For All of Us

by Shaker EastSideKate, a feminist teacher/scholar/mother/partner/derbygirl from Upstate New York.

[Trigger Warning for intense transphobia, violence, and suicide. Trigger Warning applies to all links.]

So. Yesterday afternoon I came across a particularly depressing piece of news via Helen (by way of folks at FORGE). Two weeks ago, Dana Larkin (also known as Dade and Chanel), a 26-year-old transsexual woman from Milwaukee was murdered. Before I say anything further, I want to send my condolences and best wishes to Chanel's friends and family, as well as to my trans brothers and sisters in Milwaukee and throughout Wisconsin.

Um. So, first of all, fuck. Second, when I was a 26-year-old transsexual woman hanging out in the outskirts of Milwaukee, I sure as hell didn't have the courage to be a leader in my community.

And third: Again? Really? Again?

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It shouldn't have to be like this. Before I came out, I spent a ton of time listening to GenderTalk, the indispensable radio program (and podcast) out of Boston. One of the things I remember are the fatalistic references to the ways that violence and death surround trans peoples' lives. I didn't quite get it back then. I was still a young white kid, college educated, raised in the suburbs. Clearly, I was part of a different world.

Perhaps I am. Transsexual people, as a group, are exceedingly diverse. My many privileges and interests do keep me disconnected from large segments of trans communities.

However. I present to you a brief timeline:

In 2006, I begin the process of coming out, with the help and support of therapists in Milwaukee and the (largely older, white) trans people who could afford their services.

In 2007, a mile from my house In Madison, Nigel Head stabbed Bret Turner (who was dressed in women's clothing, which I recall being described by the local press in excruciating detail at the time) 14 times, after 'becoming upset during sex.' I'm not sure what was more rattling, a hate crime in the middle of my formerly cozy neighborhood, or the disinterest of the local media.

In early 2008, Felicia Melton-Smith, a trans woman and active member of the LGBT community in Madison was murdered while vacationing in Mexico.

On November 14, 2008, shortly after I had moved to Syracuse, Dwight DeLee murdered Latiesha Green (and wounded her brother, Moses Cannon) outside of a party a couple of miles from my new home. I remember my frustration turning to tears, my partner and I racing down one-way streets in the hopes of finding the candlelight vigil, thinking for a moment that being there would make everything all right. The trial of Dwight DeLee colors my summer of 2009, and I still carry the scars on multiple levels.

And now Chanel Larkin is dead.

I didn't know any of these people, and in many ways, I was disconnected from their lives. However far apart our lives were, we shared many bonds. We shared acquaintances, hang outs, communities. And it saddens me that I'll never get to meet any of them.

It's truly odd, the sensation I feel in processing this violence. I feel like I should have known these people. Why wasn't I active in the trans community in Madison? Why didn't I get out more? It's a bizarrely selfish yet selfless thing—I've lost so much in the deaths of these strangers. They could have done so much in this world, I could have learned from them, laughed with them, and...

That bizarre, shallow, guilt is not really the thing that lingers with me, though. I wonder who's next. I wonder why I'm so lucky. Someone I know will be murdered. Who? When? Me?

Maybe someone I know already has been murdered.

As I've grown, I've drifted in and out of various friendships and communities. Sad news makes me wish I was a more consistent participant. I should really talk to all the wonderful trans people I know, lest this be the last chance I get. How are all the wondrous friends and acquaintances I've made over the years, often in the dark, dank corners of the internet? I should get off-line, too; there are trans people in my own neighborhood. Even though I may not have much in common with many strangers, who knows, maybe we'd hit it off? And seriously, Milwaukee is a kick-ass town. I didn't even try to make friends when I was out there, though.

Speaking of drifting off the internet, I wonder about one of my dear, dear friends in particular. She was probably the closest friend I've had, outside of my own sweetie. For a good year or so, we'd chat online for hours at a time. We had both recently come out, and were still actively finding ourselves. We'd talk about the usual things; politics, pop culture, the times she'd be assaulted, that time I nearly was. I even let her hear my voice, as I was actively trying to unlearn the damage puberty had wrought. It wasn't much use; regardless of gender, Skyping with a Brit can be a disorienting experience.

One day my friend vanished from the internet. She had done this from time to time, plagued by the depression that stalks me and so many of my trans brothers and sisters. This time she didn't return. She was heading away to start university, and my optimistic interpretation is that she was "going stealth", dropping of the grid in a bid to survive. A week doesn't go by when I don't think of her. I hope she's okay; the world needs more women with quick, caustic wit.

In my experience, news of death travels slowly, if at all, in the trans universe. When the media bothers to acknowledge our existence, they rarely get our identities right. Blood relatives may or may not be family.

I still remember the unusually warm day I heard about Sarah. I had been in Syracuse for the better part of an hour. I was in town to interview for the job I now hold, educating largely working people who have decided to return to college. Sarah and I had long chats about her returning to college. She was several years younger than I, and full of excitement on many levels—I remember her going on and on about getting a career in fashion. We did talk about some of the other things trans people are wont to speak of—the isolation, the fear, the violence, the frustration in obtaining medical care. Her parents had found her several weeks prior to any of her online acquaintances connecting the dots. It shook many of us; I still think of her often, although on some level, it's necessary to get over such incidents.

Why is any of this necessary at all? It shouldn't be like this. Wondering who the violence will strike next, who is in what psychiatric ward, trying to keep it all together.

And yet here I am. Here all of us are. Stuck in a society that views some people as less than, and therefore, disposable. The issues that affect women, LGBQ people, people of color, poor people, working people and people with disabilities aren't actually different from each other, or from the issues facing trans people. Indeed, all of these identities intersect. It's an idea that's been around for some time, but it's urgently important one. We need to find a way to stop treating people as less than. For Chanel, for Sara, for all of us.