Last night, Pat and I attended the Transgender Day of Remembrance here in Chicago at the Center on Halsted.
It was held on the third floor roof. It was a chill evening and, perhaps appropriately, and a cold bitter snow started just after we gathered outside.
There were many speakers and one of the honored speakers was Diane Schroer, who had just recently won a precedent setting case of discrimination against the Library of Congress.
In her speech, she asked, "Who Speaks for the Dead". Her answer was the WE speak for the dead. All of us. Those of us that come out of the closet, who take the first hesitating steps to become our true selves. Those of us that have completely transitioned. And even those of us who take a stealth path. We all stand for the dead. We all speak for those who have had their voices silenced through bigotry, hate, and anger.
We have in many ways become less sensationalized and are less fodder for the likes of Jerry Springer and are now given more of an open forum by the likes of Oprah and Barbara Walters to show the world that we our struggle is not a tawdry thrill but a life affirming quest.
But we are still vulnerable to hate and ignorance. And last night was a memorial to those whose quest had come to an end.
Once the speeches were over, the names of the honored dead were read.
On that rooftop deck, there were 24 chairs, each with a blood red candle burning on it. Each name was read along with the date and method of their death. As each name was read, the candle was extinguished and a bell was tolled.
For me, it was a knife to the heart for each peeling of the bell. Particularly hard was hearing the name of Lawrence King, the 14 year old, who was shot by a classmate because Lawrence had asked him to be his valentine.
Once the vigil was over we returned to the building. Pat held me as I wept.
It was a moving event for me. I hope that one day that it will be no longer be necessary to have such a vigil.
-Sandy
It was held on the third floor roof. It was a chill evening and, perhaps appropriately, and a cold bitter snow started just after we gathered outside.
There were many speakers and one of the honored speakers was Diane Schroer, who had just recently won a precedent setting case of discrimination against the Library of Congress.
In her speech, she asked, "Who Speaks for the Dead". Her answer was the WE speak for the dead. All of us. Those of us that come out of the closet, who take the first hesitating steps to become our true selves. Those of us that have completely transitioned. And even those of us who take a stealth path. We all stand for the dead. We all speak for those who have had their voices silenced through bigotry, hate, and anger.
We have in many ways become less sensationalized and are less fodder for the likes of Jerry Springer and are now given more of an open forum by the likes of Oprah and Barbara Walters to show the world that we our struggle is not a tawdry thrill but a life affirming quest.
But we are still vulnerable to hate and ignorance. And last night was a memorial to those whose quest had come to an end.
Once the speeches were over, the names of the honored dead were read.
On that rooftop deck, there were 24 chairs, each with a blood red candle burning on it. Each name was read along with the date and method of their death. As each name was read, the candle was extinguished and a bell was tolled.
For me, it was a knife to the heart for each peeling of the bell. Particularly hard was hearing the name of Lawrence King, the 14 year old, who was shot by a classmate because Lawrence had asked him to be his valentine.
Once the vigil was over we returned to the building. Pat held me as I wept.
It was a moving event for me. I hope that one day that it will be no longer be necessary to have such a vigil.
-Sandy
