Showing posts with label Murder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murder. Show all posts

Sunday, August 19, 2012

An American Pandemic: The Murder of Black Trans Women

We all know that in this country, the value of a Black life as measured by the institutions that prop up and run this nation is measured only in meager labor. Slavery may have ended in 1865 (I use the date of Juneteenth to mark that ocassion), but we know that real wage slavery still exists even as the overt trappings of slavery and Jim Crow have been dismantled. We like our oppression to look neat and pretty, so Black folks that don't tow the line and keep in their place are placed in prison now. Much easier to lock them up than lynch us on a regular basis. And as my former boss and life mentor Paula Austin once told me, "You have to think and act smart. There is a place for angry black men in this world. It's called jail."

There is also a place for black bodies, over and over again, and that is six feet under at the hands of power, ignorance, and violence.  And in no community of black folks is that threat and reality more present than amongst Black transgender and gender nonconforming women.

There are a number of lists that honor the murdered dead by remember their names and sharing them with the community. There is one such list on Wikipedia. The same article suggests that according to global statistics, a transgender person is murdered every three days just on the basis of their gender identity. And the European based Trans Murder Monitoring Project has tracked 800 transgender murders globally in the last four years. As of March 2012, the United States has the fourth highest rate of transgender murders in the world (52 in the last four years), only slightly behind Mexico and Columbia, though distantly behind Brazil, which has had more than 300 murders of trans individuals in the last four year.

Just a quick Google search of transgender murders in 2012 offered up the names of these black women that were either killed in 2012 or their killers were acquitted or got off without justice: Brandy Martell (Oakland, CA), Paige Clay (Chicago, IL), Victoria Carmen White (Newark, NJ), an identified yet unnamed black transwoman was found murdered in Detroit last Monday morning (the police refuse to offer up a name), and I am sure there are more. Today we add another name to that list: Tiffany Gooden, 19 years old, Chicago, found not two blocks from where Paige Clay was killed earlier this year. Tiffany was stabbed and left in an abandoned building on the Westside.

I didn't know Tiffany. Until this afternoon when the article concerning her death was posted on my Facebook wall, I didn't know she existed. I promise you, however, that I will never forget her. Or any of the faces and names of trans folks from my community in NYC or my community globally that have been brought to my attention. Nor will I forget CeCe McDonald, who is serving prison time for killing an attacker that would have gladly added the name of that innocent black woman to the list of those taken down by hate, racism, sexism, and transphobia. 

And like every other non-white queer or trans person that is murdered, Tiffany's death will occupy precious little column space. She may get a quick mention on the evening news once or twice. But power doesn't care about black bodies. Power  most certainly does not care about black transgender bodies that are often classed, raced, and gendered out of the workforce and so therefore have no value to the power structure. Tifany will be forgotten along with so many others, unless we make an effort to remember her. To speak her name in our holy places, in our gathering places, in our places of community, at Trans Day of Action, in the offices of Queers for Economic Justice, in the Miss Major-Jay Toole Building for Justice, which is named in part for a black trans woman elder and a gender non-conforming white super butch and houses the Audre Lorde Project, the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, FIERCE, and QEJ.

We know from experience that most of our own national organizations could actually care less about these lives lost as well. Even the best of them, the Task Force, is preciously weak on issues related to trans people of color. Apathy and disinterest is as much a factor in creating an environment where these deaths are permissible as is the structural oppression and hate that results in the physical destruction of the lives of our trans brothers and sisters.

And so to is the silence of black mainstream organizations. The NAACP and other black institutions are culpable as well for ignoring, silencing and closeting these most vulnerable members of our family. Our silence has never protected us from anything.

So today, I am remembering Tiffany and holding up her name in light. I hope she has found in the next life what was denied to her in this one: justice, dignity, honor, love, and the right to grow up.

Rest in peace Tiffany, while the rest of us rage.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Letter from Indiana University Regarding Murder of Dr. Don Belton

A friend of mine from undergrad at Warren Wilson College, Abbie Hantgan, was loving enough to send me this letter today. This letter was sent out by the Provost at Indiana University regarding the murder of Don Belton. I deeply appreciate the university's remembrance of Dr. Belton and also recognizing that his murder has reached far beyond the IU community.

Letter from Indiana University Provost Regarding the Murder of Professor Don Belton

Dear Faculty, Staff, and Students,

As the campus begins the new semester, we must acknowledge a terrible loss.
Some of you may just now be returning to campus after the holidays, and I am
very sad to inform you that the Indiana University community lost a dear
colleague during the semester break.

Don Belton, a faculty member in the English Department, was slain at his home
in Bloomington on December 27. (An arrest has been made in the case.)

In his relatively brief time at IUB, Professor Belton earned the admiration
and affection of his colleagues and students. He was a gifted writer and a
highly-valued member of the faculty of our distinguished Creative Writing
Program, in the Department of English. He was very well liked and very
well-respected. His death is a loss not just to his family and friends, and
our academic community, but also to the extended world of arts and letters and
to all who value the humanistic traditions. His absence will be profoundly felt.

The murder of Professor Belton has evoked strong emotions throughout the
community and indeed the nation. I trust that all members of our community will
exhibit tolerance, compassion, and respect in the wake of the loss of a valued
colleague. Let us also show respect for one another and for the many and varied
ways in which we express our grief over such a tragedy.

A memorial service to celebrate the life of Professor Belton will take place on
Friday January 15, at 5 p.m. at the Unitarian Universalist Church on Fee Lane
in Bloomington.

Our heartfelt sympathies go out to Professor Belton's family, friends, and
colleagues.

Karen Hanson
Provost and Executive Vice President

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Indiana Professor Don Belton Murdered

Another week, another queer person of color murdered. Indiana University Professor Don Belton, who I knew from his time in Minneapolis, though I did not know him well, was murdered by Michael Griffin. Mr. Griffin accused Don of sexually assaulting him "twice" on Christmas Day. So he went to Don's house, with a hunting knife, and when Don didn't apologize, he stabbed the man at least five or six times in the back and then several times in front.

I call that premeditated murder. You don't go to someones house for an apology and bring a knife.

The reporting also included that the police found a journal in the professor's apartment that had an entry which read that he was "very happy" that someone named Michael entered his life. Now, I could be wrong, but unless someone is a pathological or serial rapist, they generally do not write journal entries about individuals they assaulted.

This sounds like someone got their dick sucked a couple of times, couldn't deal with their internal homophobia, and killed an innocent man. There is an investigation that will dig up the facts, but I am going to go ahead and say that based on the age difference, the obvious physical fitness of Mr. Griffin, and knowing Don's commitment to justice and community, it would be very difficult for Don to assault Mr. Griffin. And even if he had, inappropriate touching does not qualify anyone for a death sentence.

I am an assault survivor. I was assaulted twice as an adult. I understand that assault between men can happen. My heart and understanding goes out to assault survivors, particularly those that are men as we are made almost completely invisible in the domestic and sexual violence movements unless we are the perpetrators.

But I don't believe for a fucking second that Michael Griffin was assaulted by Don Belton. The facts, as they stand, do not add up. Perhaps my opinion will change, but I doubt it. Even in supposed gay panic cases, the murderer has killed while, during, or just after the sexual encounter. They don't go back, days later, with a bowie knife. That is the sign of a fucked up mind and some fucked up issues.

And, of course, who values the life of a black man? Let alone a queer black man? Who thinks twice about murdering those that society still often fails to value? Why do people still think, use, and triumph with the gay panic defense? If I murdered the woman that grabbed my dick at a nightclub in Virginia over the Thanksgiving holiday, would I have been able to get off based on a straight panic defense?

I am exhausted.

Rest in piece Don. Thank you for your contributions to education, your writing, and your spirit. You will be missed.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

George Steven Lopez Mercado Murdered in Puerto Rico

Say his name: George Steven Lopez Mercado. Say his name every day, out loud, until he receives justice. George Steven Lopez Mercardo was brutality murdered, his legs and arms ripped off, his body partially burned, decapitated, and his torso ripped in half near Cayey in Puerto Rico. Thanks to an iReport by Christopher Pagan we know about this tragedy. No thanks to CNN or any other major U.S. News Source.

Puerto Rico is a colony of the United States. Since 1898, the U.S. has owned Puerto Rico and used it as a fat cash cow. Each year the island pumps more than $20 billion in tax and other revenue into the U.S. economy, yet the island exists as a third world country, its per capita earnings each annum is about half that of Mississippi or roughly around $8,000. As a colony, the island is required to follow federal laws, the FBI has jurisdiction on the island, and the U.S. is responsible for enforcing basic human rights standards. The fact that there has been almost no coverage of this heinous murder of a well known queer youth in Puerto Rico is endemic to the role of Puerto Rico in the U.S.: most people don't know we own it, it's a cheap vacation spot for U.S. tourists, and we don't care about the island unless the islanders get restless.

I do not support the recent hate crimes legislation signed into law by President Obama specifically because it is going to increase sentences for people of color. But, since it has been passed and signed into law, and since Puerto Rico is under federal jurisdiction, the law needs to be applied thoroughly to this case. And since every damn news outlet in the country covered the murder of Matthew Shepherd, here is a chance to set racism and colonialism aside and remember George Steven Lopez Mercado.

It's bad enough that this young man's life was brutally ended, but the detective, Angel Rodriguez, in charge of the investigation has basically said that based on George's sexual orientation, he deserved what he got. Excuse me?

I am willing to bet that the police detective has had his cock sucked more than once. Bugarrones make me sick.

I lived in Puerto Rico. I know that the queer community there is vibrant. I also know that I met more "straight" men that liked to take it up the butt than anywhere else I have ever been.

First off the F.B.I needs to take over investigation of this crime.

Secondly the police detective that made the fucked up comments regarding this tragic murder needs to be fired and charged with compromising an investigation, obstruction of justice, and intentional assholery.

Then the individual or individuals responsible for this crime need to be locked in an iron cage and dropped off the tip of El Morro Castle directly into the ocean.

Thank you to Christopher Pagan for bringing this to our attention, and thank you to www.towleroad.com for ensuring that Christopher's iReport has gotten the coverage it deserves.

George Steven Lopez Mercado, you will not be forgotten.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Michael Jackson Homocided!


By the power of Latoya Jackson, I abjure you! In the name of the Almighty Joe Jackson, I cast you out! In the name of the L.A. coroner's office, I declare your death a homocide!

Granny get your gun and Dr. Murray get a lawyer cuz somebody is going to jail.

According to an anonymous law enforcement source, L.A. county is declaring Jackson's death a homocide. And Latoya Jackson's crazy ass predicted it. Give that bitch a turban and a 1-900 number...cuz Miss Cleo has been reborn. Call her Miss Jackson if you're nasty.

The story was reported at BlackPower.com, a magazine for which I have formerly written (and those bitches owe me almost $1000...don't make me call Judge Mathis).

The entire tale is a sad one that started with Joe beating Michael's ass and ended with Michael begging for ever increasing levels of narcotic substances best left to an anesthesiologist and an episode of Grey's Anatomy. As one friend of mine put it, Michael's nose died a long time ago, and his body just caught up.

Although I thoroughly believe that Jacko was ready to move on and have words with his maker. I also believe that his death highlights the reality of the ultra rich, ultra fabulous, and ultra unbounded by the laws that encumber the rest of us. I got my ass beaten on an almost daily basis for a good chunk of my life too. I did what most broke ass people do, and I got myself an addiction and a trip to rehab. Only the extremely over privileged get beaten, become mega super stars, build a personal amusement park, die with a billion dollars in assets, a new facial structure, and a different race from which they entered the world.

The world needs to let MJJ rest. For good or ill he had children that he obviously loved. His family and his children need time to mourn. Show them the same respect that was shown Jennifer Hudson when she lost her family. Shut up. Back off. Let the living grieve and let the dead rest in peace.

As for the murder charges...

Find the doctor, smack him in the face, tear up his medical license, and then let him go free. I believe that he did exactly as Michael asked him to do. There is no indication, at least that has been made public, that the doctor stood to benefit from Michael's death financially. There is always the chance that he was working for someone else. My money is on Joe Jackson's evil fucking ass. If that turns out to be the case...then the doctor goes to jail, Joe goes to the electric chair, and his surviving children are given first dibs to draw straws to see which of them gets to throw the switch. Of course, Mama Jackson gets to whoop Joe's ass first while he is tied up in the chair. I hope they air that shit on the season finale of American Idol. Now that would be a goddamn show. The only way it could be better would be if Ryan Seacrest came out of the closet and Simon Cowell admitted to slipping Paula pills.

In the end, the wheels of justice have been set in motion. Black folks tend to come out poorly in our criminal justice system, and the public at large is baying for blood. It doesn't look good for Dr. Murray. In the end, whether or not the death was accidental or pre-meditated, the fault lays squarely at the feet of Joe Jackson and the torture to which he put Michael and the rest of the children. The media are not guiltless or blameless in all of this. And, though it is harsh to say, Michael, at any point, could have asked for help and paid for the best fucking help available on the planet...so there is fault with him as well.

The coming months are going to turn his passing into an even greater circus...the only question remaining is who will be the ringmaster.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Friendship

Friendships end.

That is a reality in life.

Some friendships end because of time and distance. Some end because of a conflict. Some folks just drift away from one another until the friendships, organically, dissolves. Other friendships are ended by conscious decision, while others simply fade away and bosom buddies, when next they meet, are near strangers.

In my life, I have rarely had a friendship end. That is, until the last couple of years.

One person, important to me, ended our friendship because of simply too much history. We saw each other through deaths, rehab, relationships, murders, work crises, HIV, and sexual assaults.

Another friendship was the victim of post-pardum depression. That loss was bitter and unexpected and an unfortunate side affect of a beautiful pregnancy. This was another person with whom I had shared much, in fact, we met when we were 13, and our friendship remained vibrant for almost 17 years.

The third friendship I lost because I didn't have the space to let this person into some of my life difficulties, and that created a situation where this individual felt that I had slammed the door in his face when he tried to reach out to me. I heartily disagree with this assessment, yet, that is the reason I was given, so it is the reason I accept.

And this last, is one that I conceptually, and fundamentally don't understand.

I decided to check in with a man that I believed was my friend regarding the state of our friendship. This person happens to be the partner of the third friend that chose to end our friendship. This is man that I, quite literally, love and respect and is, I believe, a model for how one can live ones life with honesty and integrity. So, when he told me that he didn't think we were friends because “we don't see each other and we don't share anything...at least recently”, I took what he said at face value.

But I don't understand it.

For me, friendship is,plainly put, a state of being when one person cares deeply for another, their well being, and, if called, shows up in a number of ways to support and build community with another person. Sometimes showing up means physically being present. Sometimes it means being an ear on the other end of a phone call. Sometimes it means responding to an email. And sometimes it means showing up spiritually, carrying a desire and prayer for peace and joy in an other's life, even when distance keeps you from showing that love and respect in person.

There are people in my life, that are not just friends, but family, that I have not seen in years. My best friend, and older brother, Jerry Jones, is someone that I haven't seen, physically, since January 2005. Time and economics haven't been on our side in terms of seeing one another. But, whenever I have picked up the phone, he has answered. We share a love for one another. And, if that is present, then there is friendship.

Over the years, I have added friends to my community that I hold dear. Having left Minneapolis, physically, I still carry with me the friendships of so many. Many of those folks were with me at a barbecue last week. I listened to their stories, and, though I am not with them on a regular basis, if any of them called and had a need, I would do what I could from where I am to fill it. That is friendship.

My truth is that should any of the four individuals in my life that have stepped away from the friendship that we have had, have a need, I would be there to fill it if I could. I have seen too much anger, abandonment, frustration, hurt, and pain in the world. I know how those things can intercept, interrupt, and intervene in love freely given. I have, indeed, let all of those things limit or eliminate my ability to be present for those for whom I care. I respect the choice of anyone to define the limits of their relationship with another, up to and including severing that relationship. But, that does not mean that I have to cauterize my feelings or no longer appreciate the friendship we have had and the memories we made together, whether they were last week or a decade ago.

Friendship should never be ephemeral, easily given, or readily taken away. It is too valuable. And in a time of great spiritual recession, those things of lasting value are that much more precious.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Poem: Choke

I wrote this poem about three years ago. A friend of mine at the time was going through a period of significant loss. Her brother and cousin were murdered. Her birth mother died, and her niece was raped all within a year time period. I was living across the country from her at the time, and I watched from afar as she struggled. This I wrote for her.

Choke

It takes her again
wraps stiff fingers around her throat
chokes her until the tears run
burning channels into her cheeks
reopening half healed runnels
coffin-nails have left on her face
she calls me gasping
why
too much
too many
why her
why him
why them
bang bang
they found him in a lake
they found her in a ditch
he was murdered
she was murdered
why
why
why
the violence overshadowed by
the mist that leaders her voice
sodden from her throat
she exhales between questions
I don’t have the answers she needs
the ones she deserves
can’t loosen the grip of too much time
cut short
wrapping around her throat
can’t breath enough for her
can feel the damp
as it pours out of my phone
fills my mouth
runs out of my eyes
mother-brother-aunt-cousin
two killed
unsolved crimes
two taken too early
all died
this year and last year
too few years between them
too little time for healing
while prayers and prairie dirt fill the holes
they left behind
we’ve sat up nights talking
trying to make sense
of senselessness
of grief
of acceptance with no understanding
while the reaper keeps on reaping
scything through native lives
her life
cutting
cold voice laughing
hollow
like lines dug in her face
hollow
echoing
empty
open wounds festering
fearing that she might use alcohol to sterilize
knowing its ability to cauterize
too far away
too far away
to fly to her
pry death away
breath for her when she can’t
pray for her when she can’t
promise her what I can’t
that it’s over
when my promises
are drowned out
by the laughing of the reaper