Friendship? Sharing? “Shining bridges between changing communities?”
Shizuka closed her laptop. This Tso person might be a successful banker, but he obviously knew nothing about the classical music world.
“Miss Satomi. The invitation is here.”
Astrid handed her a large envelope.
All this for an invitation? Well, it was sponsored by a bank, after all. At least everything was printed on paper. Shizuka rubbed her eyes. How on earth did people spend so much time staring at a screen?
Actually, like most things from a bank, much of the information was useful if one took the time to read it. Here were the backgrounds of the judges. There was Aoi Miyazawa from the Kilbourne School. Alisa Windingstadt was there from Salzburg, as well. But other judges were from gaming companies, from film studios—there was even a judge from NASA.
And here were the contestants.
Some had already won competitions this year. There were two violinists from China—in fact, Shizuka had seriously considered taking one as a student before hearing of Tamiko Grohl. There was a composer from the Sakha Republic, and a musician who had escaped persecution in Myanmar. Another was studying in Berlin and hoping to one day build a world-class concert hall in her native Cameroon.
And?
Transgender icon and video celebrity Katrina Nguyen is an exciting trailblazer in the music world. New to the realm of violin competition, with success only possible in the age of social media, she has become an Internet star on video and social media platforms. Katrina is a brave individual who, in just a few months, has bridged boundaries in music, performance, and transgender visibility.
“Transgender … icon?” Shizuka glanced at Astrid.
Astrid shrugged.
But before she could say anything, they were interrupted by the clatter of Katrina walking into the kitchen table.
“Katrina! Are you okay?”
“Miss Satomi, did you write that bio?” she said, in a voice floating somewhere far away.
“No—” Shizuka paused. Katrina had not even seen the invitation. “Wait, how did you find out?”
“It’s already online,” Katrina responded weakly. She turned and walked back upstairs.
“Katrina?”
Shizuka motioned to Astrid, and they followed Katrina to her room.
“Katrina, what happened? Katrina?”
“Here,” she said vacantly as she showed them her computer screen.
Astrid peeked over at Katrina’s screen. At first, she smiled—this was the live performance at Temple City, where the two of them had played together.
But wait, didn’t Shirley remove that?
“It’s a phone recording,” Katrina said flatly.
And then, she scrolled down to the comments.
“Didn’t Aerosmith write a song about him?”
“In the words of the great Austin Powers, That’s a MAN, baybee!!!”
“Man hands!”
And it wasn’t just the live video. Astrid’s favorite studio video was one where Katrina was some sort of elf under the sea. Earlier comments were all about the music and how Katrina in real life had to be beautiful to make music like that.
Now?
“A man is a man. A woman is a woman. And that is just ugly.”
“KILL. IT. WITH. FIRE.”
“No wonder he hides himself. If I looked like that, I’d hide, too.”
“Shirley is erasing the worst of them. But they keep coming back,” Katrina said blankly. And even as they spoke, more comments appeared.
Astrid turned away.
“I can’t read any more. How could people say such things?”
“Because they do.”
Shizuka could hear Katrina breaking under the weight of her words. Astrid could turn away. Katrina could not.
Furthermore, Shizuka immediately noticed something even more insidious than the hate. For not all the responses attacked Katrina’s womanhood. Some people were vehemently defending her right to gender representation. Some were calling out racism. Some messages were well wishes and hearts and “You’re so inspiring,” and “Good luck.”
Some people were accusing others of being like Nazis, while others said Katrina deserved justice.
But in all this, where were the comments about the music?
Shizuka remembered the previous comments about the playing style, the costumes, her recording system, or even why her student should record the theme to Gurren Lagann.
And then Tremon published one short bio.
And with one disclosure, Tremon had split Katrina from her music as cleanly as he’d cleaved Shizuka from hers.
“I—I’m so sorry. I will go to the kitchen now,” said Astrid. “I think there is still some pie. I’ll get you some pie.”