The Longest Night
An extra post this week in recognition of the winter solstice. May we guide each other through the dark.
Just a month ago we had trans day of remembrance. The group of trans folks that surrounds me has had mixed opinions about this holiday of memorialization. Some think that it’s an opportunity to reflect and remember those we love, to bolster and maintain their memory as we move forward, and to remind ourselves of the impact we leave behind, and the importance of seeing ourselves through. Others see it as a ghoulish reflection of our high mortality, of the rate at which we’re killed and which we kill ourselves, and an insult to the memory of those we love, whose lives we should remember through those little moments of recollection every day, rather then some holiday people use to demonstrate their allyship through posting of on social media. I can understand and appreciate both these perspectives, and I’m not even entirely sure where I stand. I do think taking a day to remember and reflect on those we’ve lost, a day to remember what we leave behind, is valuable. And at the same time it’s a depressing reminder of our communities strife, and feels like a chance for people outside our community to boast about solidarity and support without doing anything of substance. I am the rare and fortunate trans girl that has made it to this point without losing anyone too close to me, though I have seen it many times from the outskirts. As such, I feel like I lack the legs to stand on, and instead absolve myself by staying quiet and taking the chance for reflection wholly unto myself.
Just a month ago we had trans day of remembrance. It came in the wake of a vitriolic year of anti-trans campaigning, and we saw elected a president and congress both who call for and may well enact measures that will lead to greater loss and mourning in our futures. Measures that will isolate adults and possibly deny us care, and measures that will prevent the youngest of us from accessing life saving treatment. Measures that will ensure that more of us will die. Last months day felt like not just mourning for the ones we’ve lost already, but expectant mourning for the ones we’ll live to see lost in the future.
Just a month ago we had trans day of remembrance. Today, it’s solstice, the longest night of the year. We have all lost people that we love, be them trans or otherwise, and as I find myself a wider place in this community the growing fear of loss is ever present. The knowledge that nearly everyone I know has a story of losing a trans person, a trans woman that they loved and love, and the knowledge that I likely will as well some day, is a dark cloud of reality that hangs over me, and over our community. Tonight is the longest night of the year. We have all gone through long nights before. We have many long nights yet to go through.
This year, on this longest, darkest night, I plan to light three candles. One for those we’ve lost and left behind, may their memory be a guiding light, warding us from the rocks and driving us back to the storm that we may yet still fight through. One for those we will lose in the coming years, may this flame burn shallow with the fewest souls whose future memory it carries, for those for whom our love and care for them cannot reach and be enough in time. One for all those who are here today, who’ve made it this far, and who will fight to stay among us for as long as they can, may we gather around them when they need it, and shelter their flickering light from the winds of all our struggles.
There is a long, dark night ahead. The storm is ferocious, and I do not know if we can quell it, but at the very least we can gather ourselves together, we can keep our memories alive together, mourn the ones we lose together, and shelter and protect the ones of us most vulnerable, together.
Join me, if you can, and if you will. Hold back a little darkness in this longest night. Tonight, we light three candles. Tomorrow, we hold their flames in our hearts. We persevere, we survive, we stave off the worst the future has to hold. Hold a little flame within yourself, within your community, within all those whom you love. Remember, protect, and for the love of all of us, survive.