Articles / Violence

Remembering Our Dead

Last Monday, November 20, was the annual Transgender Day of Remembrance, to mark all those who have been killed for being transgender or gender-variant. It isn’t something far off in the past, either: just the day before, Gregorio Sandoval was brutally stabbed to death in Antioch, CA, about 45 miles east of San Francisco.

It is remote for me in other ways, though: I’ve never been attacked for being trans, and nobody close to me has. I think it has to do with being white, middle-class, not rejected by my family, and not involved in casual sex or prostitution. I’ve been a bit reluctant to post about the Day of Remembrance because I think that some of these killings are terrorist acts designed to keep transpeople afraid. I think it is somewhat dangerous for me to go out in public cross-dressed, but not nearly as much as if I were black or Hispanic or a sex worker, lived in a poor neighborhood or had casual sex with men. I’m wary about demanding rights or services for myself based on the sufferings of others.

I’m also wary about telling people what to do. I firmly believe that some of the blame for these deaths lies with the black and Hispanic community leaders, especially the religious leaders who spew hate from the pulpit. But as some lovely Latina teenager said to me the other day after I complained about her holding the subway doors, “Figures it would be a white guy.” Well, this white guy sees other transpeople as brothers and sisters, and I feel that it’s partly my responsibility to use my white middle-class privilege to publicize these horrible murders. We need some unity to overcome this, and we need to take advantage of what different members of the community bring to the table. I was pleased to see that my old high school is listed as having an event commemorating this day.

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