Bill forcing Trans Texans to detransition (or leave) goes to Abbott for signing

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Thursday, around midnight, the Texas Senate passed a bill that will destroy transgender people's lives, without having the word "transgender" appear in the bill.

HB 229 requires state IDs to reflect the sex assigned at birth, empowering the State Attorney General, Ken Paxton, to retroactively invalidate driver's licenses, IDs, and Birth Certificates that have had gender markers changed by court orders.

I use the term "detransition" for brevity to describe the actions that will occur come September first when this becomes law. Many trans Texans, like myself, went through the arduous process of, thearpy, obtaining a "carry letter," finding a endocrinologist for hormones, spending a year of "real life experences" and if we found ourselves happy in our authentic gender, begin the the proccess of legaly updating our state ID to reflect our authentic gender.

Then, and only then, after years of preparation, did I feel right about using the ladies' room. This bill was specifically written to force me to use the men's room or get out of Texas.

The word "transgender" does not appear anywhere in the bill, making it the most insidious attack on our community that I have ever seen.

The Texas Tribune article reporting on this bill correctly states that there are no criminal penalties written into HB 229. The state's first attempt to force a bathroom bill in 2017 was met with opposition from Mayors and state law enforcement who unequivalently stated that there was no need for it, as there had never been a transgender person arrested for trespassing in a restroom.

It took the state eight years and Abbott's right-wing radicalizing of the legislature, but they finally figured out how to write an anti-transgender bill and use existing law to enforce it.

It is a sad day for freedom of expression, but it's not over yet. There is another bill that will force medical providers to use conversion therapy instead of gender affirming care for those diagnosed with gender dysphoria. And a bill has been introduced to make it a state felony to present oneself as a gender other than the one we were identified at birth.

Regardless of how much Abbott and his thugs hate me, I will always be recognized as female, as I have since the 70s. It's just who I am. For myself and a lot of other Texans, this leaves us with one option, which is the true endgame of the fascists: to force us to leave Texas for a state where our existence isn't a felony.

So it's with a heavy heart that I bid adieu to the Blue Bonnet State. Goodbye to you.

Space Force Colonel Bree Fram, I have been - and always shall be - your friend.

Colonel Bree Fram / Facebook

Colonel Bree Fram is, quite coincidentally, also a fan of Star Trek!

Growing up in a patriarchal family, beaten by a misogynistic father, I spent hours as a child during the 60s alone fantasizing in my bedroom that my closet door was a warp engine. (20 years before I heard the phrase "coming out of the closet!) And I alone controlled its power to one day escape my hell and join James Kirk's crew in space, to go boldly where no woman had gone before.

Ever since the decision by the Supreme Court in opposition to not just one but two federal court judgements, allowing trump to discharge honerably serving American Trans military members, I have been watching Star Trek to once again escape hate, to a place where anything is possible.

Colonel Fram gave me hope by bringing the Enterprise home. I hope she does that for you as well.

Bree Fram wrote:

"On Friday, through tears, the Enterprises came home.

There are only a few moments in life that truly change everything. One of mine came when I was nine or ten, sitting with a friend who insisted I watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. My dream of being a paleontologist shifted to being an astronautical engineer. I wanted to be Geordi La Forge. I wanted to keep the warp engines humming, help humanity expand into the stars, and to boldly go.

But it was more than warp cores and fighting the Borg. What I didn’t realize at the time is that I was absorbing the culture I needed to see: a future where diversity wasn't just accepted, it was essential. The crew came from different worlds, literally and figuratively, and yet they tackled the universe’s hardest problems. Star Trek isn’t about a utopia immune to struggle, it’s about striving to be better, together. Even in the darkest time, empathy, cooperation, and relentless hope would see the crew through.

That message stayed with me. Through every iteration of the series, that vision of collective strength and wisdom, exploration, and perseverance remained. Whether you're aboard the Enterprise or spinning through space on this pale blue dot we call Earth, we’re in this together.

Before I started my first assignment at U.S. Space Force Headquarters, I bought this plaque of the Enterprises. It was a quiet reminder of the future we were trying to build: a 21st-century military culture capable of reaching a 24th-century ideal. Our core —courage, character, connection, commitment—were meant to foster authenticity, inclusion, and innovation. To help us boldly go where no military service had gone before. For me, it was a dream come true. And the Enterprises proudly hung on my wall as inspiration.

But now, for me and many others, that dream is ending—in a nightmarish way. In less than two weeks, I’ll be forced to take off the uniform. Not because I can’t do the job. Not because I lack the will or the skill. But because of who I am. I've been told I’m no longer worthy of being part of the crew.

That kind of rejection is soul-crushing. But it’s not the first time I’ve had to pivot, and I know it won’t be the last. I’ll be okay. What keeps me up at night isn't just what this means for me—it's what it means for the culture we were trying to build. Can we still attract the best and brightest to serve in one of the most technically demanding missions our nation has? If they come, will they find a culture that sees them, supports them, develops them?

For now, the Enterprises hang in my home office. Not as a relic of what’s lost, but as a promise of what’s still possible. Of where we need to go. Of who we still can be. I still believe in a bright future—but we won’t reach it by clinging to a sanitized version of a less than idyllic past. The past, with its flaws included, is there to inspire us to a better future. We won’t get there by bullying our way there or by fearmongering directed at the most vulnerable. That future must be for everyone. I’m hopeful it will be.

Hope isn't naïve optimism; it's the discipline to choose the good, even when it's hardest, and the courage to face the consequences when we fall short. It’s standing firm in the darkness and refusing to let go of the light. Star Trek often hope not by avoiding the abyss, but by confronting it—and then choosing to climb out while guided by the better angels of our nature.

Though I may no longer wear the uniform, I hope you’ll join me in confronting the darkness. I hope one day those Enterprises will once again hang in a public place… where they can remind others, as they reminded me, that our best future is still out there.

And it’s worth fighting for.