Transgender Day of Remembrance 2011: Nothing to Say
Filed By Dr. Jillian T. Weiss | November 20, 2011 11:30 AM |
On the Transgender Day of Remembrance, I can find no fitting words of my own to say. Who's going to listen, anyway? I am too far from the days when I wanted to die, when people stopped to point and laugh at me on the street, when I lost my job and took anything I could find after months of joblessness threatened to put me on the street, when the need for human companionship led me down dangerous streets, Thumbnail image for Remembering-Our-Dead.jpgwhen I felt the imminence of violence in the air. I only have the memory of fear.
I remember the gun leaning against the wall in the house of a man I had only recently met, and knowing that I would not live to see the morning.
Our dead come most often from our most marginalized and vulnerable populations, the economically disadvantaged, people of color, sex workers. The world takes little notice of their deaths, except to scoff.
We are not heard, and they know that no one will listen. When Duanna Johnson was beaten by that thug-like police officer in front of the cameras, punched her in the face as hard as he could with handcuffs across his knuckles, he knew in his soul that he could do it with impunity and he did. She later turned up dead. The jury couldn't agree on whether he'd done anything wrong. He later pled guilty and received only 24 months, and part of that was for tax evasion.
If the police, who are the protectors of our society, can do this, there is a lesson for the brutes of our world -- no one is listening to their cries. There are thousands of stories like this. What is there to say in the face of this? What soothing words can we pour forth to assuage our guilt? Did the Roman citizens complain about the people torn to pieces by lions as the crowds watched? They did not; what would have been the point? There is no one to hear us. There is no one to hear us.
From the 2008 Houston, Texas Transgender Day of Remembrance. Attendance was 150 people. Remember Me: My name was Duanna. While I moved from to Memphis to live as myself, I was forced into sex work by extreme poverty. One day, I was arrested and taken to the police station where one policeman held me down and the other began beating me while calling me a "he/she"€ť and a “faggot”. Fortunately, the police station'€™s video tape system caught it all on tape and someone leaked it to the press. Suddenly, a lot of people wanted to use me to make a point about how bad transgenders have it and I told them how bad it was. After the news died down, I went back to living in my apartment, which had no electricity or running water. My only friend was an elderly woman, but her husband told her to stop talking to me after he found out I was transgender. One night, I was standing on the corner and a couple of men ran up to me and shot me, leaving me to die in the street. I had been hoping to win my 1.3 million dollar lawsuit I had against the City of Memphis for the beatings I got by their police, but I won'€™t be able to pursue that now. The police have no leads and nobody has been held responsible for my murder.
Location: Memphis, Tennessee
Date of death: November 9, 2008
Cause of death: Shot to death