I sit with a heavy heart but a determined spirit as we mark Transgender Day of Remembrance. This day is more than a commemoration—it is a call to remember, honor, and act. We honor lives lost to violence, remember the systemic inequities that perpetuate such tragedies, and recommit ourselves to the fight for justice, equity, and liberation.
I often return to the story of Rita Hester. Rita was a Black trans woman whose murder on November 28, 1998, sparked an international movement—the very reason we recognize today. Yet her story, like so many others, remains unfamiliar to most. Transgender history is not taught in schools, and media coverage of trans lives—especially trans deaths—continues to misgender and erase.
The statistics are chilling. In the past year alone, the majority of transgender individuals killed were people of color—Black transgender women disproportionately among them. Many were killed by those closest to them: friends, family, or intimate partners. And the cruelty doesn’t end with their deaths—half were misgendered by authorities or the press, a final indignity that denies them their truth even in memorialization.
These numbers are stark, but they are not just numbers to me. They are names, faces, and dreams, each life a story of resilience, joy, and humanity.
As someone raised in a Caribbean Pentecostal home in Brooklyn during the 1980s, I know firsthand what it feels like to hide parts of yourself to survive. I was raised by a single mother alongside three older sisters, and while our home was full of love, it was not a place where I could live authentically. I learned to shrink myself to fit a mold that was not mine, to navigate spaces where my truth felt like a burden.
Today, as a queer Black person who leads a queer-centered organization, I have the odd privilege of showing up as my full self each day. But this privilege is not mine alone—it is shared by everyone who fights for a world where authenticity is celebrated, not punished. My work is centered on helping others find and embrace their truths in their families, workplaces, places of worship—wherever their journey takes them.
Happiness, to me, is showing up as your most authentic self, unapologetically. And so I ask myself: What does it take for every transgender and nonbinary person to experience that joy?
It takes remembering names like Rita Hester. It takes fighting against anti-trans rhetoric and violence. It takes addressing the intersectional oppressions that target transgender people of color. And it takes all of us—whether we are part of the transgender community or allies—to stand together, not just in mourning but in action.
This year, Transgender Day of Remembrance takes on an even greater sense of urgency as we face a legislative landscape increasingly hostile to trans lives. Across the United States, hundreds of bills have been introduced targeting transgender rights—banning gender-affirming care, erasing trans identities in schools, restricting access to public facilities, and more. These attacks aim not just to deny trans people their rights but to deny their very existence.
The looming reality of a Donald Trump presidency adds yet another layer of fear and concern. His previous administration systematically rolled back protections for LGBTQ+ individuals, including trans people, with policy changes that stripped rights in healthcare, education, and military service. The rhetoric from Trump and his allies is clear: a return to his presidency would mean a full-scale assault on the progress we’ve fought so hard to achieve.
As daunting as these challenges are, I find hope in our history. The history of our queer and trans siblings is one of resilience and triumph. From the Compton’s Cafeteria riot to the fight for marriage equality, we have shown that collective action can bring about extraordinary change. But the fight for transgender lives is about all of us, not just some of us.
Today, I honor the lives we’ve lost, celebrate the courage of those who live authentically, and reaffirm my commitment to fighting for a future where every individual—regardless of identity—can live openly, safely, and with joy.
The path ahead is difficult, but it is one we must walk together. Let us remember. Let us honor. Let us act.
.d.
