Vigil Essay

VIGIL

lyrics & reflections on queer and trans grief, joy, and care

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My band released a live version of our song Vigil on August 27, 2022, and you can find the video at this link, & listen here on all other platforms. At a show we played on its release date, I was emotional, thinking about how we are seeking to build a world together in which this song doesn’t have to exist. At the same time, the crowd was so engaged and supportive, and we felt uplifted to be able to be in community, spreading a message we care about deeply. That duality is what the song is truly about: holding space for queer & trans grief, joy, and resilience all at once.

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Contains: discussion of suicide, murder, anti-trans violence

LYRICS:

Light

Shine it so all can see

Fate

Falling so faithlessly

Tonight

We cradle our memories

The weight

I’m carrying carries me

I held a vigil in my mind that night

How many candles will it take this time

Until my people stop dying

Light

Shine it so all can see

Fate

Falling so faithlessly

Tonight

We cradle our memories

The weight

I’m carrying carries me home

I danced for ages in my mind last night

Cuz sometimes I feel strong in the weakness

But it’s always on my mind

It is always on my mind

Doesn’t mean we’ll quit our fighting now, it

Doesn’t mean that nothing’s right

Doesn’t mean I don’t feel strong in the weakness

But it’s always on my mind

I held a vigil in my mind that night

How many candles will it take until my people stop dying

Let’s dance for ages in our minds tonight

Sometimes I feel strong in the weakness

But it’s always on my mind

It is always on my mind

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This song emerged from experiences of queer & trans care, through the spaces between grief and joy, specifically my experiences of community that tether the two. I want to tell you about how the song began, how it evolves, and how community care has shown up at all points along the way. I have hesitated to share too much about Vigil, because of the heaviness of the subject, and the nuance required in discussing loss and how it impacts everyone differently; my own experience feels sometimes distant and sometimes very close to it. But I also believe that real vulnerability, the sharing of story without a guarantee of how it will be received, is key to connecting with and understanding one another, so I share this in that spirit.

* * *

Vigil is a song I wrote in 2018 in community with Doug Rowe and LB Roussos, in a temporary band we called “Chuffed,” compiled randomly by Communication Madison for a Random Band Generator showcase. It was the first song I wrote on guitar, maybe even the first song I ever played on guitar. Doug had shown me 3 punk chords, and from those chords (and lots of encouragement) came this unexpectedly angsty song about queer and trans grief, joy, and resilience. Our randomly compiled group happened to be all non-binary/trans folks, and it was in that space and context that the song surfaced. Since then, Vigil has evolved with the care and contributions of my band, Austin Lynch, Esther Chun, and Will Ault, and collaborators Walker Scott, Jenna Joanis, Siobhan Jackson, Riley Rentfro, and Charlie Kozcela, who have played it with us. It moves and grows every time we play it live, with the love of our friends and those who connect with it.

* * *

Two years prior to writing this song, an acquaintance and classmate of mine ended her life. I never knew her well personally, but the loss deeply impacted my community. Before and after that day, other trans classmates and acquaintances of mine from different times in my life had also died, and many of my friends were struggling with depression and their own attempts.

I have always felt challenged by language around suicide, and even the term itself, especially in relation to queer and trans folks. I feel it’s important to name that anyone of any identity and life experience can suffer from mental health challenges, and today I’d like to speak about the structural and cultural issues that contribute to queer and trans mental health struggles in particular, as well as protective factors that contribute to joy and resilience for our community.

The disproportionate amount of trans people who consider, attempt, and go through with leaving this world cannot be separated from what it’s like to exist as a trans person in a society that is often so cruel toward people outside of the gender norm. It’s not a coincidence that most of the people I know who have ended their own lives or tried to were & are trans. It’s not a coincidence either that trans people are over 4 times more likely than cis people to be victims of physical violence, and that the likelihood of experiencing violence is even higher for trans women of color in particular. Limitations on resource access and discrimination in all areas (housing, employment, healthcare) are intimately tied to quality of life and mental health. It is colonialism, it’s racism, it’s homophobia, it’s patriarchy, it’s ableism, it’s transphobia. It is written into law, and enacted in culture.

For those of you who are reading this who are cis and may not have close relationships with trans people, or are wondering how to support trans people in your life, I share this to emphasize the struggle that people experience by existing every day in bodies that are socially and physically shunned, policed, and politicized, a struggle you may also relate to yourself depending on other identities you hold or life experiences you’ve had. We also know that supportive relationships in a trans person’s life can make a world of difference for their mental health. ‘Supportive’ doesn’t mean understanding completely, never making mistakes, or never having challenges or disagreements. ‘Supportive’ can simply mean showing up, being open to learning about yourself and others through conversation, being curious, and bringing your whole heart.

For those of you who are trans and/or gender non-conforming, none of this is new to you, but I say it to emphasize that you are not alone, you are not at fault, and the act of being yourself is one of the most radical things you can do.

Still, sometimes, the heaviness feels so great, so broad, so deep. It’s not something anyone can carry by themself.

So we come together. This song is about the vigil for my classmate many years ago, every vigil before, and every vigil since. It’s about Trans Day of Remembrance, which honors lives lost to transphobic violence. It’s about the lonely nights when we try to remember we are not alone. It was in the context of trans community and communal art-making that these emotions had space to finally come to the surface for me. Vigil is an elegy and a love poem.

* * *

I have not experienced a desire to leave this world. I have not experienced an explicit attack on my physical safety because of my gender identity. I move through the world with relative ease because of my whiteness, class privilege, non-disabledness, and specific gender presentation. I am lucky to have family and friends who support me in being myself. I feel it’s important to acknowledge these truths as I speak from my own experience, because my goal in writing about queer & trans grief and joy is to stand in solidarity with queer & trans community, including particularly those who are most marginalized. What I want, from my whole heart, is for my friends and community to be held and cared for and celebrated, and to be able to be deeply and utterly alive. To not only survive, but to thrive.

* * *

Six months prior to writing this song in 2018, I had attended a workshop taught by Davey Shlasko that was a deep dive into understanding trans experience for organizations, and cultivating solidarity at an organizational (cultural and structural) level. Davey and others in the workshop mentioned the importance of not only talking about statistics that name how hard it is to be trans in this world, but also listening to trans narratives and talking about trans resilience.

I realized at that point that I didn’t want to write or sing or talk about queer & trans struggle and grief without honoring queer & trans joy and resilience too. I’m inspired by songs by Be Steadwell, that talk about how Black queer love is a radical act of resistance, through claiming joy in a culture that tries desperately to tell them they can’t have it. I’m inspired by the poetry of SunShine Raynebow, which talks about vulnerability, gratitude for her Grandmother’s love, and building self love. I’m inspired by Coyote Park’s photography and art. Most of all, I’m inspired by my amazing friends I get to see on a weekly basis, who teach me every day how to see and understand myself and the world differently and more deeply, who are always looking for and creating joy in the spaces in between. In the spirit of SunShine’s poetry style, I want to share these words about communal care, that have turned into a poem: Queer & trans care is innovation, is mischief, is collaboration, is thoughtful conversation. It is an act of service with no debt implied, and radical honesty to keep each other safe. It’s a big warm consensual hug, it is resource-sharing, it’s carving out space to take up. It is affirmation, a sense of humor, and a genuine apology. It’s a quiet night in, and it’s the best dance party ever. Queer & trans care is being there for ourselves and each other because we like being together in community. Queer & trans care is being there for ourselves and each other because the systems that weren't built for us have unsurprisingly failed us. Queer & trans care is being there for ourselves and each other to demand more/different/better from those systems anyway and understand our roles within them. Queer & trans care is being there for ourselves and each other because it’s the only way to build the world we want to live in and leave behind, piece by piece.

* * *

An expression of care can also be a call to action. We all have a role, we all have a sphere of influence, no matter how big or small. For those who feel less personally connected to these issues, this is an invitation to pause and feel. It can be as simple as taking the time to learn a friend’s pronouns. It can be as public as getting involved in organizing against transphobic legislation. It can be as personal as feeling empowered to come out and be your authentic self, regardless of your identity. The urgency of building a world where we are all safe to thrive as our full selves cannot be understated. And yet the little actions of shifting hearts and minds cannot be underestimated. Every day I struggle and strive to remember this. Whether or not this is the right way--and knowing it’s certainly not the only way--this is one offering of care. Wherever you’re at, whether or not you’re out, whether or not you have people in your life who affirm you–you matter, and you belong here.

Much love,

Maddie

(they/them)