A KTVU reporter repeats the word "she" with a strong and high emphasis on "s" whenever mentioning a female-to-male transgender teenager in the film. In a San Mateo Times story about the same person, it says "He always 'wanted' to be a boy."

"I wanted to be a boy? It's not a "want"-based thing. It's just who I am, who I've always been and how I was born. I was born in a female body with a male gender."

He is Butch Greenblatt, an 18-year old SF State freshman, who fights for rights of people who always wish to be true to themselves. Although he knows the fear of the possibility of being attacked, he never hesitates to tell his story.

He has been in various newspapers, such as the San Francisco Chronicle and San Mateo Times, and KTVU made a short documentary this February. He even gave a speech at a social work class of graduate studies at UC Berkeley. He and other transgenders are recognized by a lot of people.

Being famous is not comfortable for Butch

"I am risking my life by doing that, and I realize that and accept that," says Butch, wearing baggy pants and hooded sweat shirt with a Spitfire logo. To be out or to be hidden is a significant decision that every transgender person has to make.

The tragedy that strongly shocked the transgender community occurred last October. Gwen Araujo, a 17-year-old male-to-female trangender teen from Newark, CA, was murdered by her acquaintances last October after her biological sex was revealed.

"This incident did scare a lot of young people. It scared a lot of transgendered people of all ages," says Jordy Jones, Interim Program Director of Youth Gender Project. "It not only affects the direct victim, but also sends a message to other people who are in the same group as the victim."

According to the National Transgender Advocacy Coalition, two transgender people were murdered every month in 2002. In the past 30 years, 264 have been killed, and at least 207 of these murders happened in the United States. Youth Gender Project considers that some youth might be more scared to express themselves.

Butch is cautious, too

"I am afraid of getting murdered, everyday," says Butch. He had a bad experience while in middle school, when teenagers started playing gender roles and began to date. "I got harassed, really hard-core," Butch says. At first, he came out as a butch lesbian when he was 14 years old. Many students yelled homophobic slurs, such as "dyke" and "faggot." But even worse, he sometimes was called not "she" nor "he" but "it."

However, he never walks around scared, never hides his gender, and never stops raising his voice.

"There are so many trans-people that can't do this, because if their family finds out, they’ll kick him out from the family. They can barely come out to their friends. So many people are so afraid, closeted. I am lucky. I grew up in the Bay Area, and this is a very diverse and accepting place, and my parents are very accepting," says Butch, remembering his past experiences. Butch told his parents that he wanted a sex change operation on his 8th or 9th birthday, and they both largely understood. He believes that he has more opportunity to stand for his community, which may ultimately change the harsh perception of the transgendered.

A lot of hardships are challenging transgender youths. Transgender Law Center located in the Castro District had more than 400 clients in the past eight months. The clients consult many legal problems, such as harassment at school, unemployment, health, housing, prison, and even police.

According to co-director of the law center Dr. Dylan Vade, some get expelled from their school because they don’t dress in the uniform according to the school rule, or some get fired from their work just because they are transgendered. Butch also had a difficult time when he lived in a dormitory at SFSU.

Names are their big issue, too. The name "Butch" was given by his father. His father used to call him "Butch" when he played in little-league baseball. Ever since 14 when he came out, this is what he’s been going by, and nobody calls him anything else but Butch. However, when it comes to official documents, he cannot be "Butch." He has to use his legal name.

Vade recommends transgendered people to take a legal process to change their name. According to Vade, there are two ways of changing a name. One is submitting an official document to the court, which costs 300 dollars, and the other is a usage method. If they can verify that they’ve been called their assumed name for five years, without any court process, they are likely to get a driver’s license with their assumed name. Butch is planning to change his name through the court this summer.

Name issues bring a bigger problem. Whenever media present a story about transgendered people, the problem of appearances arise. Do you look like a guy or a girl? In the short documentary film about Butch, the pronoun "she" was used, but the story in the San Mateo Times used "he" instead. According to generally practiced media guidelines, the media need to use the pronoun that is preferred by individuals whose physical characteristic are altered by hormone therapy, body modification, or surgery into the opposite sex.

Generally, the surgery for changing physical appearance costs a lot. Replacing breasts costs between $5,00 to $10,000, and insurance doesn’t cover this surgery. Vade points out that many transgendered people cannot change their sex because of the expense being too high. Butch has started getting testosterone injections since last December, and he now has facial hair and his voice is lowering. However, he still needs to wait to get breast surgery. Butch needs money.

One month after Gwen Araujo's tragedy, Butch was in the San Mateo Times. He thought he needed to be out in order to let people know about what trans-people are like. "It's an individual decision whether to be open or not," said Jones.

Trans-people may encounter a lot of difficulties when they come out. On the other hand, if they hide about it, there is always the concern about discovery and what people might do after they find out about it.

"The tragic murder of Gwen Araujo won’t stop people from fighting for their right," says Jones. "After the grief comes anger, and after the anger comes action."