Last Thursday, people across the world gathered at community events, virtual seminars, communal spaces or meditated in private to collectively observe the annual Trans Day of Visibility. People took time to reflect on the contributions that transgender and gender-nonconforming people have made to the world while also shining a light on transphobic violence and related injustices.
As I write this, I am reflecting on my experiences of being a formerly incarcerated, Black trans woman in the city of Chicago while mourning the recent deaths of Elise Malary and Tatiana “Tee Tee’' Labelle. To live in a world that continues to refuse to confront and acknowledge the harm that is being done to Black trans women is one of the biggest challenges in my life. It is disheartening to live in a world in which our safety is threatened by transphobia and anti-Black violence.
On Trans Day of Visibility, I had conversations with other trans and gender-nonconforming people in my community about what this day means to us. While many celebrated the accomplishments of trans and gender-nonconforming people across the world and spoke to how important our visibility is, others find it challenging to navigate these conversations.
While the visibility of trans and gender-nonconforming people is essential, we must always remember that visibility alone does not liberate us. To liberate trans folks, those who perpetuate transphobia must repair the harm they have caused. This requires actively protecting trans and gender-nonconforming people and changing the narrative about trans people in communities across the world until they understand that the existence of trans and gender-nonconforming people is sacred.
Last year on Trans Day of Visibility, I was incarcerated while my community members were outside the jail protesting the mistreatment of trans women. My view on Trans Day of Visibility shifted as I was wrestling with the fact that I was invisible behind bars on a day that was meant to celebrate my existence. I desperately wanted to be with my community, which was standing up to the oppressive forces that continually harm those I love and have dedicated my life to protecting.
When I tell people my story, people will ask me what I need in order to not interact with the carceral system and what I want the future to look like for my trans and gender-nonconforming siblings. Many challenges arise for Black trans women who face oppression from multiple sources throughout their lifetime. When the workplaces we apply to meet us with aggression due to our being trans, we are often left to find work in the informal economy or criminalized economies, and that often increases our exposure to harm due to us not being fully protected by the justice system.
While researching stories of Black trans women sharing their truths about what has happened to them while they were kept behind bars, I discovered that “nearly 1 in 6 transgender Americans — and 1 in 2 Black transgender people — has been to prison,” according to the civil rights organization Lambda Legal.
Existing as a Black trans woman has opened my mind up to many things and has shown me that there is still so much work to be done. So often, the stories of Black trans women’s encounters with the carceral system, hostile environments and tragic deaths are not discussed enough. There are not enough responses from the community when a Black trans woman’s life is violently taken from us and not enough people mobilizing to ensure that this never happens again. There is a future in which my trans and gender-nonconforming siblings are honored and understood as vital members of our community and have their immediate needs met. In this future, we are all mobilizing ourselves to create a world where trans and gender-nonconforming people are no longer suffering and everyone is in pursuit of trans liberation.
For trans liberation to come forth: Black trans women must be liberated first!
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ABOUT THE WRITER
Tashaiey “Tata” Monroe (she/her) is a community leader who was born and raised in Chicago.
