UK to block efforts to reform Wales gender recognition law

The Tory government of U.K. Prime Minster Rishi Sunak will block any eff ort by the government of Wales to push forward plans to reform gender-recognition laws that would allow transgender Welsh to obtain a Gender Recognition Certifi cate without a medical diagnosis of gender dysphoria, a government spokesperson told Britain’s leading LGBTQ news outlet.

In a statement to PinkNewsUK, a spokesperson from the Equalities Offi ce told the LGBTQ+ news outlet the

Tory-led government wants to ensure that “LGBT people are treated equally” but would not budge on permitting devolved reform of the GRA (Gender Recognition Act) in Wales.

On Tuesday, the Welsh government (Llywodraeth Cymru) in Cardiff announced that it had launched its LGBTQ+ Action Plan for Wales. Deputy Social Partnership Minister Hannah Blythyn said that Wales’ plan aims to improve the rights of LGBTQ people such as banning all aspects of so-called conversion therapy practice. She did acknowledge that but currently the Welsh Parliament (Senedd Cymru) cannot make its own gender recognition laws.

The plans for improvement of the Gender Recognition Act to aff ect trans Welsh that has the backing of the Senedd Cymru is based on similar legislation put forward and by the Scottish Parliament.

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GREGORY J. ALEXANDER

is a freelance writer and editor who lives in Washington, D.C., with his husband, Paul, and two cats.

When tragedy strikes, you never know what will happen next. What’s the next punch in the gut that will knock you unconscious? That is what happened to me on March 20, 2021, when my beautiful, healthy, loving brother Tom died suddenly of a heart attack. A man who was 53 years old, ran five miles a day, and ate salads, tuna, and grilled chicken. And here I was, his younger brother, who sometimes eats poorly and rarely exercises, left to pick up the pieces once again.

The news came as a shock. My husband and I were relaxing, reading the paper and having a mimosa. Then, my brother’s mother-in-law called. As she relayed to me what had happened, I blacked out, unable to comprehend what she was saying. In fact, I did not even know who she was. I handed the phone to my husband, confused and convinced that what was happening was notactuallyhappening. But it was happening. My brother was dead, and my precious 15-year-old niece was alone with him when it occurred.

I collapsed on the floor and was inconsolable, and I remained in that state for hours. Even our two cats were concerned, circling me nonstop, as I loudly wailed and screamed, noises they had never heard in the 11 years since we adopted them from the shelter. Finally, my husband Paul told me that I had to call my parents to tell them what had happened. Somehow, I mustered the strength to do so, recalling the similar moment in 1997 when my parents called me to inform me that my oldest brother David had died by suicide. I called them, but I don’t remember much of what I said. All I remember was my mom saying, “Not Tom!” Next, I called my mom’s sister and informed her of the news. More shock, grief, anguish, and confusion. Worried about my parents being alone, I left messages with their friends, Jack and Nina, and asked if they could go over and be with them until I could get there.

My husband, Paul, and I struggled that day to simply figure out how and when to fly to South Carolina to be with my family. I was completely useless, unable to do anything to help with arrangements. Paul put aside his grief for the loss of his brother-in-law and friend to take care of me, like he’s always done. And ever since, he has continued to do so—through all of my anxiety attacks, grief, anger, and inability to attend social functions. He has been my rock, and my love for him has never been greater.

What happened in the days after I got to South Carolina remains a blur — flowers, gifts, kind calls, me having to write my brother’s obituary and help with arrangements, including picking up the death certificate — on my birthday no less. What also happened was silence. Silence from friends and family members who I assumed would be there in my greatest moment of need but were surprisingly absent. Finally, my good friend Kevin said it best: “Don’t focus on those who have disappointed you; focus on those who have surprised you by being there.”

Great advice? Yes. Easy to follow? Not exactly.

However, I followed Kevin’s advice. I was confident that I could rely on my closest group of friends — the “Balt 8” (named for eight of us who became great friends while living in Baltimore). Later that year, while attending my first party since Tom’s death, I had a horrific anxiety attack, and Kevin asked no questions and instead took me for a long walk in the cold and misty rain. My best friend, Joy, who I have known since college and is like a sister to me, was there day and night. My close friend Maureen sent me TV recommendations to help make me laugh.

While I knew that the Balt 8 would lift me up, what I remember the most during this time were the people who unexpectedly came to my rescue. After Tom died, one of the first people who reached out to me was Renee, a friend from high school who I had not seen in person since our graduation in 1988. Suddenly this long-lost high school classmate became a rock who I would rely on for months to come and who sent care baskets filled with goodies from her home state of Louisiana. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me — on Jan. 6, 2021, when I, along, with most Americans watched in horror as a mob besieged the U.S. Capitol, I was living not too far away. Too shaken by what I had witnessed, I called my supervisor at The Trevor Project to let them know that I would not be able to perform my volunteer shift that night. Anxiously, I waited for my husband to get home safely from work when I saw an incoming call via Facebook Messenger. It was Renee. She just wanted to make sure that my husband and I were safe. Other friends came through via simple acts — my friends Tim and Regan in Seattle held a candlelit vigil for my brother whom they had never met, while my friend Steve sends me texts often just to see how I was doing.

While we live in Washington, D.C., we still keep our sailboat in Baltimore where we were lucky enough to land on the marina’s J-Dock and quickly made friends. Self-dubbed “The Island of Misfit Toys,” after the classic Christmas special, somehow, we were all brought together and became friends. During my grief period, everyone on the J-Dock brought something different to the table. Some brought tenderness and love; others brought levity with crude jokes that I was embarrassed to laugh at. Our boat neighbor Carrie asked me each morning how I was doing, and when I was having a tough day, she’d recommend we go to the pool, where we would relax, have a cocktail and laugh nonstop, usually at ourselves. When the bouquet of flowers for Tom’s funeral arrived from the J-Dock, it was obvious that Carrie, a fellow college football fan, had chosen it — the beautiful orange and purple flowers were a testament to my brother’s beloved favorite team, the Clemson Tigers. It was very typical of Carrie — she shows her love in a quiet, reserved way, but it’s still felt strongly.

While I appreciated everyone’s support at the marina, there are two friends that I relied on more than any — Jon and Jill.

After Tom’s death, I learned that my family has a history of heart disease. I went to my doctor and had every conceivable heart-related test, and thankfully, there was no evidence of heart disease. However, that didn’t completely eliminate my fears. The thoughts kept racing in my head: “Tom was the healthy one, so how can I be OK?” One day, I called Jon to ask him if he could stay on the phone with me, as I was having an anxiety attack. With his trademark humor, he quickly said, “You are not having a heart attack, drama queen.” But then he added, “I’ll be right there.” And he was, time and time again.

Later that summer, I had a similar anxiety attack, and I texted Jill.