The night that marriage equality became national law was a nearly perfect one.
I went to a gay bar with my sister and two of my good friends, and we danced the night away, flew red flags with equals signs on them and doused ourselves in glitter. We were so happy. It was an emotional day followed by a joyfully celebratory night.
I could marry anyone I wanted, anywhere I wanted. I needed to go out and find someone to marry me. The pressure was really on.
I hadn't seen marriage equality coming. I may have been pessimistic or just shamefully ill-informed, but it caught me off guard, in a happy whirlwind, a glittery flurry of shock.
As we walked back to our car from the bar, practically beaming with joy, we passed a group of guys coming from a different bar. They didn’t glance at me or my guy friend, but they checked out my sister and other female friend. They said 'hey' and then noticed my sister and friend proudly waving their equality flags.
“Put that shit down,” I heard one of them say.
I don't think anyone else noticed but I heard it. My joy wasn't diminished, and my night wasn't ruined. It was a shitty end to a great night, but I couldn't be brought down. I had equality, I had freedom. I could be me.
My bubble was burst though. I realized that marriage equality is not the last step for the LGBT community. Lucky for us, that man’s discrimination wasn't aggressive as much as it was just plain rude. Lucky for me, I don’t face daily discrimination. I occasionally get called names or homophobic slurs (often by those within my own community), but I don't have to fear violence walking to Chipotle for a burrito bowl. My identity does not determine my quality of life. I don't face a daily battle in living visibly. My identity is not a life or death situation.
For many people in my community, however, discrimination takes form in fear of violence, particularly in the trans community, the anchoring T in LGBT. To be gay in this country is difficult, but to be transgender is nearly impossible. According to Bustle, 72 percent of victims of anti-LGBT homicide were transgender women, and 67 percent of anti-LGBT homicide victims were trans women of color.
Trans people face ridicule in the form of disgusting and degrading jokes, particularly about trans women. Their bravery is questioned, their gender is ignored, and their identity is treated flippantly by society. Trans women can’t walk down the street in some states without being arrested for prostitution, and up to 9 percent of trans people were sexually assaulted while in police custody.
The average lifespan of a trans woman globally is 23 years old.
Even after death, trans women find it difficult to find solace, with even journalists misgendering them or referring to them under the wrong name. "Man In Dress Found Dead" a headline reads, the transphobic mockery practically blaring through the feigned excuse for journalism.
Trans women are the foundation of the LGBT community’s battle. The Stonewall Riot, the catalyst for our modern-day equality movement, was helmed by trans women of color, Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Rivera and Miss Major Griffin-Gracy. LGBT should not be without honor for the T. The LGBT community shouldn’t be content or pacified with being able to marry, we should honor those of us who have fought and those of us who have fallen so that we can gain the rights we celebrate today.
The LGBT community needs to move forward in garnering funds for trans shelters, for informing the public about trans struggle, for ending the stereotypes that surround being trans and for making discrimination illegal.
The fight for equality isn’t over. After some much-needed celebration, the fight to defeat other even greater inequalities has just begun.
My privilege made my night on June 26, 2015 perfect. For many others, for hundreds of thousands of trans women, the night wasn't a celebration but just a struggle to make it to see the light of day. This next fight is for them and my next perfect night will be in their honor, when their day comes.
