Because right now there’s absolutely no reason to take CNN.com seriously on this issue — the site has proven, demonstrably, that it doesn’t take itself seriously on this issue.
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1 The sentence doesn’t specifically mention youth gender medicine, but that’s clearly the context in which it was presented. The sentence wouldn’t be accurate as applied to adult care either, anyway — an independent systematic review commissioned by the World Professional Association for Transgender Health came back with rather dismaying results about the quality of research there as well, more info on which here.
==
It's nothing but a religious recitation.
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