Seat 31: Zooey Zephyr

What matters most to a healthy democracy? Respect, or the ability to disagree in the course of formulating policy? What constitutes disrespect, and what, if any, limits should be placed on speech? When Zooey Zephyr became the first trans person ever elected to the Montana state legislature, she immediately faced hostility from some of her colleagues, but it came to a head in April 2003, when she spoke out against a bill prohibiting medical support for trans people under 18. When she told those supporting it that they should be ashamed of the suffering their actions would cause to children, she was denounced as having breached the rules of civil discourse, and the house went on to take the extraordinary step of banning her from the premises for the remainder of the session.

Kimberley Reed’s Oscar-shortlisted short documentary briefly sums up the above but focuses primarily on what happened next, when Zephyr set up shop on a bench in the lobby, labelled it Seat 31, and represented her constituents as best she could from there. She couldn’t participate in debates, but she could vote remotely. The politics of the situation have been amply addressed elsewhere. Reed focuses more on the personal – on the impact of experiencing some of the pettiness that followed, on the threats that Zephyr has to deal with, and on her interactions with her girlfriend at a critical stage in their relationship.

“You’re always a little bit scared but you’re never deterred,” she says after the narrow aversion of what could have been a deadly threat. She is convinced that the argument for trans inclusion will win out because of the care she’s seen from members of the public. We see people coming up to thank her at her bench, and we see her providing emotional support to those in need. Snippets of international news footage about the ban provide a wider context, highlighting the way that extremism can flourish in cultural spaces where people are so inwardly focused that it doesn’t occur to them how ridiculous it looks. At one point the House Speaker’s mother and her friends swoop in to occupy the bench just to deny Zephyr the chance to sit down whilst she does her job.

In places the footage is scrappy, but this adds to the sense of intimacy. As well as telling Zephyr’s own story, it cuts away some of the mystique around governance and serves to remind viewers that legislators are just human beings like them. With a focus on moments of joy, Reed subverts the familiar melancholy of trans narratives and presents an optimistic tale about making inroads as an outsider, with much wider relevance. Zephyr’s courage is impressive but it doesn’t make her come across as superpowered; she is always just a person, emotional and relatable. Since the film was completed, and despite the fact that she was unable to carry out her work as a legislator to the full, her constituents have voted her back in to have another go.