Making room for joy: Transgender Day of Remembrance
On Nov. 20, the gender-diverse community remembers those lost, but it's about more than grief
Allison Taylor had her nails done for the first time this summer, part of a transformative season for her.
Coming to Fredericton from a small, conservative town in Nova Scotia, she's been going to protests — and counter-protests — dancing at Monarch Night Club and walking down the street with ease.
From her room at Grace House, a shelter for women overcoming homelessness, Taylor writes to her two pen pals,elderly people in the LGBTQ community who are seeking to connect, just as she is.
And this summer, she walked into the Little Hair Shoppe on Regent Street where employees were giving people haircuts to help them feel gender euphoria, described by the National Institutes of Health as "the powerfully positive emotions that can come from one's gender/sex."
When it turned out that Taylor's hair would be too difficult to start and finish that day, the store offered to do her nails instead.
"It turned out so beautiful, and I just felt so great," she said.
On November 20, Transgender Day of Remembrance, it's this sense of community that Taylor is thinking about — she's remembering what she's fighting for.
From the outside looking in, it's been a difficult year for gender-diverse people. Growing transphobia across North America has led to the creation of anti-trans laws, restrictions on drag performers and policy changes in provinces across Canada, including New Brunswick, that target queer students.
Easier to miss are the pockets of joy, the gentle ways people in the LGBTQ community care for each other during times of hardship.
Remembering the ones who didn't make it is about more than grieving what's lost, it's also about honouring the lives they had while they were still here, according to Mel Beaulieu, a transgender person in Fredericton.
"Really often, LGBT stories become about trauma, because statistically, a lot of bad things happen to us," they said. "But I think that there also needs to be room for joy."
Beaulieu, a member of Metepenagiag First Nation, didn't have acceptance growing up. Things are better now, they said, but after a year of protests and hatred toward the gender-diverse community, they feel more fear, and they're having more frightening interactions with strangers.
"There's been a lot of grief in that way. But I have also had way more connections than I usually do."
A big moment of queer joy for Beaulieu came this summer, when, at a powwow, they felt really welcomed, more so than in the past — because people in the powwow circle worked hard to make people them feel more accepted, Beaulieu said.
They also feel good when they're doing something, Beaulieu said. Like Taylor, they've been going to protests and counter-protests, hoping to show younger members of the LGBTQ community they're not alone.
But going to protests, while fulfilling, is a double-edged sword, they said, and isn't safe for everyone. "It matters to me to show up, but it also burns you out."
That's why creating smaller spaces for friendship between queer people is "really vital right now," Beaulieu said, whether it's just checking in on people or going for coffee.
"I find that when times are harder, we tend to band together more strongly."
Letting people know they're not alone is the message Taylor wants to get across. There's a community out there that loves them, she said, that will do anything to help them find happiness.
"It's not always the greatest," she said. "But we'll always stand with each other, no matter what happens."
Beaulieu said if you're a member of the LGBTQ community and you're struggling, that makes sense — these past months have been hard, they said. But like Taylor, they want people to know there's someone on their team.
"You're not alone. You're valued. You're loved."
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