In
the windows of some small cafes and churches around Central Brooklyn, there are
little white stickers with rainbow-colored writing. These signs put up by the Audre Lorde Project say “Safe
Space,” designating those buildings as places of sanctuary for LGBT people who
are experiencing harassment or violence on the street.
Despite
New York City’s inclusive policies for LGBT
residents, the borough of Brooklyn still saw four “hate violence” incidents
against them in the space of just two weeks this summer, according to the
National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs (NCAVP). People were threatened
with death, they report, punched in the face, slurred at, socked with rocks.
For
one particular community, these instances of violence happening around the
country have higher chance of becoming fatal. On Aug. 14 the number of
transgender people murdered in America this year hit a historic high of 15,
according to advocacy organizations like the National Center for Transgender
Equality. This somber milestone was hit when the remains of Elisha Walker, 20, were discovered in a North
Carolina field several months after she went missing. Like the majority of the
other victims, Elisha was not just transgender but a young transgender woman of
color.
“These
are all characteristics of people in the United States who are more susceptible
to violence,” says the Center’s Mara Keisling, “of people who are more
marginalized economically and educationally, people who end up having a
bullseye on their back.”
The
legal victories and increased media coverage of LGBT people in recent months
has been largely positive for the community, experts like Keisling say. More
people feel comfortable coming out, giving others the chance to meet and
befriend someone who is transgender or gay, building the personal relationships
that activists say are often the foundation for acceptance.
But
the heightened visibility has also put more people at risk of being harassed or
hurt. While images of Caitlyn Jenner receiving a standing ovation accepting an award in a Versace
dress might seem to herald a sunny time for transgender Americans, most of them
are still greatly disadvantaged socially and economically.
“Right
now we’re experiencing a Dickensian time, where it’s the best of times and it’s
the worst of times at once,” says transgender rights advocate Masen Davis, who
formerly ran the Transgender Law Center. “We’re seeing a marked increase in the
public awareness about transgender people and really incredible progress for
trans rights, especially from a legal perspective. At the same time, we still
represent and are part of a community that experiences incredibly high rates of
unemployment, poverty and violence.”
Transgender
people are four times more likely than the general population to report living
in extreme poverty, making less than $10,000 per year, a standing that
sometimes pushes them to enter the dangerous trade of sex work. Nearly 80% of
transgender people report experiencing harassment at school when they were
young. As adults, some report being physically assaulted
trains and buses, in retail stores and restaurants. Greater awareness has not
yet translated into broad acceptance, says Kris Hayashi, executive director of
the Transgender Law Center: “The majority of society does not understand who
transgender people are in ways that lead to the violence and the murder and the
harassment that we’re seeing.”
The
risk is even greater for transgender women of color, who often grapple with
both transphobia and racism. Sixteen of the at least 20 LGBT people murdered in
2014 were people of color, according to the NCAVP; 11 were transgender women,
and 10 were transgender women of color. “People who are marginalized both
because of their race and being transgender, it’s like a double whammy,” says
Shannon Minter, legal director for the National Center for Lesbian Rights.
These
figures likely don’t give a full picture of violence against the transgender
community. Though a federal hate crimes law requires the collection of some
statistics related to violence against transgender people, experts are dubious
about the numbers they’re getting. “A lot of jurisdictions report zeroes, even
in places where we know there are hate crimes,” Keisling says. Most state laws
don’t require the collection of such statistics, according to Minter.
He
says numbers are often misreported too. Incidents may not be determined to be
hate crimes because there was no investigation, for instance. Crimes against
transgender men like Brandon Teena—who was raped and murdered in Nebraska
before his story was told in the film Boys
Don’t Cry—may be recorded as crimes against women because many don’t have
the money (or desire) for medical intervention.
The
NCAVP, which collects the most complete figures on hate crimes against LGBT
people, notes that the Bureau of Justice Statistics estimated there may be 40
times more hate crimes occurring nationally than the FBI reports. Overall, the
NCAVP has been receiving far fewer reports of hate violence toward the LGBT
community in the last two years, down to 1,359 incidents in 2014. But they say this is a result
of the collection process, not “an actual decrease of bias-based violence,” and
they say their statistics do not represent exhaustive national numbers.
Minter
says that the murder rate, as well as the chronic harassment many transgender
people face, is best tackled through better education and more community-based
programs, like those white stickers in Brooklyn windows that create networks of
support among people who walk the same streets each day. Hate crime legislation
is helpful in sending a message about the value of lives, he says, but it’s not
going to solve the problem.
“We
all have a responsibility to stop this violence,” he says, “and that means if
you see a transgender person being harassed, we all have an obligation to speak
up, to do something.”
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