Let’s stop pretending this is still about policy.

As I said the other day, Idaho’s bathroom bill doesn’t just target transgender people—it criminalizes us. And in the span of a few days, it’s gone from a dangerous proposal to something on the verge of becoming law, now sitting on the governor’s desk. Use the wrong bathroom, and you could face up to a year in jail. Do it again within five years, and it’s a felony.

Five years in prison. For using a restroom.

Not for hurting anyone. Not for threatening anyone. For being in the wrong place, according to someone else’s definition of who you are.

If that sounds extreme, it’s because it is.

Even law enforcement has pointed out the obvious problem: there is no practical, non-invasive way to enforce this law. So what happens instead? Suspicion fills the gap.

This bill doesn’t just empower police—it empowers anyone. A stranger who thinks you don’t look right. A business owner who decides you don’t belong. A random complaint that suddenly turns a private moment into a public confrontation.

That’s not safety. That’s legalized harassment.

And it won’t just affect transgender people. It will hit anyone who doesn’t fit neatly into someone else’s expectations—women who are too tall, too muscular, too short-haired. Men who don’t look “masculine enough.” Teenagers who exist in that messy, in-between space.

The more subjective the rule, the broader the target.

Meanwhile, the crimes this bill claims to prevent—assault, harassment, voyeurism—are already illegal. This law doesn’t strengthen those protections. It ignores them entirely.

Instead, it shifts the focus from behavior to bodies. From what someone does to what someone looks like.

That’s not just ineffective. It’s dangerous.

Because forcing people into spaces where they are visibly out of place doesn’t reduce risk—it increases it. It creates tension. It invites confrontation. It makes violence more likely, not less.

Even the bill’s exceptions are absurd. If you’re in “dire need” and no other option is available, you might avoid charges.

So now the state is in the business of deciding whether your need to use the bathroom is urgent enough to stay out of jail.

This is cruelty masquerading as common sense.

And it’s part of a pattern. Idaho lawmakers have spent years chipping away at transgender people’s ability to exist in public life—healthcare, sports, legal recognition. This is just the next step.

Only now, the message is explicit: even something as basic as using the bathroom can make you a criminal.

So let’s call this what it is.

Not protection. Not privacy. Not safety.

Control.

Control over who gets to exist comfortably in public—and who has to navigate every ordinary moment with the threat of confrontation, humiliation, or arrest hanging over them.

Idaho didn’t solve a problem here. It created one.

And it did it on purpose.