On Queer Death.

Recently, on a vacation with my husband, I was sitting in the car as we rode through the mountains of Tennessee when I opened up Facebook and saw a post that left me in shock. A fellow queer man I knew had been murdered by his lover. I didn’t know him very well, but his death deeply impacted me. He was kind, smart, interesting, relatable, and loved the Scream franchise as much as me! He was also very supportive - I couldn’t count the times he replied to an Instagram story or commented on a post hyping me up and just making me feel like he was cheering me on. He was around my age when he died and I still haven’t recovered from the sadness his death made me feel despite not knowing him well. His spirit, kindness, and overall good nature left a void in this world.

I can’t count the times I’ve mourned the loss of a fellow member of the queer community. Some I knew well, some I didn’t, but in each case it hit close to home. Some of these people were fellow club-goers in my early to mid twenties. Faces I saw on the dance floors of the only spaces we knew to go to feel like we belonged somewhere. Some were the faces of people I saw at community events like Pride festivals, Galas, fundraisers, and other community spaces. Some were the faces of people I grew up with, only learning they were fellow members of the queer community years after we all escaped our hometown… but each loss hit close to home.

I’ve always been the type of person who takes things personally. Social media is incredibly taxing on my mental health because I soak in bad news and have a hard time letting it go - especially death and specifically the death of queer people. I have the sense this isn’t unique to me, however. If I was a gambling man, as the old adage goes, I’d bet that many queer people take personally the loss of fellow members of our community. This is certainly the case today, as I learned of the death of a nonbinary highschool sophomore from Oklahoma named Nex Benedict. According to news reports, Nex had experienced bullying since the beginning of the school year; this follows a slew of anti-queer bills and policies either proposed or passed in the state recently. (But I don’t need to draw the visible lines between anti-queer rhetoric and violence targeted at queer people - we are all aware of the correlation.)

Sometimes I stand back and think, “How many more?” Whether it’s a sophomore Nex Benedict, Samantha Gómes Fonseca, a Trans advocate, Matthew Shepard, Cecilia Gentili, or the young man I knew with no “notoriety,” our community loses. No matter the cause of death - natural, violence, disease, self-inflicted - how many people they knew, what contributions they’ve made to the world, or how active they were in the community, the loss of queer people is deeply personal to me. Perhaps because I can relate to them, or maybe because our community is so small as it is - it’s hard to say. Nevertheless, each death I learn of I reflect on the many faces I’ve seen and lost over the years and add the face of the new loss to my memory. Their deaths will never be in vain as long as we remember them, but more importantly as long as we continue to fight for the equality and humanity we all deserve. 

This piece is dedicated to every queer life lost. May they all be remembered and held closely to our memories as we do all we can in the name of equality and freedom. It is also dedicated to every queer person I’ve lost that has brought joy to me and made my life infinitely better - thank you.

Sean D. Roach

Founder & Board Chair