Article / Archive
The first time I saw a member of the queer community say, “you must keep living,” it was months before the election. For a very long time, it has been incredibly difficult to be queer and genderqueer. This is not news, but after the recent election, it feels like an air of dread has settled across this community that cannot be shaken.
For an equally long time, queer and genderqueer communities have been fighting for their right to exist. With the same fervor and steadfast intention that has seemed to span and flow through generations of queer and genderqueer people, there was a call amongst the community to perform at least one radical action — live.
While fighting the high (and rising) number of suicides and mental health crises within the queer community is critically important, the emphasis on simply not ending your life brings me back to a conversation I had with one of my closest friends, who is also trans.
We were talking about how expensive top surgery is. I remarked that I’m grateful that I interact with gender in a way in which I’m largely comfortable presenting and being perceived as femme since I’m unable to get surgery that isn’t necessary due to a skin condition. He responded simply that for him, gender-affirming surgery is lifesaving; he wouldn’t be here without it.
There is an immeasurably important distinction to make when speaking about LGBTQIA+ suicides, especially among youth within the community: they do not end their lives because they are queer or genderqueer. These high rates are a reaction and response to the societal view of being queer or genderqueer, bullying, and fears of discrimination and rejection from loved ones.
Inclusion and acceptance are everything; LGBTQIA+ is an updated acronym that includes intersex (those whose biological sex traits are outside of what is traditionally thought of as “male” or “female”) and asexual (a broad spectrum that includes many experiences, but is usually defined by no or limited sexual attraction to others) communities. These individuals often identify with queer and genderqueer experiences, but may be or feel left out in such discussions – from those within and outside of the community.
The plus has been around from sometime – a recognition of the diversity of (gender)queer identities and experiences.
This higher risk of suicide doesn’t come from being queer or genderqueer itself. Instead, it is the perceived (and sometimes literal) demand from either, or both, society and their family to not be queer or genderqueer that is a primary cause. Homophobia and transphobia are pervasive, and many people feel active pressure to be anything but themselves. There are so many people who are in situations where it is incredibly dangerous for them to be out. Especially for LGBTQIA+ youth, it is essential for us to do more than simply live.
Studies have shown that in communities where adults and peers are supportive and accepting, LGBTQIA+ youth report lower rates of suicide risk. In addition, LGBTQIA+ role models and the visibility of older members of the community who are happy and well are considered protective factors for LGBTQIA+ children.
For young queer and trans folks, there has always been a conversation surrounding fear when it comes to their identities. Legislators and hate groups across the country (and the world) have gone so far as to call for the eradication of the trans community. In such a state of affairs, it may seem unfeasible (and frankly, naive) to commit to a joyful life as a queer/genderqueer person.
However, it is because of such conditions that it becomes more critical for positive queer experiences, especially from queer adults, to be highlighted and shared. It’s powerful to realize that a world without us has never existed and never will, but more so, that there is joy to be had in that world. It may not be every moment or every day, and it likely won’t be.
Still, it is becoming more important to share the instances of queer and trans joy and triumph that do exist, no matter how small, as those speaking out of hate seem to feel they can raise their voices without consequence. For young queer and genderqueer people, older role models that are not only firmly out and themselves but are happy despite the many obstacles they may and will face, can be both comforting and affirming.
For some, it may seem that existence as a form of resistance became more pertinent following the 2024 election, but marginalized and historically oppressed communities have been engaging with this idea in a refusal to accept narratives that they are wrong, weak, or even non-existent. This idea extends across communities; BIPOC (especially indigenous) communities have also adopted this framework under an oppressive culture and society that often overwrites the truth of their existence, or denies it outright.
In appreciating the many groups that exist to resist, we see a couple affirmations come to light: that we have always been here; that we will always be here; that our liberation is collective; and that under a culture that seeks to see us eliminated or suffering, joy becomes a radical act.
Within that happiness lies the voices of every activist, individual, and ally. Inherently, it is their goals and dreams realized. A joyous existence is an act of resistance against oppressive policies and groups, and one that simultaneously provides support to our communities. As we continue to fight against an environment that enables hatred, there must also be joy.
The first time I saw a member of the queer community say, “you must keep living,” it was months before the election. For a very long time, it has been incredibly difficult to be queer and genderqueer. This is not news, but after the recent election, it feels like an air of dread has settled across this community that cannot be shaken.
For an equally long time, queer and genderqueer communities have been fighting for their right to exist. With the same fervor and steadfast intention that has seemed to span and flow through generations of queer and genderqueer people, there was a call amongst the community to perform at least one radical action — live.
While fighting the high (and rising) number of suicides and mental health crises within the queer community is critically important, the emphasis on simply not ending your life brings me back to a conversation I had with one of my closest friends, who is also trans.
We were talking about how expensive top surgery is. I remarked that I’m grateful that I interact with gender in a way in which I’m largely comfortable presenting and being perceived as femme since I’m unable to get surgery that isn’t necessary due to a skin condition. He responded simply that for him, gender-affirming surgery is lifesaving; he wouldn’t be here without it.
There is an immeasurably important distinction to make when speaking about LGBTQIA+ suicides, especially among youth within the community: they do not end their lives because they are queer or genderqueer. These high rates are a reaction and response to the societal view of being queer or genderqueer, bullying, and fears of discrimination and rejection from loved ones.
Inclusion and acceptance are everything; LGBTQIA+ is an updated acronym that includes intersex (those whose biological sex traits are outside of what is traditionally thought of as “male” or “female”) and asexual (a broad spectrum that includes many experiences, but is usually defined by no or limited sexual attraction to others) communities. These individuals often identify with queer and genderqueer experiences, but may be or feel left out in such discussions – from those within and outside of the community.
The plus has been around from sometime – a recognition of the diversity of (gender)queer identities and experiences.
This higher risk of suicide doesn’t come from being queer or genderqueer itself. Instead, it is the perceived (and sometimes literal) demand from either, or both, society and their family to not be queer or genderqueer that is a primary cause. Homophobia and transphobia are pervasive, and many people feel active pressure to be anything but themselves. There are so many people who are in situations where it is incredibly dangerous for them to be out. Especially for LGBTQIA+ youth, it is essential for us to do more than simply live.
Studies have shown that in communities where adults and peers are supportive and accepting, LGBTQIA+ youth report lower rates of suicide risk. In addition, LGBTQIA+ role models and the visibility of older members of the community who are happy and well are considered protective factors for LGBTQIA+ children.
For young queer and trans folks, there has always been a conversation surrounding fear when it comes to their identities. Legislators and hate groups across the country (and the world) have gone so far as to call for the eradication of the trans community. In such a state of affairs, it may seem unfeasible (and frankly, naive) to commit to a joyful life as a queer/genderqueer person.
However, it is because of such conditions that it becomes more critical for positive queer experiences, especially from queer adults, to be highlighted and shared. It’s powerful to realize that a world without us has never existed and never will, but more so, that there is joy to be had in that world. It may not be every moment or every day, and it likely won’t be.
Still, it is becoming more important to share the instances of queer and trans joy and triumph that do exist, no matter how small, as those speaking out of hate seem to feel they can raise their voices without consequence. For young queer and genderqueer people, older role models that are not only firmly out and themselves but are happy despite the many obstacles they may and will face, can be both comforting and affirming.
For some, it may seem that existence as a form of resistance became more pertinent following the 2024 election, but marginalized and historically oppressed communities have been engaging with this idea in a refusal to accept narratives that they are wrong, weak, or even non-existent. This idea extends across communities; BIPOC (especially indigenous) communities have also adopted this framework under an oppressive culture and society that often overwrites the truth of their existence, or denies it outright.
In appreciating the many groups that exist to resist, we see a couple affirmations come to light: that we have always been here; that we will always be here; that our liberation is collective; and that under a culture that seeks to see us eliminated or suffering, joy becomes a radical act.
Within that happiness lies the voices of every activist, individual, and ally. Inherently, it is their goals and dreams realized. A joyous existence is an act of resistance against oppressive policies and groups, and one that simultaneously provides support to our communities. As we continue to fight against an environment that enables hatred, there must also be joy.
