Amber Monroe 's body was found on August 8th after she was shot and killed. K.C. Haggard was brutally stabbed to death on July 23rd. India Clarke was beaten to death, three days prior. This past Monday, police in Dallas identified the body of Shade Schuler.
This year alone in the United States, thirteen trans women have been murdered, eleven of them were trans women of color. The National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs documented that 55% of anti-LGBTQ homicide victims last year were trans women, half were trans women of color.
While there are many factors contributing to this epidemic of hate and violence against trans women of color, I want to focus on the role of silence and shame in a group of men that have a special responsibility to speak out against this crisis. I'm talking about men like me.
I am a Black man who is in love with a Black trans woman.
Last summer, I participated in a rally for Islan Nettles on the one year anniversary of her brutal murder. I remember reading her story and collapsing into tears. Islan's death was the result of hate, hatred of her very existence as a Black trans woman. I realized that the failure to confront the public shaming of trans-attracted men not only has deep psychological impacts on men like me, but far more importantly, it fuels the cycle of violence against trans people by dehumanizing them. Remaining silent about our relationships further entrenches the narrative that they are nothing but a fetish, a shameful secret. This reduces our partners to objects and objectification is at the root of dehumanization.
As a heterosexual cisgendered man in a society that rewards me for these things, I realized I had a duty to share my story without shame.
Ever since I became aware of my own sexuality and began to express myself accordingly, people began labeling me as gay. I knew that I was attracted to trans women, I knew I wasn't gay, but I didn't understand gender and sexuality in a way that I could articulate my truth to others. I thought I was the only one who felt this way, I felt alone. In high school, I was teased mercilessly and homophobic slurs were hurled at me on an almost daily basis. I remember an adolescence of desperate attempts to slip under the radar, evade ridicule, and deny myself.
Now I know that there are many other heterosexual cisgendered men who are attracted to trans women, but the lack of any unified voice from our part against the epidemic of anti-trans violence, is indicative of the stigma and shame that surrounds our sexual and romantic relationships.
As someone who is in love with a Black trans woman, it hurts me to think that she could be murdered in the streets simply for being who she is.
Trans women of color are on the front lines of the Movement for Black Lives - marching, organizing, and putting their lives on the line for the liberation struggle of all Black people. We - trans-attracted men - cannot allow society to continue shaming us into silence when that silence makes our partners all the more vulnerable to hate and violence. Openly loving a trans woman might seem like a courageous act, but it is not nearly enough. Circumstances demand that we come out as a community, speak out, and join the struggle to ensure that trans lives truly matter.