Photo by Inez & Vinoodh

Last week, when the list of this year's Academy Awards performers and presenters was announced, ANOHNI's name was not on it. Despite being nominated for Best Original Song for "Manta Ray," her collaboration with J. Ralph from the documentary Racing Extinction, she will not play the song live on the broadcast. (Organizers reportedly cut the performance due to "time constraints.") Nor will she attend the ceremony. Now, in a powerful, no-holds-barred essay, ANOHNI explains her decision not to attend.

I am the only transgendered performer ever to have been nominated for an Academy Award, and for that I thank the artists who nominated me. (There was a trans songwriter nominee named Angela Morley in the early '70s who did some great work behind the scenes.) I was in Asia when I found out the news. I rushed home to prepare something, in case the music nominees would be asked to perform. Everyone was calling with excited congratulations. A week later, Sam Smith, Lady Gaga, and the Weeknd were rolled out as the evening’s entertainment with more performers "soon to be announced." Confused, I sat and waited. Would someone be in touch? But as time bore on I heard nothing. I was besieged with people asking me if I was going to perform.

My anxiety increased as weeks passed. I slowly realized that the positive implication of this nomination was being retracted. The producers seemed to have decided to stage performances only by the singers who were deemed commercially viable. Composer David Lang’s song "Simple Song #3" performed by South Korean soprano Sumi Jo was also omitted.

It was degrading to watch the articles in Variety, The Daily Telegraph, Pitchfork, Stereogum, etc. start to appear. Eclipsing earlier notices of congratulations, now the papers were naming me as one of two artists to have been "cut" by the Academy due to "time constraints." In the next sentence it was announced that Dave Grohl, not nominated in any category, had been added to the list of performers.

Everyone told me that I still ought to attend, that a walk down the red carpet would still be "good for my career."

Last night I tried to force myself to get on the plane to fly to L.A. for all the nominee events, but the feelings of embarrassment and anger knocked me back, and I couldn't get on the plane. I imagined how it would feel for me to sit amongst all those Hollywood stars, some of the brave ones approaching me with sad faces and condolences. There I was, feeling a sting of shame that reminded me of America’s earliest affirmations of my inadequacy as a transperson. I turned around at the airport and went back home.