Transgender Day of Remembrance
We remember.
November 20th is the annual Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoR). On this day, we remember those we have lost in the past year to violence, either at their own hand or someone else’s. This year, we do so knowing that this country and many others have actively made survival harder for trans people; a trend that appears to set to escalate in the near future. With a heavy heart, I offer this reflection.
Of course, content warnings for severe transphobia, violence, and self-harm apply. Please care for yourself as you read.
I also delivered this post as a “Reflection” during the Claremont UCC Transgender Day of Remembrance service - you can watch the whole thing here, and my delivery of this starts at roughly 22:35
Four hundred.
And twenty-seven more.
That’s how many transgender people we have lost to violence this year.
No, that’s not quite right. That’s how many trans people lost to violence that we have identified. We know that the real number is far higher. By my math, it is likely that we are losing at least one trans and gender expansive youth each day to suicide, just in the US. The real number of trans lives cut short across the globe is surely staggering.
If you can hear that and not respond with rage, you are stronger than me, and I hope you will have compassion for my inability to do so as I speak.
Today, we honor these lives. We remember them, we grieve them. Far too many of these spirits were young. Those in their teens, twenties, thirties. We remember the trans women, trans men, non-binary, agender, gender fluid, and anyone else who sees themselves as under the transgender umbrella. Yet another year, yet more of our transgender siblings gone.
All because of fear, disgust, and hate.
It’s often noted within the community how peculiar this day is. Most communities do not have to have a day to remember those they lost to violence. But in our community, it happens with such alarming frequency that we must remember. As always, we also must not overlook the fact that those most targeted in this country are black trans women. Those who suffer from multiple forms of marginalization and thus are pushed into precarious lives.
As a Christian, I cannot overlook that Jesus gives us a broader definition of murder. That is, those who would cut someone off, to say “get out of my life.” He says that these, too, are murder. As someone who has experienced such treatment, I can say that it feels that way as well. To know there are people I love, who simply have decided to carry on as though I am dead… they may not have killed all of me, but as CS Lewis says, there are parts of me that will never come out again, because they only came out around those friends.
But today is more specifically about those whose deaths are total - those we have truly lost.
As we are in a church, it is impossible to discuss this without condemning the role that Christianity has played. Church leaders have pronounced us to be abominations, affronts to human dignity, and more. They have called for our executions and stayed silent at our deaths. Their words have inspired bomb threats and hate crimes. They have not only allowed, but supported parents in cutting off their transgender children, even in the face of knowing this may result in suicide. I cannot find any way to see this other than as child sacrifice.
Seeing transgender people as a sin to be corrected, a stain on the body of Christ, a malformed member, they seek to either “correct” or amputate us, by any means necessary.
Once again, the endless drive to keep the church free from what they see as sinful influence results in them making a devil’s bargain: put those who God loves out of your midst, and you will have God’s blessing. To put it bluntly again, this is human sacrifice.
In many cases, our deaths are enabled by state power and the hundreds of anti-trans bills proposed across the country, far too many of which are now law. Nex Benedict died by suicide after a year of bullying for being non-binary. Their school failed to make them safe and failed to promptly act when the bullying turned into physical violence. And now, Nex is gone.
We mark today in particular under a dark cloud - knowing that those powers of church and state are being combined at the highest levels under Christian Nationalism, and that sadly this will almost certainly result in more lost lives. Even today, the attacks by our government are already ramping up. Today. On Trans Day of Remembrance. Christians are mobilizing against those who Jesus calls, “the least of these”.
To those Christians who contribute to our deaths, I say, to paraphrase the words of Jesus: These are our bodies, broken by you. This is our blood, shed by you.
My friend Mae put it in a way that should cut us to the core: “Our kids are being killed in a war they never asked for.” My friend Billie asks: “Who starts a culture war by targeting their enemy’s children?”
It is tempting to try, on a day like today, to look for silver linings. How these deaths will spur us on. But to paint these deaths as necessary to the cause is, again, to treat them as sacrifice, rather than senseless, horrific losses. We will continue to fight, but Nex and the others we remember today will not be around to see our victories, nor will they be alive to help us fight for them.
Many who have been taken from us are unknown and buried under the wrong name. Some of them never told anyone who they were. They heard the comment their father said. They saw the Facebook post their brother made. They read the article their mother liked. They were gutted by the joke their friend told. And they felt… what place is there for me. No one will ever understand.
Some of those we grieve died by suicide, while others died of addiction or other deaths of despair. These deaths are no less tragic - people pushed to the margins so violently that their marginalization proved fatal.
Those we do not know are not less brave, less deserving of being remembered today. They were born into a society that does not see them as the glorious souls they are.
Some perished not at their own hands, but at the hands of others. These siblings of mine suffered an outrageous cruelty: it is likely that the last face they ever saw was a face of hate. The accounts of some of those we have lost this year are so brutal that I can’t possibly read them here. But I cannot shake a single quote: one of the murderers of England’s Brianna Ghey, shortly before killing her, texted the other, saying, “I want to see if it will scream like a man or a girl.” As horrific as that is, here is the worst part: the sender of that text was a fifteen-year-old girl.
In the movie Nimona, the titular character, who is very trans, is at one point confronted by a child pointing a sword at her. After escaping, in despair, she says this, to her only friend: “Kids. Little kids. They grow up believing that they can be a hero if they drive a sword into the heart of anything different. And I’m the monster?” She goes on: “I don’t know what’s scarier. The fact that everyone in this kingdom wants to run a sword through my heart… or that sometimes, I just wanna let ’em.”
This is made even more painful by the fact that we, at this point, know that Nimona is not the monster she has been made out to be. She is fun, passionate, talented, flawed, vulnerable, loving, and real. She’s magical - yes, in the fantasy sense, but also in her spirit. She sees what the world can be, in a way that others cannot.
Every transgender person who bravely steps forward and says, “This is me,” is shining a light into the world. We bring new colors, new sounds, new forms, new ways of being into the world. My dear beautiful trans friend: there is hope for you. And every time we lose a member of the community, we lose someone irreplaceable, along with what they had to teach us.
If we want a liberated world, friends, we must let the “monster” win.
Yes, we will, rest assured, keep fighting. We will win. Trans friends: your living is an act of resistance, of protest. I wish it wasn’t, but we are in a time where even just existing as a transgender person is an act of defiance. Someday the world will look back in horror at the fact that it’s oppression of trans people was so complete that many people falsely believed that we did not exist. And they will be shocked to learn that in 2024, many trans people still felt they could not make themselves known.
But for those we remember tonight… it’s just too late.
Each of the people we remember today deserved a long, full life as their beautiful, radiant selves. They deserved love and joy. If they were out, they did a brave thing to let the world see the real them, and the world turned on them. If they remained in the closet, they deserved the opportunity to be truly known. Each of them deserved to be honored as themselves. They deserved to be supported in their hardships. They never deserved hate; they deserved a hug. And they deserved hope.
On this day, we remember them.
End note: If you are a transgender or gender expansive person, I’d like to invite you to take a few deep breaths. You matter so much. You are not alone. If you are unaware, Trans Lifeline exists to help trans people in crisis and is a great resource for us. I hope you are finding some peace today and wish nothing but love for you.
November 20, 2024 is my Name Day. This day is the day the court approved the request to change my name. I was sharing it with a friend of mine who was excited for the news, but also the *TIMING* of the whole thing.
She said to me “I think that's a perfect occasion tbh. It's a good way to remember how far we've all come, too 🙂”
We continue to exist, even in the faces of those who want us not to. We persist even in the face of tragedy.
Thank you so much for this. It's moving, and heartbreaking. I'm glad you were able to say this for your community. Much love, friend.