Transgender Day of Remembrance →

I’m just going to leave this here. I’m a couple days late in linking to it, but its relevance doesn’t wane the rest of the year, either.

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Yesterday was the Transgender Day of Remembrance. I went to the local memorial (organized by Equality NC), and it was good; none of the classism or co-opting that I’ve heard about from reports of other events. My only complaint was the overwrought Christian prayer at the beginning; I felt a tad alienated by that, and I imagine any other non-Christians there may have been as well. But it was well-intentioned* at least.

I felt like I should say something in this space about the TDoR, but the fact is that I am very lucky; none of my trans friends have been killed due to violence (and I am including suicide under the umbrella of violence, because it is society’s hatred that leads to trans suicide the vast majority of the time). It may simply be that I haven’t been active in the trans community for very long; I only came out to myself a little less than a year ago, and it’s only been about six months since I started interacting with the social justice / activism scene. The fact is that eventually, odds are very good that someone I know will be killed because of transphobia. This is abhorrent; a clear sign that our society is fundamentally broken.

Back to my point, though. I have not (yet) been touched directly by transphobic violence, and I am very lucky (and grateful) for this. And it makes me feel like anything I can say about the TDoR would have less impact; it would feel hollow to me.

But I can talk about how that violence touches me indirectly. I am afraid. All the time. Whenever I am out in girl-mode (I have not transitioned full-time yet) I am actively afraid for my life. I jump when I hear loud noises. My heart speeds up whenever I see someone walking towards me. Using the bathroom becomes an ordeal; what if someone gets upset? What if the police are waiting when I come out? Using the bathroom shouldn’t send me into a panic attack. But it does, and it is all connected to the culture that allows all of the violence that makes TDoR necessary to continue.

So, that is my perspective. That is where I was coming from as I stood in a circle last night, holding a candle and reading Angie González Oquendo’s death from a card. We memorialize their deaths, but we see nothing about their lives. How much of that fear and anxiety did Angie feel every day? How much did our lives have in common? Did she cry herself to sleep at night too? Stand outside the bathroom door for long seconds, trying not to panic?

We spend TDoR reflecting on violence and pain. This is important, of course; we need to see how much we are losing, and how much we stand to lose. I just wish we could find a way to celebrate the lives of those we lost in addition to mourning their deaths.

• and while intentions don’t usually matter, I am giving them points here because, if nothing else, the overall message of the prayer was one of love and acceptance.