Every year in November, the transgender community comes together to mourn our dead on the Transgender Day of Remembrance, observed every year on or around Nov. 20. Election results from Nov. 7 notwithstanding, 2017 has been a particularly brutal year for us.
It bothers me hearing the list of those murdered this year — 25 known victims — described as a “record” number. It makes it sound like a challenge. I’d prefer this record stand forever unbroken. It sickens me every time I hear of another one of my sisters or brothers losing their life way too soon — and for what?
Christians shot to death in their community church and people run down in New York are national news. Transgender people being relentlessly and senselessly murdered rarely makes a blip on the radar.
The gay and lesbian community has had plenty to celebrate, and, being a lesbian, I celebrate with you. But as a trans person, I have little to celebrate. Just in the last year we’ve seen a change in how Title IX is interpreted, with the Trump administration claiming it no longer protects transgender school children. We’ve seen an executive order stripping transgender people of employment protections and a lawsuit by Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton granting doctors the right to REFUSE CARE to transgender patients.
The transgender community has little to celebrate, but what brings us together each year is a day to remember those in our community who have been murdered.
I went to my first Transgender Day of Remembrance event at the Cathedral of Hope in 2014. It was beautiful, and it was heartbreaking. We remembered those who were murdered in an emotionally-wrenching way: As someone read the names of the victims and where in the world they were killed and the details of their murder, there was a group of us who would carry a rose in their name up the center aisle of the sanctuary and lay it on the altar.
Name after name, rose after rose and grisly violent detail after grisly violent detail — the roses piled up. Until there were well over 200 of them.
I was sobbing after the first few names and by the end I couldn’t stop crying.
Why are they killing us?
Most of those killed are trans women of color. Being a woman of color in this country is hard enough; being a trans woman of color has to feel like being a deer during hunting season.
Our lives mean something, they are important, they are worth living. But being transgender anywhere in the world is a challenge. Worrying about someone ending our lives in a violent way is horrifying.
Something else that struck me was how little we know about those who have been taken from us. Sure, we know their names and how and where they died but little else.
I bet some of these girls were good dancers. I bet some had pets that loved them. Maybe brothers or sisters. Maybe others were helping to take care of elderly parents. I’m certain that each of them were loved by someone.
Now, there is an empty spot in church, a dog that wonders when mommy is coming home, a mother who mourns the loss of a child. A smile or laugh that is gone forever. A best friend with an empty heart and a thousand-yard stare.
My heart breaks for each of them.
It occurred to me that with the murder rate so high for trans people, and when we are shot, stabbed, strangled, bludgeoned, dismembered or set on fire — besides the horrific details of our death, we are further insulted by often being misgendered by law enforcement or the media.
Maybe there is something we could do to change that a little. Instead of remembering how we died, how about remembering how we lived?
I’d like to invite transgender people to write their own obituaries. I know that sounds grim, but who knows, maybe if people knew who we were, how we lived, the kind of people we are, maybe our lives would seem less disposable and worthless.
Here’s mine:
Leslie Michelle McMurray, 59, of Coppell, Texas, was born in Long Beach, Calif., the daughter of Bill and Mary McMurray. She grew up near the Pacific Ocean and never lost her love for the beach.
Leslie spent 34 years on the radio, a job she loved, at stations ranging from Sacramento to Atlanta, Las Vegas, Houston and Dallas. She was recognized by the Texas House for her charity work. Music has always been a big part of her life.
She has two daughters, Sarah and Chrissy, whose love and unwavering support through transition meant the world to her. Leslie has three grandchildren that she adores. Her partner, Katie, is the love of her life, and Leslie delights in making Katie’s favorite meal — barbecue ribs.
Leslie enjoys reading as well as writing. She is an avid golfer and an activist for the transgender community. She has two border collies, Breezy and Patches, who think she likes throwing the ball for them more than anything in the world.
Ok, so I have a hard time writing about myself in the past tense, but you get the idea. I’d love to hear from any trans person who wants to share theirs. Perhaps we will start a Facebook page for them, or I’ll add them to mine or send them to The Dallas Way.
I’d just feel a little better if folks knew more about us. My partner, Katie, is an attorney. Other transgender friends are air traffic controllers, doctors, surgeons, airline pilots, teachers, university professors and business owners.
Our lives are just as precious as anyone else’s. Just as worth living.
So please, no more mentions of another “record” year for transgender murder victims.
Please, stop killing us.
We aren’t numbers; we aren’t statistics. We are living, breathing, precious miracles. We are people who have endured hardships that most can’t comprehend.
We are loved and we love. We fought so hard just to be who we are.
Can’t we just please live our lives?
Leslie McMurray, a transgender woman, is a former radio DJ who lives and works in Dallas. Read more of her blogs at lesliemichelle44.wordpress.com.