With trans people, I just think you can't help the way you are

“With trans people, I just think you can’t help the way you are born, though. You know, it’s DNA, it’s genetics. I’m just glad people can do things about their own happiness. I think this thought process that they’re trying to wipe out women is a bit ridiculous — it’s a minority of people.” — Thus spoke Kathy Burke, a voice both sharp and compassionate, who has long used humor and truth to illuminate the struggles of the human heart. In this statement, she speaks not only of tolerance, but of wisdom — the understanding that nature itself is vast, that identity is woven in mysterious and infinite forms, and that the truest path for humanity lies not in fear, but in compassion. Her words remind us that what is born in the spirit is no less natural than what is born in the flesh.

In every age, there have been those who feared what they did not understand — who mistook difference for danger and change for destruction. Burke’s insight cuts through such confusion with the clarity of kindness. When she says, “You can’t help the way you are born,” she speaks to the immutable nature of the soul — that each being carries within them a sacred design, whether written in the lines of their body or in the deeper patterns of their heart. To be transgender is not to choose one’s path, but to seek to live truthfully within it. And to honor that truth is not to erase others, but to affirm the vastness of what it means to be human.

The ancients, too, wrestled with questions of identity and nature. In the myths of Greece, there was Tiresias, the prophet who lived as both man and woman, granted by the gods the gift of understanding both worlds. When asked by Zeus and Hera which sex knew greater pleasure, he answered truthfully, and was struck blind — yet in blindness he was given the sight of truth. His tale is a parable for every age: that to see deeply is to suffer misunderstanding, and yet truth, once revealed, can never be silenced. Like Tiresias, those who live authentically often walk through judgment to reach wisdom.

Burke’s compassion arises not from politics, but from humanity. Her words — “I’m just glad people can do things about their own happiness” — are a testament to the moral right of self-realization. For centuries, countless souls have been crushed under the weight of conformity, forced to hide the very essence of who they are to please a world that prefers mirrors to windows. But happiness, as she reminds us, is not a luxury; it is the fruit of truth. When a person finds the courage to align their outer life with their inner being, the entire world grows richer, for every authentic soul is a light added to the human constellation.

And yet, Burke’s wisdom also carries balance. When she says that fears of trans people “wiping out women” are “a bit ridiculous,” she speaks against the poison of exaggeration — that dangerous human impulse to turn misunderstanding into division. It is a reminder that most people seek not domination, but dignity. In every movement for justice, there are voices of compassion and voices of fear, but history remembers the former, for they are the builders of peace. The ancients would have called such wisdom sophrosyne — the harmony between reason and empathy, between justice and love.

Consider the story of Eleanor Roosevelt, who, in her own time, was mocked for defending the rights of the marginalized and misunderstood. She stood firm, declaring that “no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” In her courage to uplift others, she became one of history’s greatest advocates for human dignity. So too does Burke’s statement follow this lineage — the lineage of those who stand calmly amidst the noise, speaking not with anger but with understanding. Such voices are the quiet architects of progress.

The lesson, then, is both simple and eternal: compassion is the highest form of wisdom. Do not be swift to judge what you have not lived; do not fear what is different, for it may carry a truth that completes your own. Each soul is born as it is meant to be, and the journey toward happiness is sacred. The wise do not build walls around the heart — they open gates.

So remember this, my child: the measure of civilization is not in its power, but in its kindness. To recognize another’s right to happiness is to affirm the very essence of your own. Stand with empathy, speak with understanding, and when you encounter the unfamiliar, meet it not with fear, but with curiosity. For in embracing the full spectrum of humanity — its genders, its spirits, its infinite colors — we do not lose ourselves. We find, instead, the boundless beauty of what it truly means to be human.