On this day in queerstory: First ever Trans Day of Remembrance

November 20 is a date marked by both solemn remembrance and enduring resolve. Every year it prompts us to pause and reflect on the lives lost, the rights still denied, and the courage still required. On this date, the global LGBTQ+ community honours the dead, renews its promise to live and insists that invisibility is no longer acceptable.

In 1999, the first Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoR) was observed. Founded by activist Gwendolyn Ann Smith and other organisers, it emerged in response to the murders of trans women Rita Hester and Chanelle Pickett, whose deaths had been largely ignored by mainstream media.

Since then, November 20 has become an annual global memorial: candlelight vigils are held, names are read aloud, and communities reflect on the violence—psychological, physical, structural—faced by transgender and gender-diverse people worldwide.

The date itself is a marker of visibility. To remember is to insist that these lives mattered—not just in private, but publicly. To gather, to name, to speak out is an act of refusal: the world will not forget. And each year on November 20 the work continues.

In the United States, for example, activists gather in city squares, outside courthouses and within community centres to read names—often dozens—of those killed over the preceding year. The lists underscore the fact that for many trans people, violence remains not a moment, but a pattern.

Beyond the memorialisation, November 20 also reflects a broader arc of queer change: it connects the gaps between policy and lives. The remembering demanded by the date asks us to look at the past—sodomy laws, pathologised identities, invisibility—and to ask: How much has really changed? And what remains to be done?

One older event tied to November 20, from the archive of queer history, illustrates the point. In 1901 in Mexico City, a group of men and women were arrested during a raid on a party where cross-dressing was alleged. That raid, obscure now, echoes the same structures of control that today’s remembrance confronts: policing bodies, punishing gender, erasing presence.

The persistence of those structures is part of why November 20 matters. It reminds us that queer liberation is never simply about coming out or being visible. It’s about being seen safely, being seen in peace, being seen as whole. And for trans people around the world—especially trans women of colour—the work is far from complete.

Yet visibility also becomes a source of strength. The very act of attending a vigil, of lighting a candle on November 20, declares: I am here. We are here. We will remember. We will act. Where silence once reigned, remembrance now insists on presence.

For those planning programming around November 20, it can be a moment of both reflection and action. A candle-lit vigil may honour lives lost. A community talk may reflect on local trans-inclusive policies, or the lack thereof. Arts nights can center trans voices—music, poetry, spoken-word—and insist that joy is part of remembrance, as is grief.

In recent years, these gatherings have evolved. Where once the date focused primarily on mourning, now it often includes celebrations of survival. Some communities use November 20 to launch campaigns for legal change—protections against violence, recognition of gender identity, access to healthcare. Because remembering without acting risks repetition.

In this sense, November 20 is both looking back and looking forward. It stands at the intersection of history and possibility. It honours those gone and challenges us to ask: who next? What will change? How will we live?

On this day, in many cities around the world, trans flags fly at half-mast; names are spoken into microphones; grief is shared under the night sky. The sight — the sound — matters. When bodies are seen, words matter. When names are spoken, lives matter.

November 20 reminds us that for heritage to be real, history must include those once excluded. For rights to be durable, memory must be active. And for pride to be meaningful, remembrance must be present.