1. We are here tonight to remember and honor our transgender and transsexual dead.
We are here tonight in mourning, but we are also here in celebration. We are here tonight
to mourn the brutal murders of members of our community – primarily women, and
primarily women of color – at the hands of those who would seek to destroy us. But we
are also here to celebrate their lives – lives lived in authenticity and truth – and the lives
of all people who live in such a way, particularly in the face of the adversity that is all
around us.
Let’s talk first about our grief.
Even as I prepared this speech earlier today, more deaths were being reported. As
with every Transgender Day of Remembrance – and this is the 13th year of the organized
memorial – names are being added to the list of the dead almost up until the very last
minute.
As we read the accounts of these murders, we grieve. As we imagine the pain of
the family, friends, and loved ones of the victims, we grieve. Perhaps some of us have
even personally known a victim of trans-related violence, and we grieve. We grieve the
loss of vibrant, active, important lives, and we grieve the circumstances that took these
people from us unnecessarily and far too soon. And we grieve for a world in which such
heinous and unspeakable actions are allowed to continue.
Because as we are aware, these are not just “simple” murders, as if any murder
was “simple.” In many cases, these women are not “just” killed, but brutally assaulted –
beaten, burned, dismembered, disfigured, sometimes almost beyond recognition. These
murders aren’t intended “just” to kill one woman, but to destroy an entire population.
These are not killings – these are attempts at annihilation. And the hatred is still out there.

2. We see it every year, and every year we recognize the tragedy that it has left in its wake.
And as we gather together in our grief and despair, we might wonder: What on earth do
we possibly have to celebrate?
We have plenty. We have hope.
Hope is in this very room. Look around you. This very room is filled, not just
with trans people, which would be enough in itself, but with friends, family, and allies
who are just as concerned about stopping this violence as we are, and they are here with
us tonight to support us in remembering and honoring our dead and to say, “We won’t
tolerate this, either. We won’t stand by silently and watch this happen. We will work
together until the violence is ended. And we will help to make sure that the dead are not
forgotten.”
And this room in Fort Collins, Colorado, is not the only one. This weekend,
across the state, the country, and the world, there are thousands of rooms just like this
one, filled with trans people, family, friends, and allies who are joined together to
remember our trans dead and to make a vow to stop this violence, no matter how long it
takes, and to make sure that our dead are not forgotten.
We are not alone. Events like this are taking place everywhere, and soon, the
events and attendees will far outnumber those who seek to do us harm, and eventually the
world will take notice of what is happening, and the world will finally say, “No more.”
It may not happen soon. It may not happen in many of our lifetimes. And the fact
that we are here together tonight says that it will happen sometime. And this is one of the
small steps that we must take on that long road to making it happen. And we can
celebrate the fact that we are here, and that our family, friends, and allies are here with

3. us, to take that small step.
Hope is in the victims themselves. We mourn their deaths, but we celebrate their
lives, because they had the courage to live authentically, right up until the end. Had they
hidden their true selves – had they let fear or shame or the hatred of others prevent them
from living their authentic life, with all the joy and pain that such a life brings – they
would likely be alive today. But what kind of life would they be living? It would
probably be no life at all. They made the courageous decision – and the supreme sacrifice
– to live as they wanted, needed, and had to live, and it was absolutely necessary. It
could not have happened any other way. So as we grieve for our victims, we also
celebrate our heroes – and we recognize that they are one and the same.
And hope is in ourselves and our community. We are here, and by our very
presence, we are providing a blueprint for the future – a future of diversity, a future of
acceptance, and a future that values all life. We have our own authentic lives to celebrate.
None of us knows what will happen to us. None of us knows what we might
suffer or what we might have to celebrate in the future. Every day is a new challenge –
and a new victory. Every day is a new chance to be heard, to be recognized, to live
authentically, to make a difference.
It might not seem so hopeful right now. As we mourn our dead tonight, hope
might seem quite elusive to us. But if you feel that hope has left you in this time of grief
and sadness, remember this: Somewhere out there, right at this very moment, there is a
little trans child getting ready to be born. He or she does not yet know about the hatred
and the hardship that exist in the world right now. But he or she is a symbol of hope –
hope for us, hope for the future, hope for the world.

4. It is for that child that we stay strong. It is for that child that we join together. And
it is for that child that we celebrate ourselves, our lives, and the lives of those who have
gone before us. It is for that child that we soldier on to create a new world.
I would like to leave you with one thought to take with you as you go out into the
cold Northern Colorado night tonight. It’s one of my favorite quotes, from a very
unexpected source: Mariane Pearl. Some of you may remember that Mariane Pearl is the
widow of Daniel Pearl, an American journalist who was kidnapped, beheaded, and
dismembered by members of al-Qaeda in Pakistan in 2002.
Several years ago, I was watching a documentary about Daniel Pearl’s death, and
in that documentary, Mariane Pearl said, “I see happiness as a form of resistance.” Of
course, she was talking about her husband’s killers and her refusal to allow their actions
to control her life, no matter how much agony they had caused her. But that quote stuck
with me, and it made me think about my own community and the agony that we
frequently have to bear, and how we have to fight to keep the actions of others from
controlling our lives – and our happiness.
I see happiness as a form of resistance. For Mariane Pearl, the resistance was
against her husband’s killers. For us, the resistance is against those who seek to destroy
us, individually and as a community. This is why we both grieve and celebrate – for those
who have died, for those still alive, and for that little trans child who is waiting to be
born.
I see happiness as a form of resistance. And we will continue to resist. They have
not destroyed us. They have not eliminated us. And they will not prevent us from
mourning our dead, from celebrating our lives, from moving forward, and from always

5. remembering – both with pain at our loss and with joy at the possibility of a new, bright,
and hopeful future.