Every day, trans individuals are subject to systemic social structures that diminish, erase, and objectify their existence and their bodies. Furthermore, they are faced with disproportionately high incidents of assault and murder. How do transgender people survive, living within a cisnormative and heteronormative society with a primary focus on binaries in regard to gender, sexuality, and social interaction?  As Hil Malatino writes in his necessary 2020 book, Trans Care: “When a refusal of care is the best you can hope for, what do you do? Where do you turn?  Increasingly, we’ve turned to each other” (65). Malatino’s exploration of t4t (transgender for transgender) care offers a concrete framework, which allows to explore how transgender communities form and exist in defiance of the odds and the systems that are stacked against them. Critical to this formation of community are theories of intersubjectivity and witnessing presented in Kelly Oliver’s Witnessing: Beyond Recognition.  Casey Plett’s powerful, provocative, and personal novel, Little Fish, resonates as a literary materialization of both t4t care and Oliver’s theory of ethical witness. In this article, I seek to use Little Fish to further understand the intersubjective formation of t4t care webs, as defined my Malatino. As the protagonist, Wendy, and her transgender sisters navigate the cold winter of Winnipeg, they often encounter transphobic spaces and individuals; in order to survive these encounters, they must utilize one another’s physical and emotional strengths. At different points of the novel, each member of Wendy’s care web requires a different quantity or quality of care and support—these unique moments of showing up for one another in various ways show how important mutuality is in ethical t4t care webs. By supporting one another, both in moments of crisis and stasis, Wendy and her sisters show that t4t care webs are imperative formations for the survival and resilience of transgender individuals.

Transgender communities require a unique conversation surrounding an internal and external ethics of care–namely, reciprocity and validation. While Malatino’s concepts surely champion these ethics in the context of trans care, their roots stem back to the more general, foundational concepts of care. Nel Nodding, one of the foremothers of the modern care movement, notes that “one who cares must meet the cared-for just as he or she is” (96). For those deviating from their sex assigned at birth, this emphasis of meeting one another as they are is a particularly important experience that becomes more accessible when interacting with other gender non-conforming individuals. To divert from the socially normalized binary path of gender identity and expression is to step into a state of extreme vulnerability and violence. Hil Malatino poignantly expresses why this state of gender upheaval specifically requires ethical care work:  

“care is necessary in the wake of profound recalibrations of subjectivity and dependency. We need care in order to heal from transformative physical and emotional experiences. We need it when the milieu we inhabit becomes radically reorganized. We need it especially when our lives fall in the gaps between institutions and conventional familiar structures. Those gaps are worlds, and those worlds don’t function without care work.” (Trans Care 3)

Nodding’s classic thoughts on care, though occasionally binary themselves, have helped shape the understanding of the reciprocity required when forming and operating within care webs. A care web is an entity of its own that functions through the mutual respect and empathy of the “caring” and “cared-for.” Care webs, whether or not explicitly defined that way, have long been vital formations for marginalized communities to not only survive systems of power and control, but to live in defiance of them. American-Canadian artist, writer, and educator, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha explores care webs in relation to disability justice through critical questions: “What does it mean to shift our ideas of access and care… from an individual chore, an unfortunate cost of having an unfortunate body, to a collective responsibility that’s maybe even deeply joyful?” (33). As Piepzna-Samarasinha writes, for too long “care [has] meant control” for so many disabled, Black, Indigenous, queer, transgender, and further marginalized intersectional communities. Turning to each other, as Malatino eloquently places importance on in the context of t4t care webs, is one of the sole options for members of these communities to avoid institutionalized care, and thus control, through mutual support.

This understanding of care ethics and care webs, in conjunction with Malatino’s framing of transgender care, harkens me back to theories of ethical witnessing ascertained by Kelly Oliver. In Witnessing: Beyond Recognition, Oliver presents ethical witnessing as the ability to “see others with loving eyes that invite loving response” (19). In this ability, there is an intersubjectivity that is formed between the witness and the witnessed in a mutual exchange of affective energy, affirmation, and relation; this transfer of energy forms the foundation of t4t care webs and has the potential to fill those institutional gaps that Malatino warns us about. Oliver makes important points about witnessing as not only seeing the other, but believing their otherness as well. Ideas of mutuality and reciprocity that have paved the way for conversations surrounding care ethics are evoked by Oliver in regard to witnessing; just as there is a caregiver and a cared-for, there is a witness and a witnessed.

Oliver’s ideas of energy exchange, subjectivity, and belief are particularly important in transgender circles; in a world that is constantly questioning one’s gender identity and presentation, ethical witnessing within a t4t care web can provide much-needed reassurance. Ethical witnessing of one another as valid in their gender identity is a fundamental aspect of strong t4t care webs; without ethical witnessing, these care webs would cease to serve much of a purpose at all. While Oliver’s concepts align with Malatino’s views, there is a further complication that Oliver presents–one that must be considered when understanding how to bear witness: oppression. As Marjorie Jolles notes in her review of Oliver’s work: “because oppression is, fundamentally, a restriction of agency, we cannot witness under conditions of oppression” (147). Indeed, the consideration of oppressive social systems is imperative in understanding the capacity to bear witness. However, oppression itself is complicated again by Oliver when she writes: “oppression creates the need and demand for recognition” (9). While the restrictions of oppression cannot allow for ethical witnessing, those oppressed by social systems need it the most. I am left wondering, then, under what circumstances can the oppressed witness each other, or even the self, outside of these oppressive systems? Can those cast out by social systems form coalitions of witness and care in defiance of their oppression? Oliver goes on to note that “our experience of ourselves as subjects is maintained in the tension between our subject positions and our subjectivity… constituted in our social interactions and our positions” (17). These shared subject positions, threats, and oppressions, simultaneously call out and call in the need for care webs amongst marginalized communities. It is in these revelations that I see correlations between Oliver’s theories of witness, classic theories of care ethics, and Malatino’s exploration of t4t care webs. To be able to see, to truly witness, what a relational subject is going through and be there to support them–this is at the center of how care webs form and function.

As a Cultural Studies graduate student with roots in English Literature, I always tend to lean into the literary imagination as a means to contextualize and make sense of social theoretical frameworks. Casey Plett’s 2018 novel, Little Fish, acts as one of these literary manifestations by depicting Wendy and her transgender sisters (Raina, Sophie, and Lila) to articulate the power of reciprocal t4t care webs and ethical, genuine witnessing. Wendy is a thirty-year-old, white, transgender woman who has undergone full gender-confirmation surgery eight years prior. Because of this, it is imperative to acknowledge the privilege Wendy holds with her social position. As Malatino notes, gender-confirmation procedures are “economically inaccessible, geographically dispersed, and rigorously gatekept,” and access to them is “an indicator of relative privilege” (Trans Care 61). Within the novel, Wendy shows instances of both being aware of this privilege and being naive to it. When Sophie has gone missing during work at a hotel, Wendy is reminded by Raina why she should be the one to ask the front desk about information with five words: “you’re a white girl, Wendy” (Plett 116). Furthermore, when the group of sisters is walking in costume to a Halloween party, they’re harassed by a man driving by. Wendy defiantly shouts, “Fuck you!” before she is held back by her sisters. This moment speaks to a sort of confidence that has been built up inside Wendy; whether because of her socially “valid” transition or her whiteness, it positions Wendy as a person of leadership and guidance within her immediate care web. I place quotational emphasis on the word valid in this context to reflect the phenomenon of “passing” within transgender communities. Theories of passing are often credited to W.E.B. Du Bois and his concept of the veil–a theory in which social indicators of validity from the dominant social group are imperative to shaping the internal validation felt by marginalized communities who begin to identify with these indicators. While Du Bois’ perspectives are directly related to the Black experience in proximity to white validity, these theories extend well to transgender individuals navigating a cis-dominant world. In a 2020 study, Margaret To et al. found that anxiety and depression declined in transgender individuals who would visually conform to their affirmed gender identity through social indicators.

Understanding Du Bois’ concepts in relation to this concept of transgender social validity is important when considering Wendy’s unabashed confidence and the internal interactions of the group. Wendy is the only member of the group to have undergone full gender-confirmation surgery, which positions her within the group in a certain power position, as she is able to fully pass as a cis-woman in more situations than others in her care web. Considering many of Wendy’s sisters explicitly express their desire to undergo full gender-confirmation surgery, Wendy can also be seen as a type of parental figure in the group. For example, when Raina tells Wendy that her gender-confirmation procedure has been moved up, Wendy responds with affirmations of future care: “I’ll have your bed and meals ready when you get back… I’ll have movies ready, and I’ll wash your… dilators, don’t worry about a thing” (Plett 108). This is a moment in the novel where Wendy is using her privilege and experience, as one who has already undergone the same procedure, to witness her sister’s excitement and offer care.  I look to an article written by Malatino for Hypatia to frame this idea of care–an infrapolitical ethics of care, as he calls it:

“It is shaped by an attention to the forms of care that enable co constituted, interdependent subjects to repair, rebuild, and cultivate resilience—whether that is housing someone after they’ve been ousted from the dwelling of their family of origin, cooking for someone in a moment where healing might be needed (post-surgical transition…), defending one’s beloveds in the face of multivalent forms of violence, or simply empathetically listening to someone.” (Hypatia 130)

Malatino’s idea of this ethics of care is inherently, and necessarily, reciprocal. In order to foster a resilient, internally protected community, there must be a reciprocation of empathetic understanding, witness, and care. Wendy and Raina materialize this idea of reciprocal care throughout the novel. While Little Fish presents ample examples in of Wendy standing in as a protector, a leader, and a caregiver in her t4t care web, there are also incidents in which Wendy requires care herself–even in times where she may not realize it. The instance I refer to here comes later in the novel, after Wendy has a night of drinking, blacks out, and is informed by Aileen the next morning that she had been acting aggressively, violently, and beyond control. Aileen explains the incident as follows: “you got up in my face and pushed me… you looked bloody terrifying… Raina and Lila came down to see what was going on. Raina said… ‘Wendy gets like that sometimes’” (Plett 272). I use this example because it is a powerful one when considering the idea of reciprocal care. Though we don’t get to see Wendy behave this way due to the close third-person point-of-view Plett utilizes, Raina’s response is an indication that Wendy has gotten this way before. Clearly, Raina has cared for Wendy in her moments of alcohol abuse, even if it is beyond Wendy’s conscious ability to witness it.

Another moment in which Wendy is cared for, and this opens up to a broader pattern in Little Fish, is when she grows bubbles on her hands due to the experimental hormones she has been taking. In distress, Wendy seeks Raina out for comfort, which Raina provides without hesitation: “Raina stood up, bent over, and kissed Wendy on the head… ‘You are beautiful, and I have every faith you will press on and remain” (Plett 203). Words of affirmation amongst Wendy’s care web come up frequently throughout the novel, and I argue that this speaks to the particular importance of affirmation amongst t4t care webs specifically.  As Malatino puts it, this need for affirmation often comes from the indecent exposure to invasive questioning from a cisnormative world: “trans subjects are so often asked questions that euphemize about genital status: questions about having had ‘the surgery’ or being ‘really’ men or women” (Trans Care 38). In a society that so often doesn’t validate their gender identity, thus not witnessing them as they are, transgender individuals must rely on self-affirmation and the affirmation of their transgender siblings in order to survive.  With a lack of recognition, transgender people “intimately sense that [they] are being relegated to the position of the monstrous, simultaneously both more and less human” (Malatino, Trans Care 39). These words of recognition and affirmation come up frequently in Little Fish. For example, when Wendy and co. are getting ready for the Halloween party and there is a choir of “you’re beautiful”’s going around the room (Plett 11). Or when Wendy arrives home after a sexual assault, and Raina strokes her hair and reminds her that she sees her as a “beautiful girl” (Plett 95). Both of these instances, especially the latter, speak to a reciprocal exchange of affective, affectionate energy between the girls.  As Jolles notes, “love and touch inform our ability to be response-able and address-able agents and witnesses” (150). Plett utilizes the exchange of touch to represent an exchange of loving energy amongst the girls that builds their resilience as a collective. Even if the world around them refuses to validate them as women, they see, validate, and celebrate one another as they truly are.  

In “Future Fatigue: Trans Intimacies and Trans Presents,” Malatino eloquently emphasizes this reciprocation of validation and true witness: “It is about being with and bearing with; about witnessing one another, being mirrors for one another that avoid some of the… effects of cisnormative perceptive habits that frame trans folk as too much, not enough… or not yet realized” (656). Wendy has been able to foster, contribute to, and build a t4t care web amongst her sisters that is a useful tool in their survival of the social systems that seek to erase them. However, Little Fish does not only display the power of t4t care in the immediate inner circle, but the ability of transgender individuals to prioritize and advocate for the care of their trans siblings–whether they know them personally or not.

Historically, transgender activists and community members have had to watch out for one another amidst an oppressive society.  In particular, I think of Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera’s STAR (Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries) House, in which they provided housing and care for transgender youth outcast from their families (Malatino, Trans Care 44). Amy Marvin refers to this example as “solidarity in dependency” in regard to transgender individuals being interdependent with one another for the sake of survival and resilience (112). Malatino additionally points to modern day mutual aids often spread across social media platforms to assist trans folk with everything from basic survival (rent, food) to recovery from surgery or assault (Trans Care 43).  

Within Little Fish, Wendy is a pillar of this togetherness that is imperative to transgender survival. In particular, Wendy’s experiences with Kaitlyn toward the end of the novel speak to this. Throughout their interaction, Wendy is able to identify that Kaitlyn is a transgender woman yet to come to terms with her identity. Though Wendy could have easily left without providing any sort of care, she chooses to offer advice: “hormones are a much bigger deal. You transition and take estrogen and you look more like a girl and you feel so much better” (Plett 219). In addition to this advice, Wendy offers concrete resources for Kaitlyn to utilize: “Klinic with a K… Call them. Write it down right now… You don’t have to do it tomorrow, just remember” (Plett 225). Though this may seem to some like a small incident, it speaks to the overarching ethos of care amongst transgender individuals. Malatino refers to ethos as “collective ways of doing and the norms and principles that emerge from such ways of doing” (Trans Care 40). In this instance, Wendy showcases and honours the principles of many transgender individuals–historically and in the present–in regard to caring for one another in times of struggle–a norm she also inhabits within her immediate care web everyday. Though they have just met, Wendy sees one of her sisters in need of guidance–a place Wendy had certainly been at one point in her life–and she can’t turn away without offering a semblance of support.

In moments of pre-transition and coming out, support from fellow transgender individuals is imperative to survival.  As Malatino, again, notes, coming out as transgender is “decidedly characterized by upheaval and emergence into a social world with shifting and shifted parameters. For many of us, surviving this process means committing to forms of healing that are unthinkable, indeed impossible, without care webs.”  In a study conducted for transForming gender entitled “Kinship and Friendship,” Sally Hines uses testimony from several transgender participants. The most evident common thread amongst these participants is the emphasis they place on having interactions with other transgender people on their journey to coming out themselves (155). One participant, a seventy-one year-old named Bernadette, struck me with parallels to Kaitlyn’s experience. She details the importance of having a transgender sister to guide her:

“I knew one transgendered person before I took the decision myself whose life was not unsimilar to mine. She was in the army as a colonel and was a big landowner and farmer. She transitioned in her 50s and she and I got on wonderfully and she was tremendously helpful to me and said all the right things at the right time. She was the one leading light that I had that gave me the confidence that things would be all right because they had been all right for her.” (Hines 157)

Though we don’t know if Wendy will ever see Kaitlyn again, Wendy acts as a mirror to Kaitlyn–or a guiding light, as Bernadette would put it–where Kaitlyn can see a transgender woman living. Witnessing this is so imperative for transgender, and I would say queer, people in the beginnings of their coming out or transition. In the early stages of Kaitlyn’s journey to accepting, loving, and witnessing herself, Wendy acts as a source of support and guidance that very well could have saved Kaitlyn’s life.

I consistently return to Wendy’s closing dream in Little Fish when considering the imperative functionalities of t4t carer webs, witness, and affirmation—thus, it feels like an apt place to situate a few closing thoughts. Throughout the novel, Wendy is exploring the idea that her grandfather may have been a transgender woman. Though no neat and concrete answers are provided–it’s rarely that simple in Plett’s work–Wendy’s dream at the end of the novel perfectly encapsulates the power of true, loving witness amongst transgender support systems. Wendy sees Henry for who she is. No matter the social structures that never allowed for Henry to truly witness herself, or for those around her to truly witness her, Wendy sees her, believes her, and cares for her–and in a poetic sense, Henry sees and cares for Wendy in return:

“Everyone else was yelling and there was chaos and smoke everywhere, but Henry just stayed there and smiled at Wendy, and her smile got bigger and bigger with joy pouring out of her face, and as the couch grew scratchy and the air under it whirled and screamed, Henry pulled her feet onto the couch with the baby still in both arms and leaned forward on her knees in her long billowy clothing looking at Wendy, and she laughed with her radiant, pure lit-up smile getting bigger and bigger until both of their faces were almost touching with light light light shining from all of Henry’s soft lotioned body, until they were so close, Henry now silent and smiling at Wendy deep and big and light, and neither of them moved.” (Plett 289)