Simon Amaya Price

A few things to know about Do No Harm Senior Fellow Simon Amaya Price: he was born and raised in Boston, he loves music, and hundreds of people want him dead.

It has nothing to do with the sports teams he roots for, or the music he listens to – ideologues don’t believe Simon should exist in the world because he’s a desister. 

“It’s been hard. I feel like I’m part of the only minority in society where it’s socially acceptable to openly say you want to kill people in it. I get death threats every week. I have people trying to dox me. I had someone send me my dead grandmother’s address, asking if it was where I lived. They are members of a cult, treating me like an apostate.” – Simon Amaya Price

After years of homophobic bullying in middle school, Simon felt uncomfortable in his body. By ninth grade, he was convinced that he was a girl. Doctors leaned into Simon’s feelings, telling his parents that if they didn’t give their child the hormones he wanted, the 14-year-old would kill himself. 

His father refused – and for a while, Simon hated him for it. But today, Simon considers himself one of the “lucky ones,” thanks to his father.

“When I share my story, I’m not just thinking about me – I’m thinking about all the kids I grew up around who were in such deep distress and pain, and went down this road of medical transition, my high school girlfriend among them. I’ve been haunted by these kids I’ve met who have had these irreversible decisions basically made for them. Nobody put their foot down to protect them. It’s hard to watch.” – Simon Amaya Price

Ironically, Simon never thought about speaking out until students on campus tried to silence him. “I was at Berklee College of Music, taking a course on songwriting and social change with my favorite professor,” Simon says. “The final project was to put on an event about a social topic we care about. My classmates chose topics like homelessness, the burden of motherhood, eating disorders… I did mine on the experiences of desisters and detransitioners.”

Desisting had been hard for Simon. He lost nearly all of his friends and his girlfriend in the process. It was the right decision, but nothing about it was easy.  

 “It’s been the biggest social struggle of my life and most people don’t even know desisting is a thing, or they refuse to acknowledge it’s real. Children who are rethinking a social transition need to know it is okay to change your mind, and that living a lie just to stay in your friend group is not fulfilling and will wear you down over time. On the other side of desisting are people who will know the real you and love you, not despite who you are, but because of it. Stories like mine deserve to be heard at events like the one I had planned.” – Simon Amaya Price

Berklee’s DEI department offered to sponsor the event for up to $1,000. Simon promoted the event on social media. When he woke up the next day, hundreds of hateful comments were sitting under his social media posts, waiting to scare him into silence. 

Student bullies threatened to beat Simon up and throw things at him, called him names, told him to drop out of school, told him to kill himself, “disowned” him from LGBT and autism communities, and more. The bullies had the audacity to post this vitriol using their real names and photos.

“I reported them to the school, but I have no evidence that the school made any significant steps to remediate or discipline any of the students who threatened me on the internet or on the street,” he says. The school postponed the event indefinitely, hoping Simon would graduate soon and go away. But that’s not really how Simon rolls. 

Simon and his father met with the Vice Provost at Berklee and showed him hundreds of messages from current students, alumni, faculty and staff – all of whom supported the event but were afraid to speak up in fear of Berklee’s culture. “He basically told me to get the papers out of his face,” he says. “My father called him a coward and we got kicked out of his office.”

Simon went home and reached out to the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE), did interviews with the press, and ended up having his event about a month later at MIT with the support of the MIT Open Discourse Society and FIRE. He shared the stage with Do No Harm, and became a Senior Fellow on our team shortly after to keep sharing his story.

“When I saw how angry, and fearful, and anxious people were around even having a discussion about desisting and detransitioning, I decided at that moment to put my foot down. If I even help one kid desist, it will all have been worth it.” – Simon Amaya Price

Simon’s willingness to speak out has helped far more than one child. At least 50 parents have told him directly that if not for Simon, their children would not have desisted. 

And he’s just getting started. Simon has testified in front of lawmakers in Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Delaware, Montana, Colorado, and more. Most recently, he and his father, Gareth, spoke at a Federal Trade Commission workshop on the importance of protecting families from the false claims of the child transgender industry. 

“This is not a partisan issue. Both sides of the aisle have doubts about sex changes for kids, and fear of speaking out is putting LGB children and neurodivergent children at serious risk. I wasn’t diagnosed with autism until after tenth grade, and that diagnosis really helped me figure some things out. But if my parents had given into all that pressure from my therapists and doctors, it would have been too late. The irreversible physical damage would have been done. I know there are so many other kids out there like I was, who are same-sex attracted, maybe neurodivergent, and struggling. Pushing them to transition and permanently change their bodies is the new conversion therapy, and hating the kids who resist it is the new homophobia.” – Simon Amaya Price

Simon didn’t have to speak out. He could have just graduated and moved on with his life. But as he continues to prove to the world, Simon Amaya Price will choose the right path over the easy path, every single time. He’s still here, and happier than ever.