shortandqueer.com
SPEECH DELIVERED FOR TRANSGENDER DAY OF REMEMBRANCE, NOVEMBER 20, 2009 IN DENVER, CO

Good evening. My name is Kelly Costello and I’m the Director of Advocacy at the Colorado Anti-Violence Program. CAVP is a statewide organization that works to eliminate violence within and against LGBTQ communities in Colorado. The primary focus of my job is to oversee the 24-hour crisis hotline, which unfortunately receives calls often. Throughout each day of the past two and half years, I have been a witness to the pain, the struggles and the trauma faced by transgender community. At the same time, I have witnessed an incredible resiliency, watching how others cope with constant transphobia, both directed at individuals and throughout the current culture of demonizing, exotifying and mocking of trans folks. Even in the presence of pain, I have been lucky enough to be able to share in incredible moments of humor, hopefulness and joy.

CAVP is a member of the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, which puts out a report on anti-LGBTQ hate violence each year. In 2008, we saw the highest rates of anti-LGBTQ murders in the United States since 1999, with 29 reported cases. We also documented an increase in severity of violence experienced by victims and survivors.

In October of 2008, we saw the passage of the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act. This law has communicated to LGBTQ community that transphobic and homophobic violence is unacceptable. To my knowledge, this is also the first federal law to explicitly provide legal protections for transgender people. This has sent a powerful message to many in the LGBTQ community. At the same time, it’s important to put this law into a larger social context.

From a press release by the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs:
At the same time that the Hate Crimes Prevention Act sends this clear and necessary message, NCAVP is deeply concerned by the potential continuation of institutional bias through this legislation. NCAVP members are keenly aware that certain groups – especially poor people, transgender people, African-American and other men of color – are far more likely to be arrested and prosecuted for violent crimes (including hate crimes) than are white non-transgender men or non-transgender women of any race. These traditionally marginalized communities are among those most targeted by hate violence in the first place. Furthermore, many of the bias violence incidents against members of LGBTQ communities are not often reported, classified or prosecuted as hate crimes, in part because of this institutional discrimination. Additionally, it is worth noting that because the Act was attached to defense spending, its passage unfortunately required support for militarization, a process which perpetuates anti-LGBTQ and other biases at home and abroad.
In this vein, we cannot rely solely on criminal and legal systems for safety when so many in our communities are experiencing emotional, physical and sexual violence at the hands of law enforcement, in jails, prisons and detention facilities.

I want to, for a moment, step out of my role at CAVP, or perhaps add a layer. Beyond the statistics, the political processes and talking points, I want to make this personal. As a transgender person, I am affected by this violence every day. Yes, it is my work, but it is also my community. I have internalized messages of victim blaming, of making excuses and of minimizing experiences. We must remember that these murders are not happening because people are being who they are, because they are transgender. These murders happen because of the offender’s transphobic violence.

I struggle to find the balance between living my life proudly and openly with a healthy awareness of potential risks and living my life in fear. When I heard about the recent murders of Jaysen Mattison in Baltimore and Jorge Steven López Mercado in Puerto Rico in the past two weeks, I felt sick. Honestly, I haven’t even been able to read the news articles yet because of the impact just the knowledge of these murders is having on me. After being a spokesperson for the Zapata family when Angie was murdered in July of 2008, I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around the intense grief that is being felt by so many. My thoughts and love go out to those directly affected and those, like me, who feel an increased sense of vulnerability.

For the past few years, I’ve thought about violence against transgender community daily through my work. This means being conscious of vulnerabilities so many of us face. I want my community to be able to hold the complexities and intersections of various identities and understand that we cannot separate transgender identities from race, class, ability, age, immigration status, geographic area, etc. We cannot fully address the magnitude of violence we’re holding at events like this without recognizing the extremely high rates of violence against transgender women of color. While the people we have come to remember tonight all share a common experience of being transgender or gender non-conforming, we must remember to honor each as a whole person. Without creating hierarchies or ranking vulnerabilities, we must be willing to talk about how these identities affect each of our lives, allowing us to come together around commonalities while also recognizing differences.

I spent several hours today visiting a friend who has been in an intensive care unit for the past two weeks (unrelated to bias-violence). During the time I spent with his partner and him both on this and previous visits, I’ve started questioning and redefining what community looks like for me. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to be sure to create. Holding Rich’s hand while he may or may not have been aware of my presence made me wonder how I show up in community, who I support and who supports me. Yes, there is a time for vigils and for community organizing, but are we prioritizing each other as individuals? I hate to admit it, but many of you in this room are people I only see when we come together to mourn a loss. There is power in coming together in grief. There is also power in creating spaces of joy. I’m coming to realize that this joy is what is necessary for my survival.

In this past year, we have lost many, many transgender and gender non-conforming people worldwide. We have consoled each other, felt isolated, craved community. We have also made connections, created community and found support. In this past year, my dad called me “he” for the first time after being out as trans to him for over four years. My mom has begun and continues to share her personal process around my transition with me in an intentional and respectful way. My stepfather, who had previously refused to change pronouns for me, has engaged in conversations that really show a shift in his understanding and respect of my identities. I had a non-transgender friend lead a process for accountability around issues of transphobia that ensured that I would not be tokenized or relied on to educate others in inappropriate ways.

Take a minute to remember some of those moments of support, of strength and of love from this past year.

(pause)

Tonight, let’s remember those who have been lost this year and those who have come before us. Let’s appreciate those who are with us in struggle and those who are with us in joy. And let’s create space for those who will be coming after us as a reminder of why we’re doing what we do. This is what keeps me going.