“Burn the Page,” by Danica Roem Is Not Your Typical Political Memoir

Photo credit: Author photo: Doug Stroud

Danica Roem is the first openly transgender person to serve in any state legislature in the United States, and her new book, Burn the Page, is anything but your typical politician’s memoir. Roem, who was elected in 2017 to the Virginia House of Delegates, explores with signature frankness her experience with gender dysphoria growing up and the tragedy of losing her father, who died by suicide, at a very young age. Her circumstances led her to search for an identity that fit and a community that was welcoming of an extrovert with a penchant for wonkiness, like her. She found that community—believe it or not—in heavy metal music.

Roem paints a picture of metal culture most outsiders would find entirely unexpected. The way she describes the heavy metal scene makes it seem like a support circle as well as an extremely niche and tight-knit affinity group. Roem was introduced to heavy metal music by her sister at age 13, and went on to front a metal band called Cab Ride Home (named after an epic night the band members definitely should have taken one home)—dedicating the better part of a decade to live music and feats of extreme alcohol consumption. But beyond the drunken antics are the softer side of metal (one might even say sweet), where a “closet case” trans girl could have hair past her waist and fit right in. In the book, she makes what to many is a completely foreign community relatable.

Roem gave years of her life traveling extensively in the U.S. and abroad to bond with other metalheads. In Burn the Page, she speaks of that metal community with such tenderness that it is clear her dedication to the others was reciprocated in spades. In fact, in 2018 when the notoriously homo-antagonistic cult Westboro Baptist Church protested Roem’s election to the Virginia State Legislature in Richmond, 200 metalheads showed up, formed a blockade, and drowned out the hate speech with their deafening music of vuvuzelas, drums, and kazoos.

Roem is a pioneer of authenticity and self-creation. In 2015 when she changed her name to Danica, she paid homage to some of her favorite bands, adding the ica part to mirror them: Metallica, Apocalyptica, and Epica. It is with that same creativity and uniqueness that she has approached her political career. By heading each chapter of her book with a quote from campaign opposition research against her, she digs deeper into her past and flaunts the things others see as potential weaknesses. Or, as she puts it, “Being different doesn’t have to be a disadvantage; it can actually be why we succeed.” Roem turns lighthearted, self-deprecating humor into her superpower—and uses it to get out of some situations other politicians may not have been able to overcome. She also turns hateful rhetoric directed at her into dollars by asking people to donate to her campaign “whenever bigoted people say or do bigoted things toward me for daring to be a trans women in politics.…”

In the book, Roem reveals that, while she was personally broke during her first bid for office, her first campaign managed to raise nearly one million dollars. She then was successful in winning what she compares to being in a metal band, a similarly “high-profile, albeit low-paying gig”—state delegate. To get to that win, she had to beat a 13-term incumbent who called himself the “chief homophobe” of Virginia. She points out that “electing a trans woman to replace the most anti-LGTBQ legislator in the South would be an act of certainty and a defining moment that would resonate across the country.” And since Roem’s election in 2017, there are now eight trans people serving in state legislatures nationwide. She was right.

Throughout Burn the Page, Roem gives candid advice to future leaders of America, many of whom may not have “traditional” stories. Among the pieces of wisdom (and wit!) she gives us is a larger lesson to be learned from her example. It’s one of how we can take control of our own narratives and decide affirmatively what the story is. Roem explains, “If you’ve lived your life on the margins, and you’re worried that changing the story about who you are and what you’re worth is a kind of immodesty or betrayal…please stop doing that. You deserve to be able to take care of yourself and to use your platform to elevate people who can relate to what you’ve been through.…” She encourages us through her self-love-with-an-edge to be fierce in our own storytelling and unapologetic about the journey.

One of the things that makes Roem so successful in politics is that same authenticity in the form of her willingness to let her policy freak flag fly. While reading the book, you can imagine how in-person she could probably talk your ear off about Route 28 (a universally hated transit problem in her district) but somehow also make it into a fascinating story. She just so earnestly cares about her small corner of Virginia, it’s clear she’d go to the ends of the earth/attend every graduation ceremony in a many-mile radius for a chance to connect with constituents. No issue or event is too small, even for a person with such a large profile. Her love for her home beams (and burns) through the page.

Burn the Page is at its heart an exploration of finding, building, and serving your community. Roem holds patient conversations and space for those ready to change their minds, or join her in protecting the vulnerable. And, as a trailblazer herself, she encourages everyone to follow her example and live big, bold lives, investing in the communities we love.

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