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bodlonThis year, I didn't post anything on or about the Transgender Day of Remembrance. I watched it approach, I marked it in my heart, and I let it pass without comment.
Every day, I am aware of how lucky I am. I still have a family, albeit a very small one. While my primary relationship has changed pretty substantially since I came out in 2006, I still have a partner. I still have the same job I came out into. I practice a religion that is not antagonistic to who I am. I have never been harassed by the police, immigration, etc. I have not been beaten or raped because of my sexuality or gender identity. Nobody has killed me yet.
Believe me, I am not complaining.
Some of these are near things. I can't conduct business without outing myself to cashiers, telephone support, bank tellers, etc. A judge refused my name change. It's pointless for me to marry. My insurance company can yank coverage whenever it wants if it thinks my hormone therapy is making me sick. I was nearly gaybashed in Southern Illinois last summer. I live in a state where I don't have a right to work. I encounter hate speech and defamation in the media about transpeople near-daily. I am constantly mourning our dead because not a week passes that an LGBTQ person isn't murdered.
I'm writing this because while I kept the date privately this year, I simply don't have it in me to let the thing pass wholly unremarked upon. I want people to know that my chances of meeting a grisly end are somewhere between 1 in 12 or 1 in 18 while a cisgendered person's chances are about 1 in 18,000, and to think about what that must be like.
And then I want people to stop killing us, beating us, raping us, and denying us our basic human rights for nonsensical, bullshit reasons. Which, quite frankly, I shouldn't have to engage in rhetorical gymnastics to justify. So I won't.
Instead, I'm going to link to this list of 160 people who stopped existing between November 2008 and November 2009 because of hate.
Every day, I am aware of how lucky I am. I still have a family, albeit a very small one. While my primary relationship has changed pretty substantially since I came out in 2006, I still have a partner. I still have the same job I came out into. I practice a religion that is not antagonistic to who I am. I have never been harassed by the police, immigration, etc. I have not been beaten or raped because of my sexuality or gender identity. Nobody has killed me yet.
Believe me, I am not complaining.
Some of these are near things. I can't conduct business without outing myself to cashiers, telephone support, bank tellers, etc. A judge refused my name change. It's pointless for me to marry. My insurance company can yank coverage whenever it wants if it thinks my hormone therapy is making me sick. I was nearly gaybashed in Southern Illinois last summer. I live in a state where I don't have a right to work. I encounter hate speech and defamation in the media about transpeople near-daily. I am constantly mourning our dead because not a week passes that an LGBTQ person isn't murdered.
I'm writing this because while I kept the date privately this year, I simply don't have it in me to let the thing pass wholly unremarked upon. I want people to know that my chances of meeting a grisly end are somewhere between 1 in 12 or 1 in 18 while a cisgendered person's chances are about 1 in 18,000, and to think about what that must be like.
And then I want people to stop killing us, beating us, raping us, and denying us our basic human rights for nonsensical, bullshit reasons. Which, quite frankly, I shouldn't have to engage in rhetorical gymnastics to justify. So I won't.
Instead, I'm going to link to this list of 160 people who stopped existing between November 2008 and November 2009 because of hate.
